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arina24 · 2 days ago

Text

Throwback - I

Le Sserafim Sakura, Aespa Winter, M Reader.

5k words

Tags: Fluff, Smut.

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Scene - I

“We need to break up.” You say to the naked girl lying next to you, wrapped in a blanket.

“I agree.” Sakura is as convinced as you are.

Her room is dim, the only light comes from the faint blue glow of the pre-dawn sky slipping through the curtains. The early morning light drapes the room in a soft, cold hue, barely touching the edges. The world outside is quiet, and the stillness seeps into the room, filling it with a palpable silence.

It is very fitting for a breakup.

“So, is this how it ends?” Sakura asks, her voice calm, almost pondering. ”I guess so.” You reply blankly.

“At least the sex was good; maybe we were saving the best for last.” She is still lightly panting and trying to catch her breath. Reality is starting to settle in.

It was good.

You knew it was the last time. You had agreed this was for the best—for both of you. Sure, you’ve had spats before, but this time was different, and you knew it.

“I’ll be back later if I miss any of my stuff here.” You pack your bag with deliberation.

”You can drop by anytime you want. Hey, are you taking any of my items with you?” She questions.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. I can take something if you want me to.” You smile at her. “Like these dirty panties.”

“Are you sure? Nothing in that bag belongs to me?” She quizzes again, tilting her head to look at you with a confused expression on her face.

“Yes, I am sure, my dear.” You reply softly. You think for a couple of seconds about where she could be going with all this before she quickly changes the topic.

“Wanna stay the night?” Her tone could be mistaken for having a hint of hope.

“No, I’ve got work tomorrow.” You head to the bathroom to clean up. After getting dressed and grabbing your bag, you pause at her door for a lingering couple of seconds. Sakura notices and weakly smiles, waving at you with a finality. You wave back and leave. You wonder if you should have stayed the night, given that you might never see her again. The early morning blue presses down on you as you walk back to your house.

You reach into your bag and pull out the keychain you wanted to gift her. You don’t even remember when you bought it. The opportunity to gift it never really manifested itself. The keychain was a metal heart in baby pink color, with the two of your initials etched on it. She would have found it adorable, you think. You debate whether you should give it to her as a parting gift or just throw it away. It takes little time to finalize your decision. You hold your hand up, staring at it for a few seconds before tossing it far, far away into the unknown.

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Scene - II

“Go talk to her, you idiot.” Minjeong is clearly annoyed with you at this point. “She’s alone, sitting on a park bench, and stared at you a few times; she’s practically begging you to go talk to her.” Sure, when you’re as cute as Minjeong is, it’s easy to assume everyone who glances your way is desperate for your attention. The same might not be true for you, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. Especially when the girl is as pretty as her.

She was wearing a yellow sundress, which seemed to shimmer and sparkle in the bright sun, making it easy to imagine a soft glow around her. The sundress came down to half her soft thighs, the perfect length, leaving the rest of her legs exposed. Sundresses, something a lot of people (not excluding you) were thankful to summers for. She had earphones dangling from her neck, but fortunately, she didn’t have them in her ears. She sat there, content, just watching the park go by.

You approach her, nerves gnawing at you. “Mind if I sit here?” You try to appear as friendly as possible.

”Oh, not at all.” She replies, offering a warm smile that somehow makes the afternoon heat a little more bearable.

“What are you listening to?” You point to her earphones.

“Oh, nothing. I was just on a call.”

“Huh, you like to just watch the park? I noticed you were sitting here for a while….” You pause, considering your following words. "I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not interrupting. I could see your friend over there was basically pushing you to me, so even if you were, I couldn’t blame you.” She chuckles, lightly grazing your arm. “Yes, I come here to watch the world go by and relax. It has been a tradition with my dad ever since I was a kid, but he recently moved back to his old house.”

“So it’s safe to assume you’re looking for new company on your park outings?” She seems friendly enough, and that gives you more confidence.

She thinks for a second before replying. “Well, I’m not necessarily looking, but if the company is good enough—” she gives you a cheeky smirk, “—I could be convinced.”

You offer your hand and tell her your name.

She extends hers back and smiles. “Sakura.”

“So, if you’ve grown up here, I guess you know the city pretty well. I recently moved here and have been looking for places to explore.”

“Are you looking just for suggestions, or would you prefer I take you to said places?” Her smirk returns.

“No one said park company has to be limited to park company. It could be… extended to general company as well.”

”That sounds nice. There’s a cozy coffee place nearby; wanna check it out?” She stands up, looking expectantly at you.

You are not stupid enough to refuse. You get up and head to the cafe with her. From the background, your friend Minjeong winks at you and gives a thumbs up for good luck, watching with a content smile.

It’s easy to talk with Sakura. She laughs at your jokes, and her responses make you laugh even more. A couple of hours pass by without either of you realizing it, and it’s time to leave already.

“Coffee was great—if this is how good your recommendations are, I definitely wanna hear the rest of them too.” You smile as you step outside, adjusting your bag.

“Mmm.” Sakura pretends to think, her finger resting on her chin. “There’s another place, barely visited, but I think it is very underrated.”

”And what would that place be?” You have a feeling about what she’s going to answer, but play along anyway.

Her voice drops to a playful, sultry whisper. “My house is just a few blocks from here.”

”Very tempting spot, but let me just text my friend that I’ll be a while, don’t wanna leave her hanging.” You bring out your phone and quickly shoot Minjeong a text.

“Aren’t you sweet? I’d imagine most guys forget everything and everyone at the thought of… you know.” She pats your head playfully.

“Yeah, I’d also imagine most guys haven’t dealt with someone as bratty as her.” She laughs as her fingers graze your arm again.

The path to her house is short, your fingers brushing hers as you walk side by side. When your fingers lightly touch hers, she responds by intertwining them with yours. Sakura looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes, her hand in yours until you reach her place.

Almost every showpiece in her living room is pink. "You really like pink, huh?" you ask. "Baby pink," she corrects with a smile. "It's my favorite color."

It doesn’t take long for you to get your hands on Sakura after locking the door. You slip a hand around her neck and pull her in, causing your lips and hers to touch softly. She gives a contented sigh before pushing her body closer to yours, her boobs pressing against your chest as the kiss slowly grows deeper. Her lips part way for your tongue to explore her mouth, and you swirl your tongue against hers. You inhale her scent; she smells like the most expensive vanilla and tastes even better. You don’t want to stop savoring her lips, so you push her onto the couch and get on top of her as you are still kissing.

She’s a bit taken aback, and you can see the surprise on her face, but she recovers quickly and pulls you in, wanting your body as close to her as possible, with space left only for her to touch you. Her petite finger starts at your neck and travels languidly down your body till it gets to your pants and rests there, tenderly rubbing at your cock through your pants. You pull away from the kiss, and she shyly withdraws her hand from you.

“Something wrong?” She questions, concern showing in her voice.

“Nothing. Just want to taste more of you.” You reassure her, grabbing her hand and gently placing it back on your crotch, which makes her smile. You continue where you left off and start kissing her right below her lips and down to her neck, each kiss eliciting a soft moan from her, telling you she wants nothing more than for you to keep kissing her forever. Your cock grows harder with every rub of Sakura’s dainty fingers through your pant, covering you in a circular motion.

Your hand wanders under her dress and slides up her thighs; you only had to barely approach her panties to realize how dripping wet she is. You go all the way and soak your fingers in her juices, and then pull it out and show her. “Looks like you need me badly.” She hits your shoulder playfully in response. You shove your fingers into your mouth and deliberately slide it out in a way that she can see you swallow every drip of her juices. She watches your entire performance with unbreakable attention. “That was so hot.” She remarks, but you already knew that.

Her hands tug at your t-shirt as she whines, showing her desperation to get your clothes off of you. With her help, you quickly take off your tee and throw it off, and her hand rests on your chest with a sense of certainty, almost like it belongs to her. “Pants too.” She huffs. “This all seems very one-sided, but I’ll comply.” You pretend as if you want anything more than being naked in front of her. She pulls your pants off of you and throws them to wherever your tee went.

“There we go, much better.” She kneels in front of you on the couch and sweeps her soft blonde hair back from her face. You sit facing her, one of her hands gracefully resting on your thigh as the other slides down your underwear. A soft “Ah!” escapes her lips on seeing your cock pop out, almost at full length already.

Sakura spits into her palms with a cuteness (how can spitting be cute?), which you can’t quite explain. One of her tender hands wraps itself around your cock, starting at your base and sliding up slowly enough to make sure every part of you is lubricated, including your tip. You can feel yourself getting throbbing hard with every stroke of her hands, something that pleases her very much too. Once she’s sure you’re as hard as you can get, her tongue starts at your base, licking you softly at first, pecking soft kisses throughout your length, looking into your eyes the entire time. “You taste very good.” She says.

Her licking quickly gets more vigorous, tasting and devouring every bit of you like she hasn't eaten in days. Your hand finds the back of her hand, caressing her hair softly, which only encourages her. She starts to take your tip into her mouth, her tongue circling around the tip as she waits there for a short while. Her head then begins to move up and down on your cock, taking you deeper and deeper with each thrust.

Some spit begins dripping out of her mouth and down to your balls as she moves her head, her other hand massaging your balls very softly now. She makes sure to apply just the right amount of pressure not to overwhelm you, judging your reaction with every rub to find out exactly what you like. She wants to make you feel good. Her spit gets all over her face as she continues sucking, but that doesn't seem to bother her, and she keeps going.

She breaks away from your cock, strands of spit connecting her mouth with your cock breaking as she asks you, “Do you want to take more control?” It was clear what it was—an invitation to fuck her mouth, and it was also clear you weren't going to say no in a million years. Sakura sticks out her tongue for you, ready for you to claim her mouth. You hold her head gently and begin to thrust your cock into her pretty mouth softly, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. She wraps her hands around your back, her eyes looking at you with desire, and you can see she wants you to go faster.

So you do. You bury yourself deep in her throat and start fucking. Her mouth is a wet mess of pure lewdness, and the pleasure drives you to your extreme. It was harder to say whether your moans or hers were louder at this point, even though she was at a clear disadvantage.

As heavenly as Kkura’s mouth is, you can only last so long in it. “I’m about to cum, Kkura,” you try to get out between your heavy pants. Her eyes tell you she already knows, and she wraps her hands even tighter around you and takes your cock completely in her mouth. You cum, your load flowing out into her mouth and down her throat, and she makes sure not to waste a single drop, swallowing it all. After making sure you're milked dry, she removes your cock from her mouth with a satisfied sigh.

Your phone buzzes in the pants she tossed aside, probably Minjeong texting to ask if you're coming home tonight. You mentally make a note that you owe her one.

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Scene - III

Hey, been SO LONG since we met (yes 2 days is long without you, shut). Usual spot, 6 PM?

Reads the text from Kkura. You were in the period of the relationship where every minute without her felt like an hour, and evidently, she feels the same.

Sure. I’ll get coffee, though, so don’t you dare buy something again.

You quickly type it up and head off to work, hoping 6 PM comes sooner than it should. It does. The park is only close to your house, so a few minutes before the scheduled meetup, you sit on the couch, waiting for your roommate Minjeong to return so that you can give her the house key. You reminded her a thousand times to be back on time today, and she promised she would, but to neither of your surprises, she doesn't. She arrives at 6, muttering some excuse about losing track of time. You ask her to shove it, give her the key, and rush to the park.

You carry two cups of coffee as promised, hers with caramel, just as she likes. She's already waiting for you on the park bench where you first met, on time as always. You wonder how Kkura looks more and more beautiful every time you see her. She was only wearing a simple shirt and jeans, with her hair tied up, and probably came here right from work. You hand her the coffee, apologizing for the delay.

“Sorry, Minjeong and I haven't figured out the key situation in our new house yet and have to run around each other’s schedules. Hope you weren't waiting too long.” ”No, don't you worry about that sweetie. I’m just happy to see you again.” She accepts her coffee with a smile and gives you a kiss on the cheek.

“You wanna take a walk around the park? The weather is nice this fall.” You extend your hand to her.

She takes it, intertwining her fingers with yours. “Sure.”

“So how are you adjusting to your new house? Hope you and Minjeong aren’t having too much difficulty.” She says as she takes slow, measured steps, leaves crunching under her feet.

“It’s not exactly been smooth, but we’re managing. Would have been easier if Minjeong can actually remember things every once in a while, but its not right to put all the blame on her. I’ve not exactly been perfect either.” You lazily sip on your coffee.

“Be better to her, silly.” She playfully hits you with her bag. “She’s the reason we’re together today.”

“Yeah. Did I ever tell you? She’s the only reason I survived high school too.” You reply thoughtfully.

“Wow, you guys go back, huh? When are you going to tell me about your adventures at school with her?” Sakura asks in a slightly surprised tone.

“Story for another day.” You wink at her. “Anyway, how is your work going? I guess you came here directly. Are the hours getting too long?”

“Yeah, work has been a bit stressful lately; the company is going through a tough period.” Right at that moment, her phone rings. “Speak of the devil... it's my manager. Wonder what he wants at this hour, I have to take the call. Sorry babe.” She says and attends the call.

As you stand around waiting for her to finish talking, a gift shop on a small stall catches your eye. You gesture to her that you're going there, and she acknowledges it with a thumbs-up. At the stall, your eyes go over the pair of swans gliding, a small winter globe of the city, before resting on keychains with random pairs of letters engraved on them. You search through before finding one with your initial and S, which happens to be in baby pink too (you've memorized the exact shade by now). You quickly pay for it, put it in your pocket, and return to where you left Sakura.

You return to see her sitting on a bench nearby, with her face pale like she just saw a ghost. You rush to her immediately, concerned. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I lost my job.” She replies blankly.

“What the fuck?”

“Layoffs. They’ve given me 2 weeks to pack up.” She continues.

“Oh no, baby, I’m so sorry. Fuck that company, I know how hard you work there. Fuck them if they don’t value you.” Your palms catch her as she buries her face on your shoulder and starts sobbing softly, wetting your t-shirt. “I’m sure you’ll find a new job in no time. Anything you need to manage, I hope you know I’m here for you, right, baby?” You continue. Sakura simply nods her head in response. She cries for a while, and you sit there with her, comforting her and gently caressing her hair the whole time.

“Can we go home?” She asks through her sobs.

“Sure, your place or mine?”

”Mine’s closer, and I don’t want the entire world to see me crying, so that.” She says, trying to smile through her tears.

“You look cute crying too, you know? Wouldn't be that bad if everyone did see you.” You tease her.

“That’s no way to talk to a crying lady.” She playfully hits you again. “Sorry for that… by the way.” She says sheepishly, pointing to the wet spot on your tee from her tears.

“It’s alright, you’ll just have to buy me a new one.”

“I was planning to anyway; your fashion sense sucks ass.” Sakura pouts her head, looking at your clothes.

“Hey! I thought we were heading to your place. Let’s just go.” You huff, hold her wrist, and leave, and she follows behind you, laughing.

Her mood improves as you reach her place. “So I officially need to start applying for new companies now. I was planning to for a while, but this is the push I needed.”

“There you go, look at the positive. Hopefully, the new place will be better for you.” You pat her head.

She kisses you on the lips and replies. “I hope so too.”

“Now what say we hit the bedroom and forget about your stupid boss and your stupid company?”

Sakura looks at you with a twinkle in her eye. “Sounds like a plan.”

She doesn’t even wait for the bedroom door to close before pushing you onto her bed and getting on top of you. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, my sweet puff.”

You throw an arm around her neck, pulling her in close to the point you can feel her breath on your face. “Well, you had a job before you met me; maybe I’m the bad omen.” She pulls away and punches you in the nose, just the right intensity to make you regret saying that. “Ow… too soon?” She looks ready to go for round 2 before you quickly apologize; Sakura laughs as she brings her face back near yours, her lips brushing against yours before she closes the gap firmly.

Your hands find the back of her neck, caressing her just the way she likes it the most as you continue making out. It feels like the natural spot for your hands now, more natural than your own pockets. Her tongue asks for permission at your lips, and yours are more than happy to grant them as she enters your mouth.

She likes to take her time making out, and you can’t complain with how sweet her lips taste. Her hands start at your neck and trace a line down to your shirt, unbuttoning them faster than you knew was possible and throwing them off. The fact that she was making out with you while doing all this only makes it more impressive.

Her hands do not stop her descent, and she quickly reaches her intended destination. She spends about two seconds struggling with your pants before yanking them off and fishing your cock outside your underwear. “I missed this cute cock.” She bites her lip lightly and wraps her fingers around your cock.

“Woah, I thought we were going to make you feel good,” you kid. “We are. I’m now gonna take your place,” Her hand continues her lazy stroking of your cock, “and you’re going to use this and make me forget all about my stupid company.” As she commands, you gently flip her over, her face looking at you expectantly in the middle of her long hair spread across the bed. You do not wish to disappoint her. You help Sakura get her jeans off, and her impatience shows in how quickly her panties come off next.

Her hand rests on your chest, rubbing on you as you line up your cock with her hole. She bites her lip as you move inside her, moaning softly while she holds onto your shoulder, her nails biting into you. You would take it for Sakura. And her heavenly pussy. “Always love feeling you inside me.” She mutters, as you finish adjusting for her tightness and start moving.

You start with a slow pace, but even that is enough to drive Kkura to loud moans for you. Your hips lazily rocking back and forth as your cock moves deeper in her with each thrust. Her nails dig deeper into your shoulder, and her eyes do all they can to convey that she needs you to go faster. And you do. Her moans make you go crazy. The noises her pussy dripping with her fluids makes when you thrust into her make you go crazy. The way she looks at you asking, no, demanding that you fuck her till she can’t remember anything makes you go crazy.

Her cunt is just as tight as you last remembered, and you always make it a point to let her know, “Fuck Kkura. So fucking tight.”, and it only makes her clench harder. Her hips gently start moving in a rhythm with you, and you lean in close to her face to catch her lips. Deeply kissing her, your tongue goes inside her mouth now, possibly to mirror what your cock is doing to her pussy. Her moans are muffled by your mouth, and all her noises as a response to your cock railing her goes inside your mouth.

Her fingers escape your shoulder and find the inside of your palm instead. It’s something she always does when she falls for your cock; she likes to hold hands and intertwine your fingers with her tightly. Such an innocent thing to do while the dirtiest things are happening to her. You wrap your fingers around her palm too, which makes her sigh contentedly, in between her breathless moans.

