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verstappenverse · 21 days ago

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Waiting Game

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Max for years, silently watching him date the wrong girl, until walking away makes him finally realise you were the one all along. (Requested)

3.9k words / Masterlist

The first time you met Max Verstappen you knew you were doomed.

Not in a he’s-going-to-ruin-my-life kind of way. No, it was quieter than that. Deeper. It was the kind of knowing that settled into your bones and never left. The kind that whispered, I will love him for the rest of my existence, even if he never loves me back.

And you had. Hopelessly. Silently. Faithfully.

You’ve never known a world without Max.

From sandbox castles to celebratory podium hugs, you’ve always been there. When you think of home, it’s not really a place, it’s him. The way he throws popcorn at you during movie nights, the way he remembers how you take your tea, the way he always texts “landed” the moment the wheels hit the tarmac.

You were inseparable. The kind of closeness that made people tilt their heads and ask, Are you sure you’re just friends? You brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, a carefully rehearsed, Yeah, just friends. But you knew better. You felt it every time your hand brushed his and he didn’t pull away. Every time he called you at 2 a.m. because something was heavy on his mind and you were the only person he trusted enough to hold it with him.

There was never a clear moment when friendship turned into something more for you, it was just a slow unraveling. A shift in the way you watched him. The way your heart stuttered when his name lit up your phone. The way everything softened when he looked at you, even if he didn’t know what it meant. The time he flew across three countries just to bring you soup when you had the flu. You’d laughed, voice hoarse, swaddled in blankets and tissues.

“You’re insane,” you said, but your heart was already halfway gone.

You memorised him like a religion. The furrow between his brows when he was focused. The way his voice softened when he talked about things that scared him, the future, family, not doing enough. You traveled the world with him, race weekends blurred into hotel rooms and midnight drives and laughter spilling out of overpriced restaurants.

And at night, when you’re apart, FaceTime is your safety net. You fall asleep more times than you can count, with his voice crackling through your phone, tucked on your pillow. Sometimes it’s quiet, just the sound of his breath syncing with yours. Sometimes it’s laughter, or whispers about things he’d never say out loud during the day.

Still, you said nothing, because Max was Max. He had dreams to chase and tracks to conquer and a world to carry on his shoulders. And you? You were his best friend. The keeper of secrets. The one he called when everything else fell apart.

It’s always him.

Always.

And that was enough you thought.

That’s probably why it hurts so badly when he chose her.

It was one night, when you were sitting on the couch with him, legs folded, laughing about something dumb. And then, just as the moment quitened, he said it.

“I’ve been seeing someone by the way.”

So casual and unbothered, and you smiled like it didn’t split you open.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s nice, I’m happy for you.”

She wasn’t outright awful.

Not in a way you could call out directly. Not in a way that gave you permission to hate her.

She was sleek and polished and knew exactly how to pose for the cameras. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it looked good on magazine covers. She knew how to charm a crowd, how to toss her hair just right, how to smile for the cameras and nod politely at press events.

She never reacted to his frustrations, because she didn’t care enough to be affected by it. She didn’t ask about his bad days. Didn’t know the way his fingers twitched when he was nervous or the sound he made in his sleep when he was too exhausted to dream.

You wanted to believe she loved him for his sake. But it felt like she loved the image more, the icon, the podiums, the press, the power. Not the boy who forgot to eat when he was stressed. Not the man who kept every letter from his mother in a shoebox under his bed.

You watched from the sidelines, clapping the loudest, smiling the widest, standing just close enough. Pretending that your heart didn’t fracture a little more each time she showed up wearing his jacket. Each time he kissed her forehead. Each time he introduced you as his best friend, like that word wasn’t slowly bleeding you dry.

You didn’t ask for more. You never had. Because loving Max wasn’t a choice, it was an inevitability. And you knew, deep down, he was never really yours to lose.

But God, it still felt like he was.

The longer she stuck around, the more cracks you began to see. Not gaping ones, just tiny fractures only someone who truly knew Max could notice. Subtle, quiet things that dug under your skin until they bruised.

It was in the way she watched his races, when she even bothered to show up. Sometimes she’d arrive midway through, sunglasses still on indoors, distractedly scrolling through her phone while his car kissed the barriers. She never flinched. Never held her breath when he went wheel-to-wheel.

That was the thing, her indifference wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t loud. It was just careless. Passive. It came out in the small things, the way she dismissed his nerves before qualifying with a flat, “You’ll be fine, babe.” The way she laughed when fans screamed his name, muttering, “They’re obsessed with you. It’s creepy.”

Max didn’t see it.

Or maybe he did. Maybe he caught glimpses of her disinterest and shoved them deep enough that they wouldn’t threaten the stability he’d convinced himself he needed. Maybe he stayed because it was easier to be with someone who never demanded the truth.

And you?

You smiled through it.

You were polite. Friendly, even. Because Max was your best friend, and the last thing you wanted was to be the reason for a wedge between him and someone he cared about. So you bit your tongue when she interrupted him. You offered her a drink when she showed up late to the paddock. You complimented her shoes. Let her lean on your shoulder for a group photo you didn’t want to be in.

You did it for him.

And still, people noticed.

The fans weren’t blind. If anything, they saw it more clearly than he did.

@maxarmy33: I don’t care what anyone says, Max’s gf is just NOT it. It’s actually wild how Max can’t see that Y/N has always been the one. She’s been by his side through everything. That kind of loyalty isn’t fake.

@redbullfan1: Max doesn’t just smile around Y/N LOOK at how he lights up around her.. You can’t fake that kind of connection. They’re meant to be, and everyone sees it but him.

@dutchlion26: The fact that Max still isn’t dating Y/N despite their perfect chemistry is a crime.

@maxy4stappen Y/N has been in Max’s corner since day one. She knows him better than anyone, and he’s out here dating someone who barely even watches his races?? Be serious.

You knew they weren’t kind comments. Fans never know the full story, they only saw what was on the surface. Still… you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little vindicating.

You thought maybe, maybe, one day he’d see what everyone else did.

But he didn’t. He chose her.

Things changed slowly after that.

He called less. You didn’t always answer. You made excuses when he asked to hang out, not because you didn’t want to, but because every mention of her name was like pressing on a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

You watched him wrap his arm around her waist at events, post pictures with captions you assumed she wrote. You watched him smile at her like she might be everything.

You told yourself it was fine. That it was enough to love him quietly, from the background. That your place, constant and steady, just a little to the left of center, was still better than not being in his orbit at all.

But deep down, you hoped. Hoped that the weight of your love, quiet and unconditional, would finally register. That maybe one day he’d turn around and realise you’d been there all along.

The intervention happened after Monaco.

You’d watched from your usual place, tucked into the Red Bull hospitality suite, just close enough to feel like part of the chaos, just far enough to know you never really would be. The routine was muscle memory by now. Headphones looped around your neck, heart thrumming in sync with every lap. You could trace the corners of the circuit with your eyes closed, every turn etched into your bloodstream from years of watching him fly through them.

Max had been brilliant. Fierce and unrelenting. He’d carved through the streets of Monte Carlo like the track had been built for him, like it was always meant to be his. You felt every gear shift like a jolt in your ribs, every overtake like a breath you couldn’t quite finish.

His girlfriend had sat two chairs down from you, legs crossed, thumb lazily scrolling through her phone. She hadn’t flinched once. Hadn’t looked up when the entire suite held its breath. You’d barely heard her speak.

You stood in the paddock afterwards, soaked in golden light and champagne mist, your ears ringing with celebration. Cameras flashed. People screamed his name. He threw his arms around his team, his smile wide and breathless. She kissed his cheek and he didn’t even glance your way.

You should’ve felt proud. Happy. Triumphant, even. But instead, you just felt… hollow. Like you were watching the best moment of his life from behind glass.

That was when your friends stepped in.

You didn’t even notice them closing in until you felt a firm hand wrap gently around your wrist.

“You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” you asked, forcing your voice to sound casual, light. The kind of tone that might fool someone who didn’t know better.

“This.” She gestured vaguely, helplessly. “Hanging around like this… waiting for Max to finally wake up and realise you’re the love of his life.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice cracked and gave you away.

“You are,” she said quietly, cutting you off. “You have been. For years. And it’s killing you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again.

She stepped closer. “You think we don’t see it? The way you look at him? The way you never say no when he needs something? You would rip yourself in half to make his life easier.”

Your throat ached. Your chest felt too tight to breathe in.

“I just want him to be happy,” you whispered, and it was the closest thing to the truth you could say out loud without completely breaking.

“Yeah?” Her eyes softened, but her voice stayed firm. “And what about your happiness? When’s the last time you even thought about that?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know.

It started small. Innocent. A slow, gentle push toward something else, something that wasn’t him. Saying yes when someone asked for your number. Letting a date buy you coffee. Letting someone else ask you questions and actually listen to the answers.

The first date was forgettable. The second, slightly better. You started saying yes more often.

And suddenly, Max was paying attention. Longer glances. A missed text here, a delayed reply there and he started asking more questions, Where were you last night? Who were you with? when you posted a photo of a drink across from you at a candlelit restaurant. Did you not fly out this weekend? when he didn’t spot you in the paddock.

His voice stayed easy, but there was something sharp beneath it. Something unsettled.

One night your phone buzzed with a message from him.

Max: Who’s the guy in your story?

You stared at the screen, pulse skipping. Your photo had only shown two hands over dinner, one of them yours.

You: Just a guy I met. Does it matter?

It took him five minutes to respond.

Max: No. Just curious.

You didn’t reply.

For the first time in a long time, Max is the one feeling left behind.

He calls on a Thursday night.

You’re halfway through applying mascara when the screen lights up with his name.

“Hey,” you answer, brushing your lashes carefully.

He sounds tired. “You free to talk tonight? Facetime like always? I can’t sleep.”

You hesitate.

There’s a silence you’ve never had with him before.

“I have a date,” you say softly.

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Did I have to?” you replied, and instantly felt bad about it.

Max is quiet. Then, “Right. I guess not. Sorry.”

You hesitate. Then add, “Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say goodbye. Just end the call gently, then stare at your reflection in the mirror until the ache in your chest settles into something bitter and familiar.

Max doesn’t sleep that night.

Not because of the race, not because of jet lag, but because your voice won’t leave his head.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

You’d sounded tired. Guarded. Like you were hiding yourself from him.

And for the first time in his life, Max realises he has no idea what’s going on in your head.

It’s terrifying.

He calls the next morning.

You ignore it.

He opens his camera roll without thinking. Starts scrolling through old photos. Ones he’s probably passed a hundred times before without thinking. You in hotel lobbies, laughing at something he said. You wrapped in scarves on cold race weekends, clutching a takeaway hot chocolate. You curled up on his couch at 1 a.m. after some terrible horror movie, half-asleep, legs tangled in his.

And suddenly, it hits him how constant you’ve been.

Not loud. Not demanding. Just there. Always.

You never asked for anything. Never made him choose. You just showed up. When he was exhausted, when his dad said something that cut too deep, when the media turned cruel or the pressure felt suffocating, whether he won or lost, you were there. Not trying to fix it. Just holding space for him in a way no one else ever had.

How had he not seen it?

How his apartment feels colder without your socks drying on the radiator. How he still buys your favourite cereal without thinking, even though you haven’t been over in two weeks. How he used to FaceTime you after races if you couldn’t be there, win or lose, just to hear your voice while he fell asleep. He never does that with his girlfriend.

It’s never been the same.

He thinks about the last thing you said.

Maybe this is something your girlfriend should be doing.

And it lands like a punch to the gut.

Because she’s not the one he wants to call at night.

You are.

You were trying. Trying to mean it when you smiled at someone else. Trying to accept that Max had chosen someone who wasn’t you.

Which is why you brought Jake to the next race.

He wasn’t serious. Just kind. Simple. He asked about your day, laughed at your dumb jokes, and held your hand like he meant it. He didn’t know much about racing, but he tried.

You entered the paddock with his fingers laced in yours and felt the storm hit before you even made it to hospitality.

Max was standing by the Red Bull garage mid-conversation, but he went still the second he saw you. His eyes locked on Jake’s hand in yours like it was a threat. Like it didn’t belong there. His jaw clenched. Shoulders squared. A barely visible storm gathering behind his eyes.

You smiled like you didn’t notice, but your pulse fluttered in your throat all the same.

After the race, another podium, another photo-op, he found you.

Cornered you, really.

It was quieter outside the motorhome, the hum of the paddock fading behind you, tension heavy in the air.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t soft, it was guarded. Accusing.

You turned to face him slowly. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured in the general direction Jake had gone. “You and what’s his name? James? Jason?”

You blinked. “Jake.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Right. Jake.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t see why it matters.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it matters.”

“Why?” you asked, harsher than you meant to. “Because you don’t like him? Or because you don’t like the idea of me moving on?”

He flinched, actually flinched. That small, involuntary pull of guilt across his features.

“That’s not—” he started, but you cut him off.

The words came spilling out before you could stop them. “Don’t you dare say that this isn’t fair. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair. I spent years waiting for you, Max.” Your voice shook, the truth finally cracking through the surface. “I waited while you ran to me for everything and still gave your heart to someone else.”

You took a breath. Swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

“I was your best friend. Your person. And I thought… maybe one day you’d finally see me.”

Max opened his mouth, barely, but nothing came out. His expression twisted, like your words physically hurt. Like they were the truth he’d buried too deep to admit.

“But you never did,” you whispered.

He looked lost. Like he didn’t know how to hold onto anything without holding onto you.

“I’m done waiting,” you said, voice steadier now. Stronger. “I deserve someone who actually chooses me. Who doesn’t need to lose me to realise I was there all along.”

He swallowed hard. The kind of swallow that hurts going down. His jaw clenched. His fists curled like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

And for once, he had nothing to say.

You come home the next day to flowers on your doorstep, express delivery.

White tulips your favourite. No note. But you know who they’re from.

You stare at them for a moment too long, heart thudding unevenly, before finally unlocking your phone.

Thanks for the flowers, you text, hitting send before you can overthink it.

His reply is instant. Like he’s been waiting.

Can I see you?

You hesitate, thumb hovering, nerves buzzing just beneath your skin.

Okay.

He comes straight to your place. Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie drawn up, not to hide from paparazzi, you suspect, but to hide from you. Or maybe from whatever truth he’s only just beginning to face.

There’s a hesitation when you open the door, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here anymore.

Once he’s inside he finally speaks. “I didn’t know,” he says, voice hoarse.

