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jezebelblues · 16 days ago

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home | h.s

requested!! thank u anon, i hope u can enjoy :)

summary: the entirety of y/n’s pregnancy with their son, atlas. [nov’18–may’19]

cw: unexpected pregnancy, labor + labor pains, fem!reader. i think that’s it!!

word count: approx 12.3k

| hope yall don’t mind that i included louis in this. i miss him fr. also, thank u again anon <3 hope this wasn’t too long

Life had slowed, but only just—somehow still breezy with that undercurrent of momentum that carried him from One Direction fevered heights, to the steady rhythm of his own solo journey. Fame was no stranger, but this? These moments were the ones he cherished most. He glanced at his wife, her eyes twinkling as she sat with their son. The simple joy of this evening reminded him of how far they had come. The quiet, intimate wedding in Holmes Chapel five years ago, the shockwaves it sent through the internet because they had managed to keep it so private, and then, only a year later, the unexpected news that YN was pregnant with Atlas.

He could still remember the exact moment he found out about their little surprise, how the world had seemed to tilt on its axis when she told him. It had been unplanned, a complete shock, but one that had filled him with a profound sense of love and responsibility.

Five years ago felt like a lifetime ago, yet it also felt like yesterday.

Five Years Earlier – November first, Holmes Chapel

The cold was sharp outside, but the small cottage Harry and YN had rented for the holiday season felt warm, cozy even. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and YN sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Outside, a gentle snow, the first of the season, had started to fall, covering the village in a blanket of white.

Harry had been out all day, helping his mother with some last-minute holiday preparations. The quiet of the house felt calming to YN, but there was something on her mind, something that had been gnawing at her for the past month. Her period was late—later than it had ever been.

She had noticed other small things too. A slight queasiness in the mornings that she initially brushed off as stress from the hectic, upcoming holiday season. But now, as she sat there, the weight of realization started to sink in. She might be pregnant.

Her heart pounded as she thought about it. They hadn’t planned for this. They had only been married for about a year, and though they had talked about children, it had always been a vague, distant future sort of conversation. But now, the possibility was staring her in the face, and she wasn’t sure how Harry would react.

Would he be excited? Nervous? Overwhelmed?

She glanced at her phone, considering whether to text him and ask him to pick up a pregnancy test on his way home. No, that felt too impersonal.

She had paced the empty hallways of the cottage, occasionally texting her husband back or scrolling through instagram. She knew Harry like the back of her hand, he wouldn’t be upset—perhaps a bit overwhelmed, but upset? No, from the years they’ve known each other, he loved children. She couldn’t count on her fingers the amount of dance sessions, hide and go seeks, and cartoon watching she’d walk in on when he was with the children of his family or friends. And from the discussions they’ve shared of their own future children, she knew he’d be ecstatic—she just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

A few hours later, the front door creaked open, and Harry’s voice echoed through the small cottage. “Lovey, y’here? S’cold as hell out there.”

She stood, wrapping Harry’s sweater tighter around her frame, trying to keep her nerves in check as she walked towards him. He looked so carefree, a light dusting of snow in his hair, his cheeks rosy from the cold, a grin already stretching across his face when he saw her.

“Got y’favorite mince pies from the bakery,” he announced, holding up a small paper bag as he walked towards her. “Mum says we need to fatten you up f’the winter.”

YN laughed softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, but she didn’t know how to say them. Instead, she took the bag from him and set it on the counter.

He began to shuffle around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a few glasses. He absentmindedly hummed a tune his wife didn’t quite recognize as he floated toward the freezer, pulling out a frosted glass bottle of rum with a smile. “Mum said she would’ve made it herself but–” He laughed, shaking his head as he set the bottle down on the counter with a heavy clank. “She’s decorating the house. Looks like autumn threw up in there.”

YN only responded in a gentle chuckle, one that made him look up with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry frowned, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor. He paused, his eyes scanning her face with concern. “Everything alright, sweet girl?”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. Her eyes burrowed into his, shifting gaze from one eye to the other. Her lips parted, unsure of how to form the words that sat heavily in her throat. She exhaled, managing a smile as she shook her head. “Just a bit tired, thats all.”

She couldn’t tell him until she was sure. If he were to be overjoyed, she didn’t want to get his hopes up on the off-chance she wasn’t pregnant.

Harry paused for a moment, not fully convinced, but he didn’t want to push. If something was wrong, she’d tell him when she felt ready. So, he only smiled back as he unscrewed the rum and poured into the square glasses. He looked at her expectantly as he raised his eyebrows, bringing her a glass.

She stared at it as if it would jump out at her, her reflection waning in the amber liquid. She pulled her lips between her teeth, shaking her head as her cheeks flushed. “Not feeling it tonight.”

At that point, Harry knew something was wrong. He furrowed his eyebrows, setting her—well, what was supposed to be hers—drink on the counter before he took a sip of his. “You sure y’alright?”

She brushed it off with a laugh, stepping toward him as he remained leaning against the counter. YN pressed a gentle kiss on his rum-slicked lips, cold to the touch. “You worry too much.”

He wrapped his arm around her head, pulling her into his chest with a sigh. “Rightfully so, m’love. Stubborn as a mule, you are.”

She scoffed, though only humor was laced in her tone. She pushed back from him, folding her arms over her chest with a feigned frown.

“What?” He smiled, taking another sip. “Should be titled an archeologist the way I dig for your heart.”

“Oh shut it, Styles. You’ve done no such thing.”

He laughed, placing his glass on the counter behind him and gently holding onto the edges. “You’re only proving my point, lovey.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking his chest before she began to step off toward the bedroom. YN looked over her shoulder expectantly with a sly smile. “You’re not gonna join me?”

She didn’t need to ask him twice.

He tugged his shirt off, tossing it aside as his wife’s laughter echoed down the hallway. She darted toward their bedroom, her giggles trailing behind her like music. Grabbing his glass from the counter and kicking off his shoes, he chased after her, a wide, mischievous grin lighting up his face.

There was a gloomy, gray sky the next morning, the kind where the clouds stretched thick across the sky, holding back any hint of sun. YN had woken up before dawn with a gnawing queasiness—a feeling that had been creeping up more often lately. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the discomfort.

She reached into the plastic bag, pulling out the small pregnancy test she ordered from doordash before the sun rose. She had tipped the dasher generously before staring at it in the restroom for what felt like hours. Her mind buzzed, unsteady with thoughts she couldn’t quite wrangle. The idea of being pregnant had only crossed her mind like a shooting star. She was nervous. They were still basking in the simplicity of their life, the unexpected quiet of their year-old marriage. This hadn’t been in the plan.

But here she was, two minutes ticking by like hours as she stared at the test resting on the edge of the sink.

And then, there it was.

Two blue lines.

Her heart raced, a mix of emotions she could barely process flooded her chest. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel—excitement, worry, fear? It was all tangled together in a knot she didn’t have the strength to untangle. She felt a hint of guilt wash over her; how could she feel uncertain about something so beautiful? But it was real, and she knew it. This was so real.

She sank to the edge of the clawfoot tub in the small bathroom, hugging her arms around herself. She let herself sit there for a while, just breathing in and out, letting the realization wash over her like waves on a shore, eroding her hesitation bit by bit. Eventually, she felt a warmth begin to spread, a tentative but growing love, a sense that maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

Oh, god—but Harry.

Mere discussions about a hazy future never felt so prophetic.

Footsteps on the old wooden floor outside the bathroom brought her back to reality. Harry’s voice called from the kitchen, warm and sleepy, a mug clinking on the counter. “Love, you up?”

Her stomach twisted again, this time more with nerves than nausea. She took a deep breath, tucking the test in her hand and opening the door. As she stepped out, she found her husband leaning against the counter, his hair tousled from sleep, a soft smile on his face as he sipped from his mug.

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” she murmured, her voice just above a whisper.

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting down his mug as he studied her face, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. ”You’ve been off since yesterday, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

YN took a breath, feeling the weight of the words she was about to speak. She crossed the small space between them, the floorboards creaking softly under her bare feet. Her hands trembled as she reached for his, and he immediately stilled, sensing her unease.

“Don’t freak out, okay?“ She said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

Harry’s gaze softened, his fingers curling around hers. “Alright,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Swear it.”

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to where their hands joined, and finally, she managed to say it. “I’m–” she sighed, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them, and she felt his hand go still, his thumb pausing mid-stroke. She dared a glance up at his face, and in his eyes, she saw the shock she’d been expecting. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

It was the longest silence she’d ever felt.

And then, slowly, a smile began to break across his face, soft at first, hesitant, but growing. His eyes sparkled with something she hadn’t expected—something gentle and pure, and so, so warm. “You’re… serious?”

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips, a mix of nerves and relief. “Yeah. I know it’s not what we planned, and I—”

Harry pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly as if he never wanted to let go. She felt his heartbeat racing against her cheek, felt the slight tremor in his breath as he held her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glassy with emotion. “This is… I mean, I wasn’t expecting this, but…” He paused, his voice catching. “But, YN, this—this is everything.”

A smile broke across her face, the warmth in her chest growing, all her fears melting as she looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

Harry laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’m sure.” His eyes held hers, full of something she could only describe as love beyond anything she’d known before. “I mean, look at us. We’ve done everything backwards and upside down, haven’t we?” He chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Why not this too?”

They laughed together, and in that moment, all her worries felt so small, so distant. Harry pressed his forehead against hers, his hands holding her gently. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “We’re going to be parents?”

YN nodded, her own laughter mingling with tears she hadn’t realized were there. “I guess we are.”

Harry wrapped her up again, his arms strong and sure around her. “Our little family.” He looked around, a spark of excitement lighting his gaze. “The start of everything, right here.”

They stood there, wrapped up in each other, in the quiet of the small cottage, a peacefulness settling over them. The morning light had started to creep in through the windows, casting a soft glow over them, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

But as the initial excitement settled, the reality of the situation hit her hard. Morning sickness, which was more like all day sickness for YN, kicked in with a vengeance. She wondered what crime she may have committed in a past life to deserve such a karma.

She spent most of her mornings hunched over the toilet, her stomach in knots, while Harry hovered nearby, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words. “It’ll pass, baby.” He would say, though there was a flicker of worry in his eyes every time she retched.

The first trimester was rough. YN felt exhausted all the time, her body aching and her emotions all over the place. There were days when she could barely keep food down, and the nausea was so overwhelming that she couldn’t even stand the smell of Harry’s cologne.

But through it all, he was a constant source of support. He made her ginger tea in the mornings, rubbed her feet when they swelled, and stayed up late with her on the nights when she couldn’t sleep. He even held her hair back during the worst bouts of sickness, never once complaining or losing his patience.

Still, telling their friends and family was daunting. Anne had been thrilled, of course, immediately launching into grandma mode, talking about knitting booties and baby blankets. But YN worried about telling the public. Harry had always been fiercely protective of their privacy, and the idea of sharing something so intimate with the world felt overwhelming.

“I don’t want people to think anything bad of me.” She admitted to him one night as they lay in bed. She had spent the entire day feeling nauseous, and her nerves were frayed.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with a gentle smile. “No one’s going to think like that, baby.. And if they do, then screw ‘em. This is our family. No one else’s.”

His words, simple as they were, helped ease some of the anxiety gnawing at her. They would announce it when they were ready, and in the meantime, they would enjoy these private, intimate moments together.

A few weeks later, when YN was finally starting to feel a little better, they gathered their closest friends and family to tell them the news. Harry’s friend’s were among the first to know. They had gathered at their place in London, a casual get-together that didn’t feel too obvious or formal.

Jeff had been the first to catch on, his brow furrowing as he noticed YN sipping ginger ale instead of her usual glass of wine on occasions like these. “Wait a minute…” he began, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glanced between them. Oh God, you’re pregnant aren’t you?”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry and YN exchanged a glance, a grin tugging at Harry’s lips. “Surprise!”

The room erupted into chaos. Mitch nearly fell out of his chair, laughing and shouting congratulations at the same time. Pauli looked like he might cry, and Sarah immediately started teasing Harry about how he’d better get used to sleepless nights.

“You two are gonna be knackered for the next eighteen years,” she quipped, though there was a deep affection in her eyes as she clapped Harry on the back. “But you’ll be great parents. I know it.”

As the weeks continued to pass and YN’s belly began to show, Harry’s excitement seemed to grow right along with it. He took over more and more of the household chores, practically hovering over her with a devotion that was both endearing and—just occasionally—a little over the top. But that was Harry; he never did anything halfway, and preparing to become a dad was no exception.

One evening, after a long day, they lay in bed, YN nestled against Harry’s chest as he rested a hand on her belly. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles over her small bump, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

“Have y’thought about names?” he asked quietly, voice almost a murmur. There was a trace of wonder in his eyes, as if he were asking the question for the first time.

She smiled, shrugging lightly. The idea of names had been floating around in her mind for a while, but nothing had quite felt right yet. “Mm, I’ve got a few in mind,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye. “Think I’m just gonna call ’em Fetus for now.”

Harry let out a laugh, his face lighting up as he shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said, voice full of warmth. He shifted lower, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. “Fetus Styles,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her gently, sending a spark of laughter through her.

Her smile never faltered, fingers combing through his curls as he settled his head on her bump, gazing up at her through his lashes. He held her gaze for a moment, then suddenly broke into a grin, blowing raspberries onto her belly with glint in his eye.

She laughed, Harry faltering into her growing tummy as his phone began to ting with a mess of texts. He grabbed his phone that lay upon his wife’s thighs, sitting up beside her against the headboard with a wide smile as the phone illuminated his face.

She knit her eyebrows together, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Who has you smiling?”

He unlocked his phone, “Lou. I told him I had to talk to him tonight.”

She laughed as Harry clicked on the contact, pressing the facetime icon as the ringing filled the air. “It’s what..?” She trailed off, flickering her eyes in thought. “Noon in LA? Surprised he’s even up.”

After a beat, the screen flashed to life, and there he was—Louis, bleary-eyed, half-sprawled across his couch, nursing a mug of tea. He squinted at the screen, a smirk forming as he took them both in.

“Bloody ‘ell, look at you two all cozy!” He drawled, taking a sip. “Thought I was interrupting somethin’.” He chuckled, giving them a teasing wink.

Harry rolled his eyes, holding the phone between them. “Shut up. We’re just havin’ a quiet night in.” He glanced over at YN, then back at the screen, his grin a little wider. “‘Nd I needed to talk t’you, yeah?”

Louis’s smirk softened, curiosity lighting up his expression. “Right. What’s this then?”

He took a quick breath, almost unable to keep the smile off his face as he turned the phone back to YN, who gave Louis a warm smile before glancing at Harry. He squeezed her shoulder, then looked back to the screen, letting the words tumble out. “We’re havin’ a baby!”

For a moment, Louis just stared, the mug paused halfway to his lips as he absorbed the words. His mouth broke into a grin, and he let out a laugh. “Oi, you’re pullin’ my leg!” He leaned closer, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, you’re serious, aren’t ya?”

“Dead serious,” YN said, her voice gentle as she leaned in closer to Harry. “We’ve known for a few weeks now, but wanted to tell you ourselves.”

He sat up straighter, rubbing a hand over his face as he took it in, his grin somehow widening. “Jesus, Haz. A dad,” he mused, a playful sparkle in his eye. “I mean, didn’t see this comin’ back when you were too busy worryin’ about a pair of blue suede shoes to think about nappies.”

Harry let out a laugh, playfully nudging YN. “See, I’m just followin’ y’example, mate.”

Louis snorted, giving a mock scowl. “Better be—Freddie’s halfway to graduating high school it feels like. You’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” He settled back into the couch, softening as he looked at them both. “But seriously, this is brilliant, you two. Gonna make one hell of a mum and dad, aren’t ya?”

Harry glanced over at YN, his gaze lingering, soft and full of a quiet pride. “Hope so,” he said, smiling down at her before turning back to Louis. “Just been… sittin’ with it. So many things I wanna teach ’em, y’know?”

“Best get started on that lullaby playlist, then,” Lou teased, though there was warmth in his tone. “Bet you’re already plannin’ that first guitar lesson.”

YN laughed, rubbing a hand over her belly. “It’s just been a whirlwind, honestly. We haven’t even found out the gender yet.”

Louis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Surprise ’n all? Makes it even better. Though if y’need tips on anythin’, I’ve got all the dad tricks—like what not to say when they’re askin’ questions in front of their mum.”

“Great,” Harry chuckled. “Start a whole book for me, will ya?”

Lou winked, lifting his mug. “Already makin’ notes. First chapter’s on nappies and the art of avoidin’ baby food on your shirt.” Then, his expression softened as he leaned closer. “Nah, for real. Couldn’t be happier for you two. And for that kid, too. Already got the best start with you both.”

Harry swallowed, his hand finding YN’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as he held his friend’s gaze through the screen. “Means a lot, you’ll be his grumpy, old uncle, yeah?”

Louis grinned, nodding with a playful glint in his eye. “Best be—I’ll have ’em singin’ the chorus to No Control by the time I’m done. YN, darling, don’t you worry—I’ll keep him in line.”

YN chuckled, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that, Lou.”

“Damn right you will,” Louis shot back, settling back against his couch, eyes full of pride and a mischievous excitement. “And when I’m back over, s’gonna be you two doin’ the nappies, while I teach that kid how to annoy his dad.”

Harry feigned a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Cheers, mate.” Louis raised his mug, a glimmer of something genuine in his gaze. “Can’t wait. Love you both, yeah?”

Harry grinned, feeling the weight of Louis’s words. “Love you, too, Lou. Cheers.”

And as they hung up, YN nestled closer, both of them feeling the joy of sharing their secret with someone who’d been there for it all.

A few months had passed, and YN was officially eighteen weeks pregnant. The kitchen was quiet, filled with the warm scent of vanilla as Harry carefully set a single white cupcake on the counter. He’d insisted on something private, just the two of them. No big reveal party or confetti—just a simple cupcake with the surprise hidden inside. YN stood beside him, hands resting on her bump, a grin tugging at her lips as she watched him fuss over it.

“You’re really gonna make me cry over a cupcake, aren’t you?” she teased, nudging him lightly.

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he looked over at her, dimples deepening. “Just y’wait.” He handed her the small knife, his fingers brushing hers, and his voice softened. “Ready?”

She nodded, her heartbeat picking up as she sliced through the cupcake. Slowly, she pulled the two halves apart, then stared down at the filling inside.

Bright green.

For a moment, they both froze, staring down in complete confusion. Harry tilted his head, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed as he looked at her, then back at the cupcake. “Uh… m’pretty sure green wasn’t one of the options.”