She brings your palm up to her mouth, leaving you with only one hand on her waist for support to penetrate her cunt. She kisses your palm with the little energy she has left while her eyes still look up at you with lust. Sakura clenches her thighs, and you watch her breathing grow more and more erratic. “I’m getting close, babe.” She whispers and pulls at you to get closer to her, locking her legs behind you.

You oblige and get closer to her, your face mere inches above hers, and she shuts your lips by pulling you in all the way to hers. You finish into her with one final thrust, Sakura grasping the sheets tightly, finishing with you. Your load fills up her cunt, and the way she’s clenching with her legs locked behind you, you have no other choice even if you wanted to. She finally rests, rubbing your hair gently with her palm, “I love you so much.” You reply that you love her too.

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Scene - IV

Minjeong waits outside your room, peeking through the slightly ajar door. She hesitates, unsure whether to interrupt as you moodily stare at the picture of Sakura on your nightstand. You shove it in your drawer and bang it shut. Minjeong decides this is a good time to interrupt instead of letting you stew in your own mess.

“Dinner’s ready; come quick!” she shouts while running back to the kitchen, pretending she wasn’t tracking you for the past few minutes. You, none the wiser, leave your room to find her in the kitchen with a skillet in her hand, the dim light above the stovetop illuminating her figure in an almost angelic way. She serves you your favorite dinner, something she admittedly hates to cook, which is enough for you to determine how bad she feels for you right now.

“Hope you’re not gonna blame me for making you talk to her the first time.”

“I absolutely do, fucker. I miss her. I made a mistake. Fuck it, I made plenty of mistakes.” “Do you think you can go back to her now?” She looks at you with concern, which is not a common occurrence. Seeing you at a loss for words, she continues, “You should think well and make a proper decision.” Right—because thinking things through hadn’t crossed your mind before. Still, you know she means well, and you opt for a “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Besides, the way things were going, there weren’t many things she could say. She tries to take you out once in a while to make you forget about Sakura, but not with too much success. It doesn’t help that most of the hangout spots nearby are the places you used to go with Sakura. She suggested the idea of a vacation to get you in a different headspace for once, but work was always a bitch. Just as Minjeong is about to give up and return to her room, your phone buzzes with a message. The sender’s name is the last one she would have wanted to show up.

Her eyes suddenly wake up as she watches you rub your fingers hastily with the nearby tablecloth. They stare at you, demanding you keep your phone down and ignore the message, which you wholeheartedly ignore, unlocking your phone to read what Sakura had sent faster than you’d read anything before. Minjeong shouts at you to sit the fuck down and finish your meal as she sees you getting up from the table, all of which blur into background noises for you, finally giving up when she spots you grabbing your coat to leave the house.

She sighs and retreats to the kitchen with the plate in her hand. If you were going to meet her in the park (which you likely were), she could see it from the kitchen window. At least it would be good entertainment for her dinner, even if it was at your own expense. She fiddles with her spaghetti before taking a bite. As expected, she soon spots Sakura walking down the park road in a white shirt and formal pants, likely coming straight from the office. Spring has recently arrived, and the white flowers lining the footpath seem to mirror the lady’s outfit.

Minjeong pats her fork on the kitchen table as she sees you sitting on the park bench, pretending to not recognize her footsteps coming from behind. She knows you’ve heard Kkura’s footsteps enough to recognize it even in a dream. She sees Sakura tap your shoulder, and you look up at her like a stranger. The convo starts off stiff, unlike how she’s ever seen you two talk before. That changes soon enough, and the convo ends with the two of you in each other's arms. Her spaghetti is finished, and Minjeong concludes, so is her drama show as she gets to washing the dishes.

She is about to tuck in for the day when she notices you signaling something to her from the road just below your house. You point to your phone, asking her to read your messages. Minjeong opens her phone to a single message from you:

”Forgot a keychain in my nightstand… can you bring it downstairs?”

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#kpop smut #sakura smut #le sserafim smut #girl group smut #male reader

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littlelamy · 2 days ago

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title: he tries to come back

warnings: 18+, language, angst, part 1 part 2 part 3 (mon)

your phone won’t stop buzzing. text after text, call after call, rafe’s name flooding your screen like a goddamn sickness. your stomach churns at the sight of it, thumb hovering over the block button, but you don’t press it—not yet. not because you’re entertaining the idea of listening to his bullshit, but because blocking him feels like an admission that he got to you. and fuck that. he already took enough.

you let the phone ring, his name flashing, vibrating against your nightstand like an incessant mosquito. eventually, it stops, only to be followed by a long string of texts, desperate and fractured:

rafey: baby, please

rafey: i swear it was nothing

rafey: just pick up, just let me explain

rafey: i can’t fucking lose you

rafey: fuck

you squeeze your eyes shut, inhale deep through your nose. the audacity of this motherfucker. after everything—after sofia, after his bullshit excuses, after the way he snapped at you like you were the one out of line—he still thinks he has the right to your time, to your attention. to you.

you sit up, grabbing your phone, thumbs moving before you can second guess it.

you: your shit is at my house. pick it up and leave me alone.

his response is immediate, like he was just waiting, holding his breath.

contact name changed ✓

kook bitch: baby, please, don’t do this

kook bitch: just talk to me

kook bitch: where are you? i’ll come now

you toss your phone onto your bed with a scoff, standing too fast. your head spins slightly, but you ignore it, already moving. you don’t want to see him. you don’t want to hear whatever manipulative garbage he’s rehearsed. you just want him out of your life, out of your space.

so you gather his things. the hoodie you used to sleep in, the cologne bottle he left in your bathroom, the stupid baseball cap he always made you wear backward when you rode him in his truck. it all smells like him, like cedarwood and something inherently rafe, and it makes your stomach twist.

you shove it all into a bag and dump it on the porch.

a knock rattles the door not even twenty minutes later.

you hesitate, breath catching in your throat. then you force yourself to move, to unlock it and yank it open. and there he is—disheveled, breathless, storm-blue eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for a crack in your armor. his hands are shaking.

“baby—”

“don’t call me that.”

a muscle in his jaw twitches. “just—just let me talk, okay? just five minutes.”

“no.” your voice is cold, steely. “your shit is there. take it and leave.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t even glance at the bag.

“i fucked up,” he says, voice thick, eyes glistening under the porch light. “i know that, i swear to god, but i love you, and i can’t—i can’t fucking breathe without you.”

his desperation is palpable, clawing at your skin, but you don’t let it seep in. not this time. because it’s not love. it’s possession. it’s selfishness. it’s rafe being rafe, taking and taking and never thinking about the wreckage he leaves behind.

you exhale sharply, shaking your head. “you don’t get to say that to me. not after what you did.”

“it didn’t mean anything,” he pleads, stepping closer, hands twitching like he wants to touch you. “i was drunk, i was stupid, i—fuck, baby, please.”

before he can reach you, before he can spill more poison into the air, your hand flies out.

smack.

the sound rings sharp between you, echoing off the house, slicing through the thick, humid night. his head snaps to the side, a stunned silence stretching between you. his cheek blooms red where your palm met his skin, and for the first time, he looks like he understands.

he doesn’t deserve you. not even a little bit.

his chest rises and falls, his lip quivering, but he doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you, his world shattering in real time. and you watch, unblinking, unfeeling.

“don’t ever come back here,” you whisper, voice steady, unshaken. “we’re done.”

he swallows hard, something breaking behind his eyes. but he nods. because he knows.

he knows.

tags: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt

#rafey ᘚ #littlelamyposts༄࿔#dividers from plum98 #cheater!rafeঌ #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader

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areislol · 11 hours ago

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how honkai star rail men would be with their very heavily pregnant wife

pairings. jing yuan, blade, anaxa, phainon, mydei, aventurine, boothill, dr ratio, gepard, sunday, sampo, moze x fem/afab! reader

warnings. phainon and mydei might be ooc! slightly suggestive for mydei, angst if you squint for boothill

a/n. my professor is pregnant and i got inspired, is that weird? i think i went a little overboard when writing.

wc. 18.2k

jing yuan

✧ super protective general mode activated – jing yuan won’t let you lift a single finger. you’re a literal empress in his eyes, and he treats you like one.

✧ he constantly rubs your belly, murmuring sweet nothings to your baby, calling them “little cub” or “our future star.”

✧ yanqing is over the moon, already asking when he can start training the baby. jing yuan just laughs and tells him to be patient.

✧ he pretends to be chill, but he secretly has his cloud knights monitoring your every move. if you so much as sigh, he’s rushing to your side with a massage ready.

✧ jing yuan is so unbelievably soft with you. he treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world, because to him, you are. he’s already a laid-back general, but when it comes to you and your pregnancy, he becomes even lazier—only because he insists on doing everything for you, so you don’t have to lift a single finger.

✧ “why would i let you do anything, my love? you’re already doing the most important thing—bringing our child into this world.” he says it so smoothly, like it’s the most obvious thing ever, all while he’s feeding you slices of fresh fruit.

✧ he loves talking to the baby. every night, he rests his head against your belly, rubbing slow circles over your stretched skin as he murmurs soft words. “are you being good to your mother? not causing too much trouble, i hope.” his voice is teasing, but there’s so much warmth in it.

✧ yanqing is excited beyond belief. he treats your belly like a sacred treasure, constantly checking in and promising to be the best big brother figure. jing yuan just watches with an amused smile, letting the boy go on about how he’ll train the baby to be the best swordsman when they’re older.

✧ if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately at your side. tired? he’s carrying you. back hurting? he’s massaging you. craving something? he already sent someone to get it.

✧ he lets you sleep on him whenever you want. if you’re tired in the middle of the day, he just pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped securely around you as he leans back, perfectly content to stay like that for hours.

✧ you catch him daydreaming about your child a lot. he’ll be sitting at his desk, chin in his palm, a soft smile on his lips as he imagines what they’ll look like. “will they have your eyes?” he asks one day, reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek. “i hope they do.”

✧ he’s secretly very nervous about the birth. he won’t show it, but you catch the way his fingers tighten slightly when he thinks about it. he just loves you so much, and he hates the idea of you being in pain. he’ll be right by your side when the time comes, holding your hand, whispering reassurances in that deep, soothing voice of his.

✧ at the end of the day, jing yuan is just so deeply in love with you. every moment, every touch, every gentle smile—he’s cherishing all of it, because this is the family he’s always dreamed of.

✧ jing yuan is absolutely smitten with you and your pregnancy. he’s always been affectionate, but now? now he’s downright insatiable when it comes to touching you. his hands are always somewhere—resting on your belly, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, cupping your cheek as he presses soft kisses against your lips. he just wants you to feel loved every second of the day.

✧ he’s a chronic nuzzler. when you’re sitting together, he leans in to bury his face in your neck, breathing in your scent, his hands splayed across your belly. when you’re lying down, he rests his forehead against yours, murmuring sweet little reassurances about how well you’re doing. if he could, he’d never let you leave his embrace.

✧ he absolutely spoils you. your cravings? already fulfilled before you even realize you’re hungry. your feet hurt? he’s massaging them while looking at you with those warm, golden eyes. you’re feeling emotional? he’s pulling you into his lap, whispering words of love as he strokes your hair.

✧ his favorite thing is feeling the baby kick. he lights up every single time—his eyes softening, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he presses his palm to your belly. “ah, little one, i see you’re already training to be a warrior.” he chuckles, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

✧ he reads to you at night. sometimes it’s poetry, sometimes it’s old tales of the xianzhou, but he loves the idea of his voice lulling both you and the baby into sleep. he takes it as an unspoken duty to make sure you’re as comfortable and relaxed as possible.

✧ he will not let you lift a single thing. you could be reaching for something as light as a teacup, and suddenly his arm is there, effortlessly taking it from you. “tsk, tsk, my dear. what did i say about doing things yourself?” he smirks as he hands it to you, obviously enjoying how much he gets to dote on you.

✧ yanqing is so excited that it makes jing yuan even more excited. when yanqing starts talking about how he’s going to train the baby in swordsmanship, jing yuan suddenly finds himself indulging in the fantasy, too. “hm… perhaps they’ll wield a greatsword like me,” he muses, stroking his chin before glancing at you with a teasing smirk. “or maybe they’ll be as quick-witted and sharp as their mother.”

✧ he secretly makes a journal about the pregnancy. he writes down little notes—about the first time he felt the baby kick, about how breathtaking you looked under the moonlight as you rested, about how his heart aches with how much he loves you both. he never tells you about it, but he plans to give it to your child when they’re older, so they’ll know just how much their father adored their mother.

✧ he absolutely, 100% cries when the baby is born. he tries to be strong, tries to keep his composure, but the moment he hears that first cry, he’s done for. he cups your face with shaky hands, pressing his forehead to yours as he whispers, “you did so well, my love… so well.” and when he finally holds the baby, his chest tightens with overwhelming love—he’s never known a happiness like this before.

blade —

✧ he rarely shows outward emotions, but his hands always find their way to your belly, as if grounding himself in the reality of your shared future.

✧ if you ever feel pain, even if it’s normal pregnancy discomfort, he tenses up immediately, staring at you with worry. “are you okay? do you need something?”

✧ he lets you sleep curled up against him, his body warmth soothing you. even if he doesn’t need rest, he’ll lay beside you, hand on your stomach, eyes half-lidded.

✧ the stellaron hunters tease him for being so soft for you, but he doesn’t care. his priority is you and the baby—nothing else.

✧ buys you those pregnancy pillows, not one, not two, not three, but FIVE of them. why? don't ask why. he just did what he had to do.

✧ blade is both the most terrifying and the softest man you have ever seen during your pregnancy. anyone who so much as glances at you the wrong way gets a death glare so sharp it could cut through steel. he becomes hyper-aware of his surroundings, his protective instincts dialed up to a thousand. but when he's with you? when he's resting his palm on your belly, feeling the faint kicks of your child? he's tender in a way no one else will ever see.

✧ he doesn't speak much, but his actions say everything. he’s not the type to whisper poetic words about his love for you, but when he pulls you into his chest, his calloused fingers brushing through your hair—when he kneels in front of you, pressing the softest kiss to your swollen belly—you know exactly how much he cherishes you.

✧ he has a habit of placing his hand on your belly whenever you're together. it’s instinctual, protective, like he’s always ready to shield both you and your child from harm. even in his sleep, his hand finds its way to your stomach, fingers twitching slightly as if standing guard.

✧ he worries about you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright. you catch him watching you with furrowed brows when you move around too much, his lips pressing into a thin line when he sees you wince. if he had his way, you'd be in bed all day, wrapped up in the safest cocoon possible—but he knows you’re strong, so he holds back. barely.

✧ he is unbelievably gentle when touching you. it’s almost ironic—blade, a man who knows nothing but violence, whose hands are stained with countless battles, touches you like you’re made of the finest glass. every time he cups your face, every time he trails his fingers over your belly, his touch is so, so careful. he would rather die than cause you any harm.

✧ he talks to the baby when he thinks you're asleep. late at night, when the world is silent and you’re curled up against him, he whispers words he could never say when you're awake. “i will protect you.” his voice is barely above a breath, his hand splayed over your belly. “you and your mother. always.”

✧ he makes sure you're eating properly, even if it means forcing you to sit down while he prepares something himself. he doesn’t care if he’s never been much of a cook—he will make sure you're fed and taken care of, even if it means standing in the kitchen for an hour, staring at a recipe with a deep frown.

✧ he pretends not to care about the baby shopping, but he totally does. when you bring him to look at baby clothes, he acts indifferent at first, hands tucked into his coat. but the second he sees a tiny onesie in your favorite color? he picks it up, runs his fingers over the fabric, and mutters something about how “this one looks… acceptable.” (he buys it immediately.)

✧ he doesn't know how to express it, but he's excited to be a father. he never thought he’d have something like this—something soft, something real. he never thought he’d have a future beyond endless battles. but now, with you by his side, carrying a child that is part of both of you, he finally starts to believe in something more.

✧ when the baby is born, he is completely, utterly still. for the first time in his life, blade feels like he has no words. he holds the tiny bundle in his arms, staring down at this little life he helped create, and something deep inside him shifts. when he finally looks at you, eyes glassy with unspoken emotion, he whispers the only thing he can say—“thank you.”

✧ blade is absolutely helpless when it comes to your cravings. you want something specific in the middle of the night? he’s already putting on his coat, ready to hunt it down no matter how absurd it is. he doesn’t even question it anymore. one time, you craved something bizarre—like spicy pickles dipped in chocolate—and he just stared at you for a full ten seconds before silently retrieving the ingredients. when he watched you eat it with a satisfied hum, he muttered, “...i have never feared anything more than i fear your cravings.”

✧ there was one time when he brought you the wrong food, and you almost burst into tears. your craving was very specific—a warm peach bun from a particular vendor—but he accidentally got a different flavor. when he saw your lip tremble, he immediately turned on his heel and went straight back out to find the exact one you wanted. “i will not return until i retrieve it,” he swore, like he was going on some life-or-death mission.

✧ he tries to act like he doesn’t care when you make him try your strange craving combinations, but the second you say, “if you love me, you’ll try it,” he knows he’s lost. cue him begrudgingly taking a bite of something absolutely cursed (like ice cream and soy sauce) while you eagerly watch for his reaction. he chews. he swallows. he slowly looks away and mutters, “i am never doing that again.” (he does it again the next time you ask.)

✧ one time, you craved something so bad that you started getting emotional over it. “blade… what if i never get to eat it again?” you sniffled, burying your face in your hands. panic. absolute panic. he thought this was an actual emergency. he dropped everything he was doing, ready to fight the universe itself if it meant securing your food. when he finally got it and handed it to you, you sighed dreamily, saying, “you’re my hero.” his ears turned a little red after that.

✧ you get unbelievably clingy, and it’s both endearing and confusing to blade. he’ll be standing still, minding his own business, when you just attach yourself to him, draping yourself over his back like a koala. “don’t move,” you mumble. he doesn’t. if anything, he just shifts slightly so that you’re more comfortable.