You frown. “Didn’t know what?”

Max exhales, slow and heavy, like dragging the truth to the surface is painful. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Your brows draw together, confused, lips parting, but he keeps going.

“I’ve been chasing all these things, titles, wins, people, and I didn’t realise I already had the most important one right in front of me.”

You blink, caught between disbelief and the ache of wanting to believe it.

He steps closer, carefully. “You’re the one I want to talk to at 2 a.m. You’re the one I want next to me when I fall asleep. You always have been. I just didn’t see it. Not until I thought I’d lost you.”

Your chest tightens, breath catching. “Max…”

“I think…” he cuts in, voice raw, “I think I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, stunned. The word barely escapes.

“I didn’t know what it was,” he says, his hands shaking slightly as he rakes them through his hair. “I know I’ve been an idiot, but you have to know I never meant to do anything to hurt you, I was just blind. I thought… fuck, I thought it was just how we are. I thought everyone had a best friend like you. I didn’t realise it until I saw you with someone else, and it felt like the air got ripped out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand it.”

You step back on instinct, the pain too fresh, too tangled with old wounds. “Max… don’t do this. Not because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I mean, I am, obviously, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I can’t keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, so longed for, so impossible, and yet, somehow, not enough to steady the storm inside you

His voice breaks on the next part. “I ended things. I don’t love her. I don’t think I ever did. She was easy and safe. But she’s not you. No one is.”

And God, the way that splits you open. The way it taps into something buried but still bleeding.

He watches you, eyes wide and full of fear. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But tell me…”

He swallows hard.

“Tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him.

Really stare.

You see it. The boy who once held your hand under a table because you were nervous. The one who stayed on FaceTime with you for hours after a race just to hear your voice. The boy who didn’t know how to love you the right way until he almost lost the chance to try.

And there’s a part of you, raw and wounded, that wants to say no. That wants to tell him it’s too little, too late. That it’s not fair it took you walking away, took someone else’s hands on your waist, for him to finally look up and see what had been in front of him all along.

But the love runs too deep. Deeper than pride. Deeper than reason.

“I love you,” you whisper, before you can think about stopping yourself.

Max goes completely still.

“I have for a long time,” you add, voice trembling. “I just didn’t think you’d ever feel it back.”

For a beat, he’s stunned. And then he laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and crosses the space between you, pulling you into his arms like he never wants to let go.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I love you.”

You smile, eyes burning, burying your face in the soft cotton of his hoodie, heart pounding loud enough to echo in your ribs. When he pulls back, his hands linger at your jaw, brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence. And then, finally, finally, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first. Careful. As if he’s still not sure he deserves it. But when you sigh into it, arms tightening around his neck, he deepens the kiss with a low, shaky breath.

When he eventually pulls away, he’s grinning, eyes soft and voice rough.

“No more falling asleep on FaceTime okay?”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why not?”

Max squeezes your hand.

“Because I want you next to me for real.”

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circusclownproductions · 1 year ago

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seeing a lot of videos that are like “I didn’t know babies couldn’t have water” so here’s an incomplete list of things you need to know before having a baby

- the obvious, they can’t have water bc milk is incredibly high in water already so excess water leads to over hydration

- babies cannot have honey until 1

- if ur breastfeeding your kid and saving excess milk, make sure you label what you pumped in the morning vs at night bc your body produces different melatonin levels throughout the day and giving your baby daytime milk at night can make them more alert and fuck up their sleep schedule

- idk why ppl keep saying this but swaddling your babies or getting them those baby straight jacket things is not abuse. It chills them out cuz it reminds them of the womb

- babies have a dandruff like buildup on their head called cradle cap, and it’s very easy to deal with and remove with just some baby shampoo, a gentle scrub brush (MADE FOR BABIES!!) and a comb. It does need to be removed tho cuz it can be very painful after a while. This can also continue to happen late into toddlerhood it’s normal

- you have to clean out the creases of your baby’s skin and hands and feet they WILL collect dust😭😭

- you cannot bathe your baby until their umbilical cord naturally falls off. Use a warm damp rag until then

- tummy time is actually very important

- your baby might have a misshapen head at first (not all the time but sometimes) this will either sort itself out or they’ll need a corrective helmet ask your doctor

- I wouldn’t recommend having your baby leave the house very much until they’re at least 6 months old, especially if they’re born near cold and flu season cuz the common cold can kill a newborn

- you’re not an awful horrible person for having postpartum depression and it’s always a million times better to let your baby cry a few minutes longer than normal while you regain your composure than to freak out and give ur kid shaken baby syndrome

- you’re not an awful horrible person for giving your baby formula milk either

- don’t put shoes on your baby it’ll compromise their toe box and balance

- babies put every single thing in their mouths

- the easiest way to burp a baby is to hold them straight up (spine straight) and hold their head a bit higher

- always support their head they barely have necks

- if your baby fights away food, fights tummy time, vomits every single time you burp them, is gaining or losing an unreasonable amount of weight at a time, wheezes after eating, or goes red after eating, chances are they’re probably allergic to the type of milk they’re eating (again ask a doctor but these are just some signs it’s not just colic)

- they will wobble a lot when learning to do things but you gotta fight the urge to help them every single time cuz they gotta learn

- they’re not always spitting out baby food cuz they don’t like it they just don’t know how to eat. Like they don’t know how to push food down they only know how to stick their tongue out so be patient

- babies craniums are broken up into three parts at first that later fuse together, this is to help make birthing easier but it results in a small EXTREMELY sensitive spot in the top of their head that has no protection. This puts their brain at a high risk. Always protect their soft spot

- read to your baby!! Get cute bright colorful sensory books with sight words and read them to your baby it makes such a huge difference in their educational growth and will help them acquire a love for reading early on. And talk to them never shut up just say whatever comes to mind all the time this will strengthen their vocabulary growth also.

- babies poop like a lot. A lot. an unreasonable amount. Bring back up clothes and more diapers than you think

- no pillows or stuffies in the crib and only use a muslin blanket unless it’s especially cold to prevent suffocation

- babies kick reflexively until they’re out of their newborn scrunch (they stay womb shaped for a while) and if your baby is crying and pushing at the swaddle try letting them flail around for a minute

- consoling your baby is not spoiling them ! They need comfort and they will learn to self soothe on their own

- singing lullabies actually works, they can recognize your voice a consistent place of comfort from the womb and the cadence of lullabies is literally engineered to create a calm headspace

- for the love of god do not get boring ass beige toys. Colors are important for their neurological development

- babies are very responsive to praise from a young age so be as supportive of them as you can

- babies get constipated a lot and you have to do like tummy massages to help ease their pain the easiest way is to lay them on their backs and hold one foot in each hand, kick their feet like bicycles, scrunch up, and then stretch their legs out

- holding them on your hip too much will not cause bow legged-ness if your baby is bow legged that was always gonna happen

- they drool so so much and you have to get bibs for them so they don’t get chest eczema

- don’t use scented products on their skin cuz their skin is sooo much thinner than ours

- when your baby first starts sitting on their own never walk away from them without setting up a nest of pillows and blankets around them. Even minor head trauma can mess them up sometimes

- this one is kinda morbid and scary but sometimes babies just die out of nowhere and it’s no one’s fault or anything it’s called sudden infantile death syndrome(SIDS) and it’s about 1.3k deaths on average per year in America so not super common but still very real. 90% of these deaths happen during the first four months however edit: apparently it’s bc of an enzyme deficiency which at the very least you can take steps to try and prevent

- smoking and drinking during pregnancy WILL affect your baby and your breast milk and also might contribute to SIDS cases

- babies sometimes have a big red mark on them somewhere called a stork bite immediately after birth but typically it goes away

- babies can’t see very well for a while after birth and they’re VERY wobbly so they’ll typically bonk their head into your chest and face a lot while trying to support themselves

- female babies might have smth similar to a period the first few days after birth, this is because of the hormone transfer that happens during the birthing process and the days leading up to it

- male babies get random erections for the first few days after birth(hormone transfer again) literally do not be weird about this it’s a baby

- things like weaning your baby onto solid foods, potty training, weaning off pacifiers etc, can actually be directed by the baby and will happen naturally will minimal guidance from the parent(some guidance is still necessary) although I would do individual research into baby led weaning for food to prevent choking

- get those chewy feeding pouches to help with weaning

- the most random things will scare the hell out of your baby don’t take it personal 😭

- baby carriers are life savers (tulas are one of my favorites)

- once babies hit toddlerhood they’re tougher than you think, and a lot of their reaction is based on YOURS. they’re always going to be looking to you for how to react to a situation. Remain calm and if they’re ok they’ll calm down but if they’re genuinely hurt they’ll keep crying

- babies will most likely get ridiculously attached to an inanimate object and you have to keep this thing intact at all costs until they’re old enough to abandon it or they will throw a FIT. I got a lemur plushie from a zoo once and every single one of the kids has bonded their soul with it until about 6 years old and once a month I have to stitch him back up

- don’t compare yourself to other parents. Maybe your kid isnt getting grass fed wild caught north Atlantic cheerios but at least they’re fed. If your kid is alive and healthy and happy you’re doing a good job

- you will need 3 car seats, an infant seat, a grow with me toddler seat, and a booster seat

- getting a good diaper bag is a MUST

- the hair a baby is born with will most likely all fall out or they’ll get a bald spot on the back of their head where they sleep cuz their hair is so fragile and thin but once it grows back it grows back thick

- get like 20 muslin blankets so you always have a backup when the main ones are covered in spit up

- the babies grip IS stronger than yours (keep your hair up and keep pets away best you can)

- your best bet for your teething baby is a pacifier you can put your finger in so you can massage their gums and some chewing toys numbing cream can be dangerous and should be used sparingly

- go ahead and come to terms with the fact you’re gonna have to use a Frida Baby to manually remove snot

- babies can get hair and thread wrapped around their toes and fingers that can cut off their circulation try to make a habit of checking

- don’t hit your kid please it’s nothing but trauma and fucked up coping mechanisms from there pls empathize with your child they’re a person too

- be careful not to pull too hard on their arms and legs(like during play or holding their hand while they walk) and NEVER pick them up by their hands this will very easily cause dislocation

- they might have a little tooth like callous on their lip from their pacifier. This does not hurt them and it will go away but it may hurt during breastfeeding

- breastfeeding will make your boobs different sizes

Yeag that’s all I can think of rn but yk i Will add as I remember stuff ppl are also adding things I forgot in the tags in case you’d like to look thru that as well <3

#🍱#baby care #parenting #first time parents #newborn care #parenting tips #can’t think of any other exposure tags #‼️‼️‼️

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swordgrace · 11 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

#house of the dragon #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #cregan stark #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 2 years ago

Text

[20:57]

Tags: Christopher Bang/Bang Chan x Fem! Reader, dirty talk, mild degradation and objectification (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), pussy smacking (f. receiving), breast spanking (f. receiving), nipple play (f. receiving), finger sucking (f. receiving), choking (f.receiving), piv sex without a condom, pseudo exhibitionism (? No actual exhibitionism but Reader and Chris get off on the idea of it) creampie and mentions of aftercare.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Chris isn't a strict man. Well, he's not much of a strict man.

He has very simple rules to follow and, they're more than fair. Honestly, even with a few of them, a bat of your eyelashes and a jut of your bottom lip is enough for him to forgive you for breaking them.

One of his most important ones is not to interrupt him while he's working unless it's an emergency. No disrupting him while he's producing. No disrupting him while he's streaming.

Simple enough.

However, it's a little too enjoyable pushing the boundaries with your sweetheart of a boyfriend sometimes.

The panic that barely flits across Chris's face when your name flashes across his phone almost makes you feel the slightest bit guilt. Almost.

You can't help but, giggle quietly to yourself when his eyes widen marginally at the image on his screen. Nothing but one of your large night shirts drapped over your nude body. Your hardened nipples poking through the white fabric and the barest hints of your thighs visible in the shot too. It's nothing too scandalous but, it's enough for you to notice his eyes darken marginally and his jaw clench.

A barrage of butterflies erupting in your stomach and lower, drinking in the way his face changes. Anyone who isn't too familiar with him would barely notice the shifts but, you know Chris better than the back of your hand.

"Sorry, Stays. Got an important message that I had to check. Sorry for that," he forces a giggle out and his dimples would be endearing if you didn't notice the how tense his smile is.

Perhaps you could've still saved yourself if you'd stopped there. If you didn't let the intrusive, exhilarating impulse to push his buttons win. However, you let them. So, you continue. The pictures of your scantily clad body continue to fill your chat with him periodically. You're not stupid enough to spam him with them but, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip eargely with every glance of his eyes to his phone when your name and 'image' pop up.

The tick in his jaw and barely restrained annoyance in his eyes shouldn't be as enticing as it is. Arousal simmer in the pit of your stomach with every minute change of his expression.

"Thank you all so much for watching. I love you and, I'll see you next time!" He attempts to end off the hours long stream cheerily. Striking his signature peace sign pose before your laptop screen goes black momentarily.

You're not left to stew in your thoughts for long. Your phone vibrating next to you within seconds.

Chris 💕: come here.

The smile that spreads across your face is likely a tad too wide and too toothy but, you can't bring yourself to care. Clamouring to your feet, you make your way to his makeshift work room within minutes. Steeling your resolve, you push on the handle and enter the room.

Your entire body seizes for what seems like a lifetime when Chris's gaze finds you. His eyes are easily one of your favourite features of his. Soft and warm and welcoming and everything that you love about him.

None of those emotions are present as he pierces you with them now.

"I said come here," he says lazily but, you know better than to miss the edge in his voice. Your insides squirming viciously as he lightly pats his, admittedly appealing, lap. His thighs straining against the shorts he opted for this time around.

Once you remember how to move, you walk towards him. Studiously avoiding his weighted stare until you're between his spread thighs. Your heart hammering against your ribcage as you wait for him to do or say anything. Anything to end your spiralling.

Chris's hands are firm as they settle on your hips and turn you around. Your brain barely manages to piece together what has happened as you now find yourself seated on his lap. Arousal spreading all across your body, to your very fingertips when you feel his half-hard cock against the swell of your ass.

"You wanted my attention, right?" He mutters into your ear. The brushes of his pillowy lips and soft breaths sending shudders down your spine while his hands innocently palm your thighs. Toying with the hem of your shirt enough to quicken your breathing.

One of his hands drifts to your throat, applying enough pressure to prompt whimpers from you and more of your arousal to seep into your already sticky panties, "I asked you a question."