YN snorted, a laugh bubbling out as she lifted the cupcake up to inspect it. “Maybe they’re tellin’ us we’re having a little Niall?”

Harry’s eyes crinkled as he burst into laughter, clutching his chest. “God help us if there’s a little Irish guitar player in there.”

She grinned, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “You think they’ll come out singin’ ‘Mull of Kintyre’?”

Harry laughed, covering his face with his hand. “First words’ll be potato, just y’watch.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “This is what we get for trustin’ a bloody cupcake.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her bag on the counter. “Should’ve gone with the doctor’s letter instead of dessert.” After a moment of rummaging, she triumphantly held up the small, folded envelope, smiling. “Alright, now you ready?”

Harry nodded, moving closer, his hand resting gently over hers as she slowly unfolded the paper. They both took a breath, glancing at each other before reading the bold, printed words inside.

Right underneath a blurry ultrasound picture printed onto the visit summary, there it was written.

Fetal sex: Male

For a heartbeat, they both just stared at the words, the realization washing over them like a warm tide.

“A little boy,” Harry murmured, his voice filled with awe as he shook his head in disbelief. “We’re gonna have a son.”

YN’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “A son,” she repeated softly, her hand covering his on her belly. Already, she could see him—a little boy with Harry’s eyes, his laughter, his kindness.

Harry swallowed, his own eyes misty as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then resting his against hers. “Think we’re ready for him?”

She let out a soft laugh, brushing away a tear. “Not even close,” she whispered, her fingers lacing with his over her belly. “But I think we’ll do just fine.”

It was mid February by this point, a few weeks after celebrating Harry’s twenty-fifth birthday. The air had a sharp chill, and YN readjusted Harry’s oversized hoodie that hung off her growing frame, something that hid her bump well. They were dressed comfy and warm, Harry in a pair of sunnies with his hoodie pulled over his head. She nestled closer into her husband as they walked through the quiet side streets of London. They’d just finished lunch at their favorite café, savoring the rare chance to slip out together unnoticed. She pulled the hoodie over her head as a gust of wind brushed by.

“Wish we had days like this more often,” Harry murmured, his fingers lacing through hers as they made their way back to the car. “Just us, y’know?”

She smiled, leaning into him. “You mean just the two of us and fetus?”

Harry squeaked out a laugh that sounded like the ones from his early days in the x-factor, squeezing her hand. “Right, fetus. Can’t forget our little tagalong now.”

But as they turned onto the next street, something shifted—a distant hum of voices, then a sharp click of a camera. Before they could react, the quiet street filled with flashes, and a group of paparazzi materialized around them, spilling onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a swarm, just about five or so that were tipped off about Harry walking about the city in a pair of sunnies, as if that could keep him hidden.

“Harry! Harry! Just one photo!” A bald man shouted, pushing forward. The camera flashes came in rapid succession, blinding in the midday light.

He immediately shifted, drawing YN closer to his side, his hand protectively resting into her waist as he tried to steer her forward. “Alright, mate, that’s close enough,” he called out, his voice tense but calm.

“Harry, are the rumors true?” another voice shouted, barely inches from them, more cameras held up like a barrier.

“Just please let us through, yeah?” Harry’s voice was firmer now, his hand moving to shield YN’s face, pressing her into his chest as the crowd closed in tighter.

A jostle from the side sent her stumbling, and Harry’s arm tightened around her, his jaw clenched. “Hey, enough!” he barked, his voice sharper than she’d ever heard it. He guided her forward, his body acting as a buffer as he tried to clear a path.

“Just one shot, Harry!” a paparazzo persisted, his lens pointed squarely at YN, his hand cupping her cheek as he pressed her face further into his chest, her heart pounding as she held onto Harry.

He shot a glare of his shoulder, jaw clenched as he remained silent, maneuvering his wife past the cameras, his hand never leaving her. He kept his eyes trained ahead as he led her through the last stretch to his car.

Finally reaching the door, he opened it for her, a quick but steady gesture, ushering her in and following right after. The cameras pressed in one last time as he shut the door firmly, finally sealing them off from the swarm outside.

Inside, the car was quiet, insulated from the chaos that still buzzed outside, windows tinted as legally possible. YN let out a shaky breath, her hands in her hoodie pocket as she glanced over at Harry. His face was flushed, a mix of worry and lingering frustration in his eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice gentler now, his hand pulling hers out of the pocket, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he studied her face.

She nodded with a faint smile, trying to steady herself. “Not our first rodeo, H.” She tried to joke. And it was true, it surely wasn’t the first time they’ve been bombarded by paps. YN wasn’t famous prior to meeting Harry, a smart girl as beautiful as she, he simply couldn’t ignore.

She was a friend of Anne’s best friend’s daughter, bumping into each other at a family gathering in 2014, immediately becoming close friends. He offered her a ride home that night, and when she thanked him profusely and offered to give him gas money, he knew then and there he was going to fall in love with this woman.

Fans and paps galore started delving into her life in late 2015, when a grainy picture of them kissing at a bar after a London show exploded on twitter. Since then, she always known about the lack of privacy in Harry’s life. And honestly, she’s still trying to adjust to it.

He exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers. “Hate that they got that close to you. Wish they’d just..” He trailed off, clenching his jaw as he glanced out the window, his gaze hardening when he saw the cameras still lingering in the distance.

She squeezed his hand, her voice soft. “It’s alright, baby. I’m alright.” She could see the tension in his shoulders slowly easing, though he still held her hand as if anchoring himself. “They don’t know, and that’s okay for now. It’s just us, remember?”

Harry nodded as he pulled from the curb, driving down the narrow street toward the red light. He turned back to her, his green eyes softening, and he nodded slowly. “Just us. Right.” His shoulders relaxed a little more, a trace of a smile returning to his face as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead while the light was still red.

But before he could pull away, she let out a small gasp, eyes widening as she felt a firm, insistent little nudge low on her belly. She looked up at him, her own hand moving instinctively to her bump.

Green illuminated over them, a honking echoing from behind as he froze in concern. “What?” He breathed, turning a corner to head to the grocery store in the distance, seeking a temporary refuge in the parking lot. He glanced between YN and the road, heart beating in his ears. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He raised his voice, though it wasn’t out of anger, just an anxiety that threatened to boil over.

She shook her head, her face breaking into a soft smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He just kicked.”

Harry’s eyes lit up instantly, his frustration melting away as he stared at her, a grin forming slowly. “He did?”

She nodded, pulling his hand to her belly as he parked. “Right here. Just now.”

He held his breath, his palm pressed against her bump, waiting. And there it was again—a tiny but unmistakable kick, nudging firmly against his hand.

Harry’s face broke into a radiant smile, his whole expression softening with awe. “Oi, there’s my little striker,” he mused, his voice thick with affection as he looked down at her belly. “We’ll have you in a Man United kit before you’re out of nappies, won’t we?”

She laughed, his words melting away the last traces of tension from the encounter outside. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Picking his team and all?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling with pure excitement. “No chance he’ll be an Arsenal player.. First kicks mean we’ve got a future midfielder on our hands, yeah?” He grinned, “Dads gonna make sure y’got the right colors on you, bub.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling as she watched the joy take over his face. She reached up, tucking a curl behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his cheek. “He’s already got you wrapped around his tiny little foot.”

Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss her, his hand still resting against her belly, feeling another small nudge. “S’pose I’ll let him get away with it. Just this once.”

March arrived in a blink.

It was early, the kind of early that still belonged to the night, when Harry’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. The world outside was still draped in darkness, the streets silent, as if London itself hadn’t quite woken up. Harry stirred, slowly pulled from the depths of sleep by the vibration of his phone. He squinted in the dim light, his vision blurry, barely able to make out the name on the screen. Jeff.

With a quiet sigh, Harry picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear and trying to shake off the last bits of sleep that clung to him. He glanced over to YN, who lay nestled beside him, her breathing soft and even, lost in a peaceful slumber. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek, a tired but adoring smile tugging at his lips. She stirred slightly, her head nuzzling into his hand, and he felt a warmth rise in his chest. Moments like this felt sacred, untouched by the outside world.

But then Jeff’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and apologetic.

“Harry,” Jeff said, his tone low and serious, as if he wished he were calling for any other reason. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but we’ve got a situation.”

Harry straightened, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What is it, mate?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to wake YN just yet. He kept his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along her skin, grounding himself as he listened.

“There’s a magazine,” Jeff continued with a hesitant sigh. “They got photos of you and YN leaving the clinic yesterday after the ultrasound. They’re planning to release them tomorrow—noon sharp.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Harry’s jaw tightened after he took a shaky breath, his eyes falling back on YN, still blissfully asleep. They’d planned everything so carefully, wanting to share the news of their son on their own terms. They’d waited for the perfect moment, wanting to protect this piece of their life from the relentless intrusion of the outside world. And now, it was slipping out of their hands.

“Tomorrow?” he murmured, his heart pounding. He felt a surge of anger rising, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Jeff waited in silence on the other end of the line, letting him process the news.

“Yeah,” Jeff said softly. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. Figured you’d want to tell people yourselves, do it in a way that feels right.”

Harry nodded, even though Jeff couldn’t see him, his fingers still resting on YN’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Thanks, Jeff,” he finally whispered, his voice tight. “I’ll–erm–we’ll figure it out.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the table, his shoulders slumping as he tried to process what to do next. He looked down at YN, her face peaceful in the darkness, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of waking her. She deserved this moment of rest, free from worry and the weight of the world pressing in on them. But he knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Not when it was about their son.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand moving to cradle her cheek as he murmured softly, “Baby, wake up.”

She stirred, her brows knitting together as she blinked up at him, still half-asleep, a faint smile gracing her lips as she registered his face. “H?” she whispered, her voice groggy and warm. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” he murmured, his own voice weighed down by the news he had to deliver. “Sorry t’wake you, but there’s something we need t‘talk about.”

Her eyes focused, a flicker of concern replacing the drowsiness as she sat up a bit, her hand resting on his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “It’s the pictures,” he paused with a sigh, “from yesterday, after our appointment. Paparazzi took photos, and they’re planning to release them by noon tomorrow.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and she let out a quiet sigh, her gaze dropping to the bed. They’d known this was a possibility—their lives were never entirely private—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She leaned into his touch, her fingers lacing through his as they both sat there in the stillness of the early morning, grappling with the realization that their hand was being forced.

“What do we do?” she asked softly, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and sadness.

Harry’s hand moved to hold hers, his grip gentle but steady. “We tell everyone ourselves. Today. We’ll release it before they can, on our own terms.” He paused, his voice softening. “It’s not what we planned, but, at least we can still share him with the world our way.”

YN gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his with a quiet resilience. They both knew they didn’t have any other choice. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they took a moment to steady themselves, finding strength in each other.

“Okay,” she murmured after a beat. “I trust you.”

They spent the next hour in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, talking about how to share the news. Eventually, Harry decided on something simple, something that would feel personal without giving too much away. He reached for his phone and opened the photo gallery, scrolling until he found the ultrasound image from their last appointment. It was a grainy black-and-white shot, but to him, it was beautiful—a glimpse of their son, small and precious, already loved beyond measure.

He glanced at YN, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then he took a deep breath, opening Instagram. With his fingers hovering over the screen, he crafted the caption, choosing each word carefully, his heart pounding in his chest.

I’ve been waiting to share this part of our journey with you all for a while now. YN and I are expecting a son, and we couldn’t be happier to welcome him into the world soon. Thank you for your love and support—can’t wait for you to meet him.

Love, H

He read it over, then looked at YN, who leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, her fingers brushing his arm. “It’s perfect, baby”

With a final deep breath, he hit post, setting the phone down and letting out a long, steadying exhale. They sat there in the quiet of their room, wrapped up in each other as the reality of what they’d just done settled over them. This was the first time they were sharing their son with the world, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Within moments, notifications began to flood in, messages of excitement, love, and support from fans around the world who had been waiting eagerly for news like this. Harry glanced at YN, his hand finding hers once more as he gave her a small, relieved smile.

”Cats out’v the bag.” He laughed softly.

She leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “They love you, H. They’ll love him, too.” She reassured.

As the sun finally began to rise outside their window, casting a gentle warmth over the room, Harry held her close, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. Despite the forced timing, despite the circumstances, they had done this together. And from this moment on, they would continue this journ, hand in hand, as a family.

Weeks passed by, and it another chilly March evening, and soft candlelight flickered in the bathroom, casting a warm glow over the walls as steam rose lazily from the tub. The couple sat tucked into the water, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles that floated between them. The bathroom was cozy as Harry’s arms wrapped around her from behind, she leaned back against his chest, her bump nestled between them.

He’d insisted on running the bath for her, adding just the right amount of lavender oil to soothe her muscles, and now they were enveloped in that warm, calming scent, the soft sounds of water lapping around them. Harry’s hands rested gently on her belly, his fingers tracing light circles over the stretched skin as he hummed contentedly, clearly lost in thought.

After a few minutes of quiet, he dipped his head to press a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, “You know, we haven’t really settled on a name yet.”

YN grinned, biting back a laugh. "Sure we have. Fetus Styles—don’t you remember?”

Harry groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the tub. "God help this boy."

She chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "Fine, fine. So, what do you have in mind, love?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still tracing light circles over her bump. "I dunno. Something that isn’t Fetus or something basic, like David.”

"Otis?" she suggested with a playful smirk. She knew he hated the name.

He snorted, his chest vibrating against her back, shaking his head. "Baby, Otis is the name of that big slobbery dog at the park. Our son deserves better than being named after a drool machine."

She playfully splashed a few bubbles toward him, her laughter filling the room.. "Alright, alright. So, we're vetoing Otis and Fetus, oh wise one.”

“Good,” he said, lowering his head ever so slightly and nibbling her shoulders gently. “So, what else is on your list, then?”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to recall some of the names she’d been turning over in her mind. “I do like Ezra.”

“Ezra,” he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. “It’s alright. But it sounds like he’d be in a jazz band or something.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a jazz band,” she countered, grinning as she nudged his arm. “A little musician just like his dad.”

Harry hummed, his fingers lightly drumming a rhythm against her belly. “Alright, fair point. Ezra can be a maybe. What else?”

She let out a thoughtful hum, swirling her hand through the bubbles. “What about August?”

“August’s alright I guess,” he said slowly, tilting his head as he considered it. “But I don’t know. August Styles..feels like he’d be a mischievous little troublemaker.”

“Like his dad, you mean?” she teased, glancing up at him with a knowing smile.

He grinned, shrugging. “If he takes after me, he’ll definitely be one,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I dunno. Still doesn’t feel quite right. But I do like the idea of an A name.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each of them lost in their thoughts as the water lapped softly around them. Harry’s hands moved back to her belly, his touch gentle and reverent, as if he were trying to connect with their son through the warm water and the growing curve of her bump. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the bath and the feeling of his arms around her.

After a while, Harry spoke again, his voice soft and thoughtful. “What about Atlas?”

YN opened her eyes, blinking up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Atlas?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her belly as he looked at her, his eyes warm. “It’s strong, y’know? Unique. I like the idea of him having a name that feels like he could carry the world if he wanted to.”

YN let the name settle, repeating it to herself, and feeling it take root, becoming more than just a word. “Atlas Styles,” she said softly, letting the sound roll off her tongue. “It fits him, I think. Strong like his kicks.” She giggled.

Harry’s face lit up as he grinned down at her, his dimples deepening, a twinkle of something unspoken sparking in his eyes. “Exactly,” he murmured, trailing a hand gently over her bump. “Atlas Styles. Got the name of a proper legend already. Manchester United should be countin’ themselves lucky.”

YN laughed again, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. “Oh, really? Our boy is still going to save Manchester United, is he?”

“Obviously,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Just imagine it—Atlas Styles, midfield maestro, dominating the pitch. The crowd chanting his name.” He mimics the sound of a roaring crowd in a hush, “‘Atlas! Atlas!” He chanted in a whisper, “United will have never seen anything like him. They’d be winning the league every season with a name like that.”

She shook her head, fighting a laugh as she slipped a few bubbles onto his nose. “Right, because he won’t be busy enough carrying the world. He’ll just take Manchester United on his back too?”

Harry shrugged, brushing the bubbles away with a look of mock seriousness. “Our little Atlas can handle it all. With a name like that, he’ll be unstoppable.” He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “But, if he’s not into football, I s’pose that’s alright too.”

YN smiled, squeezing his hand, warmth spreading through her as she thought of their little Atlas and all the dreams they had for him—footballer or not, world-bearer or not, he would be loved beyond measure.

The rain pattered softly against the window as April rolled in, casting a gentle gray light over the nursery. YN stood by the door, watching Harry wrestle with the crib pieces scattered across the floor. She cradled her belly, which had grown significantly in the last month. Her due date was set for mid-May, only a few weeks away, and she could feel the weight of their son settling lower, as if he, too, was getting ready for the journey ahead.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he squinted at the instruction manual. The crib, which he had eagerly declared would be a breeze to assemble, now looked more like puzzle pieces that lay scattered around him, screws and wooden slats in disarray, as he muttered under his breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” YN asked with a soft grin, leaning against the doorway as she watched him struggle.

He looked up, shooting her a playful glare. “I’ve got it, thanks,” he insisted, though he seemed far from convinced himself. He twisted a screwdriver, only for the wood to creak ominously in protest. Harry’s cheeks flushed, and YN bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

“Sure you do,” she teased, crossing her arms over her bump. “Maybe our son will be crawling by the time you figure that out.”

Harry chuckled, dropping the screwdriver with a resigned sigh. “Alright, alright,” he said, running a hand through his curls as he gave her a dramatic pout. “Go on, laugh at the man trying his best to be a good dad. Just what I need, huh?”

She laughed, stepping into the room to get a closer look at his progress—or lack thereof. “You’re doing great, honey,” she said, her tone light. “Maybe just… not great at building cribs?”

He rolled his eyes, but the hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” he mumbled. Then, before she could respond, he reached out, gently tugging her down to sit beside him.

“Hey!” she gasped, though she let him guide her down, leaning into his arms. Her back rested against his chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

He maneuvered her gently onto the carpet, hovering over as his hands resting on either side of her, leaning close, his face only inches from hers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should distract you so y’can’t mock me,” he murmured, his voice teasing.

Before she could respond, he started peppering her face with kisses—one on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin. She squealed, laughing as he continued, his lips brushing against her skin, his stubble tickling her and sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Harry!” she gasped between breaths, her hands on his shoulders as she tried to squirm away. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, grinning as he planted a kiss just above her lips. “Maybe. But it’s working, isn’t it?”

She gave him a playful shove, but he only laughed, pulling her closer as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, the weight of him comforting as he hovered over her, his hands gentle on her sides. Finally, when her laughter had softened, he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze warm and full of affection.

