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gojoest · 9 months ago

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URGES — gojo satoru

MDNI, pregnancy freak!satoru, f!reader, established relationship (married), reader is pregnant, public sex (in the train, but it’s just the tip), reader is going through hormonal changes that cause a very high sex drive + wears a dress, unprotected sex, pet names (sweetness), wc: 1.3k, dividers by @/cafekitsune

a/n: i implemented the ideas suggested by @/tapiocakisses & @/cherriel0v3r into this drabble, big thank you <3

Satoru adores every bit about your pregnancy.

Certainly, his favorite thing about it is the baby bump that had slowly started forming — all because it is the most unambiguous sign that you belong to someone.

Surely, he also likes to put his hands on your belly. He places them on top when you sit together, rubs it softly, or gently shields it with his palm as you walk down the street while his other hand firmly sits at the small of your back — after all, this is the most unambiguous sign that you belonged to him, because not just any man would walk around touching a pregnant woman like that.

Not just any man, but the father himself.

But recently, there is another aspect of your pregnancy that he had grown extremely fond of — almost addicted, in fact, to the point he thinks he won’t be able to live any other way once this “side effect” subsides.

High sex drive…

…which comes as a result of increased hormonal shifts in your body, causing an abysmal spike in your libido. Thus meaning, you keep him quite busy.

These arousal outbursts occur at random times of the day, and Satoru is always ready to deliver — even if it means making regular stops at home during work hours (a few times a day) or ending a mission in an abrupt and brutal manner (unnecessary hollow purpling curses left and right that otherwise could’ve been handled with less effort).

It is all for a good cause — he needs to take care of his pregnant wife.

Sometimes you’d wake him up in the middle of the night, pawing at his cock, sweetly and innocently asking him to fuck you.

The blood has never rushed faster to his groin before. In all honesty, those are the times he struggles with his self-restraint because you drive him absolutely nuts with a single word, and the fact that you need him this bad, so bad that you’re already wet down there between your legs — and he can smell it, so bad that you wake him up rubbing your thighs together asking for his cock because your fingers aren’t good enough to reach certain spots… messes with his head oh so terribly. If you weren’t in this fragile, pregnant state, he’d pin you down nasty and fuck the living hell out of you until you pass out.

He thinks to himself, that once the child is born the first thing he’ll do is fuck your brains out in the most obscene of positions that weren’t suitable during the pregnancy and take his pent-up frustration from holding back his stroke game out on that pretty cunt of yours. Well, until he knocks you up all over again.

…because he wants to keep you pregnant and needy for him, all the time.

Until then, he’ll fuck you tenderly. Sometimes with just the tip…

…as you so happen to be in public — in the train, on your way to visit the zoo during one of his rarely free days, when your urges just so happened to kick in. Again.

Even though, he fucked you good before leaving the house. Pretty sure his cum is still staining the inner of your panties even — the panties that are now slid to the side as you’re backed against one of the corners of the train where it’s relatively secluded, with your husband standing before you holding the hem of your dress up and high enough to access what’s underneath. His pants undone but still intact around his legs, it’s just the zipper that is down for his cock to be out and the tip prodding in your cunt.

It’s a good thing that he’s a big man and that his frame can cover the entirety of you once he is in front of you, so that people entering or leaving the wagon wouldn’t witness the obscenity beyond him. Fortunately, all they see is the huge, broad back of a tall, well-built man. And, well, a pair of smaller feet that could be spotted through his spread lower limbs, that is, if you looked down.

“Shh—“, cupping your cheek with his free hand Satoru quietly hushes you, tracing his index finger over your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, moving your hips slightly to swallow more of him inside you, and not just the tip. “I don’t want other people to hear the sweet noises you make, they’re for my ears only, okay?”

His finger moves away from your mouth, giving way for his lips to seal them instead. Because he knows that you won’t listen to him. You never do. And he really can’t make peace with the possibility of someone catching on to your voice. Not because you’d be busted fucking in broad daylight, inside of a train of all places. But because, that voice you make when his cock is inside you? It’s really just for him to hear and keep.

“Please, sweetness— just whisper your moans to me, in my ear only”, he mumbles against your lips, just barely breaking the kiss so he could beg for you to keep it down. Growing concerned on what he could possibly do if someone were to actually hear you.

“Nghh—”, you pant into him, incoherent. Easier said than done, you think but the words don’t make it out. All that is in your mind is how bad you want his cock inside you, all of it. The tip only is doing more damage than any good, teasing you further.

“Fuck me for real, ‘Toru”, you hiss at him, grabbing a chunk of his hair before dragging your nails down his undercut, then down his back, and then lower, and lower, and lower — until you reach his ass. Your hand kneading on it, sneakily luring his hips into you.

He wavers, he really does.

Beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, his bangs damp and sticking on his skin. His cheeks flushed while he breathes in heavy stutters as tremors run up and down his body, causing him to buck himself forward just a tiny bit before he stops himself. Terrified of losing his mind if he goes an inch deeper in you, because then — people would know and unfortunately see you in a state that only he is allowed to see.

His extreme possessiveness of you being the only voice of reason in him right now, no matter how contradicting the present situation is. He wants people to know that he fucks you, but he does not want them to witness it. His wish to be the only one you give yourself to is followed by the desire to be the only witness to how you do it.

“Yeah?”, he scoffs, his head falling back for a second then shifting to its previous position. Shortly after his neck cranes down and he nestles his forehead on the nook of your shoulder.

“Do you know what it costs me to stop myself from going all the way in? Do you have any idea how fucking good you feel?”, he laughs in a daze. “Pretty sure I just lost about 10 years of my life holding back, so please — please, don’t let anyone get to that sweet voice”, he pleads through a heavy breath. His voice is really desperate. Like he really is fighting for his life there, trying to keep your voice pristine to his ears only.

“There’s a café three stops away”, he continues after he peels his head away from your shoulder and looks at you through half-lidded eyes. “I can give you the rest there — can you be a good girl for me till then?”

You nod.

The zoo visit was clearly off the table now. But in a few more minutes you would be on the bathroom counter — legs spread and a cockful of your husband inside you — getting what you deserve.

#ઈઉ — ai writes #[ ♡ ] — satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #pregnancy freak!satoru

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gf2bellamy · 1 month ago

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hi!!! i’ve fallen back into a criminal minds phase and i’ve been binge reading all of your “secret relationship” fics and i would love to read a secret relationship fic but it’s basically told through each team member slowly realizing that spencer and reader are dating! but it’s finally confirmed when reader gets hurt or something and spencer is freaking out. maybe some light teasing from the team because they’re happy it’s finally out in the open?? omg hope this makes sense LOL!

signs — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: secret relationship, spencer thinking reader is hurt ( she's not ) , reader is drunk at some point , but the rest is just fluff a/n: hi hi ! i absolutely adore this idea <3 i hope you like this :) i feel like i haven't written a secret relationship fic in ages

Rossi: Rossi was in a mood.

It wasn’t often he didn’t get what he wanted — especially when it came to fine dining — but apparently, not even being David Rossi guaranteed you the exact reservation slot you preferred at one of D.C.’s most exclusive restaurants.

He clicked his tongue in mild irritation as he stepped through the entrance, the warm scent of truffle oil hanging in the air.

Ahead of him, a well-dressed couple stood waiting to be seated, murmuring to one another as the hostess sorted through the parties ahead. Rossi barely spared them a glance at first, too busy checking his watch and scanning the room. His date was running late — icing on the cake of an already disappointing evening.

He sighed, eyes flicking back to the couple in front of him.

And then he did a double take.

The man’s profile came into view as he turned to speak to his companion, and Rossi nearly choked on his own breath.

Spencer Reid.

Not just Spencer, but you too — standing beside him, completely at ease, smiling up at him as if no one else in the world existed.

Rossi blinked.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the profiler in him shifting into gear as he observed the two of you.

Spencer leaned in, saying something low enough that only you could hear. You laughed — not the kind of polite, professional laugh he’d heard around the bullpen, but something softer. Familiar.

Intimate.

Rossi’s brow arched. His eyes dropped to your joined hands — fingers lightly intertwined. His gaze traveled up again, catching the look in Spencer’s eyes as he watched you speak.

Well. That explained a lot.

Rossi was a menace. That much was painfully clear. But if there was one thing Rossi did best, it was push people’s buttons — especially when it came to secrets.

And so, true to form, he did what Rossi always did: He took the opportunity to be irritating.

With a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips, he tapped Spencer lightly on the shoulder.

Spencer turned slowly, a bit confused, before his eyes landed on Rossi. You, beside him, did the same, your hand still gently resting in Spencer's.

The second your gazes met, Rossi’s grin only grew wider.

Spencer’s face went as red as the napkins they handed out at the restaurant — a shade of crimson that could only come from absolute mortification.