"Ye-Yes. I wanted your attention," you manage to rush out. The lack of air adding to the already muddled state of your mind and you barely register his other hand shoving itself between your spread thighs.

"God, you're so wet already," he practically moans. His long fingers trailing over your soiled panties. Forcing them to cling to your folds even more and, ever brush of your clit prompting your hips to jolt into his hand.

"Did you get this wet sending me all of those pictures?" His words leave his lips more like a bite than a question. From his hand lightly wrapped around your throat and his fingers seemingly content with toying with you over your panties, it's no wonder you don't have the presence of mind to immediately respond. Your body curling into him while hushed moans fill the space of his room.

Chris's typical patience is nowhere to be found tonight. His hand comes down firm and harsh on your slick slit. Angling it just right so your clit is met with the brunt of the impact. It hurts. It hurts enough to force more watery whimpers from you and more of your arousal to leak out of your clenching hole.

"I asked you a question," he says with another quick spank to your almost ruined panties. His firm grip on your neck keeping you from curling into yourself, "My, my. I've had to repeat myself twice already. I'd hate to have to repeat myself a third time."

It's so easy to get lost in the gentle lull of his voice. Your hazy brain just barely catching the underlying threat in his tone.

"I'm sorry, Chris," you whimper out, desperately clinging to his veiny forearms in some hope of steadying yourself and focusing, "Ye-Yes. Sending those pictures made me wet. I wanted to- I liked riling you up."

"There we go," he purrs into your ear, sending bolts of lightning straight down to your sensitive clit and puffy folds, "Maybe you can be an obedient girl after all."

Any pleas and begging are swallowing by a stuttered moan as he slips his fingers into your panties. Continuing his previous ministrations and leisurely stroking you as though he has all of the time in the world. As though you can't feel his cock swelling underneath you. However, his composure never falters.

"Yes, Chris please," you beg, sounding pathetic to even your own ears but, you couldn't care less right now. You've been starved of his touch for hours. You might just crumble right here, right now if he doesn't touch you how you want. How you need.

"You're so fucking spoiled," he bites, running his teeth along your lobe as he adds a bit more pressure on the sides of your neck. Skillful fingers alternating between teasing your eager entrance and drawing featherlight circles along your clit.

"Fucking brat. Getting me fucking hard while I'm supposed to be working and, now you want to be greedy?" The knowledge that he'd gotten hard while streaming coupled with the sprinkles of humiliation from the venom in his voice just make you buck harder into his hand. In search of anything he's willing to allow you.

"I'm sorry," you keen, trying your best to grind into his hand, "I just wanted your attention. I'm sorry," you repeat desperately. Clutching at his forearms as his fingers apply more pressure to your swollen clit. His other hand freeing your throat and snaking its way under your shirt to knead your breast.

"Can't even go without me for a few fucking hours," he mutters into your neck while his hands toy with you to his heart's content, "You're so spoiled."

Any argument you have dies on your tongue when he pushes two of his long fingers into your soaked hole while his fingers pinch and tug at your hardened nipple. The pain forcing your walls to clamp around his fingers viciously.

He laps and nips at every bit of your skin that he can while his fingers work you open. Your foggy mind just barely being able to register his hips grinding up into you in search of some sort of friction. The lewd sounds of how wet you are intertwining with your high-pitched moans and needy keens all that can be heard.

The heel of his palm is angled so that it rubs right into your clit. "Chris ah," you cry out, your fingernails digging themselves deeper into his forearms as he builds up your release expertly. You jolt forward once again when his heavy palm comes down on both of your breasts in rapid succession. Whimpers coaxed out of you as more of your arousal drenches his hand. You wouldn't be surprised if you'd leaked onto his shorts by now.

"This a punishment, baby," he coos. It's so easy to sink into the softness of his voice. The juxtaposition in his tone and words and movements all only tightening the knot in the depths of your gut.

"Don't forget," he whispers into your skin as his lightly drags his teeth along you. Goosebumps rising all over your body and your orgasm building up higher and higher-

Only for Chris to stop his movements all together.

"Chris," the way you whine his name is frankly pathetic to your own ears but, you can bring yourself to feel self-conscious when you were so close you could practically taste it. Your wetness further coating his palm and your walls spasming. Your hips jerking up to his touch instinctively.

"I've definitely spoiled you too much," he drawls into your skin. Easing his fingers out of you as though you're not close to tears from having bliss ripped away from you so mercilessly.

"Chris. Chris please. I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I won't disobey you again," you rush out, your hips grinding your sopping pussy against him for a taste of relief. "I'll be good please. Please. I want to cum please."

"Remember, this is supposed to be a punishment, baby," he tuts into your skin. However, the butterflies in your stomach rise to your throat as he manoeuvres you so he can reach the waistband of his shorts. Impatiently tugging them and his boxers down so he can free his cock.

You watch as best as you can as he barely wraps his hand around it. Giving it a few pumps before lightly smacking it against your wet folds. His tip occasional brushing your clit and causing needy whimpers to leave your dry lips.

"Do you want something?"

You're not above begging, "You, Chris. Please touch me. I want you to fuck me, please. I want to feel your cock inside of me plea-" a sharp gasp leaves you as he guides your hips down onto his cock. Making sure he's properly aligned before pushing you down onto it. He's seemingly content to let you claw at his biceps as he stretches you. Your lashes flutter with every centimetre that he let's you sink onto.

Your walls clench and unclench around him sporadically, his tip kissing the deepest parts of you as he gives you time to adjust. His hand drifting from your hip back to fondle and massage your breast while his other hand cups your face.

His first thrust is merciless. Barely allowing you a moment to catch your breath or for your mind to catch up as his sets a harsh pace from the offset. The obscene sounds of his cock shaping your pussy around him echoing through his work room coupled with your respective watery moans and gritted curses.

His fingers toy with your bottom lip and you open your mouth without anymore prompting from him. Your tongue lapping at his fingers and the slight saltiness of your wetness hitting your tastebuds as he shoves them deeper into your mouth. Gagging you on them.

"Look at you," he pants out between sharp thrusts, "Spreading your thighs and letting me fuck you in my work room. Sucking on my fingers like you're little better than a mindless toy."

Your keens are completely muffled by his fingers and your pussy tightens around him further as his words wash over you. God, you're getting close again you pray to whoever is listening that he'll let you cum this time. You may just lose your mind if he doesn't.

"Want everyone to know how much of a needy toy you are?" He mutters into your shoulder, using his unoccupied fingers to angle your face, "Want me to fuck you during one of my streams? Let the entire world know how much of a disobedient slut you are?"

The thoughts makes your head spin. You're nodding before you even realise it. Clutching him to you even closer as he continues to fuck into your poor pussy. The sight of his camera aimed directly at the two of you bringing back that all too familiar sensation of the knot in your gut tightening.

"Yeah?" He moans into your overheated, sticky skin, "You like the idea of that don't you. Love the thought of everyone watching me fuck your pretty pussy." He breathes between laboured groans of his own. His hold on your breast burning and his fingers coating themselves further in your saliva that dribbles down your chin.

"Want everyone to watch you get your pussy filled with my cum," he laughs with little humour. You honestly don't know he's still able to speak so coherently when you feel like your mind is coming apart at the seams.

"You're such an attention seeker."

His words are scorching lashes that serve to only further fuel your desire and bring you closer and closer to the edge. Your thighs quivering and you're vaguely worried that you might have dug a little too deeply into his pale skin with your nails.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hips beginning to stuttering into you, "Your perfect pussy just tightened even more around me. That's filthy, baby. You do like the idea of spreading your thighs for everyone to watch huh," he pants against your skin between strained groans. His cock twitching incessantly inside of you with each every uncoordinated thrust.

Your frantic nods only spur him on further. His grip on your jaw and breast bruising as his orgasm hits him. Thick ropes of his cum filling your spasming walls while his moans, curses and pants of your name hit your ears. It doesn't take much else for you to cum around his still twitching cock after that. Your head flying back to rest on his shoulder as your hips rock against him. Your combined releases dribbling out of your spent pussy onto his softening cock and likely onto his couch.

You're too far away to care all that much right now.

Chris recovers before you do. Gently pulling his wet fingers from your mouth and kiss the side of your face. His large hand shifting downwards from your breast to soothe you as you continue to twitch in his lap. "You did so well, baby," he coos against the side of your face. Affectionately nudging you with his nose as he pulls you further into his broad, sweaty chest. The skin left bare by his tank top hot to the touch.

"You were so mean," you pout tiredly with no real venom. Fatigue replacing every other emotion as you happily melt into him.

His laugh is far too cute given everything he put you through moments ago and his cum still leaking down your thighs, "I wouldn't have to be mean if you listened to me."

You have no retort for that.

"Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and go to bed, okay?"

AN: I was originally working on a much softer Chris timestamp then Paris happened. So, here we are. I am going through something with Chris at the moment it seems given how long this winded up being.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

#sam did you not see me losing my mind over paris chris???#it was bad #so bad #luckily I was working on a chris drabble anyways but it got scrapped for this lol #i was initially going to make him keep edging the reader but i was feeling giving lol #much like chris i am not the strictest either #same tbh chris can do whatever he wants to me though (hyunjin look away)#i don't know how you can read this while chilling i feel like I'm always swaddled in my blankets like a gremlin lol #sam <3 #feedback #q: painting with hyunjin

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cannibaliist · 5 months ago

Text

Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)

One shot | Part 2 soon??

Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x

Word Count: 3.6K

a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!

cross posted on AO3

title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean

Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right.

You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather.

Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night.

“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you.

So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.

Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.

She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket.

When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep.

Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.

But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”

Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”

“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer.

Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter.

Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”

You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”

Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.”

You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”

You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”

Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?”

“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.”

Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”

You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”

Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones.

She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.

“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you.

You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before.

She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming.

Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.”

Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way.

Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.

Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”

Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.

You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”

“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you.

“Hurry, please.”

“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her.

Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate.

Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.

“Use your words, baby.”

You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”

Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”

You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”

Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt.

She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her.

“Another please, Sevika.”

One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.

Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps.

“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble.

When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth.

Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.

A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine.

You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”

Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her.

She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her.

She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue.

“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego.

“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”

Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.”

He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it.

You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”

She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.

It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra.

Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”

You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”

Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind.

Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both.

With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob.

Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips.

“Please don't stop, please.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point.

She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else.

She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again.

Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust – but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.

When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you.

Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again.

She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.”

Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress.

“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”

You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard.

————

When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw.

“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion.

After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic.

“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you.

There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.

“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again.

“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.”

Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly.

“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.

One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”