God, how he loved her.

After a moment, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “Alright,” he said with a sigh, glancing over at the mess of crib parts. “Maybe I could use those hands of yours.”

YN smiled, brushing her hand down his chest. “Hm,” she hummed, “where?”

“Oi!” The brunette giggled, swatting her wandering hand away as he sat up, shifting to be beside her. “Wicked woman, you are. Get to work.”

She huffed, although there was no anger residing in her. Maybe an ache between her thighs, but that’s something she could sort out with her husband later. She sat up, sitting cross legged beside Harry as he reached for the instruction manual.

The two of them sat side by side on the nursery floor, her hand resting over his as they sorted through the crib parts. Harry studied the instructions once more, pointing out the next few steps with a renewed confidence that was helped by her steady presence beside him. YN held the pieces steady while Harry carefully tightened each screw, the two of them working together, their laughter filling the room whenever something went slightly wrong.

Finally, after some teamwork, a bit of trial and error, and more than a few shared smiles, they placed the last piece into place, and the crib stood finished in front of them. They both sat back, admiring their handiwork, their hands intertwined as they took in the sight of the nursery coming together, piece by piece.

Harry looked over at YN, his gaze soft as he took in her face, still flushed from laughter. “Not bad for a couple of first-timers, huh?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, holding her hands out in front of them and wiggling her fingers. “Thanks to these.”

He snorted, gently taking her chin in his grasp to force her to look at him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

As time passed by quicker than ever, spring took the city by full force, it was finally May. Flowers bloomed in their garden, trees shook with the delicate breeze of a looming summer. The sun fell behind the hills later and later, still offering a golden glow as they ate dinner.

A gentle rain drummed against the windows as YN and Harry shared a cozy dinner on the sofa, the warm light of a movie and fading sunlight flickering across their faces. They were nestled together, plates balanced on laps (and bump) as they laughed at an old comedy. Outside, the world felt comfortably distant. Everything about this moment felt ordinary, like the calm before a long-anticipated storm.

But YN hadn’t been entirely honest with Harry tonight. She had felt a dull ache creeping into her lower back and belly since late afternoon, a sensation she had brushed off as yet another round of Braxton Hicks contractions. Her OB had warned her that false alarms would be common in these final weeks, and she’d already had a few where they’d rushed to the hospital only to be sent back home. So tonight, she’d told herself that it was nothing—just her body practicing, nothing more. But as they watched the movie, she found herself shifting uncomfortably, her breaths deepening whenever another wave rolled through her.

The contractions had grown stronger as they ate, each one hitting her lower back with a dull, throbbing ache before tightening sharply across her belly. She bit her lip, forcing a smile whenever Harry glanced her way, trying to play it off. But she couldn’t ignore the way her body tensed or the cold bead of sweat she felt on her brow as she worked to stay composed.

As they finished their dinner, Harry stretched and stood, gathering their plates with a grin. “Think I’ll wash these up. You just sit there and relax, yeah?”

She smiled, nodding as he carried their dishes into the kitchen. He hummed softly to himself as he washed the plates, oblivious to the intensity of the pain building within her. She took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sofa as a new wave hit, this one sharper than before, radiating from her lower back and spreading between her hips, each pulse making her muscles contract and tighten. She fought to keep her breathing steady, her mind racing as she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

But then, as she watched Harry rinse a glass, her vision blurred with another wave of pain—deeper, sharper, as if her body was tightening from the inside out. Her breath hitched, and this time she couldn’t hide the small gasp that escaped her. She braced herself against the sofa, her fingers digging into the fabric as she fought to breathe through it.

Harry looked over, his brow furrowing as he noticed the tension on her face. He set the glass down in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped back into the living room. “Love?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “You alright?”

She forced a smile, trying to play it off, but her voice came out strained. “I’m fine. Just–“ She grunted, “Braxton Hicks, I think.” But even as she spoke, it was like an aftershock of an earthquake, stealing her breath, the pain sharper than before. Her hand flew to her belly, fingers pressing down instinctively, and she had to close her eyes, focusing all her energy on breathing through it.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he knelt beside her, his hand moving to rest on her knee. “That doesn’t look like Braxton Hicks,” he said gently, his voice laced with concern. “How long’s this been going on?”

She hesitated, looking down as she tried to keep her breathing composed. “Since– since earlier this afternoon,” she admitted, wincing as the pain reached its peak, leaving her feeling helpless and raw. “I thought it was nothing, really. But it’s–I dunno– it’s getting worse.”

Harry’s face shifted from concern to something closer to alarm. He was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to process her words, before his gaze softened, and he slid his hand to hers, squeezing it gently. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice steadying. “We’re not going to take any chances.”

YN nodded, relief flooding her at the calm resolve in his voice, but as she tried to stand, another contraction gripped her—this time harder than any before. It started as a dull ache that quickly sharpened into an almost searing pressure, as though her whole belly was clenching in waves she couldn’t control. She gasped, her knees buckling slightly as she clutched Harry’s arm.

Harry’s eyes widened as he caught her, his face shifting into a worried frown. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” he whispered, almost to himself, before shaking off the shock and focusing on her. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back down to the sofa with a gentle firmness. “We’re going t’breathe through this one, yeah? Just like we practiced.”

She clung to his hand, squeezing hard as she fought to steady her breathing, but the pain was relentless, each wave feeling sharper than the last. Her body felt like it was working against her, every muscle tightening until she was gasping, unable to fully catch her breath. She buried her face against his shoulder, her voice a shaky whisper. “H, this hurts more than I thought it would.”

He brushed a hand through her hair, his voice soft but unwavering as he held her close. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well. Just focus on breathing, alright? I’ve got you.”

As the contraction faded, she managed to catch her breath, slumping slightly against him, feeling a mix of exhaustion and dread for what was coming next. She felt his hand at the small of her back, steadying her, and she was grateful for the warmth of his touch, the calm he radiated even as she could see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“We’re calling the OB,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t feel like false labor, does it?”

She shook her head, unable to deny the reality that had settled in. “No..I think this is real.”

Harry’s face softened, a mix of pride and worry as he watched her breathe through everything. When the pain passed, he took her face in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice steady. “We’re going to get you through this, love. One breath at a time.”

With that, he stood, reaching for his phone and dialing their OB, staying right by her side as the call connected. He answered each of the doctor’s questions carefully, glancing at YN between each answer, his hand never leaving hers. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned back to her, a mixture of excitement and resolve in his gaze.

“She says it sounds like early labor,” he told her softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re going t’the hospital. Just you and me, hm?”

YN nodded, taking a steadying breath as she leaned into him, his strength anchoring her. With Harry’s arms wrapped around her, she knew that she had everything she needed to get through this.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle as Harry helped YN into the car, settling her carefully into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but steady. Her breaths were deep and focused, each one an effort to keep herself calm as the contractions continued, not close enough to urge a rush but strong enough to leave her nerves buzzing with anticipation. Harry buckled her in, his gaze warm and reassuring as he brushed his hand over her shoulder.

“You’re doing great, sweet girl,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Next stop, hospital. Just you, me, and our little Atlas.”

YN managed a faint smile, squeezing his hand as he lingered beside her for a moment before closing the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The car pulled away from their quiet street, its headlights cutting through the misty drizzle, as they made their way into the city. She leaned her head back against the seat, focusing on the rhythm of the rain tapping against the windows, letting the steady sound settle her mind.

As they drove, Harry glanced over at her frequently, his hand occasionally drifting from the wheel to hold hers. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or if I need to pull over. Anything at all.”

He rambled when he was nervous.

YN nodded, keeping her eyes closed, breathing slowly. Another contraction started, gripping her with that same deep ache that radiated from her back to her belly. She clenched his hand, squeezing as she focused on her breathing, her fingers white-knuckling against his. It was painful, but she willed herself to relax, to breathe through the intensity, letting her breath match the gentle rhythm of the rain.

Harry squeezed her hand back, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. “Out of all women in the world who gave birth, you’re the most beautiful.” He smiled warily. His stupid compliment even made him want to smack himself upside the head. But he looked at his wife expectantly.

When the contraction passed, she released a shaky breath. Part of her wanted to shoot daggers into him with a glare, but looking at that goofy smile she fell in love with, the way his cheeks flushed pink and eyes looked unsure, she couldn’t. She mustered out a weak, breathy laugh.”Shut up.” She whispered.

They reached the hospital, and Harry pulled up to the lot, parking the car before rushing around to help her out. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her through the automatic doors, his gaze steady and protective as he led her to the reception desk. The lobby was quiet, lit by soft fluorescent lights that made the polished floors gleam. Harry gently rubbed her back as they reached the counter, where a man with glasses and a walkie looked up with a polite smile.

“Hi,” Harry said, his voice calm but firm, “we’re here for an admission. Our OB requested it.” He grinned lightly, seeking to be polite despite his nerves. He gave his wife’s name through his smile.

The receptionist nodded, typing something into the computer before glancing back at YN, who was gripping Harry’s hand, her face pale and tense. After a moment, the man looked up. “Alright, we have you here. Just a moment.”

He picked up the phone, speaking briefly with someone before hanging up and nodding toward them. “Patient transport is on the way. We’ll get you into a wheelchair and up to the maternity ward to get settled.”

Harry thanked him, his hand resting on the small of her back, he murmured, “y’doing so well, my sweet girl.”

She leaned into him, exhaling a shaky breath as another mild contraction started to creep in, but before she could fully brace herself, a transport worker arrived with a wheelchair.

Harry helped her ease down into it, kneeling beside her and brushing his thumb over her hand. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of pain and determination. “I’m alright,” she whispered, her words braver than she felt.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of pride and unwavering support. “I know you are,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before he stood and walked beside her as they made their way to the elevator. The ride up was quiet, each floor lighting up in sequence as they ascended to the maternity ward, and she found herself counting each breath, each second, each floor, until they finally reached the unit.

Once inside the labor and delivery ward, they were greeted by a nurse who led them into a dimly lit room that felt strangely peaceful, its walls painted a soft pink, the lights warm and low. The nurse introduced herself, her voice calm and soothing as she helped YN settle onto the bed, helping her into a hospital gown before taking her vital signs and asking a series of questions, jotting down notes while Harry sat by her side, holding her hand.

“Let’s get you as comfortable as we can,” the nurse said gently, adjusting the bed’s settings. “Now, you’re still in early labor, so we’re going to monitor you closely, but it could be a while yet.”

YN nodded, feeling both grateful and anxious at the prospect of waiting. The contractions continued, rolling in like waves, growing in intensity but not yet regular enough to signal active labor. Each one required her full focus; she found herself closing her eyes, breathing deeply as she squeezed Harry’s hand, centering herself with each wave of pain.

Hours passed, the pain deepening with each contraction as her body adjusted, stretching and preparing for the arrival of their son. The nurse checked in periodically, taking notes, adjusting her position, and checking her dilation with gentle reassurance, but progress was slow. The contractions were more frequent now, each one a sharp, relentless pressure that seemed to radiate from deep within her, pulling her to the very edge of her endurance.

Harry never left her side, his hand a steady anchor as he held hers, his voice low and soothing, guiding her through each breath. “I love you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers as they breathed together. “Just a bit longer, yeah? You got it.”

At one point, the pain became so overwhelming that she couldn’t bear to sit still. Harry helped her stand, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him, her face pressed against his chest. Her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him as she rocked back and forth, swaying through each contraction, finding relief in the gentle rhythm. He whispered words of encouragement, his hands rubbing her back as she trembled against him, each wave of pain stealing her breath and leaving her gasping.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum that she latched onto, focusing on the warmth of his words as the pain pulsed through her. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain reached a peak, her knees weakening under the weight of it. But Harry held her up, his arms strong and steady, supporting her fully as she swayed, letting the movement carry her through each contraction. She pressed her forehead into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, grounding her, keeping her anchored in the storm of pain.

When the nurse checked again, the news was disheartening—only a few more centimeters dilated. YN felt exhaustion beginning to creep in, the hours of labor sapping her strength, but Harry was there, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, whispering soft reassurances as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder.

As the hours ticked by, the contractions grew sharper, more intense, each one like a wave crashing against her, forcing her to draw deeper into herself just to withstand the pain. Harry eased her back onto the bed, pulling a mask toward her face, releasing a gas that would help the pain. Her mind blurred under the relentless rhythm of labor. Yet, every time she opened her eyes, he was there—his gaze steady, his hand in hers, his words like an anchor.

She held the mask to her face with her other hand, breathing it in deeply. As backward as it sounded, even laboring and pushing out a baby, the thought of a seven inch needle being put into her spine scared her even more. The thought of an epidural was tempting, being numbed from the waist down—but it made her stomach churn with anxiety, too. She had enough of that already, so she stuck to the gas.

YN lifted the gas from her nose, staring at Harry through half lidded eyes. “Can’t wait to have sex with you in six weeks.” She mumbled, her voice hazy.

Harry eased the mask back onto her, his cheeks growing red from her clouded words. He let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, one step at a time, hm?”

At last, as dawn began to break outside, the sunlight bleak, barely there. The nurse’s expression shifted as she checked YN’s progress. She smiled, looking up with gentle relief. “We’re almost there,” she said softly. “Just a little bit longer.”

Harry’s face lit up, his eyes shining as he looked down at YN, his voice soft and full of pride. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead, brushing strands of her hair back. “Hear that? Final stretch, baby.”

YN nodded, too exhausted to respond, but the warmth in his eyes gave her the strength to keep going. With every ounce of willpower she had left, she faced the final contractions, the pain almost blinding but her determination carrying her through, and Harry’s voice guiding her every step of the way.

Once she was ten centimeters, a team rushed in. Two nurses and the OB. Her legs were placed into stirrups, her gown bunched up over her tummy.

It was the longest, most intense thirteen hours of her life, but as she felt the final waves of pain, the medical staff guided her through the last moments, she clung to Harry, his hand a lifeline, his presence a comfort that wrapped around her like a shield. And with one last surge, a cry filled the room, and she knew it was all worth it.

“Oh.” She whimpered, her own cry emitting from her as her son was placed onto her bare chest for the first time. A nurse wiped him down as he wriggled against YN, Harry leaning down by her shoulder, staring in awe.

That was his boy, his son. A piece of him and the love of his life brought forth into the world. He wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling he felt as he flickered his gaze between his wife’s and Atlas’s.

Sparse stands of brown locks sat atop his head, a color matching his fathers. He gently placed his hand atop it, his thumb rubbing against his forehead as the little boy continued to cry.

His eyes resembled his mothers, as did his nose. But everything else? That was all Harry. He cooed at him, whispering soft nothings to to his baby boy before the nurse approached him with medical scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord, dad?”

Dad.

Butterflies surged through his tummy.

He drew a deep breath, looking at YN for silent encouragement, to which she only smiled at him. Her husband, the father of her son.

He gently grabbed the scissors from the nurse, hesitantly approaching where he was told to cut. He looked at his Atlas who seemed to calm down a bit, slowly coming to terms with being brought out into the world. He steadied himself, and then with a delicate snip, he cut the cord.

As he handed them back to the nurse, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the enormity of the moment settling over him. He looked down at the two he loved most in the world, lightly grasping onto his little feet and silently counting his tiny toes.

“Sit.” YN softly ordered, holding the boy against her chest with one hand and patting the small spot beside her with the other.

He nodded slowly, easing himself down into the spot after lowering the right side bar so he’d fit. He leaned against YN, his feet still upon the floor.

The baby was swaddled into a pale blue blanket before she handed him over to Harry, his heart melting instantly. He cradled him against his chest, tucking his head down to place delicate kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “I love you so much.” He whispered, hesitantly ripping his gaze away from his son onto his wife.

His lip quivered as he placed a kiss against her sweaty hair, “Thank you so much.” His voice was delicate, a murmur. “I owe you everything.”

This was all he needed. His heart swelled with a love so profound, it felt almost overwhelming, as if the sheer depth of it might consume him. It was a love that stretched beyond anything he’d known, powerful enough to break him apart and put him back together all at once. But he embraced it, letting it fill every part of him, savoring each precious drop. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.

This was home.

#dadrry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles pregnant #harry styles drabble #harry styles dad #harry styles request #husbandrry #harry styles fanfic

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hughiecampbelle · 4 months ago

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The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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Can I please request protective Spencer x BAU!Reader who get "lightly" hurt or put in danger bc SWAT or local police made a mistake, and Spencer goes OFF on them. Hotch or Rossi have to calm him down because no one but the BAU knows theyre dating. I'd love to see protective Spencer if possible :)

no sign of danger | S.R.

when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: bloody nose, concussion, split lip, blood, mild violence. spencer reid says the f word. word count: 1.58k a/n: anon, not to be dramatic but something about writing this changed my brain chemistry. thank you for requesting!!! i hope you like it!

The time between arriving at a scene and when SWAT cleared the building was almost always intolerable. There were too many variables at play. It made you uneasy.

So, you waited, leaning on the side of an SUV with your Kevlar already strapped on, you turned to look at Hotch, “We’ve got an audience.”

Breadcrumbs that Garcia had picked up led the team to a house in a small town in Arizona. Unfortunately, the FBI garnered a lot of attention, and neighbors were starting to gather around the house. Hotch nodded, “Reid, JJ, work with the locals on crowd control, and make sure no one is recording. The last thing we need is for the news crews to show up.”

You offered Spencer a small smile as he turned to follow the blond to the barrier. He waved behind his back as he walked away.

Chuckling from right next to you got your attention, just to see Morgan shaking his head, “You two have it so bad.”

“I like to think we have it good, actually,” you said, flushing slightly. The teasing came with the territory, dating within the BAU meant never knowing a moment of peace – especially with Derek Morgan around.

There wasn’t an opportunity for him to respond, because as soon as he opened his mouth, your radio buzzed to life in your ear, “Building is clear. No sign of danger.” At the sound of the SWAT commander’s voice, you and Morgan surged forward to enter the building, Emily and Hotch following close behind.

Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat, “Morgan, Y/L/N, take the two rooms in the back, we’ll take the front.”

Nodding at your orders, you and Morgan walked past the staircase and to the opposite end of the house, where the kitchen and the den were. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned,” you thought aloud, dragging your index finger along the kitchen counter, and cringing when it came back covered in dust.

As you wiped your hand on your jeans, you looked up to see Morgan sorting through a vinyl record collection. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like anyone’s even entered this house in years.”

You hummed, opening the first cabinet you saw, wrinkling your nose at the discovery that the house also smelled like it had been abandoned. As you went to close the cabinet, the one below you swung open, the force of the doors almost knocking you to the ground.