“Hello, you two,” Rossi said, his voice laced with amusement, eyes glinting as he looked between you both.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, frozen, staring blankly at the older man, clearly at a loss for words. Rossi swore he could hear the mental gears turning in Spencer’s head, trying to process how the hell he’d been caught.

Rossi took an extra second, savoring the silence — the awkwardness. It was almost too easy.

Then, reality set in. The tension shattered.

Without thinking, you both let go of each other’s hands, almost instinctively, as if the sudden separation could somehow erase what had just happened.

“Hi—hello, Rossi,” you stammered, voice faltering in a way that told Rossi all he needed to know: You were completely flustered.

“We—uhm—” you paused, trying to put your words together, but clearly struggling to form anything coherent. “We just… saw each other by chance, y’know, in the city… and then we got talking and… thought we’d check out this restaurant.”

The explanation came out so jumbled and rushed that Rossi could barely keep up. You were stumbling over your words, clearly trying to spin a story that didn’t exactly fit, but also trying to avoid outright admitting what was painfully obvious.

“Exactly, yeah,” Spencer nodded—too quickly, too earnestly.

It wasn’t convincing. Not even a little.

Rossi crossed his arms over his chest, letting the silence do the heavy lifting. Then, with the ease of a man who had absolutely nothing to lose and every intention of stirring the pot, he asked calmly,

“So the two of you just happened to randomly run into each other outside one of the most exclusive—and might I add, most obscenely expensive—restaurants in the city… and just decided to walk in? Together?”

His tone was casual, but his eyebrows were doing all the work.

You and Spencer froze. No words. Just two deer caught square in the headlights of David Rossi’s nonsense detector.

Because the truth was so much worse than whatever lie you were trying to piece together on the spot.

Spencer had woken you up from a nap that afternoon—gently, of course, like he always did, brushing your hair back and murmuring your name. You’d grumbled something in protest, refusing to move. You had your head in his lap, perfectly comfortable, and all you wanted was ten more minutes.

But then he’d said it.

“I have something for us tonight. Remember that place you kept talking about? I made reservations. Months ago.”

You had shot up like lightning, groggy but very awake now, staring at him like he’d just handed you a golden ticket. You had been talking about this restaurant since before the two of you even started dating—back when you were still circling each other, just friends but barely.

And now here you were. Dressed up, excited, in love… and caught red-handed.

You dared a glance at Spencer. His jaw was tight, his eyes darting nervously like he was running through a mental database of plausible excuses.

Rossi, of course, was thriving.

He stood there like a man watching live theater, fully enjoying the slow unraveling of your carefully guarded secret.

You cleared your throat, nodded with way more confidence than you felt. “Yes. Exactly.”

Spencer turned his head sharply toward you, brow raised just slightly—as if to say, Really? This is the story we're sticking to? But to his credit, he didn’t call you out.

He just nodded slowly. “Yep,” he added, voice dry, “total coincidence.”

Rossi stared at the two of you in silence for a moment longer. The way one does when they’ve just witnessed something both deeply embarrassing and wildly entertaining. Then he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“You know what,” he said, grinning now, “sure. If that’s what you’re going with—absolutely. A total coincidence. Two colleagues running into each other at a five-star restaurant, in formal wear, with a reservation one of them booked months ago… Makes perfect sense.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You were far too aware of Spencer next to you, standing stiff as a board, and the fact that Rossi had you both in a corner with nowhere to run.

“But hey,” Rossi continued, shrugging, “who am I to question the universe? Maybe fate did shove the two of you into the same place at the same time.”

He turned slightly, already starting to walk away. “I’ll leave you to your completely unplanned, not-a-date-at-all evening.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath that sounded like “we’re doomed”, and you could only manage a half-smile as you watched Rossi disappear into the dining room.

But not before he glanced back and added, “Order the tiramisu. It’s phenomenal.”

Then he was gone.

And you and Spencer just stood there, still frozen in place.

After a long moment, you exhaled slowly. “…We’re so bad at this.”

Spencer groaned. “We really are.”

JJ: JJ was late.

It wasn’t entirely her fault — Henry had launched a full-blown protest over the shape of his pancakes, and in the chaos, his tiny hands had knocked over an entire glass of orange juice, soaking her blouse and half of the kitchen floor. By the time she managed to wrangle a clean shirt, a semi-content child, and get out the door, she was already dreading the knowing look Hotch would send her way.

She hurried into the BAU bullpen, the sound of her heels echoing as she made a beeline for the conference room. The door was already closed. Great. She inhaled deeply, then pushed it open, words tumbling out before she could stop them.

“I’m so, so—”

She froze.

Just for a split second.

Her eyes dipped downward involuntarily, catching something odd beneath the table. She blinked, recovering fast, her gaze snapping to Hotch. “Sorry,” she said smoothly. “Henry was giving me a hard time this morning.”

He gave her a slight nod, and she slid into the empty seat across from Spencer and you. Penelope was already mid-presentation, clicking through slides.

But JJ wasn’t listening.

She was still stuck on what she thought—no, she definitely—saw under the table.

Legs. Not just legs. Intertwined legs.

Your ankle was hooked gently around Spencer’s beneath the table, casual and familiar in a way that made her eyebrows lift just slightly. She tried to shake it off — maybe it was just a coincidence, an accidental brush.

Then her gaze dropped to the ground again.

She “accidentally” let her pen slip from her hand.

“Oops,” she murmured, crouching down to retrieve it, though her eyes were doing more investigating than her fingers.

Yup. Confirmed.

Not only were your ankles still tangled together like teenagers sneaking around in study hall, but you were wearing matching socks. Well, not quite matching — complementary.

Yours had a little Snoopy in a Halloween costume dancing across the left sock. Spencer’s had the other half of the design — Snoopy’s pumpkin and Woodstock.

She blinked once. Twice.

Slowly, she straightened back up and sat stiffly in her chair, lips twitching. She didn’t say anything, not yet. Just opened her case file and pretended to focus, though her brain was screaming:

Oh my God. Spencer Reid is in a relationship. And it’s with you.

She stared at the two of you, watching as Spencer jotted down a note in the margins of his file and you leaned over just slightly to peek at what he wrote, your elbows brushing. It was so subtle, so natural.

JJ pressed her lips together, trying not to grin.

That’s when Spencer glanced up from his notes — and locked eyes with JJ.

He froze.

JJ wasn’t subtle about it either. She was staring right at him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised — equal parts curiosity, amusement, and busted.

For a split second, Spencer froze—just long enough for JJ to see the flicker of panic in his eyes before he schooled his expression back into something neutral. But it was too late. She’d already caught it.

His fingers twitched against the edge of the file in front of him. A tell.

You didn’t look up, but he could tell by the slight shift in your posture that you’d caught it too.

JJ’s smirk deepened. She didn’t say a word, didn’t need to — her expression said enough. She turned her attention back to the file in front of her, but not before giving Spencer one last knowing look.

Spencer cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, trying to refocus on Penelope’s words — something about timelines and victim patterns — but his mind was racing. He could handle serial killers and psychological profiling, but JJ with a knowing look? That was borderline terrifying.

He scribbled something useless in the margin of his page just to avoid eye contact.

Across from him, JJ finally looked away, lips twitching like she was fighting back a full-on grin.

Two down.

The rest of the team? It was only a matter of time.

Derek: It was hour fifteen of a twenty-four-hour stakeout. Tensions were low, patience was lower, and the temperature had dropped just enough to make everyone thoroughly miserable.

Morgan was behind the wheel, spyglass raised to his eye, keeping watch on the darkened house across the street. Spencer was riding shotgun, his tablet balanced on his lap but currently ignored.

You were in the back seat, curled up like a sleepy cat, eyes barely staying open.

“It’s so cold,” you mumbled, voice soft and tired.

“No AC,” Morgan said without looking away from the window. “No heat. No engine. We light up this car, and we might as well wave at the unsub.”

“I know,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Spencer turned, glancing back at you with a gentle frown. “Your hoodie’s in the go-bag,” he said, nodding toward the floor. “And I packed some food, too. There should be—”

“Cookies?” you perked up immediately, already leaning forward.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a fond smile. “Yes,” he nodded.

You dove into the bag, pulling out the hoodie and tugging it over your head. The sleeves practically swallowed your hands, and you looked entirely too cozy for a car with no heat and no legroom. Then came the cookies—individually packed, of course, probably something Spencer over-researched before choosing. You popped one in your mouth, handed one up to him without a word, and then casually offered another to Morgan.

“Want one?” you asked, already halfway through yours.

Morgan blinked.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the spyglass and turned to look at Spencer.

Spencer tried to play it cool, but it was already too late. He looked like he’d been caught stealing classified documents from the Pentagon.