You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep.

~~~~

#sevika fic #sevika #sevika smut #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #arcane smut #arcane x reader #arcane x female reader #sevika x female reader

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floatyflowers · 4 months ago

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Dark Single Father! Male Faerie x Reader

The air of the forest hung heavy with the scent of damp grass and pine, a blissful eerie sound of rustling leaves and nightly creatures adding to the forest's beauty.

You had heard the warnings about wandering too far into the woods, especially at night, but you needed to collect herbs for your child who suddenly got sick in the middle of the night.

And your empty jars of herbs forced you to wander far into the forest.

A journey you had to undertake alone due to your husband being an awful, useless man who never showed support in maintaining your household and instead shirked his responsibilities, leaving you to bear the burden.

That night, as you stepped over twisted roots and through patches of glowing mushrooms, you felt the air shift

A strange hum echoes through the air, raising goosebumps on your skin and sending a shiver down your spine.

It seemed to emanate from the woods around you, growing louder with each passing second.

Before you could turn back, a shadow detached itself from the darkness beneath the trees.

It moved with an unnatural swiftness and silence, gliding over the forest floor like a phantom.

Then, two points of eerie light ignited within the shadow, piercing the gloom like malevolent stars.

They locked onto yours, holding you captive in their unwavering gaze.

The last thing to register in your terrified mind was the faint sound of laughter echoing through the trees, a chilling notable contrast to the frantic beating of your heart.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you found yourself in a room that seemed to defy logic.

The walls shimmered as if woven from starlight, and the air carried a faint, sweet scent of flowers.

But what truly caught your attention was the weight on your chest.

You looked down, your breath catching in your throat. Nestled against your chest, swaddled in a blanket of silken gossamer, was a baby.

Their skin glowed faintly, and tiny, delicate wings, translucent and shimmering, rested against their back.

The child slept peacefully, their tiny fingers curled around the fabric of your dress.

Your heart swelled with an inexplicable tenderness.

Despite the baby being of a different species, their innocence and vulnerability reminded you of your own son.

Before you could fully process the situation, you felt a presence in the room.

Your eyes snapped up, and there he was. The figure from the forest.

His dark green eyes watched you intently, and his expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that only deepened your unease.

"You’re awake," he said, his voice low and smooth, holding an enchanting effect on your ears.

It was not a question, but a statement, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

You tightened your hold on the baby instinctively, your voice trembling as you spoke.

"Where am I? Who are you? And why… why is this child with me?"

He stepped closer, his movements filled with grace, like a predator circling its prey.

Yet, there was something in his gaze something that softened the edges of his intimidating presence.

"You are in my realm," he said simply.

"I am Cathal, lord of the Seelie court. And the child… she is mine, her name is Gwen"

Your breath hitched at his words, knowing very well that Faeries are horrid creatures due to their mischievous and cruel behavior towards humans like you.

Their wild nature made them unpredictable, and their magic, while beautiful, is used for wicked deeds that brought harm to unsuspecting mortals.

The baby, his daughter, stirred slightly in your arms, her tiny wings fluttering before she settled again.

You looked down at her, your heart aching with fear at what he might do to you.

"Why did you bring me here?"you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kael’s gaze lingered on the child, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke.

"She needs a mother," he said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

"Her mother is gone. Dead, leaving me to raise her alone. But I can't take on that role."

"I have a child of my own, sick one that needs my care, I-"

"I know,” Cathal interrupted as his dark green eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you felt like shrinking back into yourself.

“I have seen your struggles. I know of your child, your husband, I have been...watching for months."

"I don't care why you've been watching me," you forced out.

"I need to go back. My son needs me."

"I have sent someone to care for your child, but if you want to reunit with him, you will have to be the best mother to my Gwenn."

The Faerie Lord smirks mischeviously, as if he'd just delivered a particularly delightful jest.

"However," he continues, his voice turning sharp and cold,

"If I feel like you don't care for my daughter as you should, that you do not love her as fiercely and devotedly as you love your own son, I will have him killed. And not a quick death, either."

#yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere faerie #fairycore #mother reader #father oc #reader insert #tw: toxic relationships #possessive #romantic yandere

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classica-meretrix · 3 months ago

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P.D.A.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader genre: fluff content/warnings: early seasons spencer, established relationship, use of y/n, lots of pda obvi, mentions of murder summary: spencer isn't one for public displays of attention, especially around the bau team, but when a case calls for it, he shocks everyone a/n: ignore that I accidentally posted this the other day

"The unsub is a white male, most likely in his early twenties. He suffered a large business failure at a young age, and is still attempting to grasp at those straws," Hotch explained is his typical serious monotone, slowly pacing the edge of the desk. "His victims are other young men who are trying to do the same, along with their girlfriends. We assume his failure cost him an important relationship, one which appeared to be fairly hot and heavy, as our victims have all been reported to display a lot of PDA." Hotch stopped in front of the table, turning to fully face us now. "We'll need a 'tech bro' type, someone who's good with numbers and good enough with computers."

All eyes turned to Spencer.

"The girlfriend role is no question. Our highest chance of this being believable is with Y/N."

"I think you mean our only chance," Morgan mocked, leaning back in his chair.

Spencer gave him a slightly puzzled look, as if he didn't understand the point he was making.

"Sometimes I wonder if these two are even dating," he continued. "There's no way he'd be able to pull that off with someone else."

Hotch let out a sigh, his mouth forming a hard line at Morgan's comment, but he pushed on. "The rest of us will be going to the party, but we're to refrain from contacting either Spencer or Y/N for extended periods of time without reason. If anyone asks, we're investors, and will most likely be asked to hold a fake business conversation at one or more points throughout the party. Make it look like it's going well, we believe this is what triggers the unsub. Success is the key. We meet at the jet in fifteen."

Hotch was already out the door by time I'd finished processing his words. I stood to collect a file from the table, gently nudging Spencer as he came to stand next to me.

"So, Mr. And Mrs. Hot and Heavy," Morgan began, a cocky grin on his lips. "Think you can pull this off, Reid?"

"Of course," Spencer answered flatly. "It's no different than any other case."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "You do realize you'll actually have to touch her for this to believable, right? You won't be able to get by on just sharing coffee."

Spencer's brows were knitted together. Blatant confusion still evident in his expression.

"Yes, I realize that."

"Morgan, lay off, will you?" I piped up. "He'll be just fine. Let's get to the jet."

He relented, stalking out of the room with that cocky smirk still plastered on his lips.

I leaned back against the chair, pulling my legs up next to me. Morgan's words rang in my mind, plaguing me with unnecessary worries.

I knew I shouldn't dwell on it, I mean this was by no means Spencer's first time in the field, and I was well aware that he could pull off the guise of a touchy boyfriend, but Spencer's field work typically played off of his apparent nervousness, which completely went against the character, and he had never been fond of PDA, especially not around the BAU.

Sure, he could be touchy and all that in private, but that was mainly reserved for the privacy and comfort of one of our apartments, not some random skyrise chalked full of sleezy businessmen.

My eyes drifted to his sleeping form, curled up in a tight ball of one of the benches. A soft, serene expression was settled on his face as he laid swaddled in a thin blanket.

Somehow, he was going to act as someone completely different to himself, all while actively looking for the unsub. That part I could at least be of some use for, and I intended to do my best.

"How do I look?" he whispered in my ear as we walked towards the elevator, his hand resting loosely around my waist.

I wanted to say something like 'sexy as hell', but figured a simple "perfect" would do the trick. I reached up to loosen his tie just bit further, letting it rest where the top button of his shirt was undone. He was dressed up, but in someways much less formal than usual. His suit jacket hung open, his shirt and tie loose around his neck, his hair ruffled. This was a look I could most definitely get behind.

Spencer led me into the elevator, pressing the button for the penthouse, where the networking party was being hosted. We were the last of the BAU team to arrive, Gideon and Morgan being sent in separately, and Hotch and Elle as a young investing couple.

Spencer's eyes watched the electric panel above the door, following the numbers as they rose with the elevator. Just as the screen showed '25'—the floor just below the penthouse—Spencer's entire demeanor seemed to change.

His back straightened, adding at least another two inches to his height, he adopted the hint of a cocky smirk, and his hand dropped a dangerous amount, finding where my thigh met my hip with a firm hold.

The doors slid open, and he led me into the crowded room. The ceilings were easily twenty feet high, each central space adorned with an elaborate chandelier. Men and women alike, dressed to the nines, filled the space.

Spencer made no hesitation to strike up a conversation with the most capable looking businessman in the room, keeping me pressed to his side as he began spewing off the details of the fabricated business.

"Really? You don't say!" the older man cheered. "What a splendid proposition! What propelled you to even think of such a thing?"

"Child prodigy," Spencer answered, his tone laced with an intoxicating amount of self-confidence. I allowed myself to laugh a little too hard, his hand caressing my thigh as he shamelessly cast a hungry look down my body, tugging at the low neckline of my dress.

The investor laughed at Spencer's comment, taking a sip of his drink. I didn't miss the way his eyes followed a similar trail as Spencer's, but instead with a mix of intrigue and vague uncomfortableness at the blatant PDA.

As Spencer began rattling on again, I latched on to his neck, placing feverish kisses as he spoke. I had just begun to suck a decent mark on his collarbone when the man cleared his throat and made an awkward excuse to vacate the conversation.

I pulled back with a laugh, Spencer mimicking me. "That one's going to leave a mark. Sorry."

He roughly groped my ass, pulling me closer. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from Morgan."

"Speak of the devil," I began, watching as Derek appeared over Spencer's shoulder. He spun to face the visitor, pulling me along with him to rest against his chest.

"Well, well, well," Morgan began, his tone teasing yet impressed. "Who knew you were such a bad boy, Reid?" He made sure to keep his voice down, low enough that eves droppers wouldn't be able to discern that our talk wasn't strictly business over the party crowd.

"I told you I'd pull it off," Spencer stated bluntly. "Pretending to date my girlfriend isn't an exceptionally difficult task."

"Well, I don't know what you consider dating, but there's a big difference between what you two are like in the bullpen and what you're like now." Morgan's eyes flitted down to Spencer's hands as he spoke, which were now nudging up the already short hem of my dress to rest between my thighs.

"That's work," he said, as if that completely cleared up Morgan's comment.

"Hold on," I mumbled, catching sight of someone over Derek's shoulder. A tall blonde man, a few years younger than Spencer, watching the three of us like a hawk, though his gaze mainly flickered between Spencer and my rising hemline. "Unsub, ten o'clock."

Morgan immediately looked towards the crowd behind Spencer and myself, his brows scrunching.

"My ten o'clock," I huffed. "And don't look directly at him."

"I see him," Spencer whispered in my ear. "Morgan, notify Hotch. He'll make contact as soon as you're gone."

Derek gave the slightest nod, stumbling back as he raised his glass. "You're a corporate genius, man! Hit me up some time," he practically yelled, before disappearing back into the crowd.

#criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine

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levigarden999 · 1 month ago

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♡︎ levi ackerman headcanons ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*

fluffy , sweet headcanons about our tough softie ♡⋆˙

୨୧ levi loves gardening. especially after the war when the world had changed to something more peaceful, he found new ways to enjoy his retirement and momentarily forget about the traumas he had gone through. he loves to see the results when he had pulled out the weeds and planted new flowers in the ground. of course, he uses gloves and mostly works only with his healthy hand, but he has noticed how a beautiful, clean backyard somehow puts his mind at ease.

୨୧ levi has poor peripheral circulation. that is manifested by his hands being cold all the time and his skin feeling cooler. even though levi has gotten used to feeling cold most of the time, he still enjoys warmth. that's why he always dresses up in long sleeved shirts and often wears a longer jacket on his shoulders (like in the season 2) if he needs to.

୨୧ related to the previous topic, levi also loves to sleep snuggled under the blanket. i know you would probably believe that levi is sort of a hyper-sensitive and neurotic person, that he would hate the feeling of being firmly tugged under the heat of a blanket. however, i think it's the other way around. because levi probably has the fear of being attacked during the night since he had always had a lot of enemies, especially back in his youth in the underground, he enjoys the feeling of safety during his sleep. that's why the blanket swaddling his whole body brings a sense of comfort and peace to him.

୨୧ in a relationship, levi would never judge you by your appearance. in his eyes, you’d be the most beautiful person in the whole world, no fucking matter what you looked like. he is a feminist and due his negative experiences with men, he feels more natural among women/nonbinary company.

#attack on titan #aot fanfiction #snk #aot levi #levi #levi attack on titan #aot #aot fluff #captain levi #levi fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman #headcanon #levi headcanons #levi ackerman headcanons #aot headcanons #snk levi #snk fanfiction

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augustwinesworld · 1 month ago

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𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

description:

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe? angsty, building up for that confrontation...

notes: omg never get two concussions within a six month period, 0/10 do not recommended. Not gonna lie, this was a bitch to write, but i like it. can't wait for the next part :)

word count: 4.9 k.

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ (kofi)

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

You kept your hands firm on the rails of the stretcher as you pushed through the corridor, dodging a med cart and a nurse hustling with a specimen tray.

Someone shouted orders two bays down. A phone rang. Monitors beeped and screeched.

The place smelled like antiseptic, like every hallway had just barely missed being a battlefield.

It was the middle of everything, and yet somehow, you felt nowhere at all.

The wheels of the stretcher clattered over a threshold, jarring enough to snap you out of the fog for a second.

You looked down at him. Noah. Your son, still, scarily still, on the gurney. The splint on his leg looked too big for him. His skin was pale, except where it was bruised, scraped, swollen.

There was blood in his hair. Blood in his ear.

But his breathing was even. Pupils reactive.

Alive.

He got hit by a fucking car, you thought, dizzy. And he’s alive.

That fact repeated itself over and over in your mind like a glitch: He’s breathing. He’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s alive.

You didn’t know if it was a comfort or a curse.

You adjusted the corner of the blanket over his shoulder—just to have something to do with your hands. It was ridiculous, really.

He’d broken bones, maybe worse, and here you were tucking him in like it would fix it. Like it would undo it.

He used to kick off every blanket you gave him. Even as a baby. Hated feeling trapped.

You remembered that stubborn, wiggling heat under the muslin swaddles, how he’d flail until he was free, frowning and loud. You’d laughed at the time. Now it clawed at your chest. You just wanted him to move. Make a sound. Give you something. Anything.

The hallway bent, and the trauma bay came into view—curtains half-drawn, shadows behind them shifting like memories too close to the surface. You tightened your grip on the rails.

Fuck.

Of all the wings in the hospital, this one still stung. You’d worked in rooms like this before—had stitched and suctioned and cracked open ribs on metal tables barely wide enough to hold the grief. You’d written your name in adrenaline a thousand times over.