Stumbling back, you saw a flash of hands before you were slammed into the refrigerator behind you. Immediately, you dropped to the floor, watching as Morgan tackled the guy and shouted for Hotch and Prentiss.

“We need an ambulance, Y/N’s down,” Emily spoke urgently into her radio while Morgan cuffed your attacker.

You winced at the way the radio buzzed in your ear; the way Emily’s voice echoed combined with the throbbing pain in your head made you nauseous. “What do you mean ‘Y/N’s down’?” Spencer’s voice rang through the radios, prompting you to haphazardly yank the coiled wire from your ear.

Everything sounded like you were underwater, Emily and Hotch asked you questions as the fog cleared from your head, “You’re bleeding,” Emily said, there was a worried look in her eyes.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand from your face, just to see it covered in blood. You weren’t even sure how long you had been holding your hand to your face. “Can you stand?” Hotch asked you, his tone was concerned, but there was something else buried within it.

Nodding slowly, both of them helped you stand. Emily hooked an arm through yours when you stumbled slightly, she led you out of the house and to the ambulance. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Morgan place his hand atop your attacker’s head, protecting it from the top of the police cruiser.

As soon as you sat down on the back of the ambulance, an EMT handed you a towel to hold to your nose. Your eyes flittered up to see Spencer approaching the ambulance, but to your surprise, he turned at the last moment and faced down the SWAT commander. “What happened in there?” He asked, his tone wholly accusatory.

“It looks like the person of interest was hiding in the kitchen when your team entered,” Commander Polk answered, obviously thinking Spencer was just asking for a sort of status report.

Spencer shook his head, “We’re hunting for a serial killer, and you had the audacity to miss the presence of an entire person?” He asked incredulously, “Did you even clear the kitchen?” He pointed in the direction of the house, where Rossi and JJ were now entering to look around more.

The SWAT commander faltered for a moment, “Someone did, but it wasn’t me personally.”

You winced as the EMT prodded at your face, surmising that your nose wasn’t broken, just bleeding badly as a result of the blunt force of the refrigerator. She pulled your hand from your face so she could inspect for any further damage. You opened your mouth to talk, but the EMT was quick to stop you, “You shouldn’t talk, not until we can look at the cut on your lip.”

While the EMTs got more supplies out, Emily helped you take off your Kevlar vest, undoing the Velcro for you and gently tugging it off. The entire front of it was covered in blood, you winced at the sight of the now-red letters.

“You need to figure out whoever checked the kitchen and make sure they know what they’re doing,” Spencer said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Commander Polk’s demeanor instantly changed, “I assure you, agent, we take training our team very seriously. This was just a mistake.”

Even from this distance, you saw Spencer roll his eyes. “First of all, it’s doctor,” he corrected – at which you rolled your eyes. “Second of all, of course, you take training seriously, it’s mandated by the federal government. This was a mistake, a mistake that ended in the injury of a federal agent,” you looked from Hotch to Spencer, hoping your unit chief would do something before Spencer got punched by the SWAT commander. “SWAT making mistakes gets other law enforcement officers killed,” he continued.

“What’s your point, doctor?” The commander asked.

Spencer cleared his throat, “I’m saying you’re fucking lucky she didn’t get killed, or else-“

“Reid!” Hotch called, stalking over to where your boyfriend was nearly getting into a fistfight with SWAT. He muttered something unintelligible to Polk before dragging Spencer away by the elbow, “What was that?”

Your boyfriend threw his hands up in the air, “He needed to be made aware of their mistake.”

Sternly, your unit chief shook his head, “They are aware, Reid, and I assure you I’m not going to drop it and there will be an internal investigation into what went wrong.” He raised his eyebrows, “That being said, it’s not your job to take care of mistakes made by other people.”

“No,” Spencer agreed, “but it is my job to take care of her,” he said, gesturing over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance.

Hotch pointed around to the locals and other SWAT members, “They don’t know that, Reid.” He whispered, keeping his voice down so he didn’t expose your relationship to everyone in the Arizona town. “Let me take care of it,” was his final statement before he walked back to Commander Polk.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Spencer spun around and finally walked over to you. Emily nodded at you before stepping away, “Are you alright?” He asked.

You flashed him a thumbs up, gesturing toward the EMT, who answered for you, “We just glued the gash on her lip, so she can’t really talk right now. She’ll be fine though, maybe a small scar, if anything.”

“Good,” Spencer said, ambling over and taking a seat next to you. “I was so worried about you,” he murmured, and you watched as he restrained himself from touching you.

Humming, you leaned into him for just a moment. Your movement was intentional, but it was quick enough that any passersby would assume you were just unsteady.

The EMTs left once the glue on your lip dried, directing you to ice it periodically to help with swelling and handing you care instructions.

You were left with a mild concussion, a split lip, and ruined clothes. All things considered, you felt like you were pretty lucky. The rest of the team piled into the SUVs, you and Spencer sitting in the back of one with Hotch at the helm and Emily in the passenger seat. “Who knew Reid had it in him?” Emily wondered aloud, eliciting a small laugh from you.

“I can’t believe you almost got into a physical fight with SWAT over a split lip and concussion,” you said, smiling slightly, but stopping as you felt the glue on your lip tugging.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t over the split lip and concussion, it was over the abhorrent display of-“

“Reid,” Hotch said in his no-nonsense tone.

Your boyfriend slouched back in his seat, “So, maybe it was over the split lip and concussion.”

Closing your eyes, you reached over the middle seat and took his hand in yours, “Thanks, Spence.” You whispered so that only he could hear, leaning over the gap between you and setting your head on his shoulder.

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #margot's asks #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds angst

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lampiridaes · 5 months ago

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♬ now playing: "falling for you"

-> don't you see me? i think i'm falling for you (fallingforyou - the 1975)

summary. various hsr men realizing they're in love with you

chars. dan heng , sunday , aventurine , jing yuan

notes. THIS ONE IS FOR U MIZU-ANON (still gonna call u that despite the username change) had sm fun writing this. i am a biiiiig loser for these types of tropes i need to admit it. I HOPE WHEN U READ THIS U ENJOY MIZU-ANON!!!!!! LOVE U <3

contains. fluff, pre-established relationship, spoiler-free, reader is a trailblazer but not the trailblazer, march & trailblazer mentioned (dan heng), 'pretty' used as a compliment for reader (jing yuan)

inspired by -> this post!

track one: dan heng

staying up late talking to you. dan heng tends to pull all-nighters, but he never expected you to join in one time. it was actually a bonding moment—he felt as if you grew closer since that day. it wasn't exactly a deep talk, it was more like an icebreaker. compared to march and the trailblazer, dan heng was much more reserved, so you saw a different side to him that night. one that you ended up seeing more and growing quite fond of.

always turning their head if your name is mentioned. every morning when the express crew gets up and eat breakfast together, dan heng finds himself always looking over whenever someone calls you. "[name], let's share!" march 7th would exclaim, then the black-haired man's attention immediately turned to your direction.

... and when you notice that a certain someone is staring at you, you make eye contact and smile, which seemed to have flustered him a little. ah, he's growing smitten, slowly.

track two: sunday

realizing certain traits about you that he finds endearing, your curiosity being the most prominent one. with sunday being a halovian, you couldn't help but admire his features, namely his wings. yet you were far too shy to ask if you could touch them—after all, what if he were to feel uncomfortable? but, to your surprise, sunday was the one that offered, finally acknowledging your silent wish. his wings were undeniably soft, but also quite sensitive, fluttering away from your touch. at first, you thought you did something wrong, but judging from the light blush on the oak family head's face, you could tell he actually enjoyed it.

realizing he's in a better mood when you're in a good mood. being head of the oak family, sunday has a tough job. and yet, when he sees you smiling to yourself, sometimes even attempting to help him in any way you can, sunday finds an odd warmth in his chest. one he doesn't experience quite often.

track three: aventurine

the first smile you share. sometimes you wonder whether or not aventurine is serious in certain situations. sometimes you wonder if he's even your friend or if he's using you in a gamble you aren't even aware of. but that one fateful day when he met your gaze and smiled, you could feel your heart skip a beat. aventurine constantly wears a confident smirk, one that makes him seem like someone to be weary of. and that smile of his... perhaps you were the lucky one this time.

flirting with you. actually, your friendship as a whole had some... weirdly romantic undertones, but after a while, the both of you sort of started to truly think about the entire thing. was he serious when he said that you were the only person he wanted? were you serious when you said you wouldn't mind it if he kissed you? only one way to find out, no?

track four: jing yuan

getting things that remind him of you. whether it'd be a shiny trinket he figured you'd like, or even an expensive piece of jewelry, jing yuan slowly started gifting you different things quite frequently. and whenever you'd ask, his response would always be, "it looks pretty, just like you."

finding time for you and spending his free time around you. it's no secret that jing yuan is a busy man, being the general of the luofu. and yet, after those hours are finished, or he managed to catch a break in the middle of the day, he always looks for you somewhere in exalting sanctum and ask if you'd like to take a short stroll with him. you answer yes every time.

#★ — you are my literature #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng #dan heng x reader #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader

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redstarwriting · 1 year ago

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bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

───────────────────────────────────

Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles.

And Miles points at himself.

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ��What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

───────────────────────────────────

#spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse #spiderman #spiderpunk #spidergwen #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #miguel o'hara

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iluvpjo · 9 months ago

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IM NEWWW (may I be 👁️ or🫀?)

Bro Luke hatefucking where he has his hand around your throat and he absolutely ruins you for winning capture the flag. Like degrades you just to feel you clench around him then he’ll be all snarky and go ‘aww well aren’t you being a good whore’ or something

(Or the opposite where he’s whiny and inexperienced because he’s so used to just being the golden boy of camp. The Luke that holds a death grip on your hips because if you move to fast he’ll cum quickly. So when he wins again, you get pissed. Wait for everyone to go back to their cabins while he stays and trains. And then you corner him and he acts all mighty. That is until you kiss him and he turns to absolute putty.)

𝐻𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝐹𝓊𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌 / 𝐿𝓊𝓀𝑒 𝒞𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓃

Synopsis: Hate fucking w Luke, there isn’t much more to elaborate on 🙏

Warning(s): NSFW! MDNI, hatefucking, degrading n arguing kindaa, slapping, choking, power complex tbh, uses of the words slut n whore etc.. there’s also praise (rarely)

Pairing: Luke Castellan x fem reader (Ares is ur dad btw)

Word count: 3,320k

Note: Hehe hi 👁 anon!!!!! Also Soz I didn’t know um what kind of relationship dynamic they were supposed to have…… I hope this is ok 🙏 it was the first thing that came to my head

(Even tho u totally might’ve just meant like bf Luke but um.. this tickled my brain a lil better!! 😋)

Send me a request! Here are my request rules!

Come find me on AO3!

“Who’s there?” As you saw him turn around you saw that it was none other than Luke Castellan, he was a frenemy of sorts. “Luke.” You spat his name out like it was venomous, he smirked when he saw you there. Luke’s hand went to his side to grip at his sword, beginning to pull it out when you had the bright idea to run away. You’d seen what he did to your team members and you knew he was a skilled swordsman, the best at camp, and even if you were well trained yourself you weren’t that stupid. Luke groaned in annoyance before chasing after you, you thought it was unnecessary for him to go out of his way to chase you when he could be helping his team.

“Are you seriously chasing me Castellan??” You shouted as you ran away, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him following your movements deeper into the woods. “Glad that you can see that.” Luke snickered at you, the clambering of metal was loud as the both of you ran, alerting your own team members that there was people around. Clarisse was the first one to pop out and see who was there, her spear ready in hand when she saw the two of you running towards her. You felt thankful and dipped to the side of her so she’d be in front of you, and whilst behind her you withdrew your own sword.

“Not like you to have other people fighting your battles, what’ve you done with Y/n?” Luke chuckled to himself, giving you this semi dirty look on his face. “I’m not making her fight you, we’re both going to.” You joined Clarisse after you’d withdrawn your sword, the both of you holding your weapons in front of you. “…I can handle that.” Luke shook his head and grabbed his own sword out to swing at the both of you “Out of everyone you could’ve had following you, it had to be Luke!” Clarisse groaned and clenched her teeth in irritation “Why am I surprised?” She shook her head.

Luke swung his sword across, and the both of you jumped back to avoid getting slashed. You then ambushed him, lunging at him and using your body weight to knock him to the ground. Luke fell backwards but was quick to jump back up, only when he did he stopped fighting the two of you. A horn went off, the sound loud enough to carry through the forest, alerting the three of you that the game was over. “That’d be us. Good job distracting Luke, sis.” Clarisse pat your back and gave you a half smile before leaving and returning to your team.

“Wait— what?” Luke furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, before his confusion turned into anger. “That’s the sound of sweet victory! Ever heard it?” You taunted and let out a little chuckle, groaning in pain when Luke threw you to the ground. “Oi! Cut it out, the games over!” You shouted and rolled out of the way before he cut you with his sword, you jumped back up on your feet and looked at him with confusion “You. Me. Fight. Now.” Luke was seething with anger now. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you, it looked rather evil for someone who only lost a simple game of capture the flag. However it was something you’d see often whenever he looked at you, looking at you every time like he wants to maim your head on the wall.

“I don’t want to fight you.” You shook your head at him as you denied it “Then I’m just gonna have to destroy you.” Luke didn’t care wether or not you’d fight back but he’d be fighting you wether you liked it or not, he stepped towards you and held his sword up to swing it at your ribs. You jumped out of the way and blocked him using your sword, but doing that made it easy for him to disarm you. Your sword hit the ground a few inches away, and you got down onto the ground and rolled over so you’d be able to pick it back up and fight again. When you stood up with your sword Luke was quick to shove you backwards, and your back fell up against a tree. If you weren’t wearing any armour your back would’ve probably gotten scratched up no doubt.

“What’re you doing??” You questioned him quizzically, was he seriously gonna kill you over this? Luke held his sword up against your throat so you wouldn’t move, squinting his eyes at you to watch how your cockiness slowly turned to fear. It made him feel better, he liked it, he loved it. It made him feel like he had power over you. “A-Are you gonna kill me over this?” You asked him, tilting your head up to avoid his sharp blade “Maybe. That scare you?” Luke grinned to himself and inched his sword closer to your neck.

You closed your eyes and gulped nervously, you didn’t wanna show fear but you couldn’t lie that Luke Castellan could definitely be scary when he wanted to be. “N-No.” You lied through your teeth, the sweat on your brow giving you away “Liar.” Luke chuckled darkly. “Drop your sword to your right.” Luke instructed you, you listened and reluctantly dropped the weapon beside your feet, Luke then kicked it far away so you wouldn’t be able to attack him with anything. Luke loved this scaredy cat reaction he was getting out of you, maybe a little too much. Luke was getting hard and you thought you could even feel it, yet you weren’t entirely sure so you wouldn’t bring it up. Although your eyes glancing down towards that direction alerted Luke that you definitely knew.

“Are you-?” You began to speak “Am I what?” Luke asked you dumbly, yet the soft blush on his cheeks gave him away. “Nothing.” You replied a little meekly, averting your eyes now and trying to move your head so it’d hide your now slightly flustered face. Luke didn’t like this, he withdrew his sword and put it back into his sword holder, reaching his hand up to roughly grab at your face and turn your head back to face him. When you looked back you realised he didn’t have his sword up against you anymore and you were thankful, yet you could still feel something pressing up against you.

Luke continued to hold your face in his hand, your cheeks were squished a little and the grasp on your face honestly hurt your jaw a little. “Lukee-“ You tried to speak but your words were a little weird sounding with the grip he had on you, he reluctantly let your face go but not without a swift tap on your cheek. You gasped softly, looking down at the ground, he’d slapped you! Luke then grabbed the collar of your shirt and lifted you a little against the tree that he had you pinned to, his knuckles grazing against your neck. “Shut up. Just shut up.” Luke hissed out angrily, but again after seeing he’d put his sword away you grew cocky again.

“Yeah? Why should I shut up?” You asked him, looking down at him now after he’d lifted you and put you in a different position. “If you don’t shut up — I’m gonna make you shut up.” Luke growled out a warning, his face tinted red with fury “How’re you gonna do that?” You were a little scared to ask, dropping the cocky tone you were harbouring after he’d said that. Was he gonna seriously bash you against the tree? Luke stilled for a moment, his eyes not leaving your face, his nose scrunched up angrily as he scowled. He then closed the gap and roughly pressed his lips up against yours, using his opposite hand that wasn’t holding you to slap your face again.

You gasped in surprise from the kiss, opening just slightly wider when he’d slapped you, and Luke used this as an opportunity to slide his tongue in. You had no clue that Luke could have it in him to be doing this with you but you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you shut your eyes and began to meekly kiss him back. You were slow and unsteady with your movements, submissively trying to move your tongue against his but he’d practically already shoved his tongue into your mouth and was just exploring the insides of your cheeks. Luke slowly let you down as you guys were kissing, moving his now free hands to grasp roughly at your waist.

Luke pulled back reluctantly even though he didn’t want to, he was flushed and he was breathing heavily by this point. Luke looked down at you, his angry scowl turning to a bit of a half smile “That shut you up.” He snickered to himself. You stood there in disbelief of what just happened, blinking up at him dumbly as your cheeks began to darken “A-Asshole.” You muttered out loud a little bashfully before glancing away shyly. You were embarrassed that he managed to make you, an Ares kid, feel flustered like this. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be insulting me.” Luke replied, pulling your body closer to him.

You placed your hands on his chest and looked up at his face, trying to angrily scowl at him but it looked more like an angry pout, reminding him of a bratty child. “Why not?” You huffed “Because I’ll just shut you up again.” Luke rolled his eyes, you decided you’d keep speaking despite the many reasons not to “You gonna kiss me again?” You tilted your head to the side. Luke’s eye twitched before he moved one of his hands from your side up to your neck, his palm pressing against your throat and making you let out a choked out whine. “Haha, not so cocky now are you?” Luke laughed to himself.

“F-Fucker.” You tried to speak but your words were choked out, his grip on you making you feel slightly light headed but you knew you wouldn’t pass out. You were an ares kid and you also went to camp halfblood so obviously you were trained to endure stuff like this, even if it was just personal training. You knew you could hold your breath if you had to. “What was that?” Luke smirked and held tighter onto your neck, making you shut up again. You were feeling rather embarrassed being in the position you were in, feeling powerless, so you decided to get some of that power back.

Your arm was already lowered at your side, so you then moved your hand to the middle to grab Luke’s hardened front in your palm. Luke’s hand around your neck loosened for a moment as his demeanour faulted, his eyes clenched tight for a second and he sucked on his teeth as to not let out a groan. “That shut you up.” You repeated his words back to him, giggling to yourself meanly at his reaction. Luke regained his composure, furrowing his eyebrows at you angrily before saying “I’m gonna make you regret that.”