Morgan’s gaze drifted from Spencer, back to you—cozy in his hoodie, munching on his cookies like it was the most natural thing in the world—then back to Spencer again.

Spencer cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. “You should, uh… probably keep watching the house,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to the spyglass like it was the most fascinating thing in the car.

Morgan didn’t move.

He raised an eyebrow. “You wanna run that by me again, pretty boy?”

Spencer froze.

Morgan leaned his elbow on the steering wheel, giving him that look.

“I’m just saying,” Morgan added, his voice low and casual, “most coworkers don’t pack each other cookies, hoodies, and act like they’re sharing a studio apartment back there.”

You blinked, finally tuning in, cheeks puffed out with cookie. “We’re not—” you began, trying to summon something that sounded remotely believable.

“Oh, don’t even try,” Morgan cut you off smoothly, his grin widening.

You glanced at Spencer—please say something that makes this better—and then back at Morgan, before letting out a quiet sigh and leaning back in your seat.

At this point, it wasn’t even worth fighting.

Spencer had already told you about the awkward moment with JJ in the briefing room—the look she gave him that had screamed I know something you don’t want me to.

And then… Rossi. And now Morgan. You could practically feel the secret unraveling thread by thread.

You had barely gathered the willpower to respond, but Spencer, in all his nervous, fumbling glory, was still committed to the bit.

“Well, I do,” he blurted suddenly, making both you and Morgan pause. “The cookies—they’re not just for her.”

Your mouth fell open, eyes widening in offense as you turned to stare at him.

Spencer didn’t look back. He just kept talking, rambling now, hands flailing slightly like he was in a debate with himself. “They’re for all of us. I brought enough for the team. It’s not—this isn’t a… it’s not what it looks like.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Mmhmm.”

You slowly turned back around in your seat, chewing the rest of your cookie with exaggerated drama, then crossed your arms in silent betrayal.

Later that night, back in the warmth of the hotel room, Spencer had just barely finished brushing his teeth when he noticed you sitting on the edge of the bed with your arms still crossed.

“You’re mad,” he said, cautiously, towel draped over his shoulder.

You didn’t answer.

“Oh,” he blinked. “Still mad.”

You picked up your toothbrush in silence and marched into the bathroom like a woman on a mission. Spencer watched you go with a soft frown, then padded in after you, leaning on the doorframe as you aggressively brushed your teeth.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said gently.

Still brushing. Still ignoring him.

“…Okay, fair,” he added, “but I panicked. Morgan was looking at me with that look—the one that means he already knows and he’s just waiting for me to confirm it with a twitch of my eyebrow.”

You spit out the toothpaste, rinsed your mouth, and glared at him through the mirror.

“You said the cookies weren’t for me.”

“They were for you,” he tried.

You narrowed your eyes.

Spencer took a step closer, wrapping his arms lightly around your waist from behind. “I also packed the hoodie. And your favorite brand of gum. And that weird off-brand protein bar you pretend to like.”

You stared at his reflection, unmoved.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss just under your ear. Then another. And another. Soft, slow, and annoyingly effective.

You tried not to smile. You really tried.

But by the time he was kissing along your jaw, you caved—letting out a small, breathy laugh as you shook your head.

“That was so rude, though.”

“I know,” he mumbled against your skin. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” you said, finally turning in his arms. “Or next time, I’m telling Morgan that the cookies definitely weren’t for him.”

Spencer laughed quietly, his nose bumping yours. “Okay. Fair.”

And just like that, the cookie betrayal was forgiven.

Garcia: Sometimes, boredom took over Garcia. And when Garcia was bored, it usually meant she was… poking around.

A little innocent internet rabbit hole here, a little harmless people-tracking there—y’know, just casual hacking using elite-level skills that probably violated several federal privacy laws. But whatever. She called it “passive wellness checks.”

So when the team was on a stakeout and she wasn’t directly needed, Garcia let her curiosity wander. Just a bit. She wasn’t looking for anything specific, but her fingers flew across the keys anyway.

A few clicks led to hotel reservation databases—normal stuff. She was just checking to make sure no one had booked a suspicious room under a weird alias like “John Smith” or “Not A Criminal.” That was all.

Then she paused.

Two reservations at the hotel. Standard. One under Spencer’s name. The other…

“Wait a sparkly second,” Garcia whispered, squinting at the screen.

Your name was right there, listed just one room number away from Spencer’s. Which wasn’t shocking in itself. The team often had rooms near each other. But—

Garcia’s eyes narrowed.

The hotel’s internal system allowed for some… minor enhancements. She tapped a few keys. There it was: a timestamp from housekeeping. Your room hadn’t been accessed in over 30 hours. Spencer’s had been accessed twice as often.

And the kicker? Two key cards had been used.

“Oh?” she whispered, eyebrows raising.

She double-clicked. The details popped up. Same check-in time. Same check-out. Shared billing. One queen bed.

Garcia sat back in her chair, blinking at the screen.

“Oh, my God.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Oh. My. God.

The realization hit her like a freight train dressed in glitter and secrets.

You and Spencer.

She stood up so fast her chair rolled backwards and bumped into the wall.

“Oh my God, oh my God, Oh my God,” she whispered in rapid succession, pacing in a tight little circle like her office was suddenly too small for the sheer scope of this revelation.

You and Spencer. Together. Secretly. Sleeping in the same room.

She made a small sound that could only be described as a gasp crossed with a squeal.

“I knew it,” she hissed, stabbing a glittery-painted finger at her monitor like it had betrayed her. “I knew something was going on. And Derek said I was imagining things. He said I had ‘conspiracy brain.’ ”

She spun around, snatching her phone off the desk. Her first instinct was to call you immediately and yell “How dare you keep this from me, I am your godmother in all things love and codependency”— but she paused, phone hovering mid-air.

Now, Penelope Garcia was many things: a tech queen, a fashion icon, an unapologetic drama enthusiast. She was also a terribly curious person who thrived off of a good love story, especially if it involved people she adored. Which this did. This was the pinnacle of gossip. The golden egg of secrets.

But.

She frowned, slowly lowering the phone to her desk.

But she also loved you. And she loved Spencer. And as much as she wanted to burst into your hotel room with a confetti cannon and matching t-shirts, she knew how private Spencer was. And how gentle you were with your heart.

Maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t her secret to explode.

“Ugh,” she groaned dramatically, tossing herself into her chair. “Why do I have to be so emotionally evolved?”

She stared at her screen. The room access logs, the billing details, the clear-as-day evidence of romantic entanglement. Her fingers hovered over the delete key, then paused. No, she wasn’t deleting anything. Not yet. She was just… letting it simmer. For safekeeping.

She flopped her head back and sighed deeply, like she was in a soap opera.

“I’m not gonna blow it up,” she whispered to herself. “I’m gonna be cool. Chill. Under control. A vault.”

A beat of silence.

“But I am dying inside.”

She clutched her chest and sank lower into her chair, muttering to herself.

“Y’all better tell me yourselves or I swear to God, I will hack your text history, compile a dramatic slideshow of your relationship timeline, and set it to Celine Dion. With glitter transitions.”

With that vow silently made , she took a deep breath, sat up straight, and went back to her screen—though every once in a while, she let out a tiny squeak of excitement, unable to keep the joy completely contained.

Because this was happening.

And if no one else had said it yet—she was so, so happy for you both.

Hotch: The evening was supposed to be a simple gathering at Rossi’s place—nothing too elaborate, just a way to unwind after a tough case.

You had no intention of getting drunk, but here you were, swaying on your feet with a cup of water in your hand, courtesy of Spencer.

It had all started innocently enough, just some light conversation with Garcia, but somehow, between the laughter, the teasing, and the drinks, you'd lost track of the evening. And now, you were definitely feeling it.

You'd been walking around Rossi's house, or at least trying to walk. "Walking" was a generous term considering how much you were swaying side to side, trying not to trip over your own feet.

Spencer had been eyeing you all evening, a mixture of concern and affection on his face, pushing water into your hands every time you seemed to lose focus or reach for another drink. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding the water glass until you stumbled into Hotch in front of a set of pictures on the wall.

“Hi, boss,” you mumbled, your words dragging a bit more than you intended.

Hotch looked at you with a slight frown, his brow furrowing as he processed your greeting. But then he noticed the way you were swaying slightly on your feet, your eyes glassy, and he didn't press the matter. Instead, he looked at your glass of water, which was still almost full.

“You should finish that,” he suggested with a small nod, his voice laced with that familiar tone of concern.

You glanced at the glass in your hand, then back up at him, furrowing your brows as if the glass was a mystery you couldn’t solve.

"Right… yes, I should," you muttered, a little confused as to how it even ended up in your hand in the first place.

“Spencer gave me this,” you suddenly remembered, nodding as if that explanation made perfect sense.