✧ there was a moment when you dramatically flopped onto the bed, groaning about how your feet hurt. before you could even finish your sentence, blade was already kneeling down, silently massaging your feet. you gasped. “oh my god, you’re actually good at this—” his fingers worked into the sore spots with expert precision. you immediately melted. blade, meanwhile, just continued as if he’d been doing this for centuries. “your body is under strain,” he simply said. “this is the least i can do.”

✧ blade has an uncanny ability to appear whenever you need help. you’re struggling to bend down to grab something? suddenly, he’s there. you’re about to lift something heavier than he deems acceptable? boom, he’s already taking it from you. you once tested this by whispering, “i’m craving something…” and within seconds, he materialized behind you with an unreadable expression, already holding his coat, waiting for instructions.

✧ he does not tolerate anyone making unnecessary comments about your size. one time, a stranger made an offhand remark about how big your belly was, and before you could even react, blade was staring them down with the most chilling gaze imaginable. he didn’t even say a word—just narrowed his eyes ever so slightly—and the person immediately backpedaled.

✧ despite his serious nature, there was one time he made a mistake that neither of you will ever forget. you asked him to fetch your favorite snack, and he misheard you. instead of returning with the correct one, he came back with something completely different. when he handed it to you, looking all serious, you just… stared at it. “blade… what is this.” he frowned. “the food you asked for.” you shook your head.

✧ “no, this is not what i asked for.” a long silence. then, without a word, he simply turned around and walked right back out to get the correct one.

✧ sometimes, he gets so used to catering to you that he forgets he doesn’t need to keep doing it after the baby is born. one time, you got up to get something for yourself, and blade immediately tried to stop you. “sit down,” he said automatically, already moving to do it for you. you had to gently remind him, “blade, i can move now.” he paused. thought about it. then, in a deadpan voice, muttered, “...i don’t like that.”

anaxa —

✧ the man is obsessed with your pregnancy. every single day, he’s marveling at your growing belly, resting his head on it, whispering to the baby.

✧ “can you hear me, little one? your father loves you very, very much~” and then he looks up at you with stars in his eyes. you can’t walk five steps without him offering to carry you.

✧ he’d literally sweep you off your feet in public if you let him. he handmakes baby clothes, paints the nursery with celestial patterns, and makes sure you’re always surrounded by warmth and love.

✧ anaxa is absolutely ecstatic about you carrying his child. he’s a man of passion, and this is the most exciting thing to ever happen in his life. he showers you in affection constantly, hands never far from your belly, and every little change in your pregnancy fascinates him. one day, he catches sight of your growing bump in the mirror, and his golden eyes widen with pure admiration.

✧ “by the aeons, look at you… you’re stunning.” he twirls you around, beaming, like you’re the most divine sight in the universe.

✧ he is obnoxiously protective but in a warm, dramatic way. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately cupping your face, his gaze filled with concern. “beloved, are you unwell? do you need anything? say the word, and i shall move the stars themselves to bring you comfort.” if you so much as stumble, he is catching you like a hero in a romantic novel, dipping you slightly as if it were a dance.

✧ he goes insane over your cravings. no matter how ridiculous, he takes it as a personal challenge. one time, you craved the most specific fruit from a distant planet, and before you could even consider changing your mind, he was already making arrangements to have it imported. it arrived within hours. you stared at him in disbelief as he proudly presented it. “for you, my beloved, there is no distance too far.”

✧ he gets competitive about taking care of you. he must be the one to do everything. need a foot massage? he’s already doing it. thirsty? your drink is already in your hands. you tried to reach for something on a high shelf once, and he gasped dramatically, lifting you into his arms instead. “such tasks are far beneath you, my dear.” you just wanted a plate.

✧ when the baby kicks for the first time, he is overwhelmed. his hands freeze over your stomach, golden eyes widening in shock. he looks up at you, utterly stunned, before breaking into the most lovesick grin you have ever seen. “they’re strong,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “our child is strong.”

✧ he talks to your belly. all the time. and not just little greetings—he has full conversations. he tells your baby about the adventures he’s had, the beautiful places they’ll see, and how lucky they are to have you as their mother. sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers soft promises to them. “you will be loved beyond measure, little one. i swear it upon the stars.”

✧ he spoils you rotten. anything you want, you get. it’s impossible to stop him. the moment you so much as glance at a pretty item, he’s already purchasing it. if you tell him “you don’t have to—” he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead. “nonsense, my love. you deserve the world.”

✧ he gets extremely emotional when you’re in labour. despite his usual confidence, he is on edge, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair, whispering prayers under his breath. the second he hears your baby’s first cry, he collapses into the chair, exhaling a deep breath of relief (like he was the one giving birth.... 😒).

✧ when he finally holds them for the first time, he is speechless. his usual poetic words fail him, and he just stares, eyes glossy with unshed tears, before finally whispering, “you are the greatest gift i have ever received.”

✧ anaxa treats your pregnancy like the most important quest of his life. from the moment he learns you’re expecting, he dives headfirst into research. he devours every article, medical journal, and ancient text on pregnancy, memorizing every detail.

✧ at night, he’s hunched over stacks of datapads, reading about fetal development, prenatal nutrition, and even obscure childbirth traditions across different planets. when you wake up and ask what he’s doing, he simply replies, “studying for the most important role of my existence.”

✧ he takes notes. meticulous, detailed notes. he carries around a small journal where he writes everything—your mood shifts, your cravings, even what time of day the baby kicks the most. it’s filled with observations like “beloved seemed irritated today—possible correlation with lack of midday nap?” and “baby prefers right side of belly—will investigate further.”

✧ one time, you peeked into his notes and found a page titled “top ten ways to make my love comfortable” with a ranked list of his most successful strategies.

✧ he does field research. he doesn’t just rely on books—he goes out and seeks firsthand knowledge. he interviews every mother he can find, from warriors to scholars, recording their experiences and advice with intense focus.

✧ he once stopped an entire group of mothers in the marketplace just to ask, “ladies, if i may—what was the most effective way your partners supported you during pregnancy?” he listened very seriously, nodding at each answer, before thanking them with a deep bow.

✧ he becomes hyper-aware of pregnancy symptoms before you even notice them. you sigh slightly, and before you can say anything, he’s already handing you water because “dehydration can cause fatigue, my dear.”

✧ If you rub your lower back even once, he instantly offers a massage. one time, you mentioned feeling warm, and within seconds, he adjusted the room’s temperature to the optimal degree for pregnant comfort.

✧ no one can escape his lectures. if someone offers you food that’s even slightly questionable for pregnancy, he immediately intervenes, launching into a detailed explanation of why you cannot eat it. “that dish contains an ingredient known to cause nausea in twelve percent of expectant mothers. i simply cannot allow it.”

✧ you once caught him educating a fellow father-to-be about the importance of emotional support during pregnancy. “your partner’s needs must always come first. if she craves something at midnight, you go. no hesitation.”

✧ he gets way too into prenatal bonding. he doesn’t just talk to the baby—he reads stories, sings songs, and even plays music. one day, you walked in on him reciting a dramatic monologue from one of his favorite plays to your belly, gesturing passionately. “and so, my dear child, this is the tale of heroes and honor… may you inherit my love for storytelling.” you couldn’t stop laughing.

✧ when you’re nearing your due date, he prepares a full emergency plan. he has a route mapped out to the medical facility, a list of supplies packed and double-checked, and contingency plans for every possible scenario.

✧ if labor starts unexpectedly, he has multiple escape routes memorized for a quick departure. one time, he even did a practice drill, making sure he could carry you effortlessly if needed. “i must be ready, beloved. i refuse to falter in your moment of need.”

✧ the moment you go into labor, he activates like a man on a mission. his usually playful and dramatic nature is replaced with laser-sharp focus. he’s immediately by your side, holding your hand, guiding you through breathing exercises he memorized. but internally, he is barely holding it together.

✧ the second he hears the baby’s first cry, he lets out a shaky breath, his entire body relaxing. when he finally holds your child, all the stress melts away, and he just gazes at them in awe, whispering, “you were worth every moment.”

phainon

✧ this man treats you like the most precious treasure. If anyone so much as breathes near you the wrong way, he’s glaring at them. every craving? immediately fulfilled.

✧ even if you wake up at 3 am and want the most obscure food, he’ll find a way to get it for you. he’s fascinated by the baby’s movements and constantly asks, “did they kick just now?”

✧ when you can’t sleep, he’ll hold you close and hum soft lullabies, stroking your hair until you drift off in his arms.

✧ phainon is absolutely obsessed with the idea of being a father. from the moment he learns you’re pregnant, he acts like he just won the greatest cosmic jackpot in existence. he picks you up and spins you around before freezing and setting you down gently, apologizing because “right, right, must be careful now.” but he’s grinning ear to ear, already talking about all the things he wants to do with the baby. “do you think they’ll like stargazing? i’ll teach them all about the constellations, and we can name a star after them.”

✧ he immediately starts making preparations. within days, he’s turned an entire room into a nursery, but it’s not just any nursery—it’s a masterpiece. he hand-paints galaxies on the ceiling so the baby will always feel like they’re sleeping under the stars.

✧ he even commissions a custom-built crib that gently rocks like a spaceship in zero gravity. he’s so proud of it, constantly adjusting tiny details to make it perfect. “our little star deserves the best, don’t you think?”

✧ he takes baby-proofing to an extreme. he starts evaluating your entire home with the scrutiny of a scientist studying an uncharted planet. “this corner? too sharp. that table? unstable. this step? a potential hazard.”

✧ you catch him padding furniture, securing every single cabinet, and even installing a soft landing zone in case the baby ever falls. you try to tell him that it’s way too early for this, but he just winks and says, “better to be safe than sorry, starlight.”

✧ cravings are his absolute favourite part of the pregnancy. the moment you mention wanting something, he’s on it. he once woke up at three in the morning to hunt down a very specific dessert you were craving.

✧ when he finally returned, slightly dishevelled but victorious, he proudly presented it to you like he had just returned from a heroic quest. if you ever apologise for asking for something difficult, he just kisses your forehead and says, “there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you and our little one.”

✧ he gets really into talking to the baby. not just casual conversations—full-blown storytelling. he lies with his head on your belly, telling the baby about all the wonders of the universe, all the places they’ll visit, all the things they’ll see.

✧ “you’re gonna love it out here. just wait until you see your first comet—it’s breathtaking.” he also sings lullabies, soft celestial melodies he swears have been passed down in his family. even you find yourself falling asleep to them.

✧ he fusses over you constantly. anytime you so much as sigh, he’s immediately checking in. “are you okay? do you need anything? here, let me get you some water. or a pillow. or—” you have to physically stop him from treating you like a fragile piece of glass.

✧ if you so much as try to lift something heavier than a book, he swoops in immediately. “whoa, whoa, whoa—absolutely not. no heavy lifting for my love. let me handle it.”

✧ despite all his excitement, he does have moments of deep, quiet reflection. sometimes you’ll find him sitting by the nursery, looking up at the painted stars with a soft smile. when you ask what’s on his mind, he just pulls you close and murmurs, “i just… can’t believe this is real. that i get to have this with you.”

✧ his hand will rest on your belly, his thumb tracing slow circles as he whispers, “i promise to be the best father i can be. i swear it.”

✧ when the day finally comes, he is a wreck. for all his usual charm and confidence, the moment you tell him it’s time, he panics. he grabs the hospital bag, then forgets where he put the hospital bag. he tries to call someone but dials the wrong number. you have to physically pull him back to reality.

✧ but once he sees you, really sees you, he takes a deep breath, centers himself, and holds your hand with all the love in the universe. when he hears the baby’s first cry, his eyes fill with tears, and he laughs, breathless, as he whispers, “welcome home, little star.”

✧ phainon is an absolute menace when it comes to public displays of affection, and your pregnancy just makes it ten times worse. he’s already the type to drape himself over you, kiss you whenever he pleases, and hold your hand no matter where you go, but now? now he’s practically glued to you. he’s always resting a hand on your belly, rubbing soothing circles over it, or just holding you close like he’s staking a claim. whenever someone congratulates him on the baby, he just beams and says, “i know, isn’t it wonderful? my starlight is glowing.”

✧ the chrysos heirs do not make things easy for him. the moment they find out you’re pregnant, it’s like they’ve been given free rein to tease him relentlessly. they’re always making comments about how he’s become soft, how he’s acting like an overexcited first-time dad, how he’s basically your personal servant at this point. phainon just waves them off with a smug grin, completely unbothered. “jealous? i would be too if i didn’t have someone as perfect as my starlight carrying my child.” the teasing only gets worse after that.

✧ some of them take it a step further, trying to rile him up by making bets on what kind of father he’ll be. “ten credits says he cries when he holds the baby for the first time.” “twenty says he panics and passes out before the baby even arrives.” phainon just scoffs, but the truth is? he does cry when he holds the baby for the first time, and he almost passes out from the sheer emotional overload. the heirs never let him live it down.

✧ despite their teasing, some of them are actually really invested in your pregnancy. they offer parenting books, advice (some useful, some absolutely ridiculous), and even propose setting up a baby fund to spoil the child the moment they’re born.

✧ phainon, of course, refuses. “i appreciate the thought, but my little one won’t need all that nonsense.” ten minutes later, he’s accepting a tiny celestial-themed onesie from one of the heirs with a soft, “... okay, maybe just this one.”

✧ in public, phainon is the proudest future father to ever exist. he makes sure everyone knows. if you go out together, he’s showing you off like you’re the most precious treasure in the galaxy—which, in his eyes, you are. if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s immediately on guard, slipping an arm around your waist and fixing them with a look that says don’t even think about it.

✧ he gets so protective when you’re in crowded areas. he insists on keeping a hand on you at all times, whether it’s resting on the small of your back or holding your hand tightly. if someone bumps into you even slightly, his entire demeanor shifts—his usual easygoing attitude replaced by something much sharper. “watch where you’re going,” he says, his voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

✧ if you ever get tired while walking, he doesn’t even hesitate before picking you up. bridal style, over his shoulder, whatever gets the job done. you try to protest, but he just grins. “what? i can’t have my starlight overexerting themselves. besides, you deserve to be treated like royalty.” people definitely stare, but phainon does not care in the slightest.

✧ you catch him buying so many baby-related things on impulse. he’ll see a tiny pair of star-patterned socks and immediately grab them, muttering “they’re going to look adorable in these.” his collection of baby clothes, plushies, and toys gets so out of hand that you have to physically stop him from buying more.

✧ he gets so smug when people comment on how lucky your child will be to have him as a father. he’ll flash you a knowing grin and say something like, “of course they’re lucky. they have the best parents in the universe.” and then he’ll lean in and murmur against your ear, “but between you and me, they’re going to love you more.”

✧ at the end of the day, despite all the teasing from the heirs, the doting, and the over-the-top protection, phainon is just so deeply in love with you and the life you’re building together.

✧ every time he looks at you, he sees the future he’s always dreamed of. and every time he places a hand on your belly, he’s reminded that his greatest adventure is just beginning.

mydei

✧ overly doting husband award goes to… mydei! he treats you like royalty.

✧ if you ever try to do anything yourself, he’s immediately stopping you. “what do you think you're doing? you are carrying our child. i’ll do everything.”

✧ and he means it. he writes letters to your baby before they’re born, leaving them in a box for them to read one day. you constantly wake up to breakfast in bed, your favourite drinks prepared exactly how you like them, and soft, warm blankets because he wants you as comfy as possible.

✧ mydei is absolutely obsessed with your pregnancy in the best way possible. the moment he finds out, it’s like his entire world shifts—everything he does, everything he thinks about, revolves around you and the little life growing inside you.

✧ he becomes so soft, his usual cold, distant demeanor melting away when he’s with you. whenever he talks about the baby, his voice is filled with nothing but warmth. “our little one is going to be amazing. just like their mother.”

✧ he takes everything about pregnancy very seriously. he practically turns into a scholar overnight, gathering every book, article, and medical journal he can find. he takes meticulous notes, cross-references sources, and even reaches out to professionals—doctors, experienced parents, even midwives.

✧ he even asks random pregnant women and mothers about their experiences, carefully logging every detail. “everyone’s journey is different,” he tells you, eyes filled with determination. “but i need to be prepared for anything.”

✧ his research leads to some very specific routines. he makes sure your diet is perfectly balanced, ensuring you get all the necessary nutrients while still indulging your cravings.

✧ he tracks your hydration levels, sleep patterns, and even stress levels. if he notices you looking tired or overwhelmed, he immediately whisks you away to rest. “no arguments. you need to take care of yourself.”

✧ despite his usually elegant and refined nature, he is so comically weak to your cravings. he will go to the ends of the universe to find whatever it is you’re craving, no matter how difficult or absurd. “you want a very specific fruit that only grows on a planet halfway across the cosmos? give me a moment.” he does not settle for substitutes. if it’s not exactly what you want, he will not rest until he finds it.

✧ he gets extremely protective in public. he’s already the type to keep an eye on his surroundings, but now? he’s on high alert. he positions himself between you and any potential danger, shields you from crowds, and death-glares anyone who so much as bumps into you. he carries extra layers if it gets cold, makes sure you’re never overexerting yourself, and always finds the safest routes when walking anywhere.

✧ if anyone even dares to make an inappropriate comment about your pregnancy—whether it’s about your body changing or unsolicited parenting advice—his entire demeanor darkens. his polite mask drops, and his voice turns icy as he calmly but mercilessly shuts them down. “your opinion was neither needed nor wanted. kindly leave before i lose my patience.”

✧ pda with him becomes softer, sweeter, and more frequent. he was always a little reserved when it came to public affection, but now? he doesn’t care who’s watching.

✧ he kisses your forehead absentmindedly, holds your hand everywhere, and often keeps an arm around your waist, rubbing gentle circles over your belly. when he talks to people, his hand naturally rests on your stomach as if it’s second nature.

✧ at night, he always falls asleep with a hand on your belly. he whispers to the baby, telling them stories, making quiet promises. “i’ll keep you and your mother safe. always.” his fingers trace light patterns against your skin, his voice laced with adoration. if the baby kicks, his eyes light up with wonder, a rare, unguarded smile stretching across his lips. “already so strong.”

✧ he takes nesting very seriously. he personally oversees the nursery, ensuring everything is perfect. the colors, the furniture, even the atmosphere—he carefully selects everything with precision and care. he tests the crib himself, sits in the rocking chair to make sure it’s comfortable, and painstakingly arranges and rearranges decorations until he’s satisfied. if something isn’t up to his standards, it’s gone. “only the best for our child.”