Luke stood back and let you go, his hands moving now to instead hold your hips and he roughly ground you against him. It made you let out a quiet whine, your cheeks flushed and your lips parting to let out a soft airy moan. “Fuckin’ dirty girl, aren’t you?” Luke asked you, sending a weird throb between your legs, maybe you enjoyed him saying that a little too much. “I’m not gonna answer that Castellan.” You huffed again, giving this whiny pouty look on your lips; if your father saw you he wouldn’t even think you were his child. “Good. Shut that pretty mouth of yours, I know there are better uses for it.” Luke hummed before kissing your lips again.

You could’ve pushed him away at any time but you accepted his kiss yet again, kissing him back and trying to keep up with his pace. Luke moved a hand down to grope at your ass, holding a handful of your soft plushy flesh, making you let out a quiet moan. “Careful with the noise slut, or do you want everyone to hear you?” Luke tutted, pulling away from the kiss to shake his head at you. “I can’t help it!— you’re the one making me!” You complained with a hushed voice, gritting your teeth at him. Luke looked down at you, admiring the puffy sore lips he just had captured. “Am I now?” He chuckled and wiped some sweat from off of your face.

Luke slowly placed his hands back on your hips, looking at your face for any signs of hesitation as he began to tug them down. Your hips followed his movements, allowing him to slip them past your ass. He then looped his thumbs around your underwear and pulled them down to,’ pulling them down your thighs. Luke wanted to just shove into you when he saw your pretty pussy for the first time but he resisted, a small tinge of kindness in his heart was showing. Luke dipped his hand between your legs and curiously rubbed at your sensitive bud, watching the way you jolted in surprise.

He liked the look of it, smiling to himself before doing it again with purpose this time. Your hands flew to grip on his shoulders, trying to keep quiet when his actions sped up a little. It felt overly stimulating to your sensitive clit and you found it hard not to whine out in pleasure, your hips jerked down against his hand as he was touching you. Luke smirked, tilting his head down at you to watch the way his hand toyed with your clit. Luke could feel you growing hotter however and that’s when he decided to test the waters, moving his hand back more to dip his fingers inside your slutty hole.

“L-Luke..” You moaned out his name, feeling his fingers stretching you as they pressed further inside, two of his knuckles pleasuring your insides. “Look up at me, show me your pretty face.” Luke ordered and you obeyed without a second thought, lifting your head to look up at him and showing him your blissed out face. “Aww.. aren’t you being a good whore?” He teased with this taunting voice, moving his fingers to thrust inside of you. Your hips juddered, grinding against him and his hand like a slut similar to one of those cam girls.

“N-No I’m not..” You whined and shook your head in complaint, huffing and gritting your teeth. “Yes you are, dirty girl. My dirty girl now.” Luke moved to kiss your jaw, trailing his lips down to your neck, the combined sensation as well as with the abuse to your tight hole— he quickly made you cum. You didn’t even have any time to warn him before you came undone, a pleasured sheik escaping your lips “L-Luke!! I’m cumming-“ You were too late and had already started orgasming. “That’s it. Good girl.” He coaxed you through your orgasm, his fingers helping you through it.

When you finally stopped and had to stand there taking a breather, Luke slowly withdrew his fingers and began to work at his own belt. You noticed and shyly turned around, bending over and pressing your ass against him slightly. Luke chuckled to himself about your eagerness, pulling his pants and his briefs down to let his hard leaking cock out of its restraints. Luke lined himself up with you, hoping you’d be wet and prepped enough for him, he hoped you weren’t that eager. But he wouldn’t complain if you were, he’d find it cute. “So cute, so eager and desperate for me, you’re such a whore.” You were about to complain but the feeling of his cock shoving inside of you made you shut your lips.

“Fuckkk—“ Luke bit down and clenched just jaw to muffle his low groan as he pushed inside, his cock already twitching slightly from entering you. He wasn’t even halfway when your whining began again, you felt like he was stretching you out beyond as you could go. “Is it all in yet?” You asked with a small glimmer of hope “Not even halfway in’ you can take it can’t you?” He teased. You agreed, of course you could. “Y-Yes. I can do it.” You nodded your head, steadying yourself up against the tree he had you leant on.

“Good girl.” Luke pushed in a little more, withdrawing a moan from your mouth, his cock stretching your insides as he was now halfway in. Luke decided to help you a little, thrusting his hips a bit to get you used to the feeling. You whimpered and moaned and Luke was quick to shut you up yet again, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud moans. “You know I love to hear you like this, and I’m sure the other campers would too, but I’m not much for sharing. So keep it down sweetheart.” Luke hissed into your ear as he leant down.

“Fuck..” You could feel yourself throb from what he’d just said, causing a flurry of emotions in your head. Why did you just get like that because of what he said? You shook the thought away, becoming easily distracted yet again when he suddenly pushed inside you further and filling you to the hilt. It made you let out a loud moan, thankful that Luke was muffling your voice now. “So good.. so tight.” Luke began to thrust again, his cock buried deep and making you feel overwhelmed with pleasure. “L-Luke I’m gonna cum..” You tried to mumble out, but he couldn’t hear you with the sound of skin on skin and his hand over your mouth did no favours for his ears.

You couldn’t help it, cumming on his cock and feeling your legs trembling beneath you. Luke used his free hand to wrap around your waist and stabilise you, making sure you wouldn’t tumble over. Luke groaned as he felt himself twitch due to the spasming sensation of your soft fluttery walls around him. “Fuck.. I’m gonna cum too-“ Luke thrusted a few more times before quickly pulling out and cumming on your backside. Luke stilled for a moment as he had to come down, the both of you panting heavily as you tried to catch your breaths.

“You did so well, so good for me..” Luke praised you and gently brushed your hair as he let go of your face, his other hand moving to try and wipe off his cum with something he had in his pocket. “S-Shut up.” You complained about his soft words, your face heating up upon hearing them though. “I think I’ve got all my frustrations out.” Luke commented, helping you up and helping you dress and to get cleaned. You turned back around to face him, helping him get dressed as well. You looked up at his face and bashfully glanced away before looking back at him and saying, “so.. see you tonight?” Luke grinned and answered “sure.”

#👁 anon #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader smut #percy jackson smut #percy jackson x reader smut #percy jackson #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell x reader smut #charlie bushnell x you #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell #Charlie bushnell smut #pjo smut #pjo tv show

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writingforatwistedworld · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! Can i ask for a self aware twst when the reader surprises adopted Silver as their son. Like just pointing at him and saying 'you are my child now' with Silver, Lilia and Sebek. Hope you have a good day!

Hehe. Anon, you know what you are doing. In fact, I would say you even want the chaos. And for that I love you come here so I can hug you.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Diasomnia chapter spoilers (Lilias part, maybe Sebek), religion, violence, isolation, kidnapping, obsessive behavior

Lilia Vanrouge/(Platonic) Silver/Sebek Zigvolt-Adopting Silver

Oh ok. Cool cool coolcoolcoolcoolcool

Well, at least that one room dedicated to you in the form of an altar can now be used for more practical uses (finally)

When Lilia heard you say those words and point at his son, he fell from the chandelier he was dangling from

Not only did he have to navigate through not accidentally telling his son that he was the blood related son of an enemy general and that exactly this general killed Malleus mom

But also that he had now a second parent that also happened to be god

Mhm totally normal

Conversations to strangers about his family were already playing out like this in his head:

Hi, I am Lilia Vanrouge, yes the one in your history book, this is my son Silver, yes he looks like a certain knight, and my lovely partner and also parent of this lovely human, yes, FU**ING GOD THEMSELVES

Ah yes, sitting in church will totally not be awkward after this

Bro legit sits you down with a pen and paper, asking you to sign the marriage certificate

Asks you what flowers you want to have on your wedding. Doesn't matter if you are a woman, man or identify as something else, he is planning that

Also has already planned out how to get you into the Valley of Thorns without anyone noticing

Because no matter how devoted he is to you, he will always be too greedy to share your attention with someone else

You could have said this as a joke or some other protective instinct towards the silver-haired male but all that man's father hears is a marriage proposal

Lilia is just happy that you feel some sort of positive way to his family member (makes things easier when you are stuck in that cabin)

I mean, he did see Silver as a present from you, a child meant to bring him back to the light after being so long in the shadow of war

And now the three of you were together! How lovely!

Which would mean that you planned this all along. Dear Overseer, if you liked the idea of you being a family you could have just told him so

He will be the best partner to raise a child together you could dream of

And should someone dare to interrupt the perfect, peaceful life you three (plus two more) had, he wouldn't mind swinging that sword again

Wait what?

What do you mean with that?

Are you sure you want him to be your son? Really?

Apparently he was not the only one surprised since he could hear the thud of his father falling to the ground behind him and Seek screaming somewhere behind him

Be prepared for a silver haired knight to look at you with the biggest puppy eyes and ask "Do you really want me as you son?"

Critical hit! Someone call a doctor. I think the Valley of Thorns god can be killed by cuteness

After that he is glued to your side (even though you have to part sooner or later since he is not living in Ramshackle)

One morning you woke up to the guy standing there with some food being like "I made some food."

Like where the Heck did he even get the keys for the dorm? (He broke in through a hole in the ceiling)

Silver always comes running to you whenever he does something and wants praises

Once he was best in one of his classes and he stood there with the report like he could turn into a dog and get headpats from you any second

But, as I am sure you are aware of, this is a blog with yandere themes and we have to say goodbye to the fluff at some point

That sword training comes in handy is all I'm saying

I mean, he has probably enough strength to break someone's leg with his bare hands by simply applying some pressure

And that one Diasomnia student that tried to take his son-status away from him was found again in a not-so-compatible-state-with-life kind of situation

I'm letting you imagine what happened

Like Lilia he is ready to burn everyone who dares to interfere with your little family

The forests of his homeland are pretty though so no need to worry about the appearance of your surroundings once they bring you to your new home (who needs social interaction anyways?)

A second of silence

And then the screaming started

“OH HOW KIND OF OUR OVERSEER! TO SHOW A MORTAL THEIR KINDNESS AND CARING SIDE!”

Seek would be lying if he said that he wasn't surprised

You, aka the Overseer, aka some higher being, AKA GOD, were known in the Valley of Thorns to be kind and caring, yet also distant and never approaching others directly

But then you literally adopt someone, making that person someone in your inner cycle?

Well, if Sebek knew one thing then that those Priests were going to have a crisis as soon as they learned about this

Totally not jealous

He would try to get closer to you since, apparently, you did allow others to get close to you

But he was happy as long as you were

After all, he was now the (not-so-official appointed) shield of the Valley of Thorns, something he got passed on by his grandfather

So of course he couldn't be family with you

That didn't mean he couldn't “help” you

Someone intruded on that dinner you had with Lilia and Silver?

Ouch… that punch must have hurt

Whenever Silver or his Father had to interfere because someone else came too close then they were some incredibly slick (looking at you Rook) or lucky person

Don't let his loud mouth fool you

This crocodile has done unmentionables in your name in order to make things easier for your new found family

For what? Oh you know, becoming his neighbor back home… forever

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her-favorite · 7 months ago

Text

ATTITUDE READJUSTMENT; C. STURNIOLO

CHRIS STURNIOLO X F!READER

warnings: SMUT, sub!chris/dom!reader

a/n: (sort of requested?) from this lovely anon!! sort of went overboard with it - also i can’t remember the last time i’ve ever been this quick to write a request before (or just write in general) so a special thank you to that anon!! <3

wc: 2,465

SYNOPSIS: Chris gets what’s coming to him when he decides to give you attitude all day…

Chris has been a brat all day.

From giving you attitude, to ignoring the things you say, to not even acknowledging you were there. You weren’t too sure why he was in such a bad mood, and you’ve tried to ask, but to no avail.

So here you sat, in a restaurant with your boyfriend, his brothers and some of your friends, waiting for your food. You’ve tried nudging Chris’ foot with your own to get his attention, but he’s yet to even look at you. You tried to go over your day yesterday to remember if you did anything that might’ve upset him, but it consisted of nothing but lying around and watching tv.

“Chris,” you whisper to him, close enough to his ear so he can hear you over the loud noise of the restaurant. You figured this would be your last try until he decided to cooperate with you. “Hello?”

“What?” His sharp reply caught you off guard as you leaned back in your seat. Chris looked over at you, his face stone cold as his eyes bore into yours. His silky hair went its own way, the messy strands somehow forming into the perfect look. His arms are crossed over his white shirt, tense arms flexing. “What d’ya want? Use your words.” He says sternly, never breaking the heated eye contact with you.

“Watch how you talk to me.” You reply, your anger seeping through your words. Chris seemed to enjoy the way you reacted as a small curl to his lips becomes apparent.

“Why? What’re you gonna do?” He smirks. Everyone else in the room became invisible to the both of you as you finally heard him speak to you for the first time today. Your jaw clenches at his attitude as your hand sneaks its way to his thigh, squeezing harshly. He gasps, his eyes widening slightly.

“If you keep this shit up, you’ll see.” You answer, never moving your hand from him. Chris’ breath hitches, but before he can say anything, the waitress comes by and begins handing out everyone’s food.

Some time passes by as others are finishing off their plates. Chris has yet to open his mouth to you, taking your warning seriously. You couldn’t help yourself when your hand drifts up, closer to his crotch. You notice his chest move faster and the soft sound of his breath catching when you do it, making you smile.

“Y/N,” his voice is breathy as he whispers in your ear, his tone seconds away from desperation. You ignore him, still picking at your food, your fork picking up then pushing food off of it. “Ma, please,” Chris remains quiet, hoping that no one could hear him. His hand rests over yours as he tries to guide it towards where he needs you, but you protest. Digging your nails into the fabric of his sweatpants, Chris has to muffle a moan from the sting of the pain.

As soon as Chris opens his mouth to complain, you look over at him, “Wait.” Your tone was strict, glaring over at him. He’s barely able to suppress a whine as he huffs, his jaw clenching in irritation.

Minutes pass as Chris grows more and more desperate, his breathing becoming uneven. As the waitress comes back to rest the bill on the table, your hand creeps up towards his bulge. Chris inhales sharply as soon as your hand cups him, rubbing softly.

“You good?” Matt glances over at his brother, his eyebrows furrowed. Chris nods in response, a quiet “yeah” leaving his lips. Matt seems fine with the answer as he looks back over at Nick, his other brother rambling about something he didn’t necessarily find interesting.

“Ma, you can’t do this to me.” He whispers, his voice breaking slightly at the end. His hand wraps around your wrist, but doesn’t make an effort to pull you away from him. Disregarding his superficial pleas, your finger traces over the print, sending a chill down your boyfriend’s spine. “Please, can you-“

“Time to go.” Your touch is immediately taken from him as you stand up and push in your chair. Chris looks up at you from his seat, dumbfounded from the lack of attention from you. “C’mon, let’s go.” Chris seems to snap out of his daze as he gets up and follows behind you, only staying inches away.

The drive home was painful; Chris went with you in your car as Nick went in Matt’s car, your friends branching off to go home. Chris wouldn’t spend a second without trying to get his hands on you or trying to get you to touch him, hell to paying attention to the road. Finally, when you reach the triplets’ house, you park in their driveway and shut your car off.

Getting out of it before Chris can start again, you make your way into their house, saying something quick to Nick and Matt before going down into Chris’ room. Not even seconds later, Chris bursts through the door and slams it behind him. As you take off your jacket, you place it into his closet, ignoring the needy man behind you.

“What the fuck?” His words don’t surprise you, his stunned tone only making an amused smile take over your lips. Turning around to face him, you take in his heaving chest and the still prominent bulge in his pants.

“I told you earlier, baby.” You reply nonchalantly, taking a deep breath as you try to compose yourself from smiling. “You’ve been too busy being a fucking brat that you didn’t listen to me like you should’ve.” Your voice is stern as you walk towards him, watching the way Chris straightens up at your words. “I told you to wait earlier but you’re so fucking pathetic.” You’re inches away from him now, your noses just barely grazing each other.

“I.. I’m sorry-“ Chris inhales shakily, looking down at you with eyes full of penitence.

“I don’t think you are, Chris.” You press on, your hands leaning forward to rest on his chest. Your dominant one glides up, wrapping around his pale throat. His pink lips part in response as you feel his Adam’s apple bob underneath your palm. “So I want you to make it up to me.” Your voice alone could’ve made Chris drop to his knees. He nods immediately, lust drunk on you. “Strip and get on the bed.” Your forwardness doesn’t seem to faze Chris as he quickly obeys, throwing his thin shirt over his head and his sweatpants down his legs. Removing the last article of clothing, he lays down on his bed, the soft comforter molding to his body.

“I think we need to put that bratty little mouth of yours to good use.” You begin, moving to strip your shirt off, your pants following. Chris has no room to disagree as his eyes widen and he nods with fervor. Gliding your underwear down your legs, you kneel on the end of Chris’ bed, taking in his needy state.

“C’mon, ma,” he whines, his hands reaching out for you, signaling for you to come closer. Despite being in charge of the situation, you listen to him and straddle his lap. Chris groans at the contact between you two, his large hands quickly moving down to grip your thighs. Deciding to give him a slight break, you lean down and press your lips to his, sucking his pretty pink lip so they become swollen. He moans into the kiss, submitting to your tongue. Your hands rest on his chest, lying your nails on his skin as they move up to his collarbones. Breaking away to get some air, Chris exhales heavily at the slight pain from your fingers against him.

“Please, Y/N, I need you. Y’make me feel so good, please,” Chris begs mindlessly, pushing his hands against your thighs, trying to get you to move against him. Pulling his hands off of you, with a pitiful whine from the man underneath you, you begin to move up his body. Chris almost moans when he realizes what you’re doing, swiftly wrapping his hands around your thighs again to pull you closer to him.

“Need to shut the pretty mouth of yours.” You look down at him, his mesmerizing eyes distracting you. Your lips fall apart as soon as you feel Chris’ mouth against you, placing a sweet kiss against your clit. Licking a line up your slit, his tongue is warm against you, yet it makes a chill go down your back. His short nails dig into the skin of your thighs as if he’s trying to suffocate himself with your legs.

Beginning to move your hips, a moan leaves your lips as his nose grazes your clit, hitting it perfectly. Chris seems to get off on your pleasure, groaning when he hears your noises. His tongue teases you before pushing inside you. Moaning in response, your hips never stop as they grind against his movements. One of Chris’ hands glide back, squeezing your ass and pushing you closer to him, if even possible.