But this was different. Personal. Too close.

The door opened as you approached, someone stepping out with a chart in hand. Dr. King again. She gave a nod, held the door open for you and Whitaker to wheel Noah inside.

“You can sit with him as long as you need,” she said quietly. “We’ll be down the hall.”

You nodded. They left. The door shut behind them with a quiet thud.

And for a moment, it was just the two of you again.

You sank into the chair beside his stretcher, pulled it close enough to rest your hand over his. His fingers twitched faintly under yours.

You paused, just for a second. Watched a resident laugh too loud at something their attending said. Watched a janitor mop around a candy wrapper near the vending machine. Watched an orderly restock gloves like it was just any other shift.

To them, maybe it was.

To you, it felt like the end of the world.

You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears reached your lips—salty and stunned, like your body hadn’t caught up to the relief yet.

Maybe you should’ve gone home. Should’ve showered. Slept. Screamed into a pillow. But instead, you sat. Still. Hands folded in your lap. Breath thin. The lights overhead hummed, and something about the rhythm pulled you backward—years, maybe.

To that time when you found out you were pregnant.

And now here he was. All those years later. Flesh and bone and blood and stillness.

You leaned in, brushed a thumb over the edge of his brow. Whispered his name, soft like a prayer.

"Noah."

His lashes didn’t flicker. But the monitor beside him beeped steady.

Ten years and one month ago…

...you knew.

Not thought. Not guessed. Knew.

It bloomed through you, like a sunrise after the end of the world. No trumpet, no flash—just the light creeping in, undeniable and final.

You were pregnant.

The words didn’t form in your mouth, but they echoed anyway, bouncing off your ribs and trying to claw out your throat.

He left, and you were fucking pregnant.

You were the intern who got pregnant by her attending. Except he fucking left—and left you with all of this. So now you weren’t just the intern who fell for him. You were the idiot who got left behind. Pathetic.

And worst of all, you’re the moron who loved him anyway and is now sobbing in her bathroom floor, what a fucking cliché.

It might’ve been funny if it weren’t so humiliating. If it weren’t real. If it weren’t you.

God.

You knew better. You knew him. Didn’t you?

Or maybe you just wanted to believe someone could look at you the way he did and actually mean it. Maybe that was your real crime—not the sex, not the mistake, but the hope. The stupid, dangerous hope.

And now here you were.

Pregnant. Alone. Crying on tile that still smelled like bleach.

And somehow, still in love with a man who walked out like you were nothing.

How poetic. How fucking predictable.

You blinked. Once. Twice. The mirror swam. The bathroom spun again, not from nausea this time, but from the weight of it all. The nausea had just been the overture—this was the real collapse.

The test was still hidden under the sink. You’d bought it two days ago. Maybe three. On a whim—on an instinct you didn’t want to name.

You hadn't even opened the box. Just shoved it beneath the extra toilet paper, like if you hid it long enough, you could pretend you didn’t already know.

But you did.

You must’ve made a sound, because your sister tensed beside you on the cold tile.

“What is it?”

Your voice barely made it out. “I need to check.”

She didn’t ask. Just helped you up slowly, gently, like you were made of glass. And maybe you were. Maybe you had been for weeks.

Hair still pulled back, shoulders hunched forward, you moved like your bones didn’t belong to you anymore.

You knelt again—this time in front of the cabinet. Hesitated. Let your hand rest on the handle a second longer than it needed to.

Your sister stayed behind you. Just watching. Though her presence was enough to calm some of your nerves.

You opened the cabinet slowly, with the same care someone would use when handling a bomb.

Reached past the old mouthwash, the bent razor, the lavender-scented wipes you bought six months ago because they were on sale. Reached past everything familiar until your fingers grazed the box—blue with white letters.

It looked smaller than you remembered, but still felt heavier than it should’ve.

You stared at it. You couldn’t remember picking it up, or even deciding to. Just the feeling: the buzzing in your fingertips, the weight in your chest. Like your body had known before your mind did.

Your fingers shook as you tore it open. Your hands were shaking as the plastic wrapper inside crackled too loud, the noise filling the room.

You took it with your sister inside the room—her back turned, as she stared at one of the walls. You peed. Washed your hands automatically, like your body had done this before. Like it was just any other day. Then the waiting.

The longest minutes of your life unfurled in silence.

You didn’t speak, and neither did she. She sat behind you, her back against the bathroom door. Legs drawn in. Like she was guarding the world from coming in too fast.

You stared at the little window, willing it to lie. Wishing it would. But it didn’t.

The little window filled slowly. Lines bleeding across like spider cracks in ice.

One line.

Then—the second.

Two lines.

You stared. Long enough for the moment to crystallize. Long enough for the heat to drain from your body.

Two lines.

Clear as day.

Positive.

It was like time had split open. Like the silence came back, louder than ever, pressing in from all sides.

Your sister leaned in. “Is it—”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. So you just nodded, barely.

Her breath hitched. Then she whispered, “Oh.” And an even softer, “Oh, sweetheart.”

You didn’t cry. Not yet. Just sat there. Eyes on the floor, arms wrapped tight around yourself like you could hold everything in if you just held still.

The test was still digging itself into your palm. Scorching hot and branding your skin with all that could’ve been and would never be again.

The tile under your knees. The cheap plastic in your hand. The warm body of your sister behind you. And inside you—something entirely other.

It wasn’t heartbreak, yet not exactly grief either.

Not a hole. Not an absence.

But a presence.

Something had stayed.

He had left, and something had stayed behind.

You could still feel the imprint of him—his voice, his hands, his shape melted into your mattress. But this…wasn’t him. Or well, it wasn’t just him. This was yours too.

Your sister moved closer, kneeling beside you now. She put a hand on your back. Said nothing. Just breathed with you and laid a comforting hand on your upper back.

You kept staring at the test. You couldn’t look away. You didn’t know how.

The silence roared in your ears.

And in your head, over and over, the same thought spun through your head:

What the fuck do I do now?

Turns out, you did what needed to be done.

One hour. Then one day. Then one month.

You kept breathing. Kept moving. Kept showing up.

Not because it ever got easier. It didn’t—but because he was there.

He became your reason, even when you had none for yourself. You built a life one brick at a time. Held together with cracked cement, sleepless nights, and the kind of love that didn’t ask for permission.

You didn’t feel strong, didn’t feel brave. But somehow, you were still standing.

You learned what he liked and what he didn’t. Decoded his cries, packed his lunches, braided his hair.

You learned that children don’t just grow up—they teach you how to.

Now, almost a decade later, here you are.

You sit at his bedside and watch his lashes flicker—so dark, so long, just like his father’s. He stirs, just barely, like some part of him knows you’re near, even in his sleep.

The hospital light is bright, almost incandescent. Machines hum around you, and you can hear the faint screams happening outside in the ER. His hand is small but not tiny anymore—boyish now, almost too long for the body that used to fit in the crook of your arm.

And for a moment—just one brief, shattering second—you remember it all.

You reach for his hand again. This time, you don’t let go.

Nine years and six months ago…

It was your third day in a row on trauma. Third trimester. Twenty-eight weeks and change.

You were running on fumes and decaf. The kind of tired that settled in your bones and pulsed behind your eyes. The kind that made every choice around you feel like you were swimming in cement.

The OR was freezing, loud, and too bright. The overhead lights glared off the metal trays, sending sharp little stabs into your retinas. Your compression socks were cutting into your calves, and your scrubs, once fairly loose, clung to every inch of your overheated body, already damp with sweat.

Someone cracked a joke about you “scrubbing in with a plus one,” and you laughed, because it was easier than not.

Because if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry. Or scream. Or bolt out of the room. Maybe the state.

But instead, you blinked hard, once, twice—then turned and dry-heaved into the nearest sink.

“Again?” Mary asked. “That baby better come out with a fellowship in general surgery.”

You wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your gown, tasting antiseptic and bile, and forced yourself upright. Your lower back felt like it had been compressed into fucking sawdust.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

“You should sit,” someone murmured.

“I’m fine.”

And maybe you were—until you weren’t.

Between cases, you collapsed onto a rolling stool, your knees practically buckling under you.

You leaned your head back against the wall, pressing into it like it might hold you upright through sheer force of will.

Your back was on fire. Your hips throbbed. And your feet didn’t feel like feet anymore. Replaced by two aching blocks of pressure and heat.

The baby shifted slightly higher, compressing your ribs. Breathing became effortful—short little gasps between charting lines. You scribbled your notes in a haze: vitals, GCS, blood loss, incisions, retractors, Apgar scores, OR in, OR out. It blurred. You blurred.

The door swung open. Liz, your co-resident, breezed in and tossed something in your lap—a chocolate-coconut granola bar.

“You look like you might eat a clamp if I don’t intervene.”

You blinked down at it, then up at her. “Thanks.”

You unwrapped it slowly, fingers trembling, and took a bite without tasting it. Chewed out of habit, not hunger. Your mouth was dry. Your tongue heavy.

Charting came next. Pages and pages, everything blurring into codes and times and blood loss and Apgars. Somewhere in the middle of dictating a post-op note, you felt the faintest thump low in your belly—then another.

You froze.

Your hand drifted to your stomach, palm flat. Waiting.

There it was. Again. Soft but certain. Like a tiny drumroll beneath your ribs.

You fumbled for your phone and hit play on the playlist you’d made weeks ago, on a late night. Just a little something for nights like that one, where your body wouldn’t let you sleep. For the mornings you woke up crying.

ABBA. Of course.

Because why not. Because something about the harmony, the baseline, the sheer ridiculous joy of it made him kick—and that brought a smile to your face.

You didn’t know how or why, but he loved it.

It made you laugh just how much the little guy loved moving to their songs.

Especially “Dancing Queen.”

It worked. As soon as it hit the chorus, he was at it again—tiny heel, tiny elbow, someone inside you dancing in time with the world.

You laughed. A real one this time. Sharp and sudden and kind of insane.

The nurse across the station glanced over. “You good?”

You pressed a hand to your side, feeling another kick, a slow roll.

“Yeah,” you said, breath catching. “Yeah. I think I am.”

You almost forgot what it felt like.

The weight. The worry. The quiet joy of those impossible months. The ache behind your eyes from nights you didn’t sleep.

You almost forgot how it felt to wake up and wonder how much more of yourself you could give before there was nothing left.

It wasn’t the first time you’d see him like this. He had been so small that time. Hooked to a thousand different machines.

Even as a doctor, if they’d had asked you what they were for, you wouldn’t have been able to answer.

But then—now—you glance at him. His chest rises under the hospital blanket, no strain, no wheeze. His lungs are clear. His color’s better now.

And just like that, the memory unspools again, slow and merciless.

You’re not wearing sweats to the hospital. No blood under your nails. No charting mid-contraction. But he’s still here—still yours.

You brush your fingers over his hair, soft from sleep, and feel it again. That same impossible pull toward something you built on your own. With your own hands. Something no one else could take credit for.

He looks like him when he sleeps.

Not always. But sometimes—when the light hits just right, when the furrow between his brows softens—you see it. Robby.

You hate it. You need it. You wished it didn’t still feel like a wound.

You watch Noah breathe and wonder, not for the first time, if that resemblance is a gift or a punishment.

Because even though you’d never say it out loud, sometimes there’s a flicker—just a flicker—when you look at Noah and see him.

The same tilt of the head. The same frown when he concentrates.

And it’s not that it hurts, exactly.

It’s just...complicated.

Like loving your son means loving a part of someone you’re supposed to have let go.

Like no matter how much time has passed, some part of your heart is still dragging its feet, refusing to let Robby go all the way.

Not out of longing, not anymore.

But memory. Muscle. Something older than choice.

Some days, he’s just your son.

Other days, he’s a walking echo of the man who left you behind without a word, holding the future in both hands.

And maybe he thought you’d be fine. Maybe he trusted that you’d keep it together, because you always did.

Or maybe he just didn’t care.

That thought—the one you choke back more often than you’d admit—cuts the deepest. That maybe Robby knew exactly what he was walking away from, and still decided it was easier.

Still decided you were easier to leave.

But right now, it’s quiet.

Just the two of you again. Like it was in the beginning. Like it always comes back to.

And for now—for this one breathless second—you let yourself believe that’s enough.

Noah stirs.

You shift closer, instinctual, and hum something low under your breath. Just a few quiet notes. A lullaby with no name, just shape. Something from the early days—half Chiquitita, half stress-induced improvisation. He quiets at once, and you smile, barely.

You wonder if he remembers it. You don’t even know if you do. But your body does. The rhythm. The holding. The waiting.

God, the waiting.

Waiting for the second line on the stick. Waiting for the first kick. Waiting for him to call you back. Waiting for him to walk through the door and say anything—I’m scared, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to stay. But all you ever got was silence.

Again. Pathetic right?

But that was another life. You don’t wait anymore. You don’t beg. You don’t hope for explanations that never come.

You have someone else to think about other than yourself. Someone who solely relies on you. And needing doesn’t scare you the way it used to.

It had all blurred together, back then.

Nine years and eight months ago…

Nursing with a textbook balanced on one knee, highlighter clutched between your teeth. Changing diapers with procedure recordings playing in the background. Falling asleep on the kitchen counter at 4 a.m., head pillowed on a pile of notes, milk stains on your shirt.

You learned to chart one-handed. To sleep in thirty-minute stretches. To carry both your stethoscope and your breast pump like extensions of your own limbs.

The program didn’t make it easy, nor did the whispers. Or the silence he left behind.

There were days you couldn’t even say his name. Couldn’t afford to. Saying it meant admitting what he did. What you still carried. What you missed, even if you didn’t want to.

But you didn’t do it alone.

Your sister showed up every weekend without asking, groceries already unpacked, laundry already sorted. Your mother held Noah while you studied, whispering hushed prayers over his locks, as if her faith could hold you all together.

Liz smuggled you snacks between cases and covered your post-op charts when Noah had his first cold. She never said his name.

Neither did Mary, who let you cry once in the on-call room, no questions asked, no judgment. Just handed you her coffee.

Isabella—the chief no one dared cross—softened whenever she saw you struggling to keep your eyes open. She started blocking your twelve-hour shifts into tens.

Quiet kindness, no announcements. But when someone once tried to ask what really happened, Isabella cut them off with one look.

Kai cracked jokes and made sure you always had a chair. Dr. Ramos gave you a key to his office “just in case,” and never mentioned it again.

There were others, too. People who never said what they were thinking but showed you in every way that they knew.

They all knew. About the way he left. About the fact that he was older, higher up. That maybe the both of you should’ve known better. And that you hadn’t even known you were pregnant when he disappeared.

That you had once looked at him like he hung the moon, and then woke up one morning to a blank sky.

They knew you’d loved him. That you'd wanted forever. But they’d seen the aftermath too. The missed calls. The radio silence. The vanishing act.

And for all their professionalism, their restraint, no one really forgave him for that.

Not for leaving you. Not for leaving Noah.

And honestly? You’re not sure you ever did either.

You made it through on caffeine, pure stubbornness, and the kind of love that rewires your insides. The kind that sings in your bloodstream when a small hand finds yours. The kind that makes you believe you’re doing something holy, even when you’re covered in spit-up and panic.

And sometimes, when the nights were particularly long—when Noah cried until his chest hiccupped and your own body ached from holding so much—you'd look down at him and think:

Everything was worth it if it got us here.

You get up, carefully. The fever’s breaking now—thank God. His forehead is cooler when you press your lips to it. His breath is steadier, heat fading from his cheeks. The worst of it is over.

“You’re okay,” you whisper. You kiss him again, softer. “You’re okay.”

And you realize—you are too. Not whole, maybe. But okay.

And that’s more than enough.

You thought you’d buried that part of your life.