✧ the moment the baby arrives, all the walls he’s ever had completely crumble. he holds them with the gentlest touch, his eyes brimming with emotions he can’t even put into words.

✧ he presses the softest kiss to their forehead, whispering their name like it’s something sacred. he looks at you, exhausted yet radiant, and for the first time in his life, he feels truly complete.

✧ mydei insists on accompanying you every single time you go shopping for maternity wear. at first, you think he’s just being his usual meticulous, overprotective self, but then you realise—he genuinely enjoys it.

✧ he treats it like an event, carefully selecting pieces he thinks will be both comfortable and stylish for you. he has impeccable taste, so he always picks out the most flattering outfits, running his hands over the fabrics with a thoughtful hum before handing them to you. “this one will look beautiful on you. try it on.”

✧ the moment you start feeling insecure about your belly, he notices. you run your fingers over the curve of your stomach, frowning slightly at how different your body feels, how nothing fits the way it used to. the way you sigh while looking at yourself in the mirror doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

✧ he steps behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. his hands slide over the curve of your belly, holding you close.

✧ “why do you look so troubled, my love?” his voice is so smooth, low, and filled with warmth. when you mutter about how different your body feels, how you don’t feel as attractive, he simply tilts his head, his lips brushing against your ear.

✧ “you look breathtaking. absolutely divine.” he turns you around gently, his fingers lightly tracing patterns against your stomach. “do you even realise how incredible you are? you’re carrying our child, our future. there is nothing more beautiful than that.”

✧ his reassurance does not stop there. if anything, it becomes a little suggestive. his lips trail down to your neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses as his hands roam your sides. “this body, this belly, this softness... all of it is perfect. you are perfect.” his voice is velvety, filled with unfiltered adoration, and when you let out a small, embarrassed laugh, he just smiles against your skin.

✧ “you don’t believe me?” he whispers, his hands sliding lower before resting firmly on your hips. “perhaps I should show you just how irresistible you are to me.”

✧ you swat at his chest, flustered beyond belief, telling him you’re in the middle of a clothing store, but he only chuckles, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze. “fine, fine. I’ll behave… for now.” but the way he lingers, the way his eyes darken just a little, tells you that he’s far from done.

✧ even after leaving the store, his hands never stop touching you—tracing over your belly absentmindedly, rubbing soothing circles over your back, occasionally squeezing your hips just to see you flustered. whenever you wear the clothes he picked out, he cannot take his eyes off you.

✧ if you ask him why he’s staring, he simply smirks. “admiring my wife. is that a crime?” he pauses before leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “though, I must say, I quite enjoy seeing you without these clothes, too.”

aventurine

✧ he acts nonchalant (well not really...), but deep down? he’s besotted with you and the baby. he boasts about you to everyone at the family, showing off the sonograms like they’re a rare jackpot he won at a casino.

✧ every time you walk into the room, his eyes immediately land on you. “and how is my favourite future mother doing today?”

✧ if you’re feeling down, he spoils you like crazy, showering you with gifts and trips to the fanciest places just to see you smile.

✧ aventurine treats you like absolute royalty the moment he finds out you’re pregnant. not that he didn’t already spoil you before, but now? it’s on a completely different level. you barely have to lift a finger—he’s already taking care of everything before you even think about needing it.

✧ he immediately starts building a nursery, and by "building," he means designing the most extravagant, high-end, luxurious baby room money can buy.

✧ he spares no expense—custom furniture, premium-quality baby clothes, plush toys imported from different planets, the softest blankets in existence, a crib that probably costs more than a spaceship, you name it. everything is top-tier, only the best for his child.

✧ he goes overboard with baby shopping. you tell him the baby isn’t even here yet, and he just smirks, unbothered. “better to be prepared, sweetheart. besides, it’s fun.” he buys every cute outfit he sees, from tiny formal suits to cozy little onesies, and don’t even get him started on toys. he buys so many that you swear your baby won’t even get to play with half of them.

✧ food? taken care of. cravings? immediately satisfied. he has chefs on standby ready to make whatever you want, whenever you want it. at 2 am, when you wake up craving something obscure, you hesitate to wake him, but the moment he stirs and hears you shifting in bed, he insists. “tell me what you want, love. i’ll get it for you right now.”

✧ and if it’s something rare or hard to find? he pulls strings, makes calls, and by some miracle, has it in front of you within the hour. if that’s not possible, he personally goes out to find it himself. no complaints, no hesitation. he does it happily.

✧ he is obsessed with making sure you’re comfortable. if he catches you shifting around, trying to find a better position, he’s already fluffing your pillows, adjusting your seat, anything to make sure you’re perfectly cozy.

✧ he arranges regular massages for you, has the softest, most luxurious blankets at your disposal, and if he catches you even looking slightly uncomfortable, he fixes it before you can even say a word.

✧ the way he dotes on you is almost comical. he won’t even let you walk too much without insisting you rest. “why strain yourself when I can carry you, hm?” and if you protest? he smirks, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet anyway.

✧ he loves talking to your belly. at first, it’s just quiet murmurs when he thinks you’re asleep, soft reassurances and promises. but then? he gets dramatic. “you better take after your mother. if you inherit my gambling habits, we’re going to have a problem.” he fully has conversations with your unborn child, completely shameless, and honestly? it’s adorable.

✧ he lives for your flustered reactions. if you ever feel insecure about your body changing, he makes sure you never doubt how beautiful you are. “look at you,” he purrs, eyes gleaming as he trails his fingers over your belly.

✧ “glowing. divine. absolutely stunning. you have no idea how breathtaking you are, do you?” and when you get all shy? he just chuckles, pleased. “should I remind you some more?”

✧ the second you complain about your feet being sore, aventurine doesn’t hesitate—he immediately takes off his shoes, swapping them with yours. it’s a comical sight, especially when you see his ridiculously expensive, immaculate shoes paired with your cozy, worn-out sneakers. you can’t help but laugh, but he just smiles, so proud of his solution. “there, that’s better, right?”

✧ he then proceeds to buy you an entire new wardrobe of sneakers—comfort over style, he insists. no more heels unless you want them. “you don’t need to suffer in those when we can make you look just as good in something more comfortable,” he says, his voice serious, as he orders half a dozen pairs of different styles, colours, and designs of the softest sneakers imaginable.

✧ he doesn’t even flinch when the bill comes in, just waves it off like it’s nothing.

✧ lord your man is sexy.

✧ of course, if you really want to wear heels for an occasion, he’ll never stop you. “you look stunning in heels, my love. wear them for as long as you like,” he says, but he always makes sure there’s a soft, padded seat nearby for when you need to rest, and he’ll literally help you change your shoes afterward.

✧ now, when it comes to mood swings, aventurine is the ultimate calm presence. he knows it’s just one of those things, so he simply adjusts to whatever mood you’re in. when you get irritated, frustrated, or upset, he’s there with a soft, unwavering smile, letting you vent as much as you need to.

✧ if you snap at him, he’s not offended at all. in fact, he’s almost amused by it, seeing it as just another aspect of your beauty—your passion, your fire. “feel free to let it all out, darling,” he says, taking your hand, his grip steady and soothing. “I’m right here. whatever you need, I’m here for you.” he doesn’t try to calm you down immediately, because he knows it’s important for you to express yourself.

✧ after you’ve finished ranting, he checks in with you again, his voice soft and considerate. “are you okay now? did yelling at me help?” he asks with genuine care, his smile patient and gentle, never judging. if you’re still upset, he’ll simply hold you and let you settle into his arms, letting you know that whatever mood you’re in, he’s not going anywhere.

✧ nothing rattles him. no matter how dramatic your mood swings get, he handles it with endless patience, making sure you feel safe and loved through every moment. if you start to feel guilty afterwards, he’ll just smile and say, “you have every right to feel how you feel. nothing to apologise for.”

boothill

✧ rough cowboy, soft husband. he insists on carrying you everywhere.

✧ walking is not an option for you, his pregnant wife.

✧ calls you “darlin’”

✧ speaks so softly when talking to the baby, completely in awe that you’re carrying his kid. he always has a protective hand on your back, guiding you gently.

✧ if anyone stares too long, his hand moves to his holster. (you have to smack his hand and scold him)

✧ when you can’t sleep, he sits beside you and talks about life on the frontier, his deep voice lulling you into peaceful dreams.

✧ boothill’s love for you is overwhelming, and yet, at times, you can’t help but notice a slight weight behind his affection. when he spoils you, it’s not out of simple joy—it’s out of a deep need to make sure you’re always okay, that you’re always happy, and it’s almost like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him if he doesn’t try hard enough.

✧ he goes all out with everything—buying the best things, preparing the most extravagant meals, filling the house with comforts, and making sure you never have to lift a finger. he does it all with a quiet, unshakable intensity, like if he’s not constantly doing something for you, he’ll fail somehow.

✧ his attention is unrelenting. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately there, asking if you’re feeling okay, if you need anything, if you’re comfortable. and while you know it’s all out of love, sometimes you wonder if it’s a little too much.

✧ there’s an unspoken tension that lingers in his actions—an underlying anxiety that if he doesn’t care for you in every way, you’ll somehow slip from his grasp.

✧ when you become pregnant, that tension only intensifies. suddenly, he’s not just worried about you—he’s anxious about the baby, too. the world around him seems to sharpen, and he starts doting on you even more, almost to the point where it feels like he’s smothering you. but his love isn’t suffocating—it’s desperate.

✧ in the quiet moments, when he watches you sleep or rubs his hand over your belly, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a quiet fear. he’s afraid, deep down, of losing you, or the baby, or both.

✧ he hates the thought of you being in any kind of discomfort. when you tell him about the aching in your back or the soreness in your feet, he acts immediately, as if your pain is his fault. it’s as if he believes that if he doesn’t fix it right away, something terrible will happen.

✧ he’s obsessive in his need to make everything perfect for you, and even though you appreciate it, sometimes you wish he would just let you be. let you have some space to breathe, to exist on your own terms.

✧ in moments when the weight of it all gets to him, he retreats a little—his jaw tightens, his eyes harden. when he’s alone with his thoughts, you can see the flicker of self-doubt, a slight crack in his usually confident demeanour. he knows that his fear is something he needs to deal with, but it feels so out of control that it’s hard for him to admit it. he doesn’t want to show you his vulnerability, doesn’t want to burden you with his insecurities.

✧ but you see it in the way he holds you at night, the tightness in his arms, the way he checks on you repeatedly, his hands brushing over your body as if he’s trying to make sure you’re all still there. and when you ask him what’s wrong, he’s quick to mask it, brushing it off with a grin, but you know. you can always tell. the angst isn’t loud or overt—it’s hidden beneath his gestures, his actions, his love.

✧ still, his devotion to you is undeniable. even though he has his own silent battles, even though there’s a constant flicker of fear within him, he loves you with every ounce of his being. the moments when he’s vulnerable with you are rare, but when they come, he holds you closer, as if afraid of letting go for even a second.

✧ you can feel the fragility in his touch, the quiet fear that you might slip away from him.

✧ he doesn’t always have the words to express what he’s feeling, but his actions speak louder than anything. and in the silence, when he looks at you, you know. you know that despite all of his worries and fears, he will always protect you, even if he has to keep some of that pain hidden in the quiet corners of his heart.

✧ when the sun is a little too bright for you, boothill doesn’t hesitate. he’s quick to take off his hat and place it gently on your head, adjusting it with a playful smile. “there, now you can enjoy the sunshine without turning into a tomato,” he says, chuckling at how cute you look in his oversized hat.

✧ if the sun is especially brutal, he’ll even suggest you both find some shade or just spend time indoors with the air conditioning, but he knows it’s about making you feel comfortable, not just avoiding the heat.

✧ if you’re feeling particularly tired, he doesn’t wait for you to ask. the moment he sees you yawn or slump a little, he’s already sweeping you off your feet, giving you a piggyback ride with the kind of enthusiasm that’s almost comical considering his usual serious demeanour. “i’ve got you,” he says, grinning widely, despite his usual stoic nature.

✧ if you’re too tired for a piggyback ride or just don’t feel like walking, he’ll immediately scoop you up in his arms. it’s as if you’re his most precious treasure, and he wants nothing more than to ensure your comfort at all times.

✧ “you know, if you just need to be carried all day, I’m perfectly fine with that,” he teases, and you can see the gleam of amusement in his eyes. he loves it when he gets to take care of you, and he’s never shy about showing it.

✧ sometimes, when you’re nestled in his arms, you’ll catch him quietly grinning to himself, probably at how happy he is just to be with you. you can tell it makes him feel lighthearted to see you enjoy these little moments of care.

✧ when he does these little things for you, it’s clear that he’s not doing them out of obligation, but because it genuinely brings him joy to see you happy, even in the smallest ways.

✧ girl do NOT get me started on "oh i'm too big for you" you are NEVER too big 😒 😒 matter of fact if boothill ever hear those words slip out of your mouth you best believe he won't be tolerating it (and hunting down whoever said that)

✧ if you ever tell boothill that you’re too big for him to carry, he won’t hesitate for a second to shut you down. “don’t even start,” he’ll warn you with a smirk, and before you can protest further, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips, leaving you momentarily breathless.

✧ before you can even process what just happened, he’s already lifting you into his arms, effortlessly cradling you like you’re the lightest thing in the world. “see? not too big at all,” he says with a playful grin, clearly enjoying how flustered you get when he carries you, no questions asked.

✧ despite your attempts to argue, he’s not hearing any of it. “I’m carrying you whether you like it or not,” he adds with a wink, and when you roll your eyes or try to squirm out of his grasp, he just holds you tighter.

✧ his love for you is so overwhelming that he doesn’t care if you’re tired, big, or anything else—if you need to be carried, he’s more than happy to do it, and nothing will stop him from showing you just how much he cares.

✧ honestly, seeing you trying to act tough or insisting you’re fine just makes him more determined to spoil you even more, and he won’t back down until he’s made you comfortable.

cthe look on your face when you realize you’re in his arms is priceless, and he can't help but tease you a little more, enjoying every moment of your adorably flustered reaction.

dr. ratio

✧ he’s cocky as always, but so in love. if anyone dares to say anything about your size, he smirks and goes, “they’re carrying the most important person in the universe. of course, they’re radiant.”

✧ he’s fascinated by the baby’s development and reads every medical book on pregnancy, making sure you get the best care possible.

✧ he massages your feet with so much care, just pure, devoted attention.

✧ if you ever feel insecure, he immediately shuts it down with the most poetic, heartfelt words. “there is no beauty greater than you right now, my love.”

✧ dr. ratio is a caring but incredibly meticulous partner, and when you’re pregnant, that side of him intensifies even more. he’s deeply invested in making sure everything is perfect for you, often researching new ways to ease your discomfort, asking you how you feel every few hours, and keeping track of your health and well-being like he’s running a scientific experiment.

✧ his medical knowledge, which is already impressive, becomes even more focused on pregnancy, and he treats every small change in your body like vital data.

✧ he always has a plan, and that plan often revolves around making sure you’re as comfortable and well taken care of as possible. if you mention even the slightest symptom or discomfort, he’s already reading through notes or pulling out his tablet to find solutions. while it can feel like being under constant observation, you can’t help but appreciate how much he genuinely cares about making sure you’re healthy and happy.

✧ when it comes to cravings, he’s often a step ahead. if you mention wanting a specific snack, he already knows where to get it, and if it’s something unusual or rare, he’s willing to go to great lengths to satisfy it. he finds it endearing, but you can also see his scientific curiosity come into play as he observes how your body reacts to certain cravings or foods.

✧ at this point you're convinced he's some sort of magical being.

✧ in moments of stress or discomfort, he’s your rock. he has a calming presence, always knowing just what to say to put you at ease. if you’re feeling overwhelmed by the changes your body is going through or the looming responsibilities of parenthood, he’ll gently remind you that you don’t have to do this alone. his reassuring words have a way of grounding you, and the love he shows through his actions makes you feel like everything will be okay.

✧ his gestures of affection are quieter but deeply meaningful. he’s not as overt with PDA as others might be, but when you’re not looking, you’ll catch him gently rubbing your back or offering you a hand when you need to stand. when you’re tired, he insists on carrying your things or opening doors for you, always thinking about the little things that make your day easier.

✧ even in moments of humour, dr. ratio’s playful side comes through. if you’re grumpy because of a pregnancy-related mood swing, he might joke about the scientific nature of your hormonal fluctuations, but it’s all in good fun and meant to make you laugh.

✧ he knows exactly when to lighten the mood with a well-timed quip, which helps take the edge off when things feel heavy.

✧ though he’s not as expressive with physical affection as others might be, his love is shown in the constant attention he gives you and the thoughtfulness behind every action. when you’re feeling down, he’s there with a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and a comforting smile.

✧ dr. ratio also gets very protective when it comes to your health. if you’ve been overdoing it, he’ll gently scold you, reminding you that you need to take care of yourself. when he catches you ignoring his advice, he might get a little frustrated, but he’s quick to calm down, making sure to reassure you that he’s just concerned for both you and the baby.

✧ you can always feel the intensity of his care, and while it might feel a bit overbearing at times, you know it comes from a place of deep love.

✧ when it comes to the baby, he’s already making plans for the future, trying to ensure everything will be in place. he’ll bring up practical things like cribs, baby monitors, and even names, all while jotting down notes.

✧ he’s already mentally preparing for the next phase of your life together, and though it might seem like he's focusing on the logistics, it’s clear that he’s doing it all because he wants to make sure your little family is as secure and happy as possible.

✧dr. ratio’s care for you and your pregnancy is absolute, while his approach might seem a bit clinical at times, it’s easy to see that everything he does is out of love, ensuring both you and the baby are taken care of in every way.

✧ dr. ratio’s students are surprisingly invested in your pregnancy, much to his exasperation. at first, he tries to keep things professional, but it’s impossible when they bombard him with questions. “sir, is it true your wife’s craving the weirdest foods? can she still beat you in an argument with pregnancy hormones? is the baby gonna be as smart as you?!” the sheer enthusiasm wears him down, and despite his usual cool demeanor, he eventually (and very reluctantly) brings you along one day to satisfy their curiosity.