“Doing so good, baby.” You mumble, your chest rising and falling faster as seconds pass by. Chris moans at the praise, becoming more brisk with his actions. “Fuck, you make me feel so good.” You knew the praise got to Chris as he got off on the pleasure he made you feel. “Love when you shut that pretty mouth of yours, letting me use it like the slut you are.” Chris whines against you, a vibration coursing through you. Your body shakes at the feeling, an immediate moan ripped from your lips. “I’m close, baby,” you breathe out, your hips starting to grow tired as the knot in your stomach becomes too tight.

One of Chris’ hands drifts up your body, grasping your breast, making your hips jolt. Your hand moves down to his hair, gripping it tightly in your hold, pulling a noise out from the man underneath you.

With incoherent mumbles and moans, the knot inside you snaps as your hips shake against him. Chris never stops, pushing his tongue around until it gathers every last drop of you. Breathing heavily, your body calms until it twitches from the overstimulation of Chris’ tongue.

Propping yourself back up on your knees, you can hear a faint whine from Chris as you move away from him. Drifting back down to his lap, you take in his disheveled state: his hair was messy against his pillow, his lips red and swollen, your wetness still on the bottom half of his face, and his chest heaving. His hands resorted to gripping the soft sheets, his whole being screaming desperate.

“You poor thing,” your tone contradicted your words as you observed him. Chris whines again, screwing his eyes shut as his hips try and find some sort of friction against you. His cock was painfully hard as the tip was beaming red, begging for your attention.

“It hurts so bad, mama. Need you so bad, please!” He cries out, arching his back slightly. You could practically hear his heart beat out of his chest.

“Have you learned your lesson yet, sweetheart?” Your hands roam up his body, pressing your fingers into the soft area around his collarbones.

“Yes! Yes, I have, I promise!” He exclaims, his neediness evident. You give in to him, taking his dick in your dominant hand and stroking him lightly. He gasps at the contact, his mouth immediately agape. Moving over him, you line yourself with him, dragging his tip down your slit. Whimpers leave Chris’ mouth at the feeling, his cheeks heating up, a light red hue taking over his skin.

“Shh, baby,” you try and calm him down, resting your opposite hand on the side of his face. He nestles into your palm, his teeth clenching once you sink down on him. With a groan from you, the burning stretch of his size always makes you falter. Once you reach his base, you stay put for a second, taking in the feeling.

“Please, move… please, I can’t-“ Chris’ pleas get cut off by a moan once you begin your movements. Rocking against him, his hands automatically grip onto your hips, just barely applying pressure to help you move on him. He lets out a heavy exhale every time you shift against him, already close when you’ve barely done anything to him.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby.” You breathe out, your palms digging into his chest as you grounded yourself on him. He whimpers at the praise, bucking his hips up towards you. Moaning in response, your head leans back at the sudden pleasure.

Your motions get faster and harsher as seconds pass, feeling that same tingle in your stomach again. Inaudible babbles leave Chris’ mouth, too caught up in the severe pleasure he was experiencing.

“You were being such a fucking brat earlier, y’know that?” You entice him, your hand just barely grazing his neck. Whines leave his mouth left and right at the sensation, his mind only focused on you, you, you.

“I know, ma, I’m sorry. I’m so,” a loud, guttural groan escapes his mouth, cutting his sentence off. “I’m so sorry.” He sighs, his words a jumble as he feels the hedonism take over. “I’m close,” Chris mumbles, his hips starting to stutter.

“Do you think you deserve to cum, baby?” You ask, your hips never letting up. A short, but high pitched whine leaves him as you move faster, chasing your own orgasm.

“Yes! Yes, please, please,” he begs, his lust clouding his judgment. He looked so desperate, pleading for you, his whole being a mess.

“Yeah? Then cum.” You order, not expecting him to immediately follow them. His body stills as his fingers claw into you, his mouth agape and the periodic bursts of him inside you. You follow soon after, ignoring the pitiful whimpers from the man beneath you as he grew sensitive.

As your thighs began to relax, you take some breaths before pulling off of him. You both wince slightly once you lean back up, but Chris quickly gasps once he feels your tongue against his cock.

“Wha.. what’re you doing?” His voice is broken, seemingly starting to fade from all the noises he’s made. He can’t help but groan at the way your lips wrap around him, his sensitivity heightened. He hisses at the contact of your tongue, throwing his head back with erratic breathing. “Mm, it hurts.” He whines but has yet to try and pull you off of him.

Looking up at him, you take him out of your mouth with a pop. “Better get comfortable, baby, ‘cause this is just the beginning.”

Maybe he should act like that more often..

#chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader

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notyourhetloki · 3 months ago

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Can I request Wade and Logan/reader breeding kink? 👉👈 both of them too excited about it and competitive? (Can you make reader gender neutral (he/him or they/them or trans ftm (he/him), you can use any terms for genitals and stuff it's ok)

into it (Logan x Reader x Wade)

Reader: he/him (ftm)

/NSFW Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Fuuck I had so much fun writing this, anon! It's a bit short but it's pure porn so I hope you still end up satisfied lol (also sorry about the random gif, I couldn't find a more suiting one lmao). Anyway, hope you like it! xoxo

Tags: ftm reader (reader has a vagina), breeding kink, creampie, they both fuck you, Wade being a fucking joke, Logan is not having it, piv sex (unprotected), porn without plot.

Word Count: 908

—

As soon as you walked through the front door, they were all up in your personal space. Wade and Logan promptly started to take your clothes off, not exactly caring about being gentle.

"Boys! Calm down, there's plenty of me for the both of you!" You tried appeasing, but to no avail.

"And yet is nearly not enough." Groaned Logan, ripping your underwear off with his bare hands. You gasped as his fingers immediately found your sex, rubbing your clit while Wade kissed your neck.

"Sorry about that, doll. We'll buy you another one." Wade whispered into your ear, taking you by the hand and convincing Logan to continue things in the bedroom.

You were basically thrown onto the bed, naked and vulnerable and super turned on. You could already see their hard bulges before they started to take their own clothes off.

"On all fours for us." Ordered Logan, and you gladly obliged. "Attaboy..."

After all their clothes were out, Logan started positioning himself behind you until you heard Wade complain.

"Wait a minute, mutton chops! Why do you think you get to go first?" Wade pointed out.

"Because I can and I will." Logan retorted impatiently, giving your ass a light squeeze.

"Nuh-uh! That ain't fair! I propose a rock-paper-scissors to sort things out, nothing fairer than that." Said Wade holding a closed fist out.

"Fucking hell, fine!" Logan agreed and quickly started the game. They finished the round and Logan played scissors, while Wade played paper.

"Best out of three?" Begged Wade, but the other man didn't care for it.

"Fuck off." Logan pushed Wade aside and started positioning himself again, putting the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You were really wet, so it didn't hurt when he slammed into you. You were full, stuffed to the brim, and you thought it couldn't get any better than that... until Logan began thrusting into you, hitting a sweet spot inside that made you cry out in pleasure.

"Let us hear those sweet sounds you make, boy." Logan said while fucking you. He breathed loudly, grunting and grabbing you at the hips with enough force to bruise. The sounds you made together were obscene, and that turned Wade on even more.

"Gosh... fuck him silly, Wolvie." Wade was jacking himself off, looking closely at Logan's dick in and out of you. "Cum inside him..."

Logan groaned again, more urgent than before. A sudden thought took over him, and he needed to let it out. "I'm gonna breed you, (y/n). I'm gonna fill you up so good... fuck, fill you up with my seed."

"Goddamn!" Said a surprised Wade, not expecting the other man to be so earnest. "That's so fucking dirty... I love it."

"Ah, yes! Please..." You moaned, feeling energy and heat through your whole body. You were being used by him, your body only an object... it turned you on so damn much.

Logan's thrusts began to get even more rough, he was fucking you hard and the sounds he made were animalistic. Soon he turned erratic, his hips faltering in the rhythm he had set. You knew he was close.

He came with a loud grunt, holding you for dear life. Breathing deeply through his gritted teeth, Logan recovered and slowly took his member out of you. A bit of cum dripped from your entrance, and Wade observed everything with a delighted expression.

"I bet I can cum even more in his pussy..." He whispered mostly to himself, but you both heard him.

"You wanna bet, bub?" Said Logan with a satisfied smile on his face. What doesn't a good fuck does to one man's humor?

"Hell yeah, peanut." Wade soon replaced the other man's position and unlike Logan, asked for your approval. "You alright, gorgeous?"

"Y-Yeah... please, give it to me." You moaned as you felt his cock entering you, stuffing you up again.

Wade was a bit gentler with his hands, grabbing you thoughtfully at the places you weren't bruised. But his rhythm... he was still a beast.

"Fuuuck, you feel so good, pretty boy." He moaned, not stopping for a second.

"Hmm, Wade... Logan... ah!" You couldn't stop making noises and calling out for them, dumb with the feeling of being full.

"Good job, sugar... you're being so good for us." Said Logan while standing beside you, watching as Wade pounded into you with great enthusiasm.

"Shit, I'm close... I'll cum inside your pretty cunt, (y/n)." Wade gripped you even harder and finally slammed his hips into you, his climax followed by a deep moan.

He took a few breaths and slowly came back to earth, removing himself from you with a pop. Even more cum oozed from inside you, a beautiful and sexy sight for the both of them.

"As my partner here mentioned earlier... consider yourself 'bred'." Wade taunted, giving a final slap on your ass and retreating himself to put an arm over Logan's shoulder. "Sooo... about that bet, what is my prize?"

You laughed as you laid on your back to watch them both, exhausted but completely satisfied.

Logan suddenly grabbed Wade by his balls, looking him in the eyes. "You get to keep all of your blood inside your body today, sounds good?"

Wade responded in a higher octave, nodding his head and still holding Logan's shoulders. "Ouchie! So rough!" Logan let him go, but Wade only got closer. "You're lucky I'm into it."

—

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acid-ixx · 5 months ago

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I have a question, well 2 questions to be exact that’s been rattling around in my head since I started reading platonic yandere batfam fics, why would reader stay in Gotham? I’d be sneakily stealing as much money as I could without getting caught as soon as I reach a “fuck these guys” mentality. Like, asking to have some money for groceries or something and just pocketing it so that I could get a bus ticket and leave the city. Would you do it if you were reader? It just makes sense to me “this place sucks, these people suck, I’ve gotten enough to leave”, this is with me assuming that reader has the means of course, if the reader doesn’t then okay, yeah that makes sense

And my second question, do you ever feel resentful towards Alfred when you read batfam photonic yandere content? I do sometimes, especially when the reader is neglected. I know this might sound odd but when I read these fics I recognize that Alfred could do more, out of everyone in the manner, I think Alfred’s word carries the most weight, especially with Bruce due to him raising Bruce. I also notice in some batfam fics that the reader doesn’t get mad at him due to him giving them attention, but idk it feels kinda like a slap to the face, knowing that I don’t have the power but he does and yet not exercising it until I’ve burned every last tie to that family.

I know my thoughts are a more “well you’re on the outside looking in” type takes, but idk, it hurts my heart knowing that if reader stays in that city, it will be far more easier for the batfam to find them, where if they were outside the city, they’d have a fighting chance to make a new life for themselves

On a side note, I think we are underutilizing the angst potential of reader legally changing their name and the batfam not knowing until months or even years later when reader leaves. Like Bruce and the fam would just have to sit and realize that reader hates/dislikes/doesn’t care about them enough to legally change their name from Wayne to whatever reader chooses. Jason was Batman’s greatest failure, but Reader would be Bruce’s greatest failure, and what a delightful public failure it would be if the tabloids were to somehow find out that one of Bruce Wayne’s biological children changed their legal name

I’m loving your batfam content btw, like it makes me want to create one of those “screw therapy, I need to fist fight my dad” tiktoks and tag Bruce Wayne, that’s what I can phenomenal writing!! And sorry for making this so long! Hope you have a great existence!

slight spoilers for future chapters.

this is one of my favorite asks... anon, you are so brilliant because your two questions tie into the reader's character so well and the flaws that they (you) conjured from years of neglect, so i hope my answers would suffice (i am answering based on the perspective of the reader from my series: again & again with a bit of my own perspective). tysm for sending this in, i actually really enjoy long asks and appreciate it when people take the time to send me these things!

why would the reader stay in gotham?

chapter one wasn't all the detailed about why they stayed in gotham. firstly, their self-worth had them reason that in no way, shape, or form would their family that basically estranged them would come running to them, especially not when the only time the reader could even stumble across them is by some miracle of coincidence. this also ties into their lack of knowledge about their family. sure, they know that babs is the oracle but do they know just how much access she has across gotham? not really. they know tim, like bruce, has a tendency to collect information about other people, but they don't know that they have contingency plans to be creeped out enough to get away from gotham and from their reach.

"it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!"

and the third point is, despite bruce being a billionaire of some sort, it was stated that the reader was too well-behaved and quiet. how does this make sense? as you've stated, they wouldn't simply have the means to get out. seeing as they were sheltered by alfred and never really explored the concept of traveling far away, they never asked for money; the only advantage of being a wayne is having quite a lot of things served on a silver platter.

they have this sort of toxic bond for staying with the people who have hurt them and it materialized to them physically staying despite knowing it would only cause more pain than anything else, and they don't know that. plus, they'd rather not have the wayne name associated with them and getting money from cheques or credit cards would be too risky for the reader's safety.

they've only realized just how shitty their family is after more than 10-13 years of staying in the manor, and saving up to move to an entirely different place would be difficult, alongside college and the jobs they have to take. so the next best thing they could do is rely on any means of advantage they could get whilst also moving on to the path of self-discovery and recovery.

but that doesn't mean they're staying in gotham forever, definitely not. the moment the reader realizes that dick gained some sort of interest towards them, they're booking it out of gotham. preferably to metropolis or central city or even somewhere far, far away— they're naive, but not stupid. sudden interest towards them means danger rather than anything else. and they're aware that alfred is capable enough to pull strings, so that's why spoiler alert: they have a secret stash of money hidden somewhere and like any children of bruce, they inherited the capability to be smart enough to already back up their contacts and everything on their phone, buy a burner phone and even change their entire identity in one quick go right after they move into an entirely different city or country.

gotham is merely their practice course.

do you ever feel resentment towards alfred?

quite frankly, yes. the reader in the fic feels resentment towards everyone for a reason actually, but alfred's part was stated vaguely as to not spoil a future chapter that focuses on his perspective. they know that he has the more power inside the manor more than bruce has. everyone, and i mean everyone respects alfred, and it doesn't take a genius to know that if you mess with him, you're messing with an entire family of crime fighters.

it's not obvious, but the reader's narrative in chapter one is them trying so hard to delude themself into thinking things can be better until it's too late. so in a sense, there's false narrative coming into play.

"alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least."

at some point in time, alfred had also neglected the reader emotionally with the same reasoning as the others; he was busy with their father. and this all could've been avoided if alfred had tried to confront the entire family about it. i'm not delving deeper into this to really avoid spoilers other than pointing out some details in the first chapter.

just know that alfred relishes in your newfound favoritism towards him, and that he may or may not have pulled some strings himself from helping you become closer to the family.

the part about reading changing their name from (name) wayne to (name) (last name) is what made me so drawn to this ask. you have pretty much predicted one of the chapters that explored (name) wayne to the public eye. they're not so much of an internet celebrity because of their rare appearances in public, but that's what causes immense curiosity about their identity to uprise in gotham, and their fame was one of the means to get to you.

there was one news article published that was the reason that made bruce distant towards you.

but let's focus on what yan! bruce would've felt once he turns a full 360.

because the first thing he would do once he has you in his grasp is to change your last name back to his. you are not the child of a (last name), you are a wayne first and foremost, bruce's third child and his greatest mistake, quite literally. you were a product of a one-night-stand, and because he was drowning in despair from jason's death, he had failed to notice you. all his years of neglect, and he doesn't even know a single thing about you, simply because he refused to acknowledge your presence.

and you rightfully hated him, he should've accepted that. but your diary entries and the way you innocently thought of him destroyed any sliver of hope for a peaceful reconciliation. he hates how you were experiencing the same type of despair as him when it comes to battling your own monsters— you truly are a wayne at heart. he couldn't afford to let you get away any further. just like dick, he needs to fix it now or further sever the already broken ties you have with him.

it's not batman now, but rather bruce. bruce wayne had failed to save another one of his children, not as a vigilante, but as a father.

knowing bruce, he's quick to take into action and search for you.

holy shit, this is a really long post but i hope it does answer the questions ! im so grateful that you like my writing enough to write a really long ask, and i hope to see your messages more once the new chapters are published <3

#🍨... yael's talking #series: again & again #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere batboys #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #platonic yandere

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arthenaa · 11 months ago

Text

my love mine all mine— mizu x f! reader

synopsis: marriage is nigh for someone your age and with society's expectations of you, how long will you have to keep waiting for him?

content: 18+ nsfw, mdni, angst w comfort, fluff, she/her pronouns for reader, he/she pronouns for mizu, patriarchal views on women, arranged marriage, jealousy, use of sex toys, idiots in love

a/n: part 2 of nocturne (interlude)!! this is for that anon who was on their finals week (ur req got deleted i h8 tumblr) and to those who requested for a part 2 !!! a reward for your hard work

Your relationship with Mizu was ... interesting.

After what happened that day, your relationship progressed into a deeper sense of connection. He was attracted to you as much as you were attracted to him. A fact that made your fingers tingle with anticipation every time he came down to your village under the guise of getting more medicine.

Your father had no complaints as business is business and provided him with what he needed, although you could see the occassional side eyes that your father gives him every time he stays longer than he was supposed to be. It was a comical sight indeed.

Mizu helped you out as much as he could—whether it be mundane house chores or taxing ones that require hard labor or a change of locations, he was down to accompany you in any way.

While yes, his efforts of providing you aid sent a surge of butterflies down your stomach, what ultimately led you to hammering a nail in the coffin was the subtle touches that he gave you.

You knew he knew and he knew that he was being smug about it. While it didn't show on his face, his eyes told it all. Whether it be passing by and gently placing a hand on the small of your back to excuse himself out of your way as if there wasn't a 2-meter space to your right or the brushing of fingers when he lent you something or if he's being bold enough, especially when your father's not looking, outright pretending that there was a fabric stuck on your hairpin and so he leans in close to you only to place a kiss on your cheek—he always has to have some sort of skinship with you during the day. It often left you struggling for words or having a flushed face.

"Dear," Your father furrows his eyebrows as he eyes your flushed cheeks. You tense in his gaze as he glances at Mizu who appears calm as he takes a sip of his drink. The blue-eyed samurai had done it again—saw an opening and took it like he was meant for it. He fooled you into thinking that your hair was out of place and offered to fix it. Your father had stepped out to get the food and you had hoped that he stayed somehow so that you wouldn't have to deal with all this bullcrap. Mizu took the chance to grab your chin and place a kiss on your lips. Your father came back shortly and you haven't relaxed since. "You don't look alright. Do you want me to—?"