Hotch gave you an amused look, his lips curling slightly. "Yes, he did," he confirmed, taking a sip from his own drink.

You stared at the water in your hand for a moment, then your expression shifted as a realization hit you. “You know, it’s surprising you haven’t noticed yet,” you slurred a bit, your words coming out slower than usual.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Noticed what exactly?"

You nodded toward the room, your gaze catching Rossi across the way. "Pretty sure everyone else has,” you continued, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Or at least Rossi did.”

You took a sip of water and let out a sigh. “God, that was embarrassing.”

Hotch stared at you for a moment, looking between you and Rossi across the room. “Noticed what?” he asked, genuinely curious now.

Before you could finish your sentence, Spencer suddenly appeared at your side. His eyes flicked from you to Hotch with a mix of frustration and concern.

“There you are,” Spencer said, his voice carrying a hint of relief as he took in your unsteady stance. He had lost sight of you a few minutes ago and, naturally, had come to check on you.

You blinked up at Spencer, a wide grin spreading across your face. “Spence, I was just telling Hotch that you and I are—”

Spencer immediately cut you off, his voice strained but trying to keep it light. “Okay, we are getting you sobered up.” The red creeping up his neck was unmistakable as he quickly stepped in front of you, placing his hand firmly on your lower back to steer you away from Hotch.

You started to protest. “But—”

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, barely glancing at Hotch before he gently but firmly guided you away, his hand resting on your back with a soft pressure.

Hotch stood still for a moment, his gaze following you both. He couldn’t help but notice the way Spencer’s hand lingered on your lower back—how his fingers were splayed out, with his thumb lightly brushing the fabric of your shirt as he led you away.

Hotch's expression was unreadable, but there was an unmistakable flicker of realization in his eyes. He had caught the subtle gesture, and as much as he had his suspicions, seeing it in action made everything that much more clear.

As you two started to move away, Hotch took another long sip from his drink, his lips curling into a knowing, half-amused smile. He glanced over at Rossi, who was now watching the scene with mild interest.

Spencer was already doing his best to get you out of the room, though he couldn't completely mask the fact that he was desperately trying to keep you from saying anything else.

“Come on, let’s just get you some water and air,” Spencer said, his voice low but kind, steering you gently away.

And you—completely oblivious to everything going on—continued to smile up at him, grinning like you had just won some secret game, unaware of the small reveal that had just unfolded.

Everyone: It all came to light in a way no one expected.

It wasn’t a serious injury, not by any means, but it might as well have been the way Spencer reacted. You had been outside when the unsub started shooting. Thankfully, no one was directly hurt.

But a bullet grazed your vest, knocking the air from your lungs for a few seconds. That small hit was enough to send Spencer spiraling.

Morgan was quick to catch the unsub, who, thankfully, gave up without much resistance. As Morgan shoved the suspect into one of the waiting police cars, Spencer was already rushing toward you, his panic evident in the quick, almost frantic way he approached.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice almost cracking, his hands reaching to cradle your face.

The team was quiet. Everyone stood still, frozen in place, as they watched Spencer examine you, his fingers gently brushing over your cheek and jaw, ensuring there was no injury. Morgan glanced over his shoulder, pausing in the middle of cuffing the unsub, but didn’t say anything. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

You reached up, placing your hands on Spencer’s wrists to steady him, your voice soft, trying to ease his panic. “Spence, hey… I’m fine.”

Spencer froze. His eyes, wide and frantic, softened a fraction as your words registered. He blinked a few times, taking a step back to fully absorb what you were saying, but before he could form a proper response, his body seemed to move of its own accord. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

And then, in a gesture so tender, so full of emotion, he kissed your cheek and temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than anyone would’ve expected.

The entire team stood there, mouths wide open, watching in stunned silence.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Rossi, who gave a barely perceptible nod. JJ’s hand instinctively went to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. Even Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath, realizing the truth now stood out in the open for everyone to see.

You slowly pulled back from the hug, your hand lingering on Spencer’s arm as you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Spencer,” you repeated softly, trying to calm him down even though you could see the worry still etched on his face.

That’s when you heard Morgan’s voice, teasing yet amused. “Well, that’s one way to make it official,” he said with a smirk.

Spencer and you both turned slowly, your eyes wide as you took in the entire team watching you.

Their expressions ranged from surprise to amusement, but one thing was clear: they were all in on it now.

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to try and brush it off, but he quickly faltered. “Uh, she’s okay,” he muttered, the words awkward and forced as he cleared his throat.

Rossi shook his head in amusement. “Well, yeah, kid, you made sure of that,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. He raised a hand, gesturing between the two of you. “With your kisses.”

The entire team erupted into chuckles, a few low whistles coming from Morgan. Even Hotch couldn’t help but give a small, almost imperceptible smirk, his usual stoic demeanor faltering just a bit.

JJ, her eyes still wide with surprise, was the first to speak up. “Well, I have to say, that’s one way to make your relationship… very clear,” she teased gently, her smile soft.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and Spencer was no better off. He shifted nervously, his hands fumbling slightly at his sides as he looked around at his teammates, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, at least it’s finally out in the open,” you said with a small laugh, nudging Spencer’s side gently. “No more secrets.”

Rossi clapped Spencer on the back with a grin. “Finally,” he said. “Took you two long enough, but it’s nice to see you finally let us in on it.”

The teasing continued, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. The team was genuinely happy for you both.

Later that day, as you and Spencer walked into the bullpen hand-in-hand, you could hear Garcia’s voice echoing from the other side of the building.

"I knew it!" she screeched, her voice loud enough to make everyone within a 10-foot radius turn their heads.

"I knew something was going on between you two!"

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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cherriicou · 1 month ago

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oh my god please write an older bf!mingyu i love ur scoups one sm 💗 (did i mention to put creampie in? did i) 👁️👁️ thank u babes mwah

hehe ofc! glad u enjoyed it mwahaha

olderbf! mingyu x college student! reader (f)

a/n; pls don’t use tinder guys… // word count; 1.2K

content; age gap, size difference, overstimulation, consensual recording, sending nudes, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, spanking, car sex, public/semi-public sex, degradation, praise kink, riding, smut with the smallest amount of plot

OLDER BF!MINGYU who met you through a dating app his friend forced him to go on. he usually ignored all the young girls who sent him thirsty messages and had their bodies on display on their profile. but you were different. only cute selfies, cat pictures, and your interests were shown on your page, drawing him to get interested in you. so he messaged you first!

OLDER BF!MINGYU who noticed your like in art so he immediately suggested taking you to a museum as your first date <3 he was the sweetest man you’ve ever met. yes, he was way older than you but it made everything 10x better. he knew how to treat you well, he made you feel safe, and he even dropped so many compliments on you that day it made you squirm in your seat.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who noticed you staring at his arms every time he helped you pick up something or every time he extended his arm out to pay for your meal. his ego was boosted then, making sure to flex them every once in a while when he saw you looking. you looked so adorable, your pretty face blushing, thighs squeezing together while admiring him. he needed you.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who, at first, tries to be soft with you. you were so much smaller than him, he was almost scared he’d break you :< that was until you started playing little games. bending down when you decided to wear no panties under your dress or skirt, fingers grazing over his crotch while you had dinner. all while giving him a innocent look. oh, he was tired of playing nice with you.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who has you salivating all over your chin and tits. he’s fucking your face so roughly, your makeup is completely ruined and you have no thoughts whatsoever as he holds your face firmly with his hands. ‘fucking brat’, as he stared straight into your eyes, groaning from the tears that started to fall down. he was not afraid to show you that he was enjoying the way your mouth was taking him in so well.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who loves to overstimulate you. he knows you love it despite your whines, ‘g-gyu no more,’ as you try to push his head away from your sensitive pussy. but he just continues licking and sucking on the spot he knows drives you crazy. you don’t even realize it, but you start grinding on his mouth, feeling the smile form on his lips. ‘doesn’t seem like you want me to stop, baby.’ god, he could taste you all fucking day while having you squirm over him. lapping your juices for being such a good girl the other day while you took his cock in your mouth <3

OLDER BF!MINGYU who takes and picks you up from college; his expensive car catching the eyes of others as you happily walk to greet your boyfriend. glaring through his window to any of the young guys looking at you get into his car. oh, and his favorite thing is take your mind off the stressful day that just passed. panties shoved to the side as he plunges his fingers in and out of you while driving home. 'that's it, princess. use my fingers,' your moans and whimpers take over the entire car as you hold onto the arm that he is using to pleasure you in the passenger seat. his eyes directed towards you every once in a while to see the fucked out expression on your face. he doesn’t care if people can see the lewd scene from outside, as long as you’re taken care of!