✧ the moment you step into the room, his students light up like it’s their favorite lecture of the year. they’re practically buzzing with excitement, treating you like an honored guest. some of them even bring small gifts—cute little trinkets, baby books, and even a stuffed animal or two—much to ratio’s dismay.

✧ he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, but there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, betraying the fondness he has for them (not that he’ll ever admit it).

✧ and of course, the moment everyone settles down, they start betting on the baby’s gender. someone pulls out a makeshift betting board with tally marks, arguments breaking out as they debate whether you’re carrying a boy or a girl.

✧ “based on my calculations, professor ratio will absolutely have a daughter—” “nah, the baby’s definitely gonna be a mini him.” you’re laughing at the chaos while ratio sighs dramatically, muttering about the intellectual downfall of his students.

✧ what really makes you melt, though, is how gentle and considerate his students are toward you. they ask how you’re feeling, if you need anything, if you have any weird cravings (which, of course, leads to them trying to outdo each other with the weirdest food combinations to test your reaction). ratio, meanwhile, is standing beside you with his arms crossed, watching his classroom turn into a circus with a half-annoyed, half-amused look.

✧ “if you all put this much effort into your studies, perhaps your grades wouldn’t be so pitiful,” he finally deadpans, earning groans and protests from the students.

✧ but despite his sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls, he’s oddly protective over the whole situation. if any of the students even joke about you overexerting yourself or getting too tired, he shuts them down immediately. “don’t encourage bad habits,” he scolds. “she needs to be resting.” and then he’s ushering you to sit down, subtly adjusting a pillow behind your back like the doting husband he is.

✧ he pretends to be indifferent, but when he catches one of his students quietly mentioning how cute you two are together, he doesn’t correct them. if anything, he just glances at you, and for a brief moment, the smallest, softest smile crosses his lips before he composes himself again.

✧ when you finally leave, he huffs as if he’s endured the most exhausting day of his life, but the way he holds your hand just a little tighter tells you otherwise. despite all his grumbling, he secretly doesn’t mind how much his students adore you, and maybe—just maybe—he even enjoys it.

✧ DON'T POINT IT OUT THOUGH

✧ dr. ratio will never outright admit it, but deep down, he doesn’t care whether the baby is a boy or a girl. all that truly matters to him is that the baby is healthy and, if he’s being honest, hopefully inherits some intelligence.

✧ “no child of mine will be foolish,” he says with a smirk. Still, the underlying meaning is clear—he wants the baby to thrive, to have every opportunity to succeed. He’s already mentally drafting an entire syllabus on how to make that happen.

✧ however, if he had to pick something personal, something that isn’t dictated by logic or science, he’d want the baby to look like you. he won’t outright say it, but there are little moments where it slips out.

✧ like when he’s absentmindedly staring at you with a thoughtful expression, then mutters under his breath, “it would be preferable if they took after you.” when you catch him saying it and ask what he means, he simply waves it off with a “don’t worry about it.”

✧ the truth is, he thinks you’re beautiful, and the idea of a child with your features makes something warm settle in his chest. he pictures small hands, bright eyes, a little face that mirrors yours—and the thought alone is enough to make him pause.

✧ when he sees you asleep, one hand resting on your stomach, he wonders if the baby will have your smile, your expressions, your way of looking at the world.

✧ and maybe the idea of a mini-you running around makes his heart clench in a way he isn’t quite ready to admit.

gepard

✧ overprotective knight mode: ACTIVATED. he refuses to let you do anything remotely strenuous.

✧ literally the type of pick you up effortlessly and throw you (gently) on his shoulder when he sees you doing something you shouldn't be doing.

✧ he wakes up early to make sure you have everything you need—food, comfort, warmth. you’re never lacking anything.

✧ every night, he reads to your belly, his deep, soothing voice telling fairy tales as if he’s already preparing your baby to sleep peacefully.

✧ you catch him practising how to hold a baby with stuffed animals, and he gets so flustered when you tease him about it. (oml you're gonna overload him with kisses at this point!!!)

✧ gepard tries—he really, really tries—to be there for you as much as possible, but being a knight, let alone the captain of the silvermane guards, means he’s constantly being pulled away for duty. he feels horrible about it.

✧ every time he has to leave you alone at home, every time he misses one of your check-ups, every time he’s not there to comfort you when you’re feeling exhausted, it gnaws at him. he’ll come home late, tired and covered in the dust of another long patrol, only to see you already asleep, curled up in bed with your hands resting on your belly. it makes his heart ache.

✧ he tries to make up for it whenever he can. he’ll bring home small gifts—a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a dessert from that bakery you love, anything to make you smile. when he does have a free moment, he dedicates it all to you, making sure you’re comfortable, massaging your sore feet, listening intently to you talk about your day because he wants to be involved in every way he can.

✧ “i’m sorry i haven’t been around much,” he murmurs against your hair one night, voice heavy with guilt. “i should be here with you more.”

✧ and you understand—you always have. you know his duty to belobog is important, that he’s responsible for so many people. so you reassure him, tell him it’s okay, that you’re not upset because you know he’s doing his best. but no matter how much you insist, he still feels guilty, still thinks he should be doing more.

✧ it’s sweet, really, how much he wants to be present, but you wish he’d stop beating himself up over something he can’t control.

✧ sometimes, though, frustration does creep in—not at him, but at the sheer unfairness of it all. one particularly bad day, when you’re feeling extra emotional, you storm into the silvermane guards' headquarters, demanding to speak to the general.

✧ the poor guards are stunned, unsure how to handle their captain’s very pregnant wife glaring daggers at them. when you finally get an audience with the general, you don’t hold back. “my husband is working himself to the bone while i’m carrying his child, and you can’t even spare him a little time off?!”

✧ the general tries to placate you, explaining that gepard is needed, but you cross your arms, huffing, “well, i need him too.”

✧ word of your little outburst spreads quickly, and when gepard hears about it, he’s equal parts embarrassed and touched. “you... actually scolded the general?” he asks, eyes wide. when you nod, still grumpy about it, he lets out a chuckle before pulling you into his arms.

✧ “i appreciate it, but you don’t have to fight my battles for me.” but you just pout, mumbling, “if they won’t give you a break, then i will.”

✧ and despite everything, despite the exhaustion and the never-ending duty, gepard swears to himself that no matter how busy he gets, he’ll always find a way to be there for you and your child. because at the end of the day, you’re the most important thing in his world.

✧ despite his constant guilt, gepard does everything in his power to make things easier for you when he is around. he wakes up extra early to prepare breakfast before heading out for duty, making sure to leave little notes beside your plate if he has to leave before you wake up.

✧ “good morning, my love. make sure to eat well today, and don’t forget to drink plenty of water. i’ll be home as soon as i can.” sometimes, he even sneaks in a silly doodle of a chubby little knight standing guard over a tiny baby, which never fails to make you smile.

✧ when he finally does have time off, he dedicates every second to you. he follows you around like a loyal knight, carrying anything remotely heavy before you can even try to lift it.

✧ he’s constantly fluffing your pillows, adjusting your blanket, and making sure you’re not overexerting yourself. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately asking, “are you okay? do you need anything?” you start to joke that having him home is almost more exhausting than when he’s away because he fusses over you like a mother hen.

✧ sometimes, the exhaustion from work catches up to him, and you find him nodding off while sitting beside you, his head drooping onto your shoulder. you know he should be resting, but there’s something endearing about how he fights off sleep just so he can be near you.

✧ “gepard, go to bed,” you whisper, brushing a hand through his hair. he grumbles something incoherent before shifting to hold you close, murmuring, “just a little longer…” and really, how can you say no to that?

✧ his fellow silvermane guards are incredibly supportive, though they also love teasing him about how smitten he is. “captain, you should see yourself when you talk about your wife. it’s like watching a lovesick puppy,” they joke, and while he tries to maintain his usual composure, the tips of his ears turn red every single time. but he doesn’t deny it—he is completely and utterly devoted to you.

✧ if he ever gets called in for an emergency while he’s finally spending time with you, he gets so frustrated. “i just got home,” he mutters under his breath, clearly torn between duty and being with you.

✧ you give him a small smile, placing your hands on his cheeks and gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. “it’s okay, love. go, do what you need to do. i’ll be right here when you get back.” and he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours before reluctantly heading out.

✧ but the moment he returns, he makes up for it tenfold. he brings back your favourite snacks, runs a warm bath for you, and massages your feet until you’re practically melting into the couch. and when you’re in bed, he places a hand on your belly, speaking softly to the baby as if making up for lost time.

✧ “i’ll be around more soon, i promise,” he murmurs, his voice filled with love and determination.

✧ and no matter how much his duty calls him away, you know one thing for certain—gepard will always come home to you.

✧ serval is your biggest supporter and, quite frankly, your partner-in-crime when it comes to dealing with gepard’s overwhelming guilt. she checks in on you constantly—not just for you, but because she knows her brother would want her to.

✧ “if gepard had it his way, he’d probably never leave your side,” she jokes, plopping down next to you and handing you some of your favorite snacks. “but since he’s stuck being captain serious all the time, you’ve got me.”

✧ she’s a lifesaver when gepard is too busy with work, stopping by with homemade meals, comfortable clothes, and the occasional silly gift to make you smile.

✧ she even offers to help you with stretches and light exercises, claiming that a rockstar like her knows all about keeping the body in top condition. sometimes, she’ll strum a gentle melody on her guitar while chatting with you, creating a warm and relaxing atmosphere that makes the time pass a little easier.

✧ and of course, she’s the first to tease gepard whenever he finally has time to come home. “wow, look who finally decided to show up! i was starting to think you’d abandoned your poor wife.” she grins as gepard groans, running a hand through his hair.

✧ “i didn’t—i was just busy—” but serval only laughs, nudging him toward you. “relax, i’m just messing with you. now go dote on your wife before she decides i’m her favorite landau instead.”

✧ she’s also not afraid to scold him when he’s being too hard on himself. “gepard, you’re doing the best you can,” she tells him one evening when he’s sitting on the couch, guilt heavy in his expression. “she understands, you know? stop acting like you’re failing when you’re clearly not.” and though gepard still struggles with his guilt, serval’s words always stick with him, reminding him that he’s doing enough.

✧ but perhaps the funniest part of all is how she sometimes acts as an undercover spy, gathering intel on your moods and cravings to report back to gepard.

✧ “hey, just so you know, she’s been craving those honey pastries from that bakery again. if you don’t bring some home tomorrow, you might be sleeping on the couch,” she whispers conspiratorially to him one night, and gepard immediately makes a mental note to buy them on his next break.

✧ at the end of the day, serval is always there—not just for you, but for gepard, too. she makes sure both of you are taken care of, keeping an eye on her little brother when he gets too caught up in his responsibilities and making sure you never feel lonely. and when the baby finally arrives, you already know serval is going to be the coolest aunt in all of belobog.

sunday

✧ he’s the most excited husband ever. every day, he’s kissing your belly, murmuring sweet promises to your unborn child.

✧ he calls you “sunshine” even more, saying you’re literally glowing with life.

✧ if you so much as sigh tiredly, he immediately rushes over, rubbing your shoulders and making sure you’re comfortable.

✧ he’s already planning family outings, even though the baby isn’t born yet. “oh, i can’t wait to take them to see the stars. you think they’ll like astronomy?”

✧ "honey i think they'll just be obsessed with your cute fluffy wings like me!!"

✧ but lets be real...sunday is, without a doubt, the most dramatic and doting husband in existence. from the moment you wake up to the second you go to sleep, he is right there, acting as if you are the most delicate, precious treasure in the entire universe.

✧ “ah, my love, are you comfortable? do you need anything? shall i fetch you the moon? pluck the stars from the sky?” you’re used to his flowery words, but pregnancy has made him even more extra, if that was even possible.

✧ he spoils you absolutely rotten. he treats you like royalty, making sure every possible luxury is at your fingertips. you so much as glance at something while out shopping? it's already paid for. your back aches? he's on his knees, massaging you with a level of devotion that could make poets weep. the moment you sigh even a little, he's dramatically lamenting,

✧ “alas, this cruel world dares to bring discomfort to my beloved! how dare it!” you roll your eyes, but the way he kisses your hands so reverently makes your heart flutter every time.

✧ when you’re out together, he is practically glued to your side, one arm always wrapped protectively around you. if it’s too sunny, his coat is suddenly draped over your head to shield you.

✧ if you so much as stumble, he’s catching you before you can even process it, scolding the ground for daring to trip you. he doesn’t care who’s watching—his priority is you, always.

✧ sometimes, his dramatics get absolutely ridiculous. one time, you had a small craving for a very specific dish from a very specific place, and before you could even tell him it wasn’t a big deal, he was already on a mission. “fear not, my love! i shall return with your heart’s desire!” he declared, disappearing into the night like some kind of hero embarking on an epic quest.

✧ when he finally returned, victorious, with the food in hand, he dramatically collapsed into your lap. “it was a perilous journey… but for you, I would traverse the ends of the world.” you simply kissed his forehead and enjoyed your meal.

✧ he is obsessed with talking to your belly. no matter where you are, no matter who’s around, he kneels down, placing his hands gently on your stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your unborn child.

✧ “ah, little one, do you hear me? it is i, your devoted father, who eagerly awaits your arrival.” if he feels a kick, he gasps like he just witnessed a divine miracle, his eyes practically sparkling. “they kicked! they love me, my love!”

✧ sunday does everything in his power to make sure you never feel lonely, even when he’s busy. he writes letters to you if he has to be away, each one filled with poetic declarations of love and exaggerated longing, as if he’s been separated from you for years rather than a few hours. when he finally returns, he rushes to embrace you like a man starved, spinning you carefully in his arms (if you let him).

✧ and when he thinks you’re asleep, he gazes at you with so much adoration it’s almost overwhelming. he runs his fingers gently through your hair, his voice soft as he murmurs, “you and our child… my greatest treasures. i will cherish you both for all eternity.” even in slumber, you can feel his warmth, his love wrapping around you like a promise—one that you know he’ll keep forever.

✧ sunday has always been a man of grand gestures, poetic words, and boundless devotion—but this, this is his dream made real. to love and to be loved, to have a family with you, to witness the very embodiment of your love growing within you… it is almost too perfect, too beautiful. sometimes, when he watches you rest, his hand gently cradling your belly, he wonders if he is merely lost in a dream.

✧ he never thought he would find something—someone—that truly anchored him. he always spoke of eternity, of the stars and the endless sky, but nothing in the cosmos compares to you. and now, with your child on the way, that love has expanded into something even greater, something he didn’t know was possible.

✧ late at night, when the world is quiet and you’re curled up against him, he traces slow circles over your stomach and whispers, “this is my dream… and you’ve made it come true.” his voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual theatrics, filled only with raw, unfiltered love. and even though you’re half-asleep, you squeeze his hand in response, as if to say, i know. me too.

✧ sunday absolutely refuses to leave you unguarded when he’s away for business or handling matters of the reverie. even though you insist it’s unnecessary, that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, he simply will not take the risk. the moment he steps away, you have a team of skilled agents discreetly watching over you. “indulge me, my love,” he pleads with that charming smile of his. “i would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you or our precious little one.” and really, how can you argue with that?

✧ when he returns, however, it’s as if he’s been deprived of air itself. the second he sees you, he sweeps you into his arms, pressing lingering kisses to your temple, your hands, your stomach—anywhere he can reach. “ah, my beloved, i have been lost without you,” he murmurs dramatically, holding you as if you might disappear. and though you roll your eyes at his theatrics, you let him cling, because you know he truly means it.

✧ public appearances with sunday are nothing short of dazzling. he insists that the two of you look absolutely impeccable whenever you step out together—not because of status, but because he sees you as his perfect match, his divine counterpart. “you always look breathtaking,” he muses, adjusting your accessories with delicate fingers. “i must simply strive to be worthy of standing beside you.”

✧ when you’re out together, he is attached to your side, his arm securely around your waist, hip to hip, refusing to let an inch of space come between you. he whispers sweet things in your ear, makes you laugh with his endless romantic declarations, and shoots sharp glares at anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way.

✧ if the sun is too bright, his coat is draped over your shoulders in an instant. literally the definition of "is the sun bothering you, queen?"

✧ iykyk

✧ if the crowd gets overwhelming, he subtly maneuvers you to a quieter space, all while keeping his usual suave demeanor. if you even look the slightest bit tired, he’s already preparing to whisk you away somewhere more comfortable.

✧ and when the night finally winds down and it’s just the two of you again, he presses a kiss to your hand and murmurs, “no matter where we go, no matter who is watching… my love for you remains the most magnificent thing in this world.”

✧ sunday takes so much pride in being your husband that it’s almost ridiculous. the way he says "my wife" is always so smooth, so deliberate, like he’s showing off a rare treasure. even in the most casual conversations, he will find a way to bring you up.

✧ “ah, yes, that reminds me of something my wife said the other day—brilliant, truly.”

✧ “oh, you need advice? well, my wife is an expert in these matters, allow me to consult her.”

✧ even when it’s unnecessary, he finds a way to slip it in. someone asks him how his day is going? “Better now that I’ve spoken to my wife.” A meeting about logistics? “Oh, my wife would find this terribly boring, but let me humor you all.”

✧ it gets to the point where even his closest advisors and subordinates are just nodding along, fully expecting him to mention you in every conversation. you overheard one of them sigh, “yes, yes, we know your wife is the most wonderful being in existence, my lord.” sunday only grinned and said, “it’s good that you understand.”

✧ and of course, he boasts about you endlessly. your intelligence, your beauty, your kindness—every little thing about you is worthy of praise in his eyes. “have i mentioned how radiant my wife looks today? oh, but she always does, so I suppose that goes without saying.”

✧ sometimes, he’ll purposely say it just to fluster you. if you’re walking together and he spots someone eyeing you for too long, he’ll lean in, voice full of smug adoration, “ah, my wife, the most stunning woman in the room. it’s only natural they’d stare, but truly, they stand no chance.”

✧ even when you roll your eyes or playfully smack his arm, he just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “what can I say? I’m simply a man who adores his wife.”

✧ the second you even mention a craving, sunday is already making arrangements to have it delivered to you. it doesn’t matter how strange, complicated, or impossible it seems—he will find a way.

✧ “you want watermelon dipped in honey at three in the morning? say no more, my love.” within minutes, he’s either personally retrieving it or sending someone out on an urgent mission.