Boxed it up in late-night feedings and Match Day anxiety, in checklists and pediatric milestones.

Some days, you almost forget what it felt like.

Searching for him in every place you visited. Kind of hoping he’d be there, if only to curse him out in front of a crowd.

You were angry. You still are, sometimes. But mostly, you just got tired.

So you let it go—bit by bit.

You stopped looking for him.

Until one day, you didn’t have to look.

He was just there.

Six years ago…

It was late October. That golden stretch of fall just before everything goes cold and gray. The kind of light that makes everything look softer than it really is—especially the farmer’s market.

You’d just bought apples—Honeycrisps, overpriced, but Noah liked the crunch—and he was tugging at your hand in that impatient way toddlers do.

Mittened fingers curled around yours, cheeks warm from the cold, a sticky ring of cider at the corner of his mouth. You were laughing at something he said. Something about pumpkins being “sleeping people in disguise.” You’d almost felt happy.

And then—you saw him.

Turning, just ahead.

Profile turned toward the baked goods stand. That familiar set of shoulders. That tilt of the head, slightly to the right, the way he always did when he was reading a sign or weighing a decision.

Your laughter died in your throat.

You froze. The bags dug into your wrist, the apples suddenly too heavy. Your pulse kicked up so fast you felt dizzy. You blinked, once. Twice. Still him. The back of his neck. The shape of him. The impossible fact of him.

You said his name. Just once. Soft. Like a prayer you’d sworn never to say again.

“Robby.”

Noah looked up at you, confused. “Mama?”

But when you blinked again—

He was gone. Again.

You rounded the corner like someone in a dream, your feet slow, hesitant. The crowd shifted around you—mothers and strollers, college kids with tote bags, an old man with a harmonica—and none of them were him.

Just a swirl of movement and noise and the smell of kettle corn.

Gone.

You stood there, staring at the place where he should have been. Where, for a second, you were sure he'd been. Heart thundering, throat dry, lungs locked.

Like the past had torn open its chest and said, look, look what you could have had if he’d stayed.

Noah tugged your hand again. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

You looked down at him. His wide eyes. His tiny hat with the ears on top. And for a second, your knees almost buckled. Because if it had been him—if you had seen Robby—he’d been this close to his son and still walked away. Again.

You knelt. Your voice was too calm. “Nothing, baby. Just thought I saw someone.”

You told yourself it was a trick of the light. A shadow. A memory shaped like a man. Because the alternative was worse.

Because if it had been real—if he’d seen you, seen Noah, and still turned away—then that would mean he didn’t just leave.

He stayed gone. Chose gone.

You didn’t cry. Not then. Not with Noah watching. But the cider curdled in your stomach. You stood, straightened your coat, and kept walking.

You told yourself, If I ever saw him again, I’d walk away.

And you believed that. You did.

But a part of you—ashamed, buried, furious—knew it wasn’t true. Not completely. Because even in that moment, with the ghost of him fading into the crowd, your first instinct had been to reach for him. To say his name. To hope.

And that terrified you.

Because it meant that after everything—after the silence, the vanishing, the endless nights—you still hadn’t managed to kill that last, fragile thread.

You still remembered how it felt to love him. And worse—you still wanted him to love you back.

Even now. Even then. Even when you knew better.

So you walked Noah home that day. Pretended the sun on your shoulders didn’t feel like a lie. Told yourself he wasn’t real. That maybe you were tired. That maybe you were slipping. And maybe you were.

But deep down, you knew.

He’d been there. And he hadn’t stopped walking.

The trauma room door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud. A sound you’ve heard a hundred times before—but tonight, somehow, it lands differently.

You exhale. Shoulders low. Muscles warm with exhaustion, limbs half-buzzing with the tail-end of adrenaline. Noah’s doing good, great even. You did what you always do—you held it together.

The corridor is dim, lit only by the low fluorescents humming overhead. A slow hour in a long night. Nurses’ shoes squeak softly in the distance. Somewhere, a machine beeps in a rhythmic, unhurried pattern. The quiet is thick. Pressurized.

You turn.

And freeze.

He’s there. Again.

Just a few feet away.

Black scrubs. An old hoodie you—frayed at the cuffs, faded where he used to roll up the sleeves. His hair is shorter now, dark and sleep-ruffled. There’s stubble along his jaw, a tiredness beneath his eyes that wasn't there before.

Or maybe it was, and you were just too in love to see it.

You blink once. Slowly. As if your body needs time to believe it’s real. As if any sudden movement might scatter him like smoke.

Michael.

You taste his name before you even think it.

Older. Thinner.

He’s holding something in his hands—gloves, maybe, or a folded chart—but it doesn’t matter.

It’s the way he’s standing.

Your mouth goes dry. Your heart stutters, then lurches into a rhythm that feels embarrassingly human.

You want to say something. Anything.

Ask if he knew. If he suspected.

If he ever looked. If he even tried.

You want to scream at him. You want to fall into him. You want to walk away. The same way he did all those years ago.

But you don’t move. Neither does he.

You drink him in. Slowly. Not like before. Not like memory.

There’s a line between his brows now. A small scar on the side of his neck you don’t recognize. His hands are the same—long fingers, pale knuckles, veins like cords. You used to trace them while he slept.

For a split second, you're back in that bed—early morning light, his back warm against your chest, the city moving on the other side of the window. The sound of his laugh in your ear. The promise of something ordinary and endless.

But then the moment buckles. Fractures under its own weight.

He left.

He left you when you needed him most.

And now he’s here.

Once again, a protagonist in one of the worst times of your life.

You don’t know if you want answers or just closure. But you know this:

This time, you don’t blink.

You hold his gaze. You let him see the hurt. The history. The steel in your spine.

And he doesn’t run.

He just stands there, like maybe he’s been waiting for you to look at him like this. Like he doesn’t quite know how to take the next step—but he wants to.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough to keep you standing, too.

next chapter ↠

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#𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (august)#𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.｡.:*¤☆#𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby

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riddlesrizzler · 2 months ago

Text

Bambi Eyes

summary: “You’re gonna kill me with those eyes, Doe.” characters: mattheo riddle. deer! reader. slytherin boys warnings: none! word count: 1.2k

Mattheo Riddle wasn’t subtle about it.

He tried-oh, how he tried. Tried to lean back with that usual air of effortless cool, all sharp smirks and carelessly tousled curls, boots kicked up like he had the world at his feet and didn’t give a damn. But then your eyes would meet his-wide, unguarded, blinking up at him like you’d just wandered out of a forest clearing and into the wrong century-and suddenly, Mattheo couldn’t remember how to breathe.

It was stupid, really, how quickly he unraveled. How a single glance from you could take the floor out from under him.

They called you “Doe” sometimes. Theo started it, naturally, after catching a fleeting glimpse of your animagus form-elegant legs slicing through the trees, breath huffing in clouds, white-tipped ears flicking at every sound. You moved like something half-wild and half-holy, a creature carved from moonlight. But Mattheo had been calling you that in his mind long before he ever saw the hooves.

There was something about you.

Soft-spoken. Skittish. Like every word was carefully considered before it left your lips. You blinked too slowly when surprised, like your thoughts had to catch up with the rest of you. And your eyes-those eyes-were an entire language he hadn’t learned to read yet. Big, brown, velvet-warm things. Lit from within like melted honey.

You were curled in an armchair near the common room fireplace that afternoon, surrounded by the golden hush of crackling logs and late autumn light. A thick knit blanket was swaddled around your shoulders like a protective cocoon, your legs tucked beneath you, slippered toes peeking out. A worn Potions textbook rested in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the frayed corners of the pages as your eyes scanned the lines with quiet, concentrated intent.

Mattheo sat across the room, pretending to play chess with Draco. Theo, Blaise, and Enzo were sprawled on the rug nearby, voices low and amused as they recounted some ridiculous prank involving enchanted treacle tarts and Filch’s cat. But Mattheo wasn’t listening.

His attention was fixed on you.

Again.

“You’re staring,” Draco muttered, nudging a pawn forward without looking up.

“I’m not,” Mattheo said, voice flat. A lie.

Theo snorted under his breath. “Mate. You always are.”

Mattheo didn’t bother denying it this time. He looked back at you, openly, utterly helpless against it. How you tucked your chin when you read. How your lashes fluttered like wings against your cheeks. How you flinched just slightly when someone said your name-as if it startled you to be seen.

“She’s got those eyes,” he murmured, almost reverent. “Like she sees everything... in slow motion.”

Blaise leaned back on his elbows. “Like a deer in the woods,” he agreed. “One wrong step and she’s bolting.”

Mattheo smiled at that. A slow, lazy curve of the lips. “Yeah. But she doesn’t run when I call.”

That silenced them for a beat. Even the fire popped louder in the space between.

And then you looked up.

Right at him.

You blinked-once, twice-as if his gaze had pulled you gently out of the world you’d been swimming in. And sweet Merlin, those eyes. Doe eyes, innocent and unsure, like you hadn’t meant to catch him staring but now that you had, you didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Mattheo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and tilted his head slightly. His grin was crooked, teasing-but beneath it, something warmer simmered.

“You’re gonna kill me with those eyes, Doe.”

Color bloomed instantly across your cheeks. You clutched the edges of your book a little tighter, as if it could shield you. “I-I wasn’t looking at you.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “That’s the problem.”

You made a sound then-a tiny, breathy thing, part disbelief and part laughter-and turned your face away, burying it behind your book. But your eyes peeked out again a moment later, cautious and curious, like maybe, just maybe... you wanted to be caught.

Mattheo didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

“Do you think she hypnotizes people with them?” Enzo asked suddenly, squinting at you like he was genuinely trying to figure it out. “Like-accidental legilimency. Bambi edition.”

“She doesn’t need magic,” Mattheo muttered. “She just looks at me like I’m not a monster.”

You looked up again at that-truly looked this time. A quiet crease forming between your brows, not hurt, not afraid. Just... wondering. As if no one had ever said something like that before, and you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

And gods, your eyes were so soft. So impossibly wide and open. Like you hadn’t learned to build walls yet.

“She sees everything,” Mattheo said, mostly to himself now. “And still stays.”

You blinked slowly. A pause. Then, like sunshine breaking through morning mist, you smiled. The smallest, shyest thing. It knocked the air from his lungs.

Mattheo melted.

Later that night, the others had drifted off-Theo with his head on the arm of the couch, Blaise stretched out like a cat by the fire, Draco murmuring something incoherent in his sleep. The room had quieted into a hush of embers and breathing.

You hadn’t moved. Still curled in your chair, blanket hugged tight around your shoulders, your book long forgotten in your lap. Your eyes found him again-soft, questioning, glowing with the last flickers of firelight.

Mattheo was already watching you.

This time, you didn’t look away.

There was something in your expression-vulnerability, maybe, or wonder. Like you weren’t used to being seen like this. Like it was a miracle someone kept looking.

“Why do you do that?” you whispered.

He tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Mattheo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice dropped, low and quiet, like a secret being passed between shadows.

“Because your eyes,” he said, “make me feel like I’m worth looking at.”

You froze, lips parting just slightly, as if no one had ever dared say something so devastatingly honest to you before.

“And when you look at me,” he continued, “it doesn’t feel like judgment. Or pity. Or curiosity. It feels like… like the forest before a storm. Quiet. Alive. Like you already know everything I’m scared to say.”

Your gaze softened, impossibly tender, like you were seeing the boy beneath the edges-the anger, the snark, the shield of indifference. And you smiled, small and unsteady, like it surprised even you.

Mattheo leaned back just a little, breathing in that look like it could steady his heartbeat.

“Doe,” he said softly, like it meant something more than a nickname. “Your eyes undo me.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

The firelight flickered between you, casting gold in the darkness, and you just looked.

And Mattheo knew. Knew that if he spent the rest of his life doing nothing else-just watching your eyes glow like dusk melting into dawn-it would be enough.

Because in them, he didn’t feel like a monster.

He felt seen.

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zae-heeyyy · 3 months ago

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Aegis

Summary: You defend your daughter from Micah. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,810 Tags: fluff, family, girl dad Arthur, angst, high honor Arthur Warnings: Violence, mistreatment of a child

an: This was an anon request. I was weary about this one because I'm not a mom, nor do I spend a lot of time around toddlers, but omg exploring girl dad Arthur was so fun! Shout out to @emerald-ranch for helping me with a horse fact for this one! Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Aegis: as in protection, means or method of defending

A pair of hazel eyes cut through the dark, shining like twin stars burning holes in the blanket of night. Those usually bright supernovas seemed dull now, washed out by the weight of the world. Your daughter's tiny form scooted in impossibly closer, and you bundled her up, swaddling her like she was still the wiggling newborn you'd held in your arms three years ago.

"Bea," you sighed, trying your best to shield her from the beast that was your frustration. Exhaustion had settled in your bones hours ago, pressing your patience paper thin. Sleep called out to you from the void, and you wanted so badly to answer, but your daughter reeled you back every time.

"I want Daddy," she whined, clutching the fabric of your shift in her little fists.

You missed him too; she had no idea. In a time that seemed like forever ago, you and Arthur laid in this same cot, your fingers tangled in his shirt in the way your daughter's were in yours now. Motherhood terrified you, and after telling Arthur you were pregnant, you cried all through the night. Raising a child was daunting enough, but doing it with an outlaw in a gang seemed like a nightmare turned reality.

Solid arms held you together in body and mind. He was your rock even though he was going through his own quiet panic. Arthur knew the harsh realities of parenthood all too well. Still, he knew the brightness, blooms, and blossoms it could bring, and he let himself want it more than anything. Making good on his second chance at having a family, he married you right away and devoted all of himself to you and the baby.

That warm summer night after your screams and her cries had died down, he bowed his head over her, staring without a word. First, one salty tear fell from his face and onto the blanket you'd knitted for her, then another, and another. You tried to offer him the dignity of silence, but your tears burst out with a sob. It was only then that he spoke, snapping out of his baby-induced trance, his eyes wide with concern.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong at all."

And his baby loved him oh so much, the very definition of a daddy's girl. He was the one who protected her from spiders and wasps, the one who made her giggle til her face turned red, the one who'd lift her up on his shoulders and run amok through camp, and the one who snuck her candy when she thought you weren't looking. He was her Polaris, and little did she know, she was his entire universe. Leaving both of you at camp, even if only for a few hours, chipped away at a piece of his soul every time. In the present, you combed your fingers through her light-colored hair and kissed her on the head twice–one from you and one from Daddy, as you always told her.

"I know. He'll be here when we wake up, honeybee."

And the tent fell silent, but your daughter twisted and shivered, unsettled by passing footsteps.

"Momma…" Her words came out smaller than her. "M'scared."

You wanted to tell her there was nothing to be afraid of, but you couldn't lie to her–not when there was a price on her father's head, not after Blackwater, and not after Colter. In yet another attempt to calm her, you whispered soft shhs. But then she spoke once more, a single word–a name, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Micah."

You sat up with the quickness of a startled doe, sweeping your eyes over your daughter. Tears stained her rosy cheeks, but she was otherwise unharmed.

"What about Micah?" The question came out more urgent than you'd intended, and she hid herself in your bosom. You hoped she didn't hear your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage.

"Don't want him to come here."

"Why'd he do that?"

She only shook her head. You peeled her away from you, wiping her tears away with the pads of your thumbs before cupping her face in your hands. Your voice was loving but firm–a quiet, motherly demand.

"Bea. Talk."

She vocalized as best as she could: "He's scary and mean."