OLDER BF!MINGYU who LOVES to fill you up. 'where you want it, baby?' sweat glistening on his forehead as he continuously rams into your sweet spot, orgasm right on edge. 'i-inside, please,' he already knows you want it in you, but he just loves hearing you say it while he's fucking you. his grip on your hips gets harder, making you squirm in both pain and pleasure. his thrusts get stronger as he finishes inside you, making sure all of it is released in your abused hole. 'fuck, look at that,' his breathless groans let out as he pulls his cock out of your sensitive cunt. he takes his phone from the bedside table, and you hear the sound of the record button as he spreads your ass out. both of your cum leaking out of your pussy so nicely. you think he's done until he uses his fingers to take as much fluid as he can to shove it right back inside your hole :3 'ah g-gyu..,' you let out. he smiles at your coos, landing a playful smack against your ass before pulling you up to kiss your lips.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who is annoyed at this stupid meeting his employees set up with him. he just nods away, eyes locked on the presentation, mind spinning faster than he could organize his thoughts. ding! he reached for his phone to find messages from you, as well as a video linked to it. 'miss you <3,' he smiles at the cute text, then opens the video to find himself growing hard and smiled swept away. it's a video of you, one hand holding the phone to show your naked body while the other hand is rubbing your clit. he turns down the volume completely before your moans can be heard in the basically quiet conference room. he's livid. you're at home, smiling at the 'seen' notification on your phone. it wasn't until time passed you started to worry, not a single message was sent back from him. you're screwed.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who has you bent over his lap, fingers messing with your pussy for what seems like hours. your ass was practically red and bruised from the amount of smacks it has taken. all while you plead, 'mm sorry gyu please,' he smiles. you think he is going to give into you fully, ready for him to put you in missionary or on all fours. but no. instead, he lays down with a cocky look on his face at your confused, needy expression. 'come sit on it, doll,' he can't be serious. he puts his hands behind his head, eyes never leaving you as your legs tremble. trying to put as much energy as you can to climb on top of him and fully sit on his cock. the pleasured look on your face almost makes him fold, he wanted to take care of you himself but you needed to learn. learn that needy girls don’t get awarded.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who almost feels bad for you. you're struggling so much to grind on dick :< the burn your thighs are feeling is insane, and he is just staring you down. 'g-gyu,' you whine while fighting for your life to continue riding him. 'hm? gonna cum, already?,' you nod, hands placed on his chest to try to help your body stabilize. your eyes meet his again and you give him the biggest pout, gasping as he finally thrusts into you once roughly, 'gonna make a mess on my cock like some needy slut?,' his hands grab onto your hips. he's being so mean but you know you'll love it later.

OLDER BF! MINGYU who thinks you've been punished enough and plants his feet flat on the bed, then immediately starts to fuck up into you. the tip of his meanly thick cock repeatedly slamming into your cervix. his hands frantically touching you all over your body, from your tits to your neck, to even putting his thumb into your mouth as you struggle to take what he's giving you. 'mm my sweet girl,' you salivate around his fingers as you feel yourself about to cum. you should take more pics often..

#svt #svt imagines #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen smut #kim mingyu #kim mingyu smut #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu svt #svt smut #svt headcanons #smut #kpop smut #kpop bg

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airenyah · 2 months ago

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truly. truly love how bad buddy posts are still doing numbers on here even 3+ years later

aight. guess it's one of those night where i go rewatch bbs ep5 pt4 rooftop kiss 🤷🏼‍♀️

#i mean i know this is only 5 notes #but it's five note within 30 minutes #about a show that ended in early 2022 #with a fandom that is pretty tiny compared to other tumblr fandoms #so like. i'll take those 5 notes. i'll take them #airenyah plappert #bbs #adrm #gosh i just adore all y'all bbs mutuals so much 🥺🥺🥺#i'm glad we're all still stuck on the rooftop together #at least we're not lonely up here #we're in good company <3 #edit: it's 2h later and i'm about to go to sleep and we're at 16 notes already. can you believe

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cadelinhadaromanoff · 1 month ago

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𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

Sumary: Natasha didn’t expect anyone to notice she was barely holding it together—let alone you. But when a simple playdate turns into days of fevers, exhaustion, and quiet overwhelm, you’re the one who shows up. No questions. No expectations. Just soup in hand, arms open, and eyes that see right through her

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Natasha Romanoff x platonic!Avengers

Word count: 4312

warnings: flu, stomach bug, natasha being vulnerable, age gap and a huge amount of cuteness.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

author notes: Thank you all sooo much for the love you’ve sent over this mini fanfic — seriously, my heart’s full! I’m beyond excited to say that yes, a little series about our chaotic (but adorable) family is officially happening <3

　゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　　˳ 　　　　　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　　 ₊

Time had a funny way of folding in on itself when you weren’t paying attention.

One moment, you were a reluctant presence on the fringes of her and Ana’s quiet world, and the next… you were everywhere. Slowly. Naturally. Not because you forced your way in, but because Ana wouldn’t let you be anywhere else. Because Natasha hadn’t known she was waiting for you until you started showing up.

With each passing week, you had become more a part of them—tangled in the fabric of small, ordinary things. Breakfast crumbs. Quiet laughter. The gentle thud of little feet running to find you the moment she entered a room. Natasha had told herself it was nothing. Just temporary. Just the way Ana gravitated to you.

But it was more than that. You weren’t just a presence. You were constant. Steady. You were becoming a part of them in ways Natasha hadn’t prepared for.

And that terrified her.

Because she’d started loving you.

More than she meant to.

And not just emotionally—her body had begun responding to you like it remembered something ancient, like it knew what it wanted before her mind had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t just attraction—it was primal. Deep. Dangerous. Her womb would ache in ways she hadn’t felt since before Ana. Ovulation, hormones, cravings… not just for you, but for the idea of you beside her, in her, with her. You, with Ana. You, in their future.

And you made it worse by being exactly who you were. By showing up when she least expected it. Like now.

Natasha was wrecked. Exhausted beyond measure. It had started with one stupid playdate. She should’ve known better—one of the other mothers had been coughing in that vaguely suspicious “I’m fine, really” way, and now Natasha was paying the price. First came the fever. Then the stomach bug. First for her, then for Ana. And now they were both half-alive, curled into a blanket cocoon on Natasha’s couch, in the dim light of her apartment.

Ana was burning up and clingy in the way toddlers get when they don’t understand why they feel so awful. She wouldn’t let go of Natasha, not for a second—not even to sleep. And Natasha herself was barely staying upright, her limbs heavy, her head pounding, her body still trying to fight off the virus she’d caught. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and Ana had been crying for the last thirty minutes with no real reason other than pure discomfort.

She was drowning. Alone, exhausted, and on the edge of breaking.

And then the door opened.

No warning. No knock. Just the sound of your voice, soft but firm.

“Hey.”

Natasha didn’t have the strength to lift her head fully. But you were there. Jacket already half-off, eyes scanning the mess in a heartbeat. You didn’t need an explanation. You didn’t ask questions. You just moved.

You took Ana from her arms with practiced ease—Ana went willingly, burying her flushed face into your shoulder like it was the only place she’d ever belonged. You murmured something soft, bouncing her lightly, hand rubbing circles on her back. Natasha watched you lower onto the couch beside her, Ana now pressed between you both, content in a way she hadn’t been all day.

And just like that… the panic faded. Natasha breathed again.

Your hand brushed against hers when you reached for the thermometer on the table. You glanced at her sideways. “You look like hell.”

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I brought soup.”

“You’re a menace.”

But you were her menace. She leaned her head against your shoulder without meaning to, eyelids fluttering closed for just a moment.

And you let her.

There weren’t any declarations. No promises. Just the warmth of your body beside hers, Ana dozing between you both, and the quiet understanding that, somehow, this wasn’t temporary anymore.

It had never been temporary.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—not really. Just close her eyes for a moment. But something about your presence always disarmed her, made her forget how long she’d been holding everything together. And now, with Ana tucked warm and feverish against your chest, with the tension in her own body finally starting to loosen, she let herself lean into it.

Only for a few seconds.

When she stirred, it was to the smell of something warm and simple. Soup. Real food. She blinked blearily and found you in her kitchen, moving with lazy familiarity. You were pouring the soup into a bowl, spoon already in hand, as if this was your place to do that. As if you belonged here.

You did.

You handed her the plate without a word, just gave her that look—eyebrow lifted, smirk tugging at the edge of your lips, the one you always wore when you were pretending not to care. She took it with both hands like it was a gift from the gods and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

“Okay,” she rasped, already taking a spoonful. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You gave a faux bow, already shaking up a bottle for Ana with one hand while she watched you from the curve of your hip, dazed and blinking.

“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”

She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, groaning. “You heated it like a pro.”

“Oh, I’m very skilled with microwaves. A real domestic goddess.”

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to throw this at you.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked, adjusting Ana gently in your arms as you rocked side to side, absently bouncing her. It was natural now. So seamless it made something in Natasha’s chest ache.