✧ once, you offhandedly mumbled, “i kinda want ice cream… but with pickles.” sunday, ever the devoted husband, merely nodded and said, “consider it done.” you expected him to hesitate or at least question your taste buds, but instead, he had it in front of you within the hour, presented on a fancy plate as if it were some gourmet dish.

✧ he has absolutely no shame in going out himself to fetch your cravings. the sight of sunday, regal and refined, walking into a market and asking for the most bizarre food combinations with a perfectly serious face is something to behold.

✧ one time, a vendor tried to stifle a laugh when he requested “mango slices with chili powder and a side of marshmallows” and he just smirked, “ah, you must not be married. love requires dedication, my friend.”

✧ if your cravings happen while you’re out in public, he wastes zero time in getting it. you once sighed, “i really want those fried dumplings from that one place…” and before you could even finish your sentence, sunday was already steering you toward the restaurant, ordering extra just in case you wanted more later.

✧ on the rare occasion that something isn’t immediately available, sunday turns it into an entire event. “so, my beloved desires an elusive dish? very well. give me a moment.” cue him charming his way into exclusive restaurants, pulling strings with high-profile chefs, or even attempting to make it himself (which… well, let’s just say his skills lie outside the kitchen).

✧ no matter what, he refuses to let you go without the things you crave. “nothing is too extravagant for my wife,” he insists. “if she wants it, she shall have it.”

sampo

✧ sampo is the type to absolutely spoil you when you're craving something, even if it's something a little... unusual. he loves seeing you happy, and the thought of you having that big smile on your face when you get what you want? priceless.

✧ the minute you mention a craving, he's already brainstorming how to get it, and he won't take no for an answer. if it's something he doesn't have access to, well... prepare for a wild goose chase. he'll sweet-talk vendors, bribe people, or pull off the most ridiculous stunts just to get his hands on that weird combination of foods you’re desperate for.

✧ one time, you casually mentioned wanting a mix of sweet and salty—like peanut butter on pretzels with chocolate chips—and the next thing you knew, he had a whole banquet of different combinations lined up. there were different dips, chocolates, chips, nuts, and a few other things he thought you might like. it’s over-the-top, but it’s his way of making sure you feel cared for and, well, indulged.

✧ sometimes he’ll get the most outlandish things, especially if he finds out you want something quirky. “you want... a spicy banana with a side of vanilla ice cream?” he'd ask, grinning mischievously, clearly excited for the challenge. even if he finds it a little odd, he's all in for making sure your cravings are satisfied.

✧ when you're pregnant, sampo loves the idea of you being pampered and treated like royalty. he buys you all sorts of snacks, drinks, and little comforts to make sure you're always content. when he's busy, he'll bring you a stash of your favorite treats or send someone to deliver it, ensuring you never go without.

✧ though he's a bit playful and mischievous, when it comes to your cravings, he’s incredibly attentive. if you need him to grab something in the middle of the night, he’ll pull on his jacket without a second thought and head out, even if it’s something bizarre like kimchi-flavored cupcakes or a weirdly specific kind of sushi.

✧ sampo is honestly obsessed with making sure you’re taken care of, especially when it comes to cravings. as soon as you mention something—even if it’s just in passing—he’s on it. like, the minute the words leave your mouth, he’s already thinking of how he’s going to get it for you.

✧ one time, you half-jokingly mentioned wanting pineapple pizza with extra olives, and sampo didn’t even hesitate. you thought he was just humoring you at first, but nope, by the time you blinked, he was on his way out the door, calling a bunch of places to find one that would make that monstrosity of a pizza.

✧ he’s ridiculously resourceful, so if the craving is something that seems impossible, he’s more than willing to go to extreme lengths. you want blueberry-flavored potato chips? he’s already calling his contacts in different cities or bartering for them. at one point, you had a small shipment of weird snacks from different parts of the world just for you. it was honestly a lot, but the joy it brought you made it all worth it for him.

✧ despite his usually carefree, mischievous attitude, when it comes to satisfying your cravings, sampo becomes the most serious person. nothing else matters—nothing. it’s almost like a personal mission for him.

✧ and don’t get him started on your late-night cravings. there was one instance where you groggily mentioned wanting chocolate-covered pretzels with marshmallow fluff and coconut water (a combo you swore sounded amazing) at 2 AM. most people would groan at this, but not sampo. he simply flashed you a grin, grabbed his jacket, and was out the door, whispering, “leave it to me, darling. i’ll have it before you know it.”

✧ when he comes back, it’s always with a dramatic flair. whether it’s him showing up with a big bag of snacks or an entire custom-made meal just for you, he’ll present it like it’s the most important thing in the world. “look what i’ve brought you, my love,” he’ll say, “your cravings are my top priority.”

✧ he loves watching you enjoy whatever it is you’re craving. he’s that guy who will sit beside you, watching you devour your food, completely delighted. when you make a happy sound after taking a bite, he’ll do a little victory dance in his head. “it’s always worth it,” he’ll think, watching you savor the food.

✧ sometimes, when he’s really feeling it, he’ll even surprise you with a whole set of snacks or meals. if you mention anything at all—whether it’s flavored milk or a certain kind of fruit—you better believe sampo will get it, and he’ll make it fun.

✧ and don’t even get started on the weird cravings. when you randomly crave something odd like caviar and ice cream, he’ll be the one to ask, “is that really what you want?” but then, of course, he’ll follow through and go out and find it, all while making jokes about how only you could crave something so bizarre. “but you’re worth it, darling,” he’ll say with a wink, even if he thinks it's totally ridiculous.

✧ when you’re pregnant, sampo gets extra excited. there’s something about the idea of making sure you’re always happy and comfortable that makes him go all-in on the care and attention. you mention wanting a certain kind of food? he’s already planning his next move to make sure it gets to you—whether it’s food from a restaurant, a local shop, or a weird internet order.

✧ the best part? he’s not even embarrassed about the effort. he’s proud of it. he’ll happily boast about how he’s the one who got you exactly what you wanted, often bragging about how efficient he is at taking care of you. “no one does it like i do, darling.”

✧ sampo loves to live life on the edge, and that often leads him into all sorts of trouble. whether it’s a cheeky scheme gone wrong or him getting caught up in some questionable business deals, he’s not exactly a stranger to trouble. but when you scold him—especially with that concerned look on your face—it hits him harder than anything else.

✧ you’re his weakness, and the thought of his reckless actions affecting your baby’s future stings. when you point out how he’s putting the family in danger, he can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. you’ve got that motherly tone, and even though he’s used to being the troublemaker, something about you scolding him like that makes him pause.

✧ sampo never expected to feel this way. before, he was all about living in the moment, but now, with you carrying his child, things are different. he realizes that his impulsiveness can affect more than just him—it could affect your life, the baby’s life, and even the future you two are building. it’s a huge wake-up call for him.

✧ though he tries to laugh it off and shrug off your scolding, he can’t deny that it bothers him. he wants to be the best for you, to provide and protect, but sometimes his overconfidence and mischievous nature put him in situations he shouldn’t be in.

✧ after you scold him, he’s quiet for a while, just processing everything you said. he doesn’t like seeing you upset, and he definitely doesn’t like the idea of his actions potentially affecting the baby. so he really takes it to heart.

✧ eventually, he’ll come to you, genuinely apologizing. it’s not like him to be serious about these things, but the thought of his baby’s future shifts something in him. he’ll say something like, “you’re right. i can’t keep being reckless. i’ll tone it down, i promise. for you... and for the little one.”

✧ from then on, you’ll notice a shift. he’ll still be his playful, mischievous self, but there’s a little less of the risk-taking, and a bit more thought behind his actions. sampo may not be perfect, but he really wants to be better for the sake of his growing family.

✧ even though he might still slip up occasionally—because it’s just who he is—he tries harder, always making sure to check in with you and reassess how his choices could impact you both. and when you see him being more cautious, you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s trying his best.

✧ and of course, he’ll make it up to you in the sweetest way possible: with more gifts, more little surprises, and tons of affection. he might be reckless sometimes, but when it comes to you and your baby, he knows he has to change, even if it takes a bit of effort.

moze

✧ moze, being the quiet and secretive type, is surprisingly very attentive when it comes to your cravings. he’s not the type to joke around about it or make a big deal, but rest assured, he listens intently and takes note of every single thing you say.

✧ the second you mention a craving, even if it's something a little weird, he silently goes into action. if he doesn’t have it on hand, he will immediately find a way to acquire it, no matter how obscure or hard to find it is.

✧ when you crave something specific, he won’t make a show of it, but he will go out of his way to make sure you get it—whether it’s a rare ingredient or a dish from a different part of the world, moze finds it without fail. if you want a specific kind of fruit, he’ll find the best one, even if it means going to multiple stores or making a special trip somewhere.

✧ he enjoys seeing the soft smile on your face when you get what you’ve been wanting, and while he may not say much about it, there's this quiet satisfaction in his eyes.

✧ moze is also keenly aware of when you’re craving something. sometimes, he picks up on your hints without you even saying anything, noticing a small change in your mood, or when you absentmindedly mention wanting a snack, he’ll be right there to offer it to you.

✧ although he’s a man of few words, there’s a certain gentleness to the way he cares for you. when you’re restless and craving something comforting, he’ll get it, set it down beside you, and quietly say, “this should help.” he’ll never ask for recognition, but the satisfaction he gets from seeing you happy is more than enough for him.

✧ when it comes to very odd cravings, he’ll just give you a knowing look, grab his coat, and leave to get it—sometimes even with a hint of a chuckle, as if he secretly finds your requests amusing. but in his heart, he enjoys making you happy more than anything else.

✧ moze’s stealth skills are incredible. he’s so good at sneaking up on you that it’s become almost a reflex for him to appear out of nowhere, especially when he’s busy with his work. but when you’re pregnant and a little more sensitive, the sudden pop-up can be a bit much. he doesn’t mean to scare you—he really doesn’t—but sometimes, he forgets just how silent he is. ✧ the first time it happens, you let out a startled gasp, and moze immediately freezes, guilt washing over him. he’s used to appearing out of thin air and being the silent observer, but the thought of scaring you, especially with the baby on the way, sends a pang of worry through his chest. ✧ his usual nonchalant demeanor falters. "i'm sorry," he says, his voice almost too soft, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "i didn’t mean to startle you." there’s something in his tone that sounds almost apologetic, more so than usual. ✧ you laugh it off, brushing it off as an accident, but moze is still visibly uneasy. later, when he’s alone, he keeps thinking about it—wondering if his unexpected entrances could potentially stress you out or, worse, harm the baby. he’s never been particularly affectionate in the traditional sense, but with you pregnant, he’s suddenly a lot more aware of everything. ✧ after that, every time he needs to come in or check on you, he makes it a point to announce his presence. it’s not like moze to do that—he’s always preferred moving in the shadows—but for you and the baby, he decides it’s best to make his approach a little less jarring. ✧ when you’re just relaxing, maybe reading or resting, you’ll hear him say something like, “it’s me, moze. i’m here.” he’ll even knock on the door sometimes before entering, something he’s never done before. it’s funny at first, but also endearing to see him adjust his behavior for you. ✧ moze starts being extra cautious, constantly checking on you but in a much gentler, less intrusive way. the last thing he wants is for you to feel uneasy because of him. he’ll still show up in his usual manner—quiet, reserved, but now with the added softness of his voice when he speaks to you. ✧ when you ask him if he’s okay, he’ll quietly admit that he’s worried about scaring you again, and maybe even causing some harm to the baby. you can see the genuine concern in his eyes, something he rarely lets slip. it’s strange for him to care this much, but when you’re carrying his child, his protective instincts are starting to kick in. ✧ when you reassure him, telling him that you’re okay, he seems to relax a little. but don’t be surprised if you catch him giving you a small smile in his usual quiet way, his fingers lightly brushing against yours in a rare display of affection. it’s subtle, but for moze, it’s a huge step forward.

✧ and the next time he appears out of nowhere? he’ll make sure to be extra careful, just to make sure you don’t get a shock again. it might not be his usual way of doing things, but with you, he’s willing to change—even in the smallest ways.

✧ moze's protectiveness reaches a whole new level once he finds out you’re pregnant. while he’s always been a careful and observant person, this new development has him acting in ways he never expected. the thought of you and his child growing inside you ignites a fierce, almost primal instinct to keep both of you safe at all costs.

✧ he becomes hyper-aware of your surroundings, always analyzing every situation to ensure there’s no danger nearby. if someone even looks at you wrong, he’s already on high alert. he’s never been one for confrontation, but when it comes to you and the baby, any potential threat—no matter how small—will make him react swiftly and decisively.

✧ if anyone dares to make a comment about your pregnancy—whether it’s an unintentional insult or even a curious question about your condition—moze is there, stepping in before you can even respond.

✧ he’ll be quick to intervene, his voice cold and firm. “is there a problem?” he’ll ask, his tone leaving no room for argument. he doesn’t care if it’s a stranger or a close friend, he’ll defend you without hesitation.

✧ sometimes, though, his protectiveness comes off as a bit much. when you’re out and about, he’s constantly by your side, his eyes scanning the area. if there’s a slight shift in the atmosphere, if someone moves too fast or too close to you, he’s immediately on guard, subtly stepping in front of you to shield you from whatever danger his sharp instincts are sensing.

✧ even in private, when you’re just relaxing or resting, he’s often hovering nearby, keeping a watchful eye. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that his protective nature has escalated to the point where he feels he can’t leave your side for too long. it’s almost as if being near you makes him feel like he has more control over your safety, as irrational as it may be.

✧ there are moments when you notice him getting anxious if you’re out of his sight for too long. whether you’re running errands or simply walking in another room, moze’s mind starts racing with worries about what could go wrong. he’ll quickly excuse himself from whatever he’s doing to make sure you’re okay, often without telling you beforehand.

✧ when you call him out on his behaviour—teasing him about how overprotective he’s become—he’ll brush it off, his usual calm demeanour faltering for just a moment. deep down, he knows he’s being a little too much, but he can’t help it. the thought of anything happening to you or the baby is unbearable to him. “I’m just making sure you’re safe,” he’ll say, his voice almost apologetic, but there’s an undeniable seriousness in his words.

✧ the most intense expression of his protectiveness comes when you’re asleep. when he knows you’re resting, moze will often sit beside you, his eyes flicking to the door, the window, anything that could pose a threat. it’s not out of a lack of trust in the people around you—it’s just that he can’t help but imagine all the worst-case scenarios.

✧ when he’s out on missions, he’ll always leave something behind for you: a note, a small gift, or even a piece of clothing with his scent on it. it’s his way of reassuring you that he’s thinking of you, even when he’s not physically present. but it’s also his way of ensuring you feel protected, even when he’s far away.

✧ he’s so protective that even the slightest health concern about you makes him panic. if you’re feeling a little tired or have a headache, he’s there, checking your temperature, demanding you rest, and refusing to leave until you’re fully recovered.

✧ moze’s protectiveness isn’t just physical; it’s emotional, too. when you’re dealing with the stress or uncertainty of pregnancy, he’s your steady rock. he’ll listen to every concern, soothe every worry, and make sure you know that you’re not alone. he’s already planning for the future, researching everything he can about raising a child, so he can be the best father possible.

✧ in quiet moments, when he’s just holding you or resting beside you, he might admit his fears. “i’m scared,” he’ll say softly, his usual stoic expression softening. “i don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby.” his vulnerability is rare, but it’s a testament to just how much he loves you both.

✧ his protectiveness never fades—it only grows stronger the closer you get to your due date. he’s constantly by your side, offering comfort, reassurance, and unspoken protection in every gesture, every word, and every action.

✧ moze is already extremely attentive to your cravings, and when you start to ask for something a bit more specific or unusual, he’s not one to shy away. but there's a catch—he’s not exactly a culinary expert. while he’s incredibly skilled in other areas, cooking is not his strong suit. so, naturally, when you have a craving, he’s quick to ask jiaoqiu to cook for you.

✧ at first, moze might be a bit embarrassed, but he genuinely wants you to feel comfortable and satisfied with whatever you’re craving. he might come to jiaoqiu with a sheepish smile, saying something along the lines of, "i’m afraid I’m not very good in the kitchen... could you help me?" his usual composed demeanor is a little shaken because he knows that jiaoqiu is probably a much better cook than he could ever hope to be.

✧ jiaoqiu, ever the understanding friend, is happy to oblige. he can’t resist helping out when moze comes to him with that rare moment of vulnerability. but knowing that moze is trying to be thoughtful and learn, jiaoqiu has a bit of fun with it. he doesn’t just cook the food—he starts teaching moze along the way, much to moze’s discomfort.

✧ “You need to do this carefully... and don’t forget the seasoning,” jiaoqiu will say, demonstrating how to chop ingredients just right or stir the pot at the perfect pace. moze, on the other hand, looks a bit lost, trying his best to follow along but occasionally making a mess. it’s clear he’s not exactly a natural, and jiaoqiu’s teasing makes it even more amusing. “i thought you were good at everything, moze? this looks like a disaster in the making.”

✧ moze, determined not to fail you, listens closely, even though he might grumble under his breath when jiaoqiu critiques his knife skills or the way he’s holding the pan. he’s doing it all to make sure you’re satisfied and happy, even if it means a little bit of embarrassment along the way.

✧ meanwhile, he’s still keeping a protective eye on you from the kitchen, glancing over to make sure you’re resting and not pushing yourself. “you’re doing okay?” he’ll ask, even if it’s just a quick glance. he doesn’t trust anyone else to take care of you as well as he does, and he’s constantly checking in.

✧ when jiaoqiu hands over the finished dish, moze’s face lights up, but there's still a hint of guilt for not being able to do it himself. he insists on thanking jiaoqiu profusely, though deep down, he’s already planning his next attempt at cooking so he can surprise you one day.