And then, after a long pause, her small hand came to rest over yours on her cheek.

"He touched my face."

A curtain of red-hot wrath veiled your vision, and it took everything in you to hide it from the baby in your arms. No matter how big she got, she would always be that pink, wrinkly baby in the knitted blanket. You put on a stellar performance, eyes twinkling, your smile adding light to the darkness that'd settled over you. You reassured her that Daddy and Uncle Dutch would take care of that, that she had a whole family looking out for her, and that she was safe.

In one last attempt to get her to settle, you laid back down, closed your own eyes, and began a slow hum of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." In the middle of the second run-through, she'd gone limp, finally. You tried to follow suit, but your thoughts were louder than ever.

Arthur'll be back soon.

Let the men dish it out.

Get some sleep, get some sleep, get some sleep.

But your legs swung over the cot, and you left your eaglet behind in the nest as you soared into camp, sharp eyes scanning for your prey–a rattlesnake masquerading as a man. The drunk bastard saw you coming, flashing his fangs in a smug display of mockery. He didn't expect the beer bottle he'd been nursing to explode across his head, the glass shattering like a storm of meteors crashing down to earth. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, and you were on top of him in an instant in the only way you'd ever be–out for blood. A blackhole temporarily swallowed both of you as you slammed your forehead into his with all the force of two colliding planets.

The shockwave drowned out everything around you–so much so that you didn't hear someone shout for Arthur and didn't notice your husband had returned just before you left the tent. Micah fought back hard, trying in his intoxicated stupor to twist free, but you had him good, your nails like talons breaking skin and cutting off his air supply.

An owl-like screech tore through your lungs as two strong hands yanked you away. Your husband's eyes locked onto yours, grounding you, clearing the haze of fury. Time seemed to slow as you saw yourself reflected in concerned chrysocolla-colored eyes.

"Hey now, hey, easy…"

Just when he thought he'd calmed his distressed mare, the snake hissed in the grass.

"Get control of your whore, Morgan!"

"Arthur," you caught his attention, him looking from Micah back to you, "Beatrice."

At hearing his daughter's name, Arthur bared his teeth and dug his nails into his palm. Without thinking, he shoved you aside, and you knew if you let him get to Micah, all hell would break loose. Roles reversed, you grabbed at his sleeve with both hands, pushing your weight into your heels to keep him in place. Micah started a mocking chortle.

"That seed of yours." He tried once again to rise up on his feet, "Ain't much hope for her. She'll let fellas buy her for a penny just like her momma."

His taunting stung enough for you to temporarily lose hold of Arthur, and he took his chance, sending the metal tip of his boot flying into Micah's chin. The devil incarnate spit out blood and chipped bone and let out a hoarse, guttural bellow of pain, but he didn't try to stand anymore.

"Lucky she got to you first." Arthur spat, "I ain't stopping her next time."

Your husband stomped off with his arm around your waist, back to your lion's den where your cub was still sleeping soundly. Collapsing onto the cot, you dug your palms into your eyes, trying to ease the pressure of a building headache. Lantern light came into your field of vision as Arthur's calloused fingers pried your hands away.

"That was stupid," he whispered, aware of Beatrice still sleeping. One hand clutched your chin, and the other moved your hair out of your face to get a good look at you, "I woulda' handled it."

The cold sting of a wet cloth against your bruises made you wince.

"I know. Couldn't help myself."

Arthur didn't say anything else and finished cleaning you up in silence. Though the presence of your family back together brought you a semblance of peace, you twisted the gold band around your finger, lost in hellish thoughts. You and Arthur made promises to each other and to your little girl, and you'd make good on them, no matter the cost.

"I'll kill him next time."

Arthur had stripped down to his union suit and nodded at you as he took his hat off and set it beside the photo of your daughter's namesake.

"I know."

Then, his face lit up. He stopped your fidgeting by taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Deep down, he knew you had it in you, but something about his wife, the sweetest thing he'd ever met, nearly ripping a man's head off his shoulders with her bare hands, struck a cord of pride within him.

"Though I don't think anybody in their right mind would tempt you after seein' that."

And you felt embarrassed of your wild display of maternal ferocity. But Arthur, in all his tenderness and love for you, made all your doubt vanish.

"That's my girl," he whispered, holding his hands out.

You let him hoist you up into his warm embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic heartbeat could've lulled you to sleep right then and there. This closeness had become a delicacy since parenthood, and you savored every bite. Arthur sighed contently as he breathed in the scene before him. Though you were buried in his chest, you knew he was looking over at his sleeping baby girl while he was hugging you.

"Maybe one day she can spend the night with Abigail and Jack, and we can have some husband and wife time."

You hummed in agreement, tempted to let your limbs fall weak in his arms. The sounds of rustling blankets woke you right back up.

"Daddy?"

Arthur didn't let you go. Instead, he squeezed you harder, a silent thank you for the life you'd birthed, the life you'd given him. He guided you back to the cot beside your daughter, tucking both of you in and pressing a soft kiss to your foreheads.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm here," were the last words you heard before soaring serenely off the cliff of consciousness.

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vividly-vermillion · 3 months ago

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✴︎ CAUGHT RED HANDED PART 3

જ⁀➴ The LADS guys catch you masturbating.

ﾉ including: Rafayel

ﾉ cw: afab!reader, no pronouns, masturbation, phone sex if you will, hinted to more happening

ﾉ wordcount: 0.9k

ﾉ info: I need that fishstick badly someone swaddle me in a blanket please ﾉ Requests are open!

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT IN COMMENTS & REBLOGS!

-> Xavier | -> Zayne | -> Sylus (coming soon)

✶࿐ Rafayel

♡ You planned on going to Rafayel’s place later that day since he said he'd be busy until the afternoon doing who knows what.

♡ Your day on the other hand looked kind of bland, nothing in your calendar except going to Rafayel - a nice and lazy day off in other words.

♡ After cleaning your apartment and taking a shower the boredom started to hit you and your hands wandered faster than your mind.

♡ You bit your lip when your hand started sneaking beneath the fabric of your shirt, gently pinching and rolling your nipples until they were stiff and sensitive to touch.

♡ The dampness in your panties was evident long before you hooked your fingers into the waistband of them to tug them down your legs.

♡ Today was calm, nothing on your schedule and you decided to treat yourself nice and slow, gentle and teasing touches to get you wet and desperate for release.

♡ When your touches weren't enough anymore, you reached into the drawer of your bedside table, getting your favorite vibe out to help you find release

♡ The soft buzzing against your clit left you a moaning mess, whines, gasps and messy moans of his name

♡ Rafayel... little did you know that your phone picked up his name one too many times, his name showing up on your screen but you didn't see - couldn't see with the way your eyes screwed shut in pleasure

♡ Rafayel almost dropped his phone into the water of his mid day bath, getting a small heart attack from the sudden call

♡ "Can't you text me first? What if I fell and broke my ankle... again?" He exaggerated dramatically once he picked up but in reality he was glad you were thinking about him

♡ When he didn't hear anything back from you he started to get worried

♡ "Helloo? Did you forget that you need to speak when you call someone?" He asked and huffed out some air when he suddenly heard your sweet moan.

♡ The breath got knocked out of his lungs and his phone did fall into the tub this time, simply slipping from his grip. His concern wasn't the phone - it was waterproof anyways.

♡ His concern was missing another moan of his name followed by the low buzzing of what he assumed to be a vibrator.

♡ If anyone would see him right now, he would blame the blush on his cheeks on the hot water but the way you sounded while touching yourself really took him off guard.

♡ He knew he should hang up, knowing you didn't call him on purpose and he was breaching your privacy right now... but was he really? He was all what you were thinking about after all.

♡ His cock was rock hard from your sounds and he could picture how you must lay on your bed right now, clothes discarded and how pretty you must look right now with your skin glowing so beautifully.

♡ "fuck..." he grunted softly when his hand wrapped around his shaft to give it a few tentative tugs before settling for a slow speed to match your moans.

♡ Rafayel was completely enthralled in your moans, his own whines and moaned words mixing with yours and painting pictures in his head.

♡ Just as you came with a cry of his name, the buzzing getting stronger almost had him losing his mind entirely.

♡ "yes! Just like that... ngh... don't stop, cutie" he moaned, his voice cracking at his nickname for you, so so close to his own release as your last moan echoed in his head.

♡ "RafaYEL??" You almost squeaked out when you heard his voice muffled through your phone, followed by soft moans.

♡ Rafayels eyes widened when he heard his name like this but it was too late - his orgasm washing over him and he couldn't even hold the moan inside.

♡ You should have hung up but his moan sounded so desperate for you, a slight whimper following and you wished that a sound could get engraved inside your brain to play it over and over again.

♡ Once Rafayel caught himself from the pleasure and the shock that followed he wanted to hang up, pretend like it never happened but he knew that you'd come over later that day. And there's no way that he could keep his hands from you now that he knew that you were thinking about him too.

♡ "You called... it would have been rude to ignore your call... you could have been in danger," he mused and you saw the blush on his cheeks through the phone, that pretty shade of red you've grown to love.

♡ "I think you should come over sooner," he added eventually when he was met with silence on your end.

♡ The vibrator was still buzzing somewhere in the sheets but you paid it no mind once the bold words entered your ears.

♡ "weren't you busy all day?" You asked as you sat up against the headboard, slowly realizing that Rafayel got off to you touching yourself.

♡ "Well I am! Taking a bath and all that..." he tried to protest but heard your soft laugh at the other end

♡ "Think your bathtub is big enough for two?"

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wileys-russo · 8 months ago

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spoiled rotten (3) II a.putellas

part of the spoiled rotten universe spoiled rotten (3) II a.putellas

"alexia? baby you do know she is not going to disappear if you take your eyes off of her for five seconds." you teased quietly, poking your head into your daughters room and finding your girlfriend sat in the feeding chair watching the eight month old like a hawk.

"sh! amor you will wake her." your girlfriend warned with a frown, face softening at the eyebrow raised her way as you carefully padded into the room, sitting down on her lap as her arms wound their way around your waist.

an apologetic kiss was pressed to your shoulder as you joined the blonde in staring adoringly at the tiny bundle of pink skin and ringlets of dark brown hair, swaddled tightly in a cream colored blanket.

"she is so tiny." you exhaled with a soft smile, alexia's chin finding home on your shoulder with a hum of agreement. you weren't sure how long the two of you sat there for, alexia holding you tightly as you relaxed into the welcoming warmth of her embrace.

this little habit of hers wasn't anything new, and these days any time you couldn't find the footballer all it took was a few steps into your daughters room and there she'd be, staring at her with a fierce love in her eyes you'd never seen before the birth of amalia.

to the pair of you and your inner circle of loved ones you called her lia, much to the thrilled delight of your niece layla who was convinced that lia was as close to her own name as you could get which must mean amalia was named after her.

your sister discouraged the thought but neither you or alexia minded, lala and lia, both of their nicknames within the family, seemed an adorable pairing and your heart swelled whenever you watched how patient and gentle the usually bubbly and hyperactive eight year old was with your daughter.

the first time layla had held lia you were so overcome with hormones and emotions you needed to leave the room in tears, ingrid hurrying after you as mapi was too busy chewing your girlfriends ear off about how that must mean you wanted another baby.

as much as alexia adored amalia you didn't miss the way her face paled anytime a second baby was mentioned and found it endlessly amusing to tease her about just getting the baby stage out of the way with another one at the same time.

alexia would laugh nervously and you'd grin, kissing away her awkward smile and assuring you were only teasing. you knew one little baby for the pair of you to stress and worry over was enough for the time being.

and it wasn't a lie.

stress and worry went hand in hand when it came to you and alexia trying to work out how to navigate parenthood for the first time, overwhelmed with tips and wives tales and stories and tricks from both of your entire families.

the first month of amalia's life was chaotic to say the least.

your own mother flew over from england to be there for the birth to support you, eli insisting she stay with her and suddenly the date of her return flight home was pushed further and further away.

then between the pair of them for those first four weeks neither you or your girlfriend seemed to have a minute alone with your own daughter.

both older women seemed to spend every spare second they could hovering and cuddling and kissing and fussing and cooing over the tiny infant, and at first it was helpful, then it very quickly grew to be painful.

it felt as if nothing you or alexia did was right. you'd change lias diaper, one of them would swoop in and redo it, assuring you their way was better.

alexia would try to swaddle her before bed, just like the both you had learned in prenatal classes and practiced for months leading up to the birth.

but it never seemed to be tight enough or right enough for either of your mothers, who would again just redo it with an unintentionally condescending click of the tongue.

your own attempts to softly urge them back to their own homes and your mother back to england were dismissed with a wave of their hands assuring it was absolutely fine and no trouble at all.

and you were sure it wasn't trouble for them, however it was becoming unbearable for yourself and alexia, the once perfectly spacious apartment you shared feeling suffocatingly small with two more overbearing and uninvited tenants.

eventually, when your softer approach hadn't worked alexia had stepped in and put her foot down firmly with the pair of them. the blonde wouldn't take no for an answer, practically pushing both women out and deadlocking the door, the two of you sharing a smile and then bursting out into laughter at the much welcome silence.

though both you and your girlfriend were fiercely fiercely protective of amalia, alexia was particularly strict when it came to introducing her to new people.

or more specifically, introducing her formally to the rest of the barcelona squad bar amalias godparents who'd all but charged your door down a few days after you brought her home, mapi threatening to kick it in if you didn't let her and ingrid inside.

you knew the rest of the girls had been begging alexia to meet amalia, mainly because that begging was done through you knowing that bar your daughter you were the only other person able to melt the stern faced captain like butter.

so almost three months after she was born, alexia finally agreed to let you bring amalia to the training centre, both of you already in agreement that a football match was no place for a newborn, both you and amalia watching most of alexia's games at home on tv.

most weekends eli or alba would offer to babysit so you could go and watch in person, though it took a lot to convince either of you to leave your daughter alone with someone who wasn't you or alexia.

but leaving amalia with family was a little easier, and your own family spent a lot of time flying back and forth between england and spain to visit as well, though you think a lot of that you could thank alexia for as the girl knew sometimes you grew homesick and would encourage the invitation.

many times she'd tried to organise for the three of you to go back to england, but you were firm on your stance you wanted amalia to get a little older before putting her through the stress of a flight and a holiday.

you smiled in amusement as you caught sight of your girlfriend waiting for you by the gate, pulling open the car door before you'd even stopped properly and sliding into the back beside amalia's carseat.

you cleared your throat as your daughter was showered with kisses and you were not, alexia smiling guiltily and leaning forward over the console to greet you as well, apologizing softly against your lips.

"should we take the stroller?" you asked after you'd parked, amalia bundled up in alexia's arms in a little barcelona onesie, and seeing the way your girlfriends face lit up at the sight of it melted your heart.

"no, they will all want to hold her anyway." alexia rolled her eyes and you chuckled, locking the car and clicking your tongue at the girl who grabbed the baby bag off of you.

"cariño i can carry something!" you insisted as the midfielder shook her head, shutting up your protests with a kiss as the pair of you made your way through the carpark toward the elevator.