She watched the two of you for a moment, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Ana had gone still, her eyes fluttering closed, hands curled loosely against your chest. She looked content. Safe. Natasha swallowed past the knot in her throat.

“How did you know?” she asked, voice quieter now, worn at the edges. “That I was sick?”

You didn’t look away from Ana, just smiled lightly and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. noticed your vitals were way out of range for a few hours. High cortisol, spiked temp. She told me you weren’t doing great. I figured something was up.”

Natasha blinked. “You figured?”

You finally looked at her, that teasing glint still there, but softened. “I’m not gonna let you fall apart on your own, Romanoff. You and Ana… you’re mine too. My family.”

She didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The warmth in her chest wasn’t fever—it was you. The way you said it so simply, like it wasn’t something enormous. Like it didn’t undo her piece by piece.

She looked down at her bowl and took another bite of soup, mostly to keep from crying. “Well,” she murmured after a moment, “you might’ve just earned another microwave session.”

You raised an eyebrow, adjusting Ana as she finally slipped into deeper sleep. “I’ll take that as a declaration of love.”

She smirked, eyes still on her bowl. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Ana asleep between the two of you and the warmth of soup lingering in her hands, Natasha let herself believe it was real. That maybe this wasn’t just a moment, but the beginning of something she never dared to imagine.

The soup was almost gone by the time Ana stilled completely in your arms, her little hand twitching once, then going limp against your collarbone. You stayed swaying, even as your legs must’ve grown tired, and Natasha didn’t miss the way your fingers moved gently across Ana’s back, steady and rhythmic, like it was instinct.

The kind of instinct that made her want things she had no right to want. The kind of instinct that made her heart ache.

“She loves you,” Natasha said, voice softer now, almost inaudible. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe to test the sound of it in the air. Maybe to see if it shook you the way it shook her.

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

The answer was simple. Certain. It wasn’t arrogance—it was truth. You knew. And Natasha realized then that maybe you’d known for longer than she had. Maybe you’d been letting Ana pull you into their orbit from the start, quietly, without resistance. Maybe you’d been falling too.

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” she said after a beat, not teasing this time.

You finally looked over, the weight of Ana sleeping across your body anchoring you both to the moment. “I don’t,” you said lightly. Then added, “But she’s not a kid. She’s Ana.”

And Natasha smiled.

God help her, she smiled.

You glanced at her empty bowl. “Do you want me to warm up the rest?”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “No, if I eat more, I’ll owe you even more declarations of love, and I’m not sure your ego can handle that.”

“Oh, I can handle a lot,” you said, setting Ana down on the couch between you both with infinite care, your hands lingering on her curls as she whimpered, then settled again. “I’ve got range.”

She gave a tired laugh, her body sagging sideways, finally letting herself rest now that the worst of it had passed. Now that you were here.

She glanced at you through her lashes, quieter this time. “You didn’t have to come.”

You looked at her for a long second. “Yes, I did.”

There wasn’t anything more to say after that. Not really. The silence between you both wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken things. Full of what was building day by day, moment by moment, croissant crumbs and emergency soup and the soft thump of Ana’s head against your chest.

Natasha watched Ana’s little face in sleep. Then she turned to you.

“You know,” she said lightly, “I think she’s just trying to get herself a stepmom.”

Your mouth twitched. “Well. She’s doing a damn good job.”

Natasha leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closing again, lips curved with something half-smile, half-surrender. “This is your fault, you know.”

You raised a brow. “Mine?”

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You were supposed to hate kids. I was supposed to keep my life quiet. Ana was supposed to be enough.”

“She is enough.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Then softer, “But now there’s you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her like you already belonged there. Like you’d stay. Like maybe you were already home.

And Natasha—tired, sick, warm, and full of something she hadn’t felt in years—didn’t say it either.

She just smiled.

And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.

“Go take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch, Ana tucked easily against your shoulder like she belonged there. “You look disgusting.”

Natasha scoffed, too tired to argue. “Charming as ever.”

You shot her a smirk. “I’m just saying, it might not be the flu. It could be self-inflicted. Maybe try soap.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her mouth curved betrayed her. That ridiculous, easy charm of yours—that’s what made it dangerous. Not just because you were funny or disarming or beautiful in that sharp, effortless way. But because you made it feel like loving you would be so… simple.

She watched as you disappeared into the hallway with Ana, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. And despite the biting jokes and your performative annoyance, you moved like you were born for it. Like Ana was safest in your arms.

Natasha sat still for a moment. Her muscles were aching, her skin hot from fever and sleep, but her thoughts didn’t drift toward rest. They drifted toward you.

You, humming something softly under your breath while you ran warm water for Ana. You, scooping bubbles with your hand and making her giggle, even feverish and worn out as she was. You, being gentle. Thoughtful. Patient.

You, who weren’t supposed to want any of this.

But you did. Maybe not in the way you’d admit out loud—not yet. Still, it was there in every wordless offering. In the croissant you split without blinking. In the soup you served before she could even ask. In the way you told her, so casually, that they were yours too. That this—her and Ana—was home.

What are we even becoming? she thought, rubbing a hand over her eyes. The question made her heart beat harder than it should have.

She leaned her head back against the couch and sighed. For so long, her future had been a blank space—no risks, no attachments, just the weightless quiet of a life lived in retreat. Ana had changed that. She’d started painting the outlines of something new: slow mornings, comfort food, the kind of chaos that wasn’t dangerous but deeply, beautifully human.

But you… You filled the rest in.

And it terrified her, how easily she could see it now.

The three of you. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A life that wasn’t just survival. She could almost feel it like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, dragging herself to her feet. It’s just soup. Just a bath. Just you.

But she smiled anyway.

When you returned, Ana was clean and dressed in fresh pajamas, her damp curls already drying against your shoulder. She was fast asleep again, breath soft and steady against your neck. You were barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and your hair damp from whatever splash damage Ana had managed in the bath—but you looked so at ease. Like this had been your life forever.

“Your turn,” you murmured, keeping your voice low not to wake the baby. “Go. Before your skin peels off.”

Natasha huffed, but moved toward the bathroom without protest. She stopped in the doorway, turning back once more to glance at you. You were pacing slightly, patting Ana’s back, rocking her with barely a thought.

You didn’t see her watching you.

You didn’t have to.

Because the truth had already rooted itself deep in Natasha’s chest, undeniable and warm and terrifying.

This was never part of the plan, she thought, fingers curled lightly on the doorframe. But maybe it should’ve been.

And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the shower, letting herself wash off everything but the thoughts of you that clung stubbornly to her skin

The scent of soap and baby shampoo clung to the air. And she stared at it—the water, the stillness, the ghost of a moment that wasn’t hers alone anymore—and for the first time in days, she smiled without exhaustion in her bones.

You were supposed to be a complication.

Instead, you were comfort.

Natasha deixou seus pensamentos vagarem — só um pouquinho.

To quiet nights and lavender baths.

To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.

To a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone anymore.

Maybe not just someone.

Maybe you.

The water had helped.

Not in any dramatic, life-changing way, but enough. Enough to strip away the fog in her mind, the heat on her skin, the ache in her muscles that had been screaming for rest. She toweled off slowly, her movements heavy but less desperate now. Steam clung to the mirror as she stepped out into her room, wrapped in one of her fluffiest towels, hair damp and curling against her neck.

And paused.

You were there. Bent over her bed, sleeves pushed up, changing the sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. You had already stripped the sick-sweat-drenched set and tossed them in the hamper. Now you were laying down clean ones—fresh, cool cotton with the faint scent of lavender detergent. Probably the same kind you used for Ana’s things.

“You organizing my closet next?” she said, arms crossing loosely over her chest, voice drier than the towel wrapped around her.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “Already color-coded your knives, too.”

Natasha snorted, dragging her hand through her damp hair. “This part of the rescue mission, or are you just nesting?”

“Someone had to make your bed not smell like death,” you replied. “I drew the short straw.”

“Really? I think you’re just obsessed with me.”

You paused for half a second. Just enough for her to notice.

Then you looked at her with a smirk that was half-deflection, half-something warmer. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff.”

She hummed and moved slowly toward the bed as you smoothed out the comforter. You were almost done, and her limbs were already sagging with the pull of sleep again. Still, she didn’t want to rush this part. This version of you—quietly caring, effortlessly present, always pretending it meant less than it did—it made her want to look twice.

You finished tucking the corners in and stepped back, giving the space a satisfied nod.

“I know,” you said. “Perfect. You’re welcome.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but sat down, slowly sinking into the clean sheets like they were heaven itself. They felt crisp and cool against her overheated skin, and she let out a sigh she didn’t mean to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, watching her with something closer to pride than smugness. “Say it. I’m incredible.”