✧ “i’ll get better at this... for you.” he’ll say to you later that evening, offering you a gentle smile. “next time, i’ll cook it myself.” and while jiaoqiu might snicker at his attempts, moze’s resolve is firm. after all, he’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, even if it means learning how to cook your cravings—even if it takes more than a few lessons from jiaoqiu.

note: i'm obsessed with anaxa n mydei

taglist 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @yuri-is-silly @khoiyyu @daydreaming-paradies if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

#hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #anaxa x reader #mydei x reader #phainon x reader #aventurine x reader #boothill x reader #dr ratio x reader #gepard x reader #sunday x reader #sampo x reader #moze x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x yn #—✧ · . honkaistarrail

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pomegranatelifethis · 3 days ago

Text

Little Cat

Lion and Cat

In the dark streets of Gotham, Damian Wayne was as tough and fearless as ever. His eyes were as alert as a lion watching its prey as he scanned the shadows for threats. Criminals were looking for a hole to escape when they saw him. He would not bow to anyone and show weakness. He was Batman's son. He was Robin.

But the irony was that when he returned home, there was only one person whose shields he had lowered.

When he came out of the Batcave that night and straight to you, he was still carrying the cold that hung over the city. He was frowning and lost in thought. But the moment he saw you at the door, the stern expression on his face softened.

“I was waiting for you,” you said with a slight smile.

Damian sighed and closed the door quietly. Without saying anything, he walked towards you, put his hands around your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder. That huge lion turned into a kitten with a single touch.

“Was it a difficult night?” you asked, running your hands through your hair.

“I'm just tired,” he said hoarsely. “And I wanted to see you.”

This was something the Batfamily still wasn't used to. Damian Wayne and wanting to see someone. If it were up to them, this boy's heart should have been made of stone. But when they saw you—ah, that's when they had to accept the truth.

Batfamily's Reactions

The atmosphere in the Batcave was worth seeing one evening when Damian decided to introduce you to the family.

With his usual energy, Dick put his arm around Damian's shoulder. “Bro, this kid is seriously in love! They tamed you, little one.”

Tim crossed his arms and shook his head. “I never thought of that possibility. Damian and romance? It seemed impossible.”

Jason laughed and rested his cheek in his palm. “So, when are you going to kneel down and propose, little one?”

Damian gave Jason a look that, if looks could kill, Jason would never rise again. But when you gently shook Damian's hand, his anger subsided.

Bruce was silent. He just examined you with his eyes. He knew Gotham was full of danger. As the only person Damian had opened his heart to, he was worried they wouldn't be able to protect you. But when he looked into Damian's eyes... he had never seen him so peaceful.

Maybe Damian was supposed to be a lion to the outside world. But the fact that he turned into a cat next to the person he loved was proof that he was still human. And maybe that's exactly why Bruce felt a little more at ease.

When everyone dispersed that night and Damian returned to you, there was no harshness left in his eyes.

“Have I told you before?” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

"What?"

“I can only be like this around you.”

And there, the lion of Gotham had once again turned into a cat at your side.

#damian wayne x reader #yandere damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #yandere damian x reader #damian x reader #damian wayne x female reader #damian al ghul x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere x reader #bruce wayne x reader #yandere dc #dc x reader #yandere dc x reader #dc x you

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reidmarieprentiss · 2 days ago

Text

Meet My Friends

Summary: Spencer says he's keeping your relationship a secret for your safety, but why does it feel like he's just hiding you?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

Warnings/Includes: insecurities (both), hiding your partner, arguments, accusations

Word count: 4k

a/n: i've been reading so many fics about being Spencer's secret girlfriend and i just don't know how i would react

main masterlist

The thought had been lingering in your mind for months, an uncomfortable weight settling deeper in your chest with each passing day. You had told yourself it didn’t matter—that you didn’t need validation from his team, that as long as you and Spencer were happy together, that was enough.

But it wasn’t.

No matter how much you tried to push it aside, no matter how many times you told yourself that Spencer had his reasons, it didn’t change the fact that after over a year together, you hadn’t met the people who meant the most to him outside of you.

At first, you hadn’t questioned it. Spencer wasn’t the type to rush things, and given what he had been through, you had understood his hesitation. You had listened with patience when he explained why he kept his personal life separate from his work. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you in that part of his world. It was simply about safety.

After Maeve… after what had happened to her… Spencer couldn’t take the risk.

And you had nodded, told him you understood, and reassured him that you weren’t upset. At the time, you hadn’t been. It made sense. He had lost someone he loved in the most horrific way imaginable. You couldn’t imagine what it had done to him. So you had accepted it, letting him set the boundary.

But as time went on, that boundary didn’t budge.

It had been creeping into quiet moments, seeping into the cracks of your thoughts no matter how much you tried to push it away. You had told yourself you understood. That Spencer had been through things you couldn’t even begin to fathom. That he wasn’t keeping you a secret out of shame but out of fear.

And you had accepted that—at least, at first.

But as time passed, his justifications felt more like excuses. Not only had you never met his team, but he hadn’t even told them you existed. Not Hotch. Not JJ. Not even Ethan, his best friend. And worst of all, not his mother.

The realization hit you hard, churning inside you like a slow-moving storm. It wasn’t just about meeting them anymore. It was about the fact that he didn’t even speak your name to the most important people in his life. If something happened to him, they wouldn’t even know to call you.

That thought hurt more than you could have imagined.

Even when you spent countless nights in his arms, listening to his stories about his team.

Even when he came home exhausted from a case, trusting you enough to let you hold him through the nightmares.

Even when you whispered “I love you” into his skin, and he whispered it back like a promise.

You were a part of his life in every other way. But in this—one of the most important parts of him—you didn’t exist.

And now, as you sat across from him in your dimly lit apartment, watching the way he absentmindedly turned the pages of his book, you knew you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t bother you.

Not anymore.

You took a breath, forcing your voice to remain steady as you finally said, “Spencer.”

He hummed in response, not looking up from the page.

You swallowed, forcing the words out. “Can I ask you something without you shutting down on me?”

That got his attention. His eyes flickered up, scanning your face, and immediately, you saw the way his posture changed. He closed the book carefully, setting it aside. “Of course,” he said, his voice cautious.

You hesitated, your fingers curling around the fabric of your sweater. “Why don’t you want me to meet your team?”

The room seemed to shrink around you. Spencer exhaled, pressing his lips together before shaking his head slightly. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” you said quickly, before he could pull away from the conversation entirely. “And I’ve tried to be understanding. I get that you want to keep me safe. I know what happened with…” You trailed off, the lump in your throat making it impossible to finish.

Spencer’s jaw clenched.

You softened your tone, leaning forward. “I’m not asking to be reckless. I just… It’s been over a year. They’re like your family. And I feel like…” You sighed, struggling to find the right words. “I feel like I don’t exist in that part of your life.”

Spencer rubbed his hands together, staring down at them. He was quiet for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice tight. “You do exist. You’re the most important part.”

“Then why won’t you let me in?” The hurt bled into your voice before you could stop it. “Do they even know about me?”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Of—of course they do.”

“Do they?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. “Why haven’t you told anyone about me? Your team. Your mom. Even Ethan. Nobody knows about me.”

His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “You agreed. We’ve talked about this.”

“No,” you corrected gently. “We’ve talked about me meeting them. But this isn’t about that. This is about the fact that they don’t even know I exist.”

Spencer sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know why I don’t want to tell anyone.”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice calm despite the ache blooming in your chest. “Because you’re afraid for my safety. I know. But Spencer… how do you think that makes me feel? When you won’t even tell your own mother about me?”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, but no words came.

“The most important people in your life have no idea I exist,” you continued, your voice wavering just slightly. “I try so hard to be understanding, but—” You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together for a moment before whispering, “It feels like you’re ashamed of me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “No,” he said immediately. “No, it’s not that. I’m not embarrassed, I swear.”

“Then why?” you asked, your voice cracking despite your best efforts.

“Because I don’t want you to be in danger, not because I’m ashamed!” he snapped, the desperation in his voice raw and unfiltered.

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “Well, Spencer,” you said quietly, pain lacing every syllable, “it’s not looking like that right now.”

Spencer flinched at that. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t mean to be unfair,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I just don’t understand. They all have people in their lives. I’m sure they’ve all dated, gotten married, had kids—whatever. But you and me? It’s like I don’t belong in that part of your world.”

Spencer exhaled, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Your heart ached at that. “I know,” you whispered. “But keeping me out doesn’t mean I won’t be.”

His lips parted, but he hesitated.

You took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to feel like I’m only allowed into pieces of your life. I want to be part of all of it.”

Spencer swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

The admission nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

You stood up abruptly, running a hand through your hair as you exhaled shakily. “I think I’m going to—I’m leaving for the night.”

Spencer’s face fell instantly, his whole body tensing as he reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist in a desperate attempt to pull you back.

But you snatched your body away before he could touch you.

“I’m just—I’m very frustrated right now,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “And I want to get my thoughts together. Okay? I love you.”

Spencer nodded slowly, defeated. “I love you too.”

And then you walked out the door, leaving behind the quiet sound of his unsteady breathing.

—

You barely reached your car before the first fat tears started slipping down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you fumbled with your keys. Your breath hitched as you sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. You had held yourself together as best as possible in front of Spencer, but now that you were alone, the emotions came crashing down in waves, relentless and unforgiving.

Once the tears started, they didn’t stop.

Your shoulders shook as quiet sobs wracked your body, your mind replaying the conversation over and over again. His hesitation. His fear. The way he had looked at you like he was terrified of losing you but still too afraid to let you in.

You swiped at your face, forcing yourself to take slow, uneven breaths. You needed somewhere to go. You weren’t ready to be alone, not when your mind was spinning, or the weight of everything felt suffocating.

With trembling fingers, you unlocked your phone and opened your messages, scrolling until you found the one person you knew you could turn to: Jaz.

Hey, are you awake?

You stared at the screen, watching as the message was sent, hoping—praying—that she would respond quickly. She was your closest friend in the area, the person you could trust to be there when you needed comfort.

But your heart sank as the seconds stretched into minutes with no reply.

You sniffled, biting your lip as you thought of your next best option. It wasn’t like you had many people to turn to—not when Spencer had kept you so separate from his world. But there was one person who had always been good to you and never made you feel like you didn’t belong.

Andrews.

You pulled up his contact without overthinking it and sent a quick message.

Hey, I know it’s late, but can I crash on your couch?

Unlike Jaz, Andrews responded almost immediately.

Yeah, of course. Door’s unlocked.

No questions. No hesitation.

Just a simple reassurance that you had somewhere to go.

You exhaled shakily, momentarily clutching your phone to your chest as fresh tears welled in your eyes—not from sadness this time, but gratitude.

You didn’t have much right now. But at least you weren’t completely alone.

—

The night at Andrews’ went just as planned. No questions, no expectations—just quiet understanding. When you arrived, eyes still puffy and your shoulders drawn tight with exhaustion, he didn’t press you for details. He simply opened the door wider, letting you in without a word.

Andrews greeted you with a warm hug, one of those steady, grounding embraces that let you breathe a little easier, if only for a moment. Then he handed you a blanket and a glass of water before patting your shoulder and saying, “Get some rest, okay?”

That was it. No interrogation, no prying curiosity. Just the comfort of knowing you had somewhere safe to be.

It wouldn’t take a profiler to see that something was going on in your life—something heavy, something painful—that you weren’t ready to talk about. And Andrews, perceptive as ever, didn’t push.

You curled up on his couch, pulling the blanket tightly around yourself as you stared at the ceiling, your mind still spinning. The events of the night replayed in your head like a broken record—the way Spencer had looked at you, desperate and afraid, but still unwilling to change. The way you had walked away, not because you wanted to, but because you needed to.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, willing sleep to come.

But even wrapped in warmth and the quiet safety of Andrews’ apartment, your heart still ached in a way you didn’t know how to fix.

—

When Spencer arrived home that evening you were expecting him to still give you space. After the way things were left, you assumed he would need time to process, think, and figure out what he wanted.

But when he walked inside, you were met with something entirely different.

“You went to Andrews’??”

Spencer’s voice was sharp, filled with an emotion you couldn’t immediately place, but it made you freeze where you were standing. He was clearly ready for you, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was tense, eyes burning with something that felt too close to betrayal.

You frowned, setting your book down. “Yes? What’s so bad about that?”

“What’s so bad?” he repeated, incredulous. “You were frustrated and emotional, and you sought out another man?”

You blinked at him, stunned. “He’s my friend, Spencer! I just crashed on his couch. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal!”

“Why?” you demanded, throwing your hands up.

“Because I was worried sick, you never told me where you went and—” His voice cracked slightly before he caught himself, raking a hand through his hair. “And maybe I was right to be worried! You were with another man!”

“Jesus Christ, Spencer!” you yelled, your frustration boiling over. “I. Slept. On. The. Couch.” You gritted the words out, enunciating them sharply so there would be no room for misinterpretation.

Spencer let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head as he looked away, clearly feeling hurt and emotional. “Anywhere but here, yeah?”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest.

Spencer’s jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply, his hands twitching at his sides. “How did you even know where I was?” you asked, realization dawning on you.

His entire body went stiff. His face turned red as he realized his mistake, and you watched as he sighed in resignation, his shoulders sinking.

“Penelope hacked your phone a while ago… shared your location with me.” His voice was quiet, almost sheepish. “I—I told her you were my cousin, that I was worried about you.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You what?”

Spencer winced, shifting uncomfortably. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“You lied to Penelope and had her hack my phone?” You stared at him, a mix of anger and exasperation flooding your system. “Are you serious right now?”

Spencer swallowed hard, looking guiltier by the second. “I—I just needed to know you were okay.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Safe? Or just finding another way to put me in your fucking box?”

His silence was deafening. His lips parted slightly like he wanted to argue, to fight back, but nothing came out. Nothing but the guilt flickering behind his eyes.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You exhaled sharply, raking a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself, but the frustration, the hurt—it was too much. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, pacing away from him just to get some distance, to keep from saying something you couldn’t take back.

Spencer shifted uneasily, his arms wrapping around himself like he was trying to hold himself together. “I was worried about you,” he said, voice tight.

“No,” you shot back, spinning around to face him. “You didn’t trust me.”

Spencer flinched, his face crumpling slightly before he forced himself to stand his ground. “I do trust you,” he insisted, but the words didn’t carry the conviction they should have.

You scoffed. “No, you don’t. If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t have had Penelope hack my phone just so you could keep tabs on me.” Your voice was rising now, the heat of the moment overtaking you. “And you were so damn quick to assume the worst. You didn’t even ask me where I went, Spencer. You just decided for yourself that I was—what? Running off to cheat on you?”

Spencer shook his head violently, eyes wide with emotion. “That’s not what I thought—”

“Then what?” you pressed, stepping closer, refusing to let him weasel his way out of this. “What was it, then? Because right now, it just looks like you needed to control something. And when I walked away, when I made a choice you didn’t like, you went behind my back and found another way to keep me under your thumb.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his breathing turned uneven. “I just—I can’t lose you,” he whispered, barely audible.

You let out a sharp breath, feeling the weight of those words settles between you like a loaded gun. His voice was thick with fear, his body tense with the kind of desperation that made your chest ache.

But that desperation didn’t excuse what he had done.

“And what, Spencer?” you asked quietly, exhaustion creeping into your voice. “You think the best way to keep me is by trapping me? By making sure I have nowhere else to go?”

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to hold yourself together, but your hands were shaking, your heart pounding in a way that made you feel small. Smaller than you ever wanted to feel.

“I have no friends here other than Jaz and Andrew, who I barely see,” you began, your voice rising as frustration bled into every syllable. You started pacing the floor in a tight line, your body too tense to stay still. “All of my family is on the other side of the country,” you continued, your breath coming faster, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

Spencer stood frozen, watching you with wide eyes, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but knew he shouldn’t.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I work from home—at your suggestion! I am totally isolated!” The words cracked as they left your lips, your chest heaving as the truth you had been trying to ignore finally poured out.

Spencer paled, his jaw tightening. “That’s not—”

“It is,” you cut in sharply, your hands gesturing wildly. “It is, Spencer. You’ve built this little world for us, this perfectly safe little bubble where I don’t exist to anyone but you.” Your voice trembled, raw with emotion. “And I let it happen. I didn’t even see it happening.” You exhaled shakily, running a hand through your hair, your thoughts spiraling as the realization settled deep in your bones.

Spencer shook his head frantically, his breathing uneven. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for it to be like that.”

“Then what did you mean for it to be, Spencer?” Your voice cracked as you stopped pacing, turning to face him. “Because this? This isn’t love. This is isolation.”

His entire body tensed like he had been struck. “That’s not true, I love you,” he whispered, but he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Tell me, Spencer. If I left right now—if I just walked away—who would even notice?” You swallowed hard, your throat thick with emotion. “Who would even know that I was gone?”

“I would notice!” Spencer blurted out, his voice cracking, his entire body taut with emotion. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing uneven, like he was holding himself together by a thread.

You let out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking your head as the sheer absurdity of it all crashed over you. “Of course, you would!” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger and exhaustion. “You’re the only person who even knows I’m alive!”

Spencer flinched at your words as if they had physically struck him. His eyes darted across your face, desperate, pleading, but you weren’t backing down this time.

“You killed me, Spencer,” you finally realized, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the words settling deep in your chest.

Spencer’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. “What?”

“You were so adamant about protecting me,” you continued, your voice gaining strength, trembling with the sheer force of your emotions, “that you made it so no one—no psycho, no normal human—would ever notice me.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself as the gravity of it all crashed over you. “You didn’t just keep me safe, Spencer. You erased me.”

Spencer took a step forward, his face contorted with panic, his hands reaching out like he could somehow undo everything with a single touch. “No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” you said, your tone sharper now, more raw. “You pulled me into your world and locked the doors behind me. You made sure I had no one but you.” You let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the realization settling deep into your bones. “And you think that’s love?”

Spencer’s breathing was uneven, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I do love you,” he said desperately.

You swallowed hard, your own eyes burning as you looked at him, the man you loved—the man you still loved despite all of this. But love wasn’t enough.

“Then why does it feel like I’m drowning?” you whispered.

Spencer inhaled sharply, but he had no answer. No explanation. Nothing but the crushing weight of silence between you.

Spencer’s mind was working in overdrive, the weight of your words crashing into him with the force of a freight train. And the worst part? You were right.

Completely and utterly right.

He had ruined your life.

He hadn’t meant to. He had thought he was protecting you, keeping you safe from the dangers he saw in every shadow. But in doing so, he had trapped you in a world where you barely existed beyond the walls of your own home, beyond him.

His breath was coming faster now, his hands trembling at his sides as the reality of what he had done settled deep in his chest. He felt sick.