"I-It's fine, Dad!" You intercept, hands raised as you shake no. "The soup was just... hot."

You glance at Mizu who looks at you from the side of his eye. He smirks over his cup.

It was safe to say that Mizu was also mischievous by nature. Despite his usual calm and cool demeanor, you didn't expect the man before you to be quite playful when it came to just between the two of you.

You did all these things, said all those things, looked at each other with things unspoken of and you're quite sure that your relationship was susceptible to the one thing you're quite sure would lead to.

Marriage.

A want for some, a necessity for many. You'd think that in your years of living in this town that you'd find a partner suitable for marriage and you did! Just a little bit later than others.

You had expected that... Mizu would propose. After all, what comes after dating but marriage? Your father and mother did that, your aunts, uncles, cousins, hell, even your friends already got married albeit some of them out of their own will.

You dreamed of having a true love marriage. One that you could be yourself and never have to be ashamed of loving someone despite their stature in life. One that you could coexist with and that could never demean your existence as a woman. You knew those things were far fetched from reality but everyone wishes to dream right?

You had tried discreetly asking about it, curious as to why he barely mentions anything but he only casts you an unreadable look on his face then a soft smile.

He kissed the back of your hand with a gentle touch, softness mirroring that of a snowflake's descent.

"... I can't," He says. You're not sure as to why he sounded in pain, like something was troubling him but you knew better than to pry. "Not right now."

So you let it go.

It was times like this that you felt the other half of the relationship. Like there was still a barrier you couldn't decipher between you. Why he often looks secretive with your father at times or why he falls silent at the most random of moments. There was something you didn't know and it often aches you that you couldn't be able to understand him unless you knew the inner workings of his mind.

The first instance that brought up the onslaught of problems that would soon arise was the arrival of a proposal from the south. It came in the form of a letter, writings neatly imprinted on fine parchment—rolled with the delicacy that of a noble.

You could see your father's nervous glance as the messenger read what was sent to him. You could hear bits and pieces of the arrangement, hands wringing each other in anxiety as your eyes trained on your father's back. Mizu had not arrived that day and normally, you would fret over such things but your father casts a glance at you over his shoulder and suddenly everything seems to have changed its course.

"Father," You pant as you gather the ends of your kimono, trying to match the pace of your patriarch as he travels all over the house. He seems to not be at rest from the talk with the messenger—a perpetual stone-cold look plastered on his face. "Father!"

He enters the part of your house you haven't gone to in ages. Not because you despised it but because you were afraid that the spirit that once dwelled in its abode would arise and look at you with those same eyes that once held all the love and memories when you were but a wee girl. You hesitate at the entrance but decide to follow him through.

"Not right now, Y/N," He mumbles, agitated as he crouches over a chest and begins digging through the array of clothes. Your eyebrows furrow.

"What—What did he say?" You stammer as you stand to his left, eyes watching his every move as he frantically rummages through the fabrics. "Father, I have—I need to know."

Your father pauses, defeatedly slumping against the chest as his fingers tap against the wooden surface in thought. Silence ensues between the two of you and suddenly he turns to you with a sympathetic look on his face. Your blood runs cold.

"Lord Shimizu—" He pauses, catching himself stammering as he looked into those eyes that were fruition of shared dreams and a love he hasn't forgotten in ages. "He asked for your hand in marriage."

You stare at him with a shaky gaze, breath going in and out as you tried to process his response.

"Then-Then tell him no," Your eyebrows furrow. Your father falls silent at your words. "Tell him like you've always told the others."

"I can't, Y/N," He whispers, tone shifting into despair. Your shoulders are low as he lowers his head in shame.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't," He emphasizes his words once more, eyes darting up to meet yours. "I have always tried to protect you but I can't this time."

Your face falls in desperation as you kneel down with him. You grab his hands in an attempt to convince him once more.

"Father, please, I can't—I don't even know him!" You plead as your grip on his callous fingers tightens. He looks at you with sadness. "Please Father, I'll do anything, just don't—"

"Y/N," He cuts you off with a stern voice. You fall silent as you wait for his response. "This man is from Kyoto. While the men here fear my stature as a medic, this man has access to professionals far greater than me. He doesn't regard me as someone important and if I dare raise my voice, we might as well be dead."

Your figure tenses at his words. He grabs your arms in an attempt to comfort you. In a last attempt to get him to decline the offer, you say the thoughts that have been at the forefront of your mind.

"I'm in love with Mizu," Your voice comes out in a whisper, eyes wide and tears welling up. He tenses at your confession, eyebrows furrowing at the implications.

"You—"

"Father, I love him." Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt to get him to see you. Your hands raise to touch his arm but he suddenly raises to his feet, taking a few steps back. Your heart speeds up at his reaction.

"Is that why he—?" Your father whispers out in thought. You're not sure if he was angry or disappointed, but you're quite sure that this was a bad thing. His face contorts into a look of anger as he continues to look at you with a hardened gaze. "When was this?"

"You told me you wanted me to have a true love marriage, Father—This is it!" You look up at him with a defiance so strong that it almost gives your father a whiplash of how similar it looked. He falters in his stance but remains rooted to his cause.

"I know but not to—!" He catches himself at the end of his sentence. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. He runs a hand through his face before sighing. "Not like this. Not to him. Not Mizu, Y/N."

Your eyebrows furrow in anger at his words. "You can't dictate what I feel for him."

There's a moment of silence as your father casts you an unreadable look on his face. You thought that your father might approve of Mizu. They after all started at the same steps and eventually grew to the path they were destined for, albeit in different fields. You're not quite sure as to what led to this defiance against your choice for marriage but it already has you intruiged.

"The messenger talks of praises of Lord Shimizu," Your father diverts the conversation. "I also hear that he is a general and part of the Emperor's Kingsguard. He is of noble stature and earned his keep. He is a man fitting of your deserving."

You fall silent at his words before finally rising to your height and dusting off your kimono. You glance at the chest, eyeing the white fabric that pops out of an array of multicolored ones. You turn back to your father.

"You raised me to not be a hypocrite," Your voice is stone cold. Your father flinches at the tone. "I expected you to not be one as well."

With that you left.

The days were grueling.

Presents after presents were sent to your doorstep and while you wish that you could throw them all away, your father accepted them and kept them in the storage, still neatly wrapped for you to open.

Mizu had also arrived less and less over the past couple of days. He usually stays for more than an hour but now he leaves within the 30-minute mark. You felt like your time had been severed into bits and pieces after your fight with your father. You saw them talking, hushed in the receiving area. You expected your father to berate him for influencing his own daughter but their relationship remained civil. In fact, after his talk with your father was what prompted fewer visits and only coming for business.

He also became distant. Little to no skinship—sometimes even none at all. He talks to you in that cold tone of his and even grunts in annoyance when you try to bother him into coming with you to window shop in town.

You thought they were being unfair. That they could freely do things like this beyond your knowledge. Watch you crumble into a pit of despair at the concept of what you believed was the essence of true love. How naïve were you.

The final straw came when Mizu stayed a little bit longer than usual. He was swift with his purchase but remained seated at the tree located just outside your humble abode.

You approached him with soft steps, eyes trained on his head devoid of his kasa and the usual orange tinted glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome.

"Why are you like this?" Your voice cuts through the silence, direct and swift as a breeze passes through you. You see the familiar curl on his forehead, swishing back and forth before settling down.

Mizu does not reply for a few seconds before finally responding. "Like what?"

Your breath shakes at his nonchalance. "Like everything's back from the start."

Mizu pauses before turning his head to look at you standing behind him. There's a long duration of silence between you, eyes only locked with each other as the breeze fills in the void.

"Y/N," Your name escapes his lips like a prayer. You will yourself not to fold. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?"

He rises up from his seat on the ground, grabbing his Kasa in the process. He examines the item, eyeing the material woven intricately to form its shape. You could tell that there were a lot of things in his mind. You could only wait until he decided to break down the walls he built up so high.

"I didn't mean it to be this way." He finally looks at you in the eye, those beautiful shades of blue hidden by a tint of orange. He pauses himself before a change of expression is plastered on his face. "I think it's best if we stop here."

Your breath hitches. "What?"

"I said what I said," He mutters in that neutral tone of his, devoid of emotion. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I... I am on a journey and I have wishes to accomplish. I operate on circumstances that prove to be unlawful. It's best that you don't associate yourself with me. I was too distracted to begin with."

Distracted? Is that what he thought all of this was about? Your hands shake in anger as your eyes darted any sort of giveaway that he might just be joking with you. The world was pinning its blame on your shoulders and now you have to receive the consequences of its actions.

You purse your lips, stopping yourself from bawling then and there. You can't give him the satisfaction of seeing yourself in a mess. You refuse.

You turn around without responding, making hasty steps towards your home before halting once more. You turn to see him putting on his Kasa, eyes in a daze. Upon feeling your stare at him, he turns back towards you. His gaze falters.

"I'm sorry." He says.

You could never will out the words you should've said.

Lord Shimizu came on the 3rd day of the week. He wasn't what you expected him to be.

Naturally, nobles of that standing would appear to be egocentric maniacs who dabbled and flaunted their wealth in various entertainment establishments. They act crass and speak crass as if their authority gives them the pass to be an asshole to everybody.

You thought to yourself, this man could have anybody that he wanted. He was a general, a skilled warrior, and a candidate for marriage to Japan's array of elegant and noble women. Why would he pick a humble medic's daughter all the way from Takayama?

Well, the answer finally came to you in flesh instead.

"L-Lord Shimizu!" Your father stammers over his words as a young man, your age enters the establishment. You take a step back towards the panel of the receiving area, slightly shielding yourself from the onslaught of 3-4 men entering the place. "I didn't expect you to be here."

The man does not respond yet, his eyes wander the interior of the establishment before finally settling on you. You flinch back at the intensity of his stare. Your father notices his attention on you before clearing his throat.

"Y/N?" He calls over, eyes meeting with yours as he beckons you over. You grumble under your breath before making hesitant steps to your father's side. "Ah yes, this is Y/N Gojo. My daughter. Y/N, this is Lord Shimizu Kaito."

Your eyes peer up at him underneath your lashes, trying to take a peek at his face. Shimizu flashes you a soft smile before bowing in greeting.

"Apologies for not having been able to meet before. The Emperor had requested me to attend to several cases in various cities. I hope that you and Y/N can forgive my tardy appearance." His voice is proper and elegant but you could only scoff at his words. Apparently, it was loud enough for him, your father, and the two other guards stationed behind him to hear. Your father elbows your waist.

"Apologies for my daughter," He sheepishly smiles. "She seems to have a... cold."

He eyes you with a strict look on his face which you turn to look away at. Just as you wished for all of this to be over, a wave of a hand catches your attention. You turn to look at Shimizu who softly smiles at you once more.

"I know this proposal is sudden but I hope you can give me a chance." He says, voice and tone genuine. You hesitantly purse your lips at his words. "I'll be staying around this time. I hope I can get to know you."

Lord Shimizu stayed true to his word. The past few days were nothing but him trying to get to know you as an individual. He was nice, accommodating, and even dare say, a proper friend you could talk to.

He helped you out in chores, got you gifts, had tea with you, learned your ways, and walked with you in town. If you were the person you were before, you could've deemed this man the perfect match for you.

While you appreciated his eagerness in wanting to get to know you, you also can't help but be reminded of a certain blue-eyed boy every time he did something remotely similar. He talks of his travels, his blade, his peers, his interests, and you're brought back to the time Mizu let you hold his blade in your palms, brought you trinkets from his previous adventure, talked to you about his annoying apprentice, or that he prefers his soba to have a little bit more soup in ratio to his noodles.

Everything remind you of him.

Mizu had not visited in a while. You tried asking about him to your father if he ever came to get medicine but your father denies every question.

Sometimes you catch glimpses of a familiar Kasa roaming the town streets but is only mistaken by a wandering traveler. You're not too sure how long it would take for you to lose your wits about everything.

Sensing the troubling thoughts that plagued your mind, Shimizu offered for you both to take a stroll in town at night and shop for trinkets that you might find interesting to place in your room. He tried his best to keep you entertained, asking about your interests, making you laugh, all that stuff.

The question that prompted you at the start of his arrival began to urge you to put forth a topic for conversation. You wait for Shimizu to finish his words before finally dropping the question.

"Why me?" You ask, eyes gazing into his as he halts at the question. He blinks a couple of times, not able to process the question.

"What?"

"Why me, my lord?" You repeat, hands clutching your satchel. "I am but a mere servant's daughter. You could have anyone."

He licks his lips eyebrows furrowing. "But you are someone."

You raise your eyebrows, urging for him to continue. The man takes a breath, looking around before finally settling his eyes on you.

"I..." He starts off, words trailing as he gazes into your eyes. He continues. "I came here before. As a child."

Your eyes widen at the revelation.

"People talk of a man named Gojo-sensei who was able to remedy almost all illnesses. I was sickly and my condition was worsening." He responds. The city lanterns glow beautifully behind his figure, laughter of children, men, and women alike provides solace in the void of silence between you. "I remember coming in there and seeing you. Seeing your father then..."

He trailed off like he was remembering something painful.

"I remember a lady," His face softens at the thought. Your eyebrows furrow. "While your father did the aiding, this woman had brought me comfort. I was never really coddled and treated with such gentleness back home. I was an only child—a firstborn son. Being soft and dependent was out of the vocabulary."

You fall silent at his words as he looks down at his hands.

"She... she stayed by my side. Fed me, clothed me, made sure I was okay." He looked up at you. "I saw you sometimes, clinging to the ends of her kimono."

A chilling realization surges through your veins. Your silence prompts him to continue.

"I heard the news that she passed away years ago. I wasn't able to come due to my duties but I am indebted to her." He says. "Then, when I visited a month ago. I saw you—a spitting image."

Your breath shakes at the words. "You proposed to me because I looked like my mother?"

Shimizu looks down in shame, hands wringing in nervousness. "I thought that if I married you, I'd be able to receive that same love again."

You let out a breath of disbelief. While the topic of your mother wasn't something you detested talking about, her memory still was something you were quite hesitant to approach. You remember her sickly figure, her weak smile, the day your father broke. It was as if you threaded lightly along the edges of her carved path, wanting to preserve what was left of her image.

You take a step back, eyes looking at him in disbelief. Shimizu falters in his stance.

"I'm sorry, this isn't going to work." You softly mutter, shaking your head. Just as you take another step back, Shimizu panics and tries to grab your hand.

"Y/N, let me explain I—"

A swift change of air alerts you of a new presence and suddenly you feel deja vu. You turn your head to meet the familiar stance of a man you didn't expect to see again.

"I believe she said no." Mizu's voice is authoritative and deep, hand encasing Shimizu's wrist. The man furrows his eyebrows at Mizu who squints back a glare.

"Who are you?! Your jurisdiction?" Shimizu demands. He tries to pull his wrist away only to be met by a steel force. Mizu scoffs.

"I won't let you go until you promise to stay 10 meters away from her." Mizu threatens. Shimizu sweat drops, eyes glancing down at the hand gripping his wrist to the eyes shielded by tinted glasses. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two, afraid that a fight might brawl out and you're not in the mood to see blood spilled.

Shimizu was also a general and if word comes out that one of the Emperor's trusted military aides got injured by someone lower of his stature, your father will definitely pay for the consequences. You rush towards them and grab Mizu's hand to break them apart.

"Let him go," You say. Mizu turns to you with furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes soften, and you nod softly in reassurance. "Let him go, its okay.

Mizu hesitantly lets the man go and Shimizu stumbles back, holding his wrist. Mizu turns to you in concern, hand grabbing your arm as he examines you. "Are you alright?"

You nod, flustered by his attention. "I'm fine."

Feeling Shimizu's stare on you, you look back at the man to see hurt and a realization spread across his face. Your gaze falters.

He clears his throat and fixes his stance. "Apologies, Y/N. It seems that I have miscalculated my approaches. Forgive me for my behavior."

"It's alright, my lord," You respond. Mizu stands menacingly beside you, eyes trained on his figure. Shimizu glances at him and then at you. He smiles.

"It was nice being your friend," He says. He bows as respect. You curtsy back, albeit shaky. "I'll leave as requested. I wish you luck."

He leaves without turning back. You watch as he gets lost in the crowd, the breeze gently swinging your clothes back and forth. The lanterns dazzle the streets—performing a pretense of joy. You take a breath before finally facing the last of your problems.

Mizu stands there, eyes already looking at you with an unreadable look on his face. Your eyes soften.

"What are you doing here?" You mumble, lacking the energy to even be angry. Mizu shifts in his stance.

"I came back." He answers vaguely.

"For what?"

There a pause of silence before he moves to remove his Kasa. You can see his face clearly now, albeit those beautiful eyes of his still covered by his glasses.

"For you." He says. He gulps as if nervous and your eyes widen at his confession.

"But I thought you said—"

"I was a coward," He says. He heaves a breath. "I have loved before and shown them everything and yet I have ruined them. I was afraid that I might—that I might ruin you with what I am."

You fall silent at his words. You were confused, you had already seen what others claim to be the worst of him—in fact, that was what you loved most about his features. Eyes that seem to hold the waters—a depiction of nature. Just as he is about to continue, cheers erupt from the central town, you flinch as the others begin to gather to watch the amusement happening. Mizu, sensing your uneasiness, pulls you towards a nearby alley—dark and hidden from the public eye. He places you against the wall, eyes watching for passersby that might lurk in while your eyes are trained on his face.

You watch with admiration as his eyebrows furrow in their usual curl, those eyes that squint into a glare, chapped lips, and the glasses that begin to slowly fall down the bridge of his nose. Unable to resist the urge, you give in.

"Coast is—"

Mizu's eyes widen at the feeling of your lips against his. You cup his cheeks, pulling him down as you encase your arms over his neck. Mizu wastes no time in reciprocating the kiss. He kisses back with the same fervor, hand dropping his Kasa in favor of encasing your waist as he pulls you towards his figure. You whine as you feel his tongue intertwine with yours.

After a few pecks and kisses, you both finally pull away. There's a hushed silence of panting as Mizu places his forehead against yours.

"I am not being truthful," Mizu whispers, breath hitting your lips. "But I want to try. With you."

You smile, hands cupping his cheeks as you rub your thumbs across the surface of his skin.

"I want you as you are," You reassure him. "No matter the flaw, no matter what you tell me. I'll be here with you."

Mizu lowers his head and drops it to burrow against your neck. He hugs you close as bells and instruments begin playing. He pulls back softly before facing you with vulnerability.