She didn’t say it. But she smiled.

And when her head hit the pillow, she felt the familiar haze of exhaustion crawling back. Her eyes fluttered shut—but only for a second, because then you spoke again, voice lower now, less teasing.

“I can stay.”

Natasha blinked up at you.

You were standing beside her, looking down, and for once you weren’t hiding behind a joke. “I mean. If you want,” you continued, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “I can sit with Ana tonight. Keep an eye on her so you can actually sleep.”

It wasn’t the offer itself that made her heart stutter—it was the way you made it sound like breathing. Like of course you would. Like this was your home too.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. To tell you that was kind. That you didn’t have to.

But what came out instead was, “Lie down.”

Your brows lifted. “What, here?”

She patted the empty space beside her. “You already changed the sheets. Might as well test them.”

You hesitated for a breath. Maybe two. Then you moved without a word, toeing off your shoes and sliding in beside her. There was still space between you—barely—but it felt charged. Intentional.

Ana’s soft breathing came from the baby monitor on the nightstand, and for the first time in two long, fever-drenched days, the room felt calm.

You turned your head on the pillow to face her.

“You sure about this?”

Natasha looked at you. At the girl who didn’t like kids. The one who made her soup and changed her sheets and rocked her daughter to sleep in the bath.

“I think I’ve been sure for a while,” she said softly.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled—small and a little dazed—and reached over, letting your pinky brush hers between the sheets. Not taking. Not pushing. Just offering.

And Natasha, ex-spy, assassin, mother—she curled her finger around yours and held on.

The room had gone quiet.

Not the kind of silence that weighed heavy or pressed against your chest—but a hush that wrapped around them gently. Like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for them to notice it.

Ana’s breathing was soft through the monitor. The hum of the city outside filtered in faintly through the curtains. But here, in this bed, there was only warmth. And you.

You didn’t speak for a while. Neither of you did.

You stayed lying beside her, not touching, not rushing. The kind of nearness that said more than closeness ever could. And Natasha—who had known how to kill a man in a dozen ways before she ever learned how to ask for help—just let herself exist in the moment.

Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.

“Do you miss it?”

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding you in the half-light. “Miss what?”

“The life before this.” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Before Ana. Before… quiet mornings and lavender soap and someone needing you all the time.”

Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I was good at it. But I never wanted to go back to that.”

You nodded, slow. Processing.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Everyone talks about you like you were unstoppable. Like you were this myth in red.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I was a myth. But it wasn’t peace. It was noise. Constant noise. I didn’t realize how tired I was until she was born.”

You looked over at her. “And now?”

She met your eyes. “Now it’s like… I finally exhaled. Like I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I saw her.”

There was a pause. You shifted slightly, the sheets rustling just a little. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” Natasha corrected gently. And then, after a beat, her voice softer: “And I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”

You blinked. Slowly. As if the words had knocked the air out of you without even touching you.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, eyes flickering down. “Just because I’ve been showing up. I mean… anyone would, right?”

“No,” Natasha said simply.

She reached out then—not boldly, but with certainty—and let her hand rest on your arm, grounding, warm. “Not anyone. You.”

You swallowed hard, and for a second, she thought you might pull away. Instead, you turned toward her a little more, eyes clearer than she’d seen them all night.

“I didn’t think I had room for this,” you said, and the way your voice cracked a little almost broke her. “Not just the kid thing. Any of it. I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I wasn’t built for this kind of… closeness. I thought it would break me.”

“It’s not breaking you,” Natasha whispered. “It’s softening you. That’s different.”

You let out a shaky breath. Then, tentatively, like you were still surprised it was allowed, you reached for her hand and held it fully this time.

“Sometimes I think she knew before I did,” you said.

“Who?” Natasha asked.

“Ana.” Your voice turned fond. “She just… decided. I walked into that briefing room and it was over. She picked me. I never stood a chance.”

Natasha smiled again—tired, wrecked, but so full of feeling it ached.

“She does have good taste.”

“Yeah,” you said, thumb brushing over hers. “She really does.”

Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something new, something forming in the quiet between you.

“I can stay,” you said again, softer. “Not just tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

She looked at you, fully and openly, and saw the way you looked back—unguarded, raw, still scared, but trying.

Trying for them.

So she gave you the simplest answer she could.

“You already are.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, eyes barely open, red hair a damp halo on her pillow, face soft in a way the world rarely got to see. That expression—the quiet, raw one that didn’t come from war zones or missions or victory, but from something quieter. Something safe.

You shifted, slow and careful, until your body was turned fully toward her. And then, without asking, without needing to, you reached out and wrapped your arm around her waist. Gently, but without hesitation.

Natasha didn’t tense. Didn’t joke or protest or pretend to be made of stone.

She just let you do it.

And when you pulled her against you—when you guided her into your space like she belonged there—she went easily. Folded into you like she’d been waiting for it all along. Her back settled against your chest, her breath hitched just once, and then her whole body melted.

You held her close. Not like she might disappear, but like you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. Like holding her was the most natural conclusion to every shared moment before this.

Your arm tucked snugly around her waist. Your nose brushed the back of her hair. She smelled like clean skin, steam, and something faintly herbal—maybe Ana’s baby shampoo, clinging to her like a memory. She was warm and exhausted and completely real.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world could’ve fallen apart around you and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Is this okay?” you murmured against her shoulder, voice almost lost in the dark.

She nodded, a slow movement against your pillow. “It’s more than okay.”

You felt her fingers brush yours where they rested on her stomach, weaving through them with deliberate care. Not asking. Not rushing. Just saying I’m here.

And she didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. She let out a shaky sigh—half relief, half something deeper—and her muscles softened further in your arms. She nestled closer, fitting her body more tightly to yours until you could feel every small breath, every quiet shift, every wordless surrender.

You held her tighter. Pressed your forehead lightly to the back of her neck. Whispered her name once, like a promise.

And when she finally fell asleep like that—safe, held, loved—you stayed awake just a little longer. Listening to her breathing even out. Feeling the weight of her against you.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love like this.

But she made it feel like you were finally home.

#natasha romanoff x reader #marvel mcu #mothernatasha romanoff #marvel #natalie rushman #soft!natasha #Milf!natasha #Baby!fic #gay love #ladies and gentlemen natasha romanoff is very gay

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bnyf · 3 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ#1 crush ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒yandere male elf x female human reader ♡

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, sexual content, noncon, kidnapping, size difference, strange dynamic.

╰﹕୨୧﹒authoress note : after receiving some unwanted but much needed criticism i've tried my hand at writing a little better and fixing errors. i apologize in advance if there's any errors or gaps in my writing, i also apologize for the messed up story that this is. ik some people don't like the way i write the reader but like??? idgaf sorry anyways other than that, i hope you guys enjoy, please read the warnings and proceed with caution <3 i would also like to say that this post is kinda inspired by a very popular yandere artist on here with a male elf oc

what a treacherous fate had befallen on a vitreous soul such as yourself.

it truly is unfortunate, you're so unlucky. how could your luck have run so low? to think, this everyday mundane routine would now be your nightmarish reality was stomach wrenching. you never did anything to deserve this, this was simply some sort of faulty by the gods, right? there's no way this is your horrible ending. no way.

you sobbed and yet... he hummed and chastised you by smacking your puffy clitorous.

it's always like this, it's been like this for...? a while now apparently. you've completely lost track of time. maybe a month or so if you're playing the guessing game.

well, if it wasn't obvious already, you've been taken hostage by an insane elven prince. probably the most insanely angelic, good-looking, prettiest and sick minded male you've ever met.

he really needs professional help. something that he can more than afford considering his house is almost made of gold, his herculean physique adored and draped only with the most expensive clothes, jewels, silks, soaps and scented creams and perfumes. his perfume, so extravagant, worth more than your vital organs all put together. that was the part you admired about elven people, they are so intelligent, so ahead of humans.

but to him? therapy is cheap and free! you're the first ever human he's laid eyes on and that's all he really needs. and really, you're the one to blame for his actions. it's all you. so you should take responsibility, right?

he's sought out humans before, trying to break the barrier between the two worlds and connect with them. he was damn near obsessed with coming into contact with the human realm and ruling over them like a god despite the fact that any sort of magic that threatens to break the barrier and connect the realms or offer passage through the two realms is absolutely forbidden. this is such a serious offense that if caught violating, can lead to public execution.

but your little caregiver did not! give one flying hoot at all, nor did the rules really even apply to royals as the royals participated in a lot of magical corruption and kept it all on the low.

so what a surprise! not really that he'd succeed in his conquest. not entirely since he'd only manage to bring one human to the elven realm, but now he knows for sure he's making great progress. and not only succeed in getting a nitty gritty palms on any human, but such a cute little human female like yourself.