You watched him, your arms still wrapped around you like you were trying to hold yourself together, your face etched with exhaustion and something far worse—defeat.

He had done this.

Spencer swallowed hard, his voice barely steady as he finally spoke. “I—I understand if you need to leave.” His throat felt tight like the words physically hurt to say. “If you want to go reclaim your life…” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. “I won’t stop you.”

You blinked at him, surprise flickering across your features.

“But if you stay…” He took a shaky breath, stepping forward, his heart pounding violently in his chest. “I’ll tell them. I’ll tell everyone. I don’t want to hide you anymore—I never should have.” His voice was raw, filled with regret so heavy it nearly swallowed him whole. He met your eyes, desperate for you to see the sincerity there. “You’re way too good to keep from the world.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with uncertainty, with the weight of everything that had been said.

Spencer searched your face, terrified of what he might find—of the moment you would shake your head, tell him it was too little, too late.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

And that meant there was still hope.

“Call Diana,” you said, your voice softer now, steadier. “Let’s do it together.”

Spencer’s head snapped up so fast you almost heard it crack. His eyes were wide, searching your face for any sign that you weren’t serious. “You—you mean it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper like he was afraid to hope.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly. “Right now or so help me,” you warned, but your lips curved into a small, teasing grin—one that was laced with truth.

Spencer exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a disbelieving breath of relief. “Okay,” he nodded quickly, scrambling for his phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he unlocked it, pulling up his mother’s number.

“And the team tomorrow,” you added firmly, raising a brow as you watched him.

Spencer froze for just a second before nodding again, determination settling over him. “Tomorrow,” he echoed.

You moved closer, placing a steady hand over his to still his shaking fingers. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, vulnerable and open, filled with something that looked suspiciously like awe.

“Together,” you murmured.

Spencer swallowed hard, nodding once more before pressing the call button.

And as the line rang, for the first time in a long time, you finally felt seen.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 @asobeeee

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katiascraft · 2 days ago

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﹙MV1﹚ ── ❝ am i enough? ❞

summary: max feels insecure about his body :( (so you comfort him)

warnings: none. it's just pure fluff.

author's note: first time writting 'bout max. short but i just felt i had to write this for some reason. hope it isn't stupid. love you all <3

blog masterlist

Max was taking a shower in the in-room bathroom of our ensuite bedroom in your Monaco house. It was quiet in the monegasque night. You were getting in your pajamas not thinking much about the world and trying to tidy up the room a bit because none of you had time to actually tidy all of it up the proper way. But this will make it for now.

You heard the shower turned off. Max seemed off all day. He was unusually quiet. You tried to comfort him as much as you could but something was going on in that head of his. But you didn’t want to pressure him nor invade his space when he feels like this. Even if you don’t know what's actually going on with him. You just knew he felt sad. The look in his eyes said it all to you but respected him and let him take his time until he wants to talk about it.

After a few minutes Max finally gets out of the bathroom. To your surprise he is fully dressed and with the hood of his hoodie over his head. You frown a bit when you see him. This is very unlike max, you thought. He usually walks around th house in just boxers with not a single care. So this was worrying.

He didn’t say a word. He just crawled into the bed and adjusted himself under the sheets. You looked at him a bit worried and even though you wanted to let him take his time, you needed to check in.

“Max, are you ok?” your voice was soft and low. You didn’t want to make him feel pressured with the questions. He stopped looking at his phone. Tiktoks could be heard playing on his screen. He blocked it and paid attention to you. “You've been off all day baby, do you want to talk about it? No pressure” you continued looking at him in the eyes trying to figure out what was going on with him but unable to anyway.

He licked his lips nervously “i’m not okay” his voice was below whisper and you thought you heard a crack. That made sirens in your head turn on. You crawled the bed and laid next to him.

“What’s wrong baby?” you said gently caressing his hair. Worry all over your eyes expecting his answer.

He took his time trying to find some comfort in your gentle gesture. He was a bit ashamed of his feelings even when it came to you.

“I just looked in the mirror this morning and i didnt like what ive seen to be honest” his voice was shaky between hurt and anxiety. He didn't want to be judged but even though he knew you wouldn't, his pattern because of childhood trauma was still there. Triggering him all the damn time. And sometimes, like today, it takes it stoll in him.

Your heart broke listening to him saying all of those words aloud. That’s because you got him so well.

“Baby, I got you. But you’re so beautiful my love. Don’t let those evil voices in your head win” you said, understanding him and trying to give him some comfort. He looked at you with puppy eyes. He was in the book of crying with his lips pouting.

“You really think I'm enough?” His voice is so tiny and shaky. This is so heartbreaking. You got closer to him so you could look each other in the eye and feel you close. You grabbed his face gently, caressing his cheek sweet.

“Maxie, my love, you’re more than enough. You’re so fucking beautiful max emilian, everytime i look at you the only thing i can see is beauty” you tried to reassured him. He couldn’t look at your eyes anymore or else he would start crying.

“But I don't have a pretty face nor a good body. I'm not like danny or lewis or even charles.they look good, i don't. I look squishy… i don't like it at all” his voice now expressed a bit of anger. You assumed it was rustration. You shook your head looking at him and trying to find his eyes again.

“Baby, don’t compare yourself. You’re beautiful in your own way. You have a pretty face, you have a good hell of a body. Max, you’re so hot i can’t even control myself most times” you tried to make him laugh but he smiled at best. Your heart ached for him. “I know it's hard , okay? I know you’re exposed to the world to see and to have an opinion on you. And that must be really hard for you to deal with. I know. And people are mean and will comment so much nonsense just to hurt you. That’s all they want. Don't let them win, baby. They say ugly things about you for a reason, right? Because you’re too hot, too good and a fucking world champion. They can’t cope with that much in one single person.” finally you made him giggle a little. You smiled sweetly at him.

He hugged you, hiding his face on your neck. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, caressing his back gently.

“So am i enough?” he asked in a whisper. Your hand on his hair makes him feel safe.

“More than enough, maxie. You’re gorgeous and I can not be more obsessed with you. "You kissed his head softly. And you didn’t see him but he has a smile on his face now.

“I love you, y/n” he said, pressing a soft kiss on our neck. That sent shivers down your spine and smiled sweetly.

“Love you my super hot and fast formula one racing driver, no one can compete with you” you said cheeky and made him giggle. When he got apart you say he cried but hid. It broke your heart a little but you understood. Gently you whipped his tears with your thumb.

“And i love my super duper beautiful, caring, loving and perfect girlfriend” he said now making you giggle. You loved that man to death.

And he loved you until forever falls apart.

˖ ֹ੭୧ the end ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

don't forget to like, reblog and comment i you liked it! and follow me so we can be friends <3 (and drink mate together)

#𐔌 . ⋮ katiascraft .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #mv1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #mv1 x you #mv1 x y/n #mv33 x reader #mv33 x you

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vinnyvamppp · 1 day ago

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To Be Desired PT 2

⭐:ViltrumMark and OmniMark (Requested!), Mentions of Invincible. (PART 1 HERE)

Commenter: Can u write some viltrumark n Omni mark. Pleasee. (I shall deliver!)

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they can offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Ejaculating Inside, Rough Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,779

ReCap: Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

ViltruMark

Gazing upon the malignant figure, his jaw ticked ever so slightly at the sight of you. A mangy mutt of a man was within his grasp, its maw bludgeoned with the imprint of his knuckles. The sound of a body hitting the ground beside you was like a heavy, wet slap, followed by a faint whoosh of air being forced out of its lungs. It was a sickening thud, like a ripe melon dropped from a great height, and you froze with a sense of unease. The impact was startling and violent, and for a moment, you forgot about the raging havoc reaped around you. The suddenness of it all made your heart race, almost certain he could hear it as every instinct shrieked within. Your body language became defensive, his gaze hardening upon notice. “I’ve killed you once, and I’ll kill you again.” He announced it, yet it held little intent.

His uniform was a staple of the Viltrumite Empire; its clad symbol emboldened in the skies smoke like a false beacon of hope. “Then get it over with. You won't be the first variant who dies tonight.” The snarky remark was met with a confident scoff. His padded feet landed in front of you as his eyes absorbed your features as if to reminisce. “I won’t. That was my first mistake.” He replied, his fingers finding themselves within your hair. It was sudden; you couldn't help but grimace at his words. A Viltrumite admitting their mistakes? Unbelievable. That was until his grip suddenly tightened, cocking your head to the side as he whispered in your ear. “I’ve come to right my wrongs and take you with me.” The man's grip was a grasp of domination, a vice-like hold that strangled the last vestiges of hope. It was merciless like a warlord, who had wielded power with an iron fist. Yet, the soothing hand around your waist and the calloused fingertips that scratched against your costume told the story of a starved man.

It wasn’t a debate, nor did you intend to argue as your annoyance with your reality simmered. “Right your wrongs…?” You questioned, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his face as you two suddenly took flight. Tears bubbled at your waterline from its speed, your fingers clinging to him as you could’ve sworn he nearly melted. The underground vibrations beat against your eardrum as he cradled you. Your gaze fixed upon a newly formed crater within the valley, only destroyed rubble offering privacy. “We’ll do it here; you’ll be my new beloved and will give me children.” His fingers traced down your abdomen as they tore through the fabric, gooseflesh arising from the exposure. It was a depressing past, really, having to murder you in cold blood so soon due to his agenda, but not this time. You would stay ignorant of his past, and he would provide it given your indulgence.

His hands grasped the spandex material of your suit, prying it open as his lips began their pleasurable assault on your neck. The wet warmth of his tongue tickled your skin as he harshly nipped the welcoming flesh. Your faint pulse beneath it enticed him to experience what he had yet to. So alive and welcoming. Head resting against the soft soil as his hardened cock imprinted beneath the loincloth. His body did little to hide his excitement as his expression remained cold. Once the clothing was peeled from your body, his lips continued their journey south, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue erratically around the hardened peak while his hand kneaded and caressed the other. You moan at the sensations, your hands instinctively tangling within his hair as his hips grind against your clothed cunt. He didn’t stop. He worshipped your breasts until you were writhing beneath him, the skin tender and reddened from his teeth. As he traveled lower, you could feel his warm breath on your most intimate area. His pre-cum now staining the cloth of his and your costume. Just before his lips could reach your sex, he pulled away in satisfaction. All mild waves of pleasure were ripped from you, and a feeling of annoyance bubbled within.

Pressing back against him, your eyes pleaded seductively, a hand resting against his chest. “It's not fun when it's just me; let me please you.” You muttered and watched as the faintest smirk graced his lips. He sat on his knees as you shuffled yourself forward, hands eagerly tugging at his clothing. His costume splintered as it fell from his form, your mouth practically watering at the sight of his swollen cock eagerly awaiting your touch. You lean in, inhaling deeply and savoring his musky scent. You run your tongue along the underside of his veins, from the base to the tip, feeling it twitch against your lips. He shivered. You circle the head with your tongue, dipping into the slit to taste his essence, before taking him into your mouth. Instantly he sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth. The man was more sensitive than intended.

As your throat relaxed and another inch slid inside, the soft lining of your esophagus welcomed him so fruitfully that his eyelids began to twitch. His pride had failed to forewarn him, and his temperament began to crumble. As his hips bucked forward, you gagged only to see a placid grin etched onto his face as his nose crinkled with restraint. He groaned loudly with every bob of your throat, his dick twitching with each contact. Suddenly, his hand gripped your hair, pulling you back. “Enough.” He muttered, with enough command to bring you pause. Before being able to process it, you were flipped onto your hands and knees, panties being lowered as his eyes devoured the sight of your pussy. “You’re soaked… I would’ve fucked you sooner if I knew you’d be so willing.” The mumble seemed more to himself than to you. His tip glided down the skin of your folds, its squelching causing his grip to tighten as he pushed your head into the group. Just as he pressed himself inside, the quietest whimper slipped. Your eyes met his as a smug expression took over; he returned it as a warning before your velvety walls swallowed him whole.

He sighed, like a man being gifted after a long day of work. He doesn't give you time to adjust, immediately pulling out and setting a brutal pace, pounding into you with a force that rocks your entire body. Each thrust pushes you forward, your hands scrabbling for purchase in the burrow of grass. His balls slap against your clit with every stroke, sending sparks of pleasure through you. One of his hands leaves your hip, wrapping around your hair and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your spine. With every stroke, your body bounces forward, and you could swear you hear your vertebrae popping. Does he not know what gentle is?! No! He’s a Viltrumite born and raised!

Unbeknownst to you, the dual stimulation of his balls slapping against your skin and the soft twitching of your pussy had him hunched over. He began to chase his own release, loud growls echoing in your ears as you could barely formulate sound. His free hand rested against your ass, enjoying its recoil as a pathetic whine scratched his throat. He was hellbent on burying himself within you, each thrust deepening with the swivel of his hips. His muscles tightened as his jaw clenched, heavy pants echoing between groans. It was beginning to sound needy, a rough greed that consumed him. Your moans were muffled, his hearing good enough to hear each one, his tactics changing subtly to bring you the utmost pleasure. God, why did he kill you? He could barely remember as his brain began to fizzle out from the pleasure.

“Mphm… Mark… can’t breathe.” You muttered, his eyes finally coming to focus. In a last-ditch effort, he tugged you back, ripping a hiss from you as your spine curved. Your back rested against his chest, and although the sex was rough, this was a moment of gentleness. “Aah—ugh, mm, fuck, I’m going to fill you.” He whispered, sheathing himself one final time as he came, cum spilling down his length. You two remained still as his stamina recovered; he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, both of your suits ruined. No matter, he couldn't care less about flying into space naked. It was short-lived as he abruptly readied himself from a voice buzzing within his ear, you remained seated in absolute awe. “How long can you hold your breath?” He asked, a plan to return home brewing. You will learn to love what he gives you, he would make sure of it.

OmniMark

His gaze remained fixed on you, expression unimpressed as he observed. You had just defeated another swarm of enemies, their blood coating the streets. As you stumbled towards him, your breath came out in labored gasps, and your vision blurred, making it hard to focus on his figure. Mark, or rather, this mysterious figure in a similar fashion, seemed to be studying you intently, his eyes piercing through your facade. The sound of his cape billowing finally caught your attention. Roving over his figure, you observed his costume. A dried patch of blood littered his hand with pink lint from the fabric. It resembled Omni-Man and only struck you with confusion as your mind rang from your probable concussion. “Hey, are these giving you any trouble?” He asked, his body idly bobbing midair as he awaited an answer. "Who are you, really? If you're Mark, why are you dressed like... well, like him?" You gestured to his costume, a near-perfect replica of Omni-Man's, complete with the red and white color scheme, only missing the distinctive 'O' emblem.

He sighed, almost regretfully, as a realization seemed to dawn upon you. Omni-Man in his world was dead; just why did you have to run into this one?! He glided towards you with a strangely disturbing grace. “I’ve come to defend you; there’s many of us gathering over Chicago.” Your question was swatted away like a fly as he continued. His response made you drop your guard, albeit naively since there was no reason to trust him. He landed in front of you, dark goggles showing your reflection as he contemplated. “Why? What happened to me in your dimension…?” You questioned, and he replied with the slightest look of pity and weariness. “She… was like a pet. Served her purpose and got in the way after I killed my father.” His words made your heart drop. “I’ve been looking for you… for a new pet. So, understand me this time, and we can conquer together.” The tone of his words was low, almost careful, like it somehow softened the demeaning blow of his words. At least they seemed genuine. His fingers gently wrapped around yours; his gloved thumbs ghosted your knuckles. “But you have more to offer than she did; she had no powers, no abilities… but she was cute while it lasted.” A sense of sadness lingered in his voice as his eyes focused behind you and on the destruction your battle caused.

“Fine, I’ll let you protect me.” You said, releasing his fingers.

“It’d be best if we stayed together at all times.” He replied.

“I don’t think I could stomach being around you.” It was a petty jab, spit with unintentional venom.

“I could change that.” He replied with the cockiness of his father as his palm was outstretched to you.

Just how did you allow yourself to be swept away like this? Yes, the Mark you knew was the son of Omni-Man with morals; this one went against every principle you had when becoming a hero. Like father, like son. His words were sensitive and meticulously put together to string you along, not that you cared now; his fingers were buried deep inside your cunt. Somewhere along the way, he flew you to Paris like some fancy vacation. The leveled city burned brightly, the embers painting your skin in a dewy orange that made you look so divine. The Eiffel Tower stood tall, almost as a beacon of prosperity, and here you were on the structure being fingered by him. You let out a sharp cry as he started to stroke, his digits gliding through your wetness with ease. The very sight of your cunt had him in a trance, his thumb slotting over your clit. He teased and circled, applying just the right amount of pressure to have your hips bucking beneath him. His pace quickened ever so slightly, reveling in the ridges of your pussy that he anticipated to hug him so snuggly. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I touch you like this?" He asked, watching as your face scrunched in pleasure. It's not like he needed a response; seeing your reaction was enough. Your abs began to tighten as your orgasm began to build, and just as your body lurched forward, his hands pulled out, leaving you clenching around air.

“You said that would be it,” you whispered, watching as he smiled faintly to almost plead. “I know, but it would be better this way… I can't monitor with just my fingers.” He excused himself as your eyes rolled sarcastically. “Last thing.” It was a harsh whisper that crawled from your throat and into his ear, “Last thing,” he agreed when you both knew he was the type to say that while fucking you both senseless for the tenth time. Against the cold metal, he spread your legs wide, his free hand freeing his weeping cock from its confinement. It's been punished enough for now. Clothes are shed quickly, eagerly, until you're both naked and pressed together, skin against skin. He hovers over you, his eyes roaming your exposed body hungrily. Circling his tip around your entrance, he finally pushes in, jaw clenching with a shaky exhale. His hips began to rhythmically build into a relentless pace, your bouncing legs wrapping firmly around him to pull him in deeper. He was becoming lost within you, quite literally, as your pussy swallowed him balls deep. No wonder his father remained active with Debbie; this was fucking godsent to him. Perhaps his words from earlier no longer were manipulation but the truth; he would vow to know you on a personal level later. Moans of pleasure from you both echoed; he was shameless about his noise, enjoying the sound of skin slapping in the air.

You could have sworn his particularly deep thrusts sent the tower shaking. Sweat formed on his brow as he concentrated, ab muscles flexing as he withheld his orgasm