"oh did someone have a good nap today princesa? tan soñoliento!" alexia cooed, bouncing lia with a soft smile as you leaned your head on the taller girls shoulder, both of you watching as she started to wake up a little more.

with lia sleeping about 14-16 hours a day ideally, there were slim windows when you could take her out and about, and her little puffy face after she'd just woken up never failed to melt both you and alexia.

it was safe to say that despite the firm boundaries you'd put in with your girlfriend not spoiling your niece, all of that went out the window when it came to your daughter, both you and alexia buying anything and everything for the tiny brunette.

"sí that is your mami's nose!" you laughed as lia grabbed at alexia's face, blowing a spit bubble as alexia blew a raspberry on her cheek and she gave a gummy smile.

"su pelo crece tan rápido!" the blonde marveled, twirling a small ringlet of hair wide eyed as lia babbled and grabbed her nose again, the elevator stopping at the right floor and you hummed.

everyday without fail one of you point out the inevitable fact that your daughter was changing. if it be her hair was thicker, a new freckle appeared, an item of clothing seemed marginally tighter.

and there was nothing either of you found more overwhelmingly beautiful than baring witness to the tiny human being you'd both created growing up before your very eyes.

you'd both been making an effort to speak english and spanish around her as much as possible, wanting her to grow up able to speak both despite the fact she'd be living in spain, but england was still home for you and alexia wanted that for amalia as well.

"amor maybe it is too soon." alexia stopped suddenly, a few feet from the closed changing room door with nerves painted clearly into her features, eyebrows furrowed into a frown of uncertainty.

"hey, ale. baby." you nudged her shoulder as her eyes dropped down toward you. "lia brings us so much joy, it would be mean not to share that with everyone else. you know they will be careful and gentle, but they will also be very very excited!" you smiled reassuringly as your girlfriend nodded, still seemingly hesitant.

"give her to me. you can go in first, make sure everything is fine and we will come in once you're happy. okay?" your hand tenderly caressed her cheek as again the blonde nodded, pressing an appreciative soft kiss to your lips and slipping amalia into your awaiting arms.

"well if it is not my favorite little god daughter!" you were pulled from your thoughts at the voice behind you, turning to see ingrid walking toward you, her ankle taped up.

"i just rolled it during training. it is nothing too bad!" she assured watching your face crease with concern as you noticed, cooing her hello's at amalia as she gave you a side hug careful not to bump her.

"so you have been taken off of house arrest?" the norweigan grinned making you laugh, ingrid poking at your daughters feet and beaming at the little giggles which she was rewarded with.

"mm she is probably in there making them all wash their hands five times and form an orderly line." you chuckled knowing your girlfriend all too well, the girl in question poking her head out of the change rooms and calling your name.

"oye! cata no you put that down!" she darted right back inside with a yell making both you and ingrid share a look and grin. you heard chatter as ingrid pushed open the door for you, but everything fell silent as you and amalia stepped inside, many pairs of eyes trained on the two of you.

then suddenly it erupted, everyone cooing and fussing and crowding around you, ignoring your girlfriend trying to boss them all back into line and yelling at them to be quiet, basically talking to the walls as not a soul was listening to a word she said.

glancing over to her you very carefully handed amalia over to frido, mapi and ingrid both assuring you they would keep a close eye over their goddaughter as you gently pushed your way out of the crowd.

"hola grumpy." you teased at your girlfriend sat on the bench with a face like thunder, eyes still sharply trained to your daughter but they flickered to you as her lip curled downward into a slight pout and you took a seat next to her.

"te dije que estarían emocionados." you reminded softly, alexia just crossing her arms over her chest, watching as your daughter was passed around and marveled over, mapi staying right by her side the entire time.

"like the lion king." you joked quietly bumping your hip into the footballers, both of you having watched the movie in question easily a hundred times over the years given it was your niece layla's all time favourite.

"if any of them lifts her up like that-" alexia began to stand as you tugged on the back of her training top sending her back down onto the bench.

"they won't. look, mapi is right with her and you know she would not let anybody harm a single hair on amalia's head. remember the cafe?" you reminded as alexia pulled a face.

it had been one of the first times you'd taken lia out in public since she was born, you and alexia meeting mapi and ingrid for breakfast not far from your apartment.

everything had been going well and after lots of cuddles from her godmothers lia was soundly asleep in her stroller which was safely tucked in between you and alexia.

it had all happened in seconds.

there had been two young boys riding skateboards, not watching where they were going they'd gone flying past and almost knocked a poor waitress over who accidentally spilled a coffee all over you, a few drops landing on amalia and the noise of everything jolting her awake, her cries sounding loudly as alexia scooped her up.

before anyone could even speak mapi was up and on her feet, charging over toward the boys and yelling at them in spanish so fast even you and ingrid struggled to understand what was being said.

you assured the waitress over and over it wasn't her fault, the horrified young girl in tears as ingrid stood up to collect her girlfriend who was still telling off the boys who'd gone ghost white in embarrassment, backed against a wall as the footballer yelled at them.

you stomped on your own girlfriends foot and send her a harsh look, nodding toward the poor girl still with tears in her eyes as alexia sighed and gently assured her it was fine, and that it had just spooked your daughter but she was entirely unharmed.

"i do not think those boys will ever touch a skateboard again." alexia hummed at the memory, the ghost of a smile on her lips as her arms uncrossed, one draping across your shoulders as your hand rested on her knee.

"look at her mi amor, she is so so loved, surrounded by her tías."

neither of you were surprised that after such a big day of meeting people amalia was barely able to keep her eyes open when you got home, the pair of you taking turns to try and keep her awake for at least another hour as if she fell asleep now she'd be up around two in the morning.

"-and bebita do you know why your mama and i love each other so much?" you paused by the door to your daughters room, melting at the sight of alexia laid down on the floor with amalia sat up on her chest, supported by your girlfriends strong hands.

"because of you! nuestro amorcita. together with our love we gave each other you, and we love you bebita! muy muy muy muy mucho." alexia cooed softly, kissing your daughters little hands as she squealed.

"the most perfect little girl in the world." you agreed, alexia looking up with a lovesick smile as you entered the room, laying down beside her as your girlfriend bounced amalia up and down on her chest.

"it really suits you, being a mami." you complimented, kissing your girlfriends cheek and watching as a slight blush crept up her neck, relishing in the fact you pulled this more shy and softer side out of her.

"does this mean you want to call me mami too?" the blonde gave you a wolfish grin, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as you rolled your eyes.

"do you smell that?" you sniffed the air, alexia frowning and pulling amalia a little closer, smelling her clean diaper. "not the bebita." the catalan shook her head, clearly confused.

"oh! no, lo siento it is the smell of your shitty flirting." you warned and hit her shoulder, amalia giggling and blowing a spit bubble.

"oh do you think that is funny lia?" you cooed, flicking alexia's ear as again amalia giggled. "your silly mami thinks she is so funny too!" you harshly pinched alexias cheek as she whined and amalia gave a gummy smile, smacking her hands down on your girlfriends chest.

"ya me están atacando." the blonde mumbled with a pout that you leaned over and softly kissed away. "mmm get used to it putellas." you teased with a wink, turning your shared attention back to your daughter.

you smiled and waved, alexia using amalia's little hand to wave back as she stood in the pool, your daughter safely in her arms as the instructor called out they were about to begin.

"so she has no idea?" alba asked quietly beside you as you shook your head, a grin of delight on your face making the younger girl chuckle. "oh she is going to kill you chica." alba mused with a shake of her head and a smile on her lips.

"eres mujer muerta." "mm maybe, worth it though." you winked, both you and alba waving wildly at amalia as alexia moved into the circle of other mothers.

you'd both been in agreement you wanted amalia to learn how to swim as soon as possible, given that you and alexia loved the beach and she did too, and you hoped growing up your daughter would continue a love for the water.

normally you would be the one to take amalia to the mami and me swimming lessons due to alexia's training schedule, but feeling an enormous sense of fomo alexia had made an arrangement with the club to finish early every second tuesday so the pair of you could take turns.

skin to skin contact was so important while amalia was little and even if she wouldn't directly admit it you knew alexia had deep seeded insecurities about not spending enough time with her in that way.

she'd floated the idea of having less commitments, but you knew football meant the world to her in a different way and she was years off retiring, and you'd support her in anyway possible.

so compromise was key, and you did everything you could to assure she had every single opportunity to bond with your daughter, never taking for granted that you had it easier with being home with her most days.

"-and now we will sing the swimming song!" you and alba stopped your conversation at that announcement, grinning at each other and watching your girlfriends face drop.

"it has been nice knowing you, i will make sure lia grows up knowing her mama loved her." alba sighed squeezing your knee as you laughed and shoved the younger girl, alexia shooting you a beyond murderous look as the backing track started.

"today we go swim! today we go swim! what do we need? before we get in! what do we need? before we get in!" the instructor sang, clapping along to the beat as all the other women in the pool bounced their babies and sang along.

"our shoes come off! our shoes come off! we put our swim cap on! our swim cap on!" the song continued as you and alba clapped along, the younger putellas recording on her phone as your girlfriend was beet red, merely mumbling the words as the song repeated itself.

"lia's mami we can't hear you!" the instructor cooed and you collapsed into alba covering your mouth as your girlfriend was put on the spot, the other mothers turning to look at her as alba grinned and zoomed in.

"eh our shoes come off! our shoes come off! swim cap on! swim cap on!" alexia sang loudly but very off key, cheeks as bright red as the crest of the barcelona towel sat at your feet awaiting its use later on, you and alba near choking at trying to contain your laughter as the instructor turned and cleared her throat with an unimpressed look your way.

"and now the dance break! bounce your bebitas chicas, bounce them and dance with them!" the instructor called out as alexia's ears went bright red watching everyone take turns one by one to dance in the middle of the circle, how was this considered a swimming lesson?

you'd not seen your girlfriend look as relieved as she did when the song finally finished, not even after the final whistle at a champions league final and you thought just maybe she'd have rather had a million and one eyes on her to take a penalty than the fifteen or so women mulling around the pool.

"hola sexy!" you whistled with a wink as a soaking wet alexia made her way out of the pool and toward you, alba having left already picked up by a friend for a dinner date.

you bit back your grin as your girlfriend stayed silent, shooting you a filthy look and snatching the towel offered her way, stomping off toward the showers to dry and change amalia as you sent a text to her sister asking for the videos she'd taken.

around fifteen minutes later alexia returned, changed into a pair of shorts and a hoodie, hair damp and pushed to one side of her head with amalia wrapped up in a little hooded giraffe towel your sister had gifted you when she was born.

"no." the girl grunted as you cooed at how utterly adorable your daughter looked, trying to take her off the footballer who scowled at you and stomped off out of the pool, making you chuckle as you quickly followed after her.

stopping to pay for the lesson by the time you got to the car amalia was already buckled in, alexia tickling her stomach with a sickeningly soft smile at the little giggles it rewarded her with.

however as you arrived the scowl returned to her features as she closed the door and slid into the drivers seat. but as you tried to do the same you frowned when the door was locked, trying to pull it open with a grunt.

"alexia! mi amor open the door." you tapped on the window with a laugh of realisation that she'd locked you out, raising an eyebrow at her behaviour.

"baby come on, let me in por favor." you asked with a smile, the blondes gaze remaining firmly forward not even sparing you a look. "okay! well i gave you the chance." you sighed, clearing your throat and stepping back a little from the car.

"today we go swim! today we go swim!" you started to sing very loudly, alexia's head whipping toward you with wide eyes, your arms gesturing up to the sky as a few people around in the carpark looked at you like you were crazy.

"what do we need? before we get in? a dance break!" you announced, wiggling and moving your body around like a madwoman as alexia's eyebrows shot up so fast they almost hit the roof of the car.

"aye dios mio, get in tonta!" alexia reached over to unlock and open the door, stretching out to hook a finger through the belt loop of your jean shorts and yank you down into the car.

you could barely contain your laughter at the sheer horror on her face as you closed your door, grabbing onto the seats as she sped off out of the carpark and you hurried to click your seat belt in.

"stop laughing at her mija, you will encourage her!" alexia huffed, turning around to give your daughter a playful glare as she continued to clap and giggle at the way you continued to dance in your seat.

"mama is a terrible dancer."

"cariño are you really going to be all pouty and grumpy all afternoon?" you laughed, returning to the bedroom after getting amalia down for her last nap of the day before bed, finding alexia tucked under the covers with a sour look on her face.

her plans to go for a run had been squished by the sky opening, the rain torrential outside as water drops splattered angrily against the window panes of your apartment.

"aleee." you cooed, crawling on top of her and sitting yourself down on her lap, the girl looking right through you with a straight face. "venga mi amor you cannot stay mad at me." you grinned, thumbs stroking over her eyebrows and trying to tug them out of the steel frown they were curved into.

"alexiaaa, vamos. smile!" your thumbs moved to try and squish her mouth into a smile, her eyes finally finding yours with an evil look. "you will get wrinkles if you frown too much abuela." you teased, her mouth forming a small o.

"no! ale!" you laughed as she tried to shove you off, wrestling with her to stay on top as your arms locked around her neck. "abuela! wrinkles!" the catalan scoffed repeatedly, a noise of surprise leaving your mouth as suddenly she flipped the two of you.

"you did not tell me there was singing!" your girlfriend huffed, pinning you down to the bed with another scowl as you smiled up at her. "you did not ask." you wiggled a hand free and poked at her nose as the footballer groaned dramatically and flopped down on top of you.

"alba is going to show everyone those videos." her words were muffled against your skin as her head tucked its way into your neck and she felt your body vibrate with amusement beneath her, arms slipping up the back of her shirt and nails scratching at her back.

"sí, and they will see what a good mami you are amor, spending quality time with our daughter and teaching her how to swim." you assured gently, alexias head shooting up and frowning down at you.

"swimming! there was no swimming princesa! only singing, and floating, and dancing and ugh, humillación." she flopped back down making you laugh at her dramatics.

"she is not even half a year old baby, surely you did not expect her to be doing laps?" you teased, squirming at her fingers which pinched at your side, rolling off of you slightly as you ducked your head and pecked her lips repeatedly.

"is this your way of saying sorry?" "no, it was worth it to see how red your little cheeks went in embarrassment. but i think we need to work on your dancing for next time!" you teased, squealing at her cold fingers which poked at your side.

"no no no ale please!" you tried to dart away, her hand catching the back of your shorts and yanking you back down onto the bed. "say sorry!" your girlfriend demanded, sitting on top of you as you squirmed and begged for her to stop, fingers tickling at your side and your shirt half over your face as you tried to wiggle down the bed to get away.

"i'm sorry!" you gave in with a breathy laugh, alexia's frown now gone and replaced with the same stupid lovesick grin mapi was always teasing her for having when she was around you.

"dilo en español." your girlfriend smirked, digging a finger beneath your armpit as your face went bright red and your stomach ached. "lo siento!" you managed out, exhaling and trying to catch your breath as finally she stopped, sliding off of you as you halfheartedly smacked her and she sighed, head tucking into your neck again as she pulled you close.

"amor i think the worst part is i am going to have that stupid song stuck in my head for weeks!"

#alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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