humans are a lot more fragile, smaller, weaker, lesser intelligent beings, almost like a sub species from elves. so that's why you must be taken care of with so much extra love and attentiveness. all this was his reasoning for treating you like a minor being, enabling you and excuses for his weird kinks.

there was no way you'd ever dream of over powering him, not when a large veiny arm wrapped so tightly around your wrists, holding it behind your back, and the other with it's slender long digits effortlessly reaching your g spot.

it was 'bath time' or whatever, which called for a thorough inspection and cleanse. or just another excuse to use your body to his likings.

his tongue lap at your folds and clit, moaning in delight and relishing in all your juices spraying him. his voice muffled by your pussy, making wet sounds as he attempts to praise your gorgeous body: all of which sounds like incohesive unhinged, obsessive rambling of course.

if you ignore this scene and focus on other small things around you maybe you can, somewhat imagine yourself having a luxurious warm bath in the tub, with flowers and scented stuff in the water, scented candles creating a relaxing atmosphere, marvelous one-sided glass view... maybe not the one-sided glass view that's actually a little too scary to think about but yeah, you're having a nice little bath.

the most relaxing bath in the most prettiest and pearliest tiled bathroom you've ever been in.

your insides contorts though and you find yourself coming again undone on those perfectly manicured fingers of his, messing up his perfect face with your essence. your voice is loud and echoes throughout the bathroom, all the way into the bedroom and closet but never enough to each anyone's ears as he's casted multiple protective barrier spells to keep your presence unknown from other elven people. you've came like 5 times already and he won't let you rest, getting high off your pussy juices.

"poor baby, you look so tired, shhh don't worry~ mama will take care of everything, just relax and be good for me, okay? it'll all be over soon, my darling ^ mama will get you all cleaned up and dressed, right after this..." you wish you had the energy to welp out an 'ewwwwww da fuck?!' right about now but you were so weak and constantly sedated. you felt helpless as his bulbous tip hits your pussy, rubbing it back and forth to coat and lubricate himself with your juices. he leisurely teases, making your hole spasm and grasp around nothing, your body reacting in a lovely manner to his advances.

he licks his lips, only putting the tip in before quickly pulling back out. taking his time cause he wants to drive you insane like him. and luckily for him, his mind games always work so well.

his precum leaking and smearing you in the process as he rubs his whole length, measuring your pelvic area with his cock length and soon putting it in to see how far it'll actually go.

you almost blacked out. even though he prepped you well for this it still stings, he's just too big. and you? way too tight, squeezing him like you want every last drop of his seed, has him shivering and grunting in the process.

"fck- you're so tight, baby ngh~"

has him seeing stars and by the time he's balls deep in you and hitting the tip of your womb, you're a drooling and moaning mess. can't even control his obsessive thoughts from spilling out his mouth, he immediately gets to work on those hips too like a wild animal, only sparing a few seconds to sloppily kiss you and slap your thick behind.

it only takes a few minutes before he breaks his load inside you and shifts you into another position, manhandling you and roughing you up like a meat toilet, all for his own enjoyment and pleasure.

his long silky hair tickling your skin. when you think about it, he's so masculine with many feminine traits too, like the perfect balance actually and it is to be expected from an elf. he always wants to be in control, always wants to take care of you like a god watching over his creation. it sorta overlaps with him calling himself your mama but it makes sense in a way. he doesn't see himself as a woman in any sort of way, he just wants unrestricted authority over you.

your tears stream down your cheeks which he licks away and kisses, it only hurts your head trying to rationalize this or even understand it, your vision goes all blurry and for the next few rounds, your in and out of consciousness while being filled.

when you're awake again, you're draped in silk half naked and powdered up, you feel your caretakers strong arms wrapped around you, spooning you as rubs circles into your skin. he's also half naked with nothing but a cloth draped around himself. you both lay on a soft layered bed with many squishy pillows and blankies. fruits, steam veggies and grilled meat laid out on a silver tray for you to enjoy, though your stomach was filled with his cum.

#yandere x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere writing #yandere x y/n #yandere blog #yandere boys #yandere elf #yandere smut #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 5 months ago

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I’M NOT HIM

rafe cameron x fem!reader

( mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !! )

SUMMARY: in which rafe snaps at reader during a heated argument and she flinches, her past trauma resurfacing. rafe breaking the main promise he made to her: to not be anything like her father.

based on an ask i got that i lost </3 i hope the anon who requested it finds this, and this its what you asked for! i’m a little rusty with one-shots so just a short one to ease me into things again! :)

WARNINGS: angst to fluff, arguing, cursing, mentions of past childhood abuse (reader), mentions of a gun/brief mention of violence, trauma responses, crying. (lmk if i missed anything!!)

WORD COUNT: 900 words

THIRD PERSON +

Rafe Cameron wasn’t the kind of man anyone would describe as soft. Not with the sharp edge in his voice, the perpetual storm behind his ocean eyes, and the way his knuckles bore scars from fights he barely remembered. He had spent his life battling demons, most of them inherited from Ward Cameron, and those fights had shaped him into someone who took no prisoners.

But with Y/N, none of that mattered.

Y/N was everything Rafe wasn’t—gentle, warm, full of an optimism he couldn’t begin to understand but adored nonetheless. She radiated light, the kind that made him want to shield her from the darkness in himself. For two years, she’d been his anchor, the one person who saw past the volatile exterior to the man buried beneath. And for two years, Rafe had promised himself that he would never hurt her.

But promises don’t always hold in the heat of the moment.

The argument had started over something Y/N had brought up before: the gun in Rafe’s apartment. She hated it, hated what it represented, and hated the memories it dragged up for her.

“Rafe, I told you,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I don’t feel safe with it here. Please.”

Rafe, already wound tight from dealing with his father’s latest scheme and the growing weight of “the business,” felt his patience snap like a rubber band stretched too far.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” he muttered, pacing the living room. “It’s not like I’m walking around with it in my hand. It’s locked up, alright? Just drop it.”

Y/N didn’t drop it. She rarely did when something mattered to her. “It is a big deal, Rafe. I asked you to get rid of it. I thought you understood how—”

“I said fucking drop it!” Rafe’s voice thundered through the room, loud enough to make the walls seem smaller.

The words echoed in the sudden silence, bouncing off the tension between them. Rafe froze, immediately regretting the way he’d shouted, but it was too late.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her wide eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lip wobbled as she tried to hold herself together, but Rafe saw the cracks forming.

“Baby…” he said softly, taking a step toward her, reaching out his hand.

She flinched. Actually flinched.

It was like a knife to his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He knew her past—knew about her father’s temper and the way it had scarred her. He knew that shouting brought her back to those dark, suffocating memories.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with panic. He reached out again, but she backed away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I—I can’t,” she choked out before rushing to the bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Rafe rushed after her before collapsing onto the floor, pressing his back against the wall beside the bedroom door. He could hear her quiet sobs on the other side, each one driving the guilt deeper into his chest.

He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, baby” he murmured, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, just… let me make it right.”

Her sobs continued, muffled but heartbreaking. Rafe rested his head against the door, tears streaming down his face. He could picture her inside, curled up in the corner, just like she used to do as a little girl to shield herself from her father’s rage. A place he promised her she wouldn't ever have to go back to.

“I’m not him,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. “I’ll never be him. I swear. I’ll never hurt you.”

Minutes turned into half an hour, but Rafe didn’t move. He felt he didn’t deserve to move.

When the door finally opened, Rafe almost didn’t notice at first. He’d been staring at the floor, lost in the heaviness of his own shame. But then Y/N was there, stepping out quietly and kneeling beside him.

Without a word, she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Her touch was tentative, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust it yet, but Rafe held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over, his voice cracking as he clung to her. “I didn’t mean it. I swear, Y/N/N. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just held him, letting his warmth chase away the cold that had settled in her chest. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart all over again.

“Please don’t yell at me like that again,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

Rafe cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone fierce with conviction. “Never again. I’ll get rid of the gun. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Y/N said, her voice barely audible. “I’m afraid of the person you might become.”

Rafe nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly again. “I’ll be better,” he whispered. “For you, I’ll be better.”

In that moment, Rafe vowed to prove it. Not with words, but with actions—starting with the gun.

(dividers by @kodaswrld <3)

betty’s notes ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

ahhhh my first one-shot in FOREVER :’) it’s a short one and really sad and angsty but it felt like the quickest ask to whip out, and angst is easier for me to write atm :)

i’m so excited to start with the other requests, and please don’t stop requesting! i plan on writing most stuff 1,500 words +, this was just a short little ask so please request with as MUCH detail as possible <3

master list will be updated soon! but for now, to keep track of my works check my personalised tags that are below such as: #bettys asks!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ and #bettys work!! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ or my personalised tags for characters !!

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #fluff #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #drew starkey obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#rafe cameron ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

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