"I..." He starts off. "I am not what you think I am."

You tilt your head in confusion as you encase his hands in yours. Your thumbs run over the scar that you've bandaged from before.

"I'm not a... a man." Mizu finally reveals. You pause, eyes blinking as you watch his reaction for any sort of context. Mizu purses his lips before pulling his glasses away, tucking in the side of his clothing before reaching up to pull at his top knot. You watch as his hair—no, her hair flows to her shoulders and then suddenly everything makes sense.

Mizu's breath shakes at your silence. "I-I cannot give you what you want—"

She falls silent as you lean forward to take notice of her features. The flush that adorns her cheeks and the eyes that entranced you from the start. A smile bursts from your lips.

"You're just as I dreamed of," You whisper in awe. Your arms make their way to wrap around her neck as you press yourself close to her. Mizu's face flushes at your words.

Your eyes trace the edges of her features, face contorted in a soft expression. There's a moment of silence before you finally continue. "My father wanted me to have a true love marriage. All my life, the idea of falling in love has always been my dream as a child."

Mizu blinks softly at your words, listening to your every thought.

"And now that I have it, I can understand why my father wanted me to do so," You smile, leaning your forehead against hers. "Marry me, Mizu. I just want to be yours."

The blue-eyed girl erupts into a smile, leaning forward and capturing your lips in hers. You reciprocate with the same intensity, fingers burying in her raven locks. Mizu then pulls away.

"I'll always say yes to you."

"Do we really have to do this?"

Mizu eyes your figure seated on the tatami, eyes peering up at her as she stands in front of you. You giggle at her hesitance.

"Of course!" You grin. "Consummation between man and wife is a must tradition after marriage—well in our case, wife and wife."

Mizu rolls her eyes as she sits down in front of you. She props her knee up and places her arm on top of it. She grabs the cup of tea perched on the small table beside her and takes a sip. "Consummation is done with the idea of children, love. I'm sure you're well aware of that."

You pout before an idea arises in your mind. You lean forward, going on your knees as you crawl towards her. Mizu pauses mid-sip as she watches you with careful eyes. You grab her cup, placing it down on the table as she continues to watch your every move. You settle on her lap, the slit of your kimono revealing your thighs. Mizu's breath shakes.

You take her glasses off and place them on the table before finally focusing on her, arms propped on her shoulders. You feel her hands cup your hips as you stare down at her with a smile.

"What?" You taunt. "You don't wanna fuck me?"

Mizu pauses, eyes widening before she lets out a groan and lowers her head to your clavicle. You giggle as she takes a few moments to calm herself down. Finally, pulling away to face you, Mizu looks at you with her blue eyes clouded with lust.

"You are one dangerous lady, know that?" Mizu leans forward. You grin as you rub your nose against hers.

"Mhm," You say. "My wife told me so."

"Ah fuck! Fuck!" You whimper as you grab the sheets behind you, trying to find some sort of stability from the onslaught of ministrations Mizu's giving you. "W-Wait—Mizu-Wai—Ngh!"

You're afraid that the toy one of your close friends gave you as a congratulations gift to your marriage would be too crass for your night with Mizu. You only brought it to tease her after all. You just didn't expect how much she'd be turned on by it.

"Where are you going?" Mizu's voice is deep and taunting as she watches you claw at the sheets, trying to get away from the intense pleasure. She grabs your waist and pulls you back down towards her, folding your legs to your chest. "You wanted this, why are you backing out, hm? You wanted to consummate so here we are."

She watches as the thick girth and length of her strap pushes in and out—coated with your essence. The noises from it are slick and noisy, causing you to flush in embarrassment. God fucking damn.

"So fucking pretty, aren't ya?" Mizu chuckles as she pushes her hips. She lets out a moan, feeling the other end of the dildo pushing deep with her. You whimper as Mizu presses deep, the tip of her cock bumping against that spot of yours. "So so pretty for me, aren't you momma?"

You shiver at the nickname, hands coming down to grab Mizu's lean arms—its muscle flexing as she speeds up her thrusts, making sure that it's the right spot.

"You've been adamant about this all morning. Especially, after the wedding." Mizu growls, slamming her hips against yours. "You want my kids that bad?"

You're too lost in the pleasure, moans, and garbles of her name only coming out of your mouth. Mizu smiles, hair falling down her shoulders and framing her face as she props herself up on top of you.

"If you want it so bad, I'll give it to you," Mizu leans down to bury her face on your neck, sucking a few marks as she begins to speed up her thrusts.

"Oh! Oh!" You whine as the spot inside of you becomes more sensitive with each bump. Mizu pays no mind to your sounds, reveling in the way your nails rake through her back. She smirks against your skin, licking down until she encases your nipple within her mouth. You moan at the feeling, hands reach up to bury itself in her raven locks.

"I'm close! I-I—please!" You plead as her constant torture of your cunt begins to teeter at the edge. Mizu pants heavily as she places a soft kiss behind your ear.

"I am too." Her breath shakes as her hips falter. It doesn't take long before you climax, body arching and shivering from the intensity of the pleasure. Tears begin streaming down your face as you twitch with each thrust she gives you. She smiles placing a soft kiss on your lips. "Good girl."

Mizu follows shortly behind, coming in grunts and low moans before slumping down against you. There's a moment of reprieve before Mizu props herself up once more to take a look at your afterglow.

You smile up at her, hand coming up to brush her hair over her ear. Mizu leans against your touch.

"I love you." You mumble softly. Mizu gazes into your eyes with a love so true that it warms your very being.

"I love you too."

a/n: mwehheheheheeh hope yall enjoyed that <3 not proofread will do it later mwehe

#arthenaa #mizu #the blue eyed samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu smut #Spotify

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blarshwritezz · 7 months ago

Note

Hello~

Can I request a yandere rich boy x m reader where the rich boy is so utterly in love and obsessed with the reader that he would do anything, can the reader also be a sub that's extremely enabling towards the yan giving him winks! And leaving things out for him to steal and just generally playing into the fans delusions

Yes, hello 👹 anon! Decided to combine these 'cause they're very similar, hope that's alright!

Yandere Richboy x Enabling Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW (slight, towards end)

It was actually pretty cute how much Rich!Yan was obsessed with you. Even when he had to be "far" from you, his eyes never left you. So of course you had to tease him, winking and sticking your tongue out.

If only you knew how much you made him melt. He was putty in your hands, willing to give and be anything for you.

The public had their eyes on him, but his were always on you. Always.

He'd often sneak in your room to find your things strewn about, almost as if you wanted him to take them. Silly you, didn't you know anyone could break in and do all sorts of perverse things with your underwear if you left it out like this? You were lucky it was just him. He'd at least return them, cleaner than they were before.

You knew all this. And you knew better than to question it when people who got too close to you would suddenly disappear.

If it was someone you really cared about, he was always conveniently there with chocolate and all his money at your complete disposal. To comfort you, of course.

And well, how could you refuse when he gave you his card? Especially when he's so happy seeing you spoil yourself with everything you could possibly desire.

With just a simple please, his money was entirely yours. And it was even easier when you gave him even the smallest amount of attention. Not to mention how cute he was trying to keep himself together for you.

The way his face would flush, and how he'd fiddle with his collar or tie to cool down. It was adorable.

Maybe you shouldn't have pushed as far as you did...but it was impossible not to. Especially when this was exactly what you wanted.

He's been holding off on fucking you for too long. And finally you got him to concede to his own limitations, leading to this current predicament.

The same predicament that you've been in for over an hour now. You stopped bothering to look at the clock after so long.

"Fuck, that's a good boy. You're taking me so well." He whined in your ear as drool dribbled down your chin. You were starting to realize that you may have bit off a bit more than you could chew.

"You look so good...so damn good like that." His thrusts didn't slow down for even a second, their harshness not wavering.

You had to admit, it was impressive how much stamina he had.

"Been holding this in for too long...so long...you feel so good."

There was a sticky pool of his cum beneath you from what little your ass couldn't hold, or what didn't stick to your skin.

With a groan, his cock twitched, releasing yet another load into you. You've already lost count of how many it's been. And this certainly wasn't the last.

And another complete! I sincerely hope it was alright!

#blarsh writes #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #male x reader #yandere x you #anon ask #yandere x darling #yandere x male darling #yandere x male reader #x male reader #male reader #male x male #male yandere x you #male yandere x male reader #male yandere x reader #male y/n

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schoenpepper · 2 months ago

Text

Despite Everything (It's Still You)

Intro: When he looks at you, he sees everything he could have been.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, kinda angsty, more platonic im pretty sure cus its not specified if ur lovers, might be ooc idk and idc, everytime i write idia i feel 10 years older because i cringe at my own internet slang

A/N: Done! Last request is finished, hope you like it worm anon. On my end, this is super rushed and it's not like, my fave ever so ehhhh.

Masterlist

Riddle thought he’d found a comrade in you. Out of everyone in Twisted Wonderland, he’d thought you would be the one to understand him.

He sees it in your posture, always straight and never slouching. You’re good with academics, a diligent student. Like Riddle, you’d gone through life with the iron fist of a well-meaning parent, so surely, you understand him, right? You agree with him. You believe that rules are important to be upheld lest society fall into chaos. It’s such a refreshing feeling to find a person who, like him, thinks that structure and stability are core values of a proper community.

But you don’t. You don’t understand. No one does. His consciousness is flickering between ink and reality. He’s slipping into the grasp of the phantom and he feels himself slowly being consumed. He’s being devoured. Right before the overblot, even you had stood against him. Why? Riddle wasn’t wrong, he was never wrong—the rules aren’t wrong. Because if they are, then what did he lose his entire childhood for? So you must be the one at fault. This is your mistake. You just don’t understand. You tell him that the rules and the competence and the structure matter less than people. You try to convince him that there’s a better way of living. Is there?

Riddle doesn’t know why. He’d thought you were a comrade because he saw his own experiences in yours, but he’d never been so wrong. While he was still caught up in the chains of his mother’s words, you’d already broken free from the cage. You help him to reclaim the shards of childish wonder he’d never been allowed to have. You help him learn how to breathe, how to relax. Little by little, you bring him onto your path.

He doesn’t understand you anymore.

Leona doesn’t have any opinions about you. You never really talked to him at first, and he can respect that; you don’t go out of your way for bothersome, meaningless things.

Every time he sees you, you’re sleeping or slacking off. Whatever, it’s not like he can judge you for it. You also have a real competitive streak for spelldrive, and your wit’s not half bad, especially when compared to the muscle heads in his dorm. Clever and snarky, talented and strong. He can respect you. Maybe just barely, and he’ll never admit it, but he sees a part of himself in you. So, a sort-of equal. He’s still better than you though.

The taste of sand lingers on his tongue as it swirls in the air through the storm. There’s a part of himself he can no longer control. It makes him wrap his fingers around Ruggie’s throat and Leona… He doesn’t want this. But he can’t stop. He can still recognize you on the edge of his vision. Weren’t you just like him? At birth, everything good was handed right over to your older sibling, leaving nothing but scraps for you. You found it unfair too, didn’t you? So why are you standing against him? This is his chance to be someone worth more than his birthright. Why…are you not agreeing with him?

Leona tried to stay away from you. But call it his instinct or whatever; he can’t seem to avoid you at all. The second prince of Sunset Savanna is awestruck by your words. You tell him that birth doesn’t determine everything. You tell him that you’d learned from your own past. That you can still make something of yourself without that which was given. You sure are chatty now, but who is he to stop you?

You’re not his equal. You’d long since left him in the dust.

Azul sees you as an opportunity. He likes you, really, because you know how to do business and you find a way to compromise that doesn’t step on either person’s lines.

It’s not difficult for him to find out about your past, and to be honest, he’s greatly delighted to find out about all that you have in common. Did you feel the way he did when he was isolated and bullied? Did you feel his pain? You were an outcast too, weren’t you? But wow, look at you (and him) now! It’s rare he sees someone as diligent as himself, as cunning and as smart. Resourceful and oh so benevolent, you’d fit right into Octavinelle!

He’d steered himself long ago; he would never be weak again. He had long, long since forgotten humiliation and defeat. But he’s here again. This time, defeat was brought by your hands. Azul had thought you were allies. Business partners, at least. Why betray him like this? Don’t you get it? He’s powerful now! Why try to stop him? Why did you succeed? He’s left in the aftermath of heartache and debris. He doesn’t know why he did the things he did, but he’s sure that he was so close to being all-powerful. Perfect. A being so beautiful and flawless and strong… You took that chance away from him.

Azul wants you out of his life—your presence now is only a reminder of everything he could have been, and everything he failed to be. Unlike him, you’ve already moved on. You’ve learned to forgive your tormentors, and most importantly, you’ve learned to forgive yourself. You tell him that it was never his fault, but that revenge was never meant to be the answer.

He finds that he had nothing in common with you, after all.

Jamil is perceptive. Next to the one who’s attracting the attention of the whole room with a bright smile and sunny disposition, he finds a kindred spirit in you.

You seem responsible enough, and like a mirror, he sees you taking care of that person the way he does with Kalim. It’s easy to pierce through your act because he knows how to do it too. Seemingly not too smart, not too dumb, not too strong, not too weak. You’re good at pretending to be average. Like Jamil, you’ve lived a life of servitude. Are you tired of forced humility? Of feeling like your life isn’t worth anything when compared to the one you serve?

He’s tired too. He’s so, so tired. Why was freedom unreachable to Jamil right from the moment he was conceived? Was he unworthy of a life unbound by shackles? You’re looking at him like he’s a stranger. Jamil looks at you like you’re a mirror. A mirror that’s shattered, and damaged, and every piece is covered with ink and regret. You know what he’s been through, so why are you in his way? You should be an accomplice. Do you not yearn to be your own person? The phantom is whispering promises he knows it won’t keep. But nothing is more tempting than just…one day of happiness. Of his own happiness.

Jamil is inevitably drawn to you. You live so brightly; you see your master as a friend. You tell him he doesn’t need to do the same. That the only thing he needs to do is find a way that works for him. And you’re asking about things he hadn’t thought of before. An employment contract? The legal status of slavery in the Scalding Sands? Wait, you’re serving that person out of your own volition in exchange for salary and other related benefits?

In you, he sees a light at the end of the tunnel.

Vil approves of you. Like looking in a mirror almost, he sees beauty and a passionate drive to remain beautiful in every single way.

You’re a person with a consistent goal and a persistent drive to do better and be better; a hard worker with tenacity like that of the Queen herself. You are no potato. You are a diamond that has found a way to shine uniquely, and like him, you are already a master at your chosen profession. And yet, he sees the trophies and the medals are all silver and never gold. It is frustrating, but Vil knows that you as well know what it’s like to always be second best.

He’d worked so hard. He’d tried his very best. Professional music and choreography, styling and costumes. He’d set up a multi-week boot camp for his team members in order to whip them into shape. It’s all swept away by that person. Again. And again. And again and again and again and— No. No more. He will take matters into his own hands. But you stand in front of him with a familiar determination, only this time, you’re determined to stop him. Rook had betrayed him and now, you do too. Is he not worthy of a victory? Not even once? The blot is so, so ugly. But if it means he’ll get to wipe out everything that’s opposed to him, he’ll take that blot and use it to his own advantage. Like the queen who’d disguised herself as an ugly witch in order to take down the princess; everything can be sacrificed for the sake of ultimate beauty. If you’re not with him, you must be against him.

Vil apologizes sincerely for his faults. He knows he was wrong, even if it hurts his pride to admit it. But you accept him so easily, so readily, he can’t believe you’re acting like he’d never even hurt you. You forgive him. You help him accept his losses and continue to strive. Because you’d been in his position before, but you’d grown to be happy and appreciate the wins in life instead.

You are no mirror image of him. You are better.

Idia’s never been this happy before; through his screen is someone who just gets him. You’re good at games, and an introvert too? Score!

It’s not like, ever, that someone who vibes with his genius just comes strolling through his life, so Magicord bears witness to long, late night chats about anything and everything. You’ve got some real fucked up childhood trauma too, big mood tbh. It’s easy to spill his guts out over the internet, because even then, you still don’t really know him. You like the games and animes that he likes, and he’s so glad that for once, there’s a person out there who’s lived through the same villain-arc that he has.

He can’t rebuild the world if so many noobs are trying to stop him. Why? What’s so wrong with wishing for a world that can fit him and Ortho right in? Why is that too much for him to ask for? Why are you, the person he thought was his cool moots, acting up too? Don’t you like Ortho? Bro…no…you’re not actually doing a protagonist monologue rn, are you? Seriously? You think you can defeat him and his phantom through the power of friendship? Lolz, you’re so lame. If the world was a fairytale, he wouldn’t have been born with this dumb curse. If the world was a fairytale, he would never have been trapped in STYX with no way out. If the world was a fairytale, Ortho would still be alive. But it’s not. So he’ll remake it to be the story he’d always dreamt it to be.

Idia thinks you’re 110% cringe, like actually barf-inducing. But you did kinda save him or whatevs, so he can put up with you. Like, begrudgingly yk. You’re just such a weirdo. He really thought you were just like him, but no. You’ve had therapy. That’s like, actually wild. You try to counsel him too, talking about feelings and whatnot, and how to move past grief so that it no longer consumes you from the inside out.

So it turns out you didn’t have a villain arc like Idia did. You’re the main hero.

Malleus finds you absolutely delightful. To see another who can speak to him without fear or nervousness is a marvelous thing that he cherishes.

You are no fae or long-lived species, but he finds you fascinating. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. You are powerful in your own right. You are familiar, in every sense of the word. Even your experiences seem to be shared. You’d been orphaned too, and experienced loss and grieved. You’d mourned for far too many loved ones who have left before you. Do you see the present as he does? Do you embrace the past as he does?

The world is a sad, sad place. He would like to change it. Into one with happy ever afters, into one where there is no hunger and no poverty. There will be no suffering. In his hands, he will mold the world into one that is kinder to its people. There will be no death and separation. He’s had far too many of those, enough to last his long lifetime. He’s not wrong. So why…why do you stand against him, weapon pointed towards him? The only thing he wishes for is permanence. Do you not see the vision? There is so much sadness in the world, why do you choose to wake from your beautiful slumber and face it head on? No matter. He will help you, even if you deny him.

Malleus is more than happy to take your hand when it is outstretched towards himself. You teach him so many things he hadn’t realized before, like how to cherish the present and treasure each memory more than attempting to find a solution to make them everlasting. He had believed wholly that he was right; that the answer to death was a long period of dreams in which everyone lives in a happy ending. He had believed you to be similar to himself—he is wrong about many, many things.

You’ve always looked to a brighter future than he could even imagine.

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pathologicalreid · 6 months ago

Note

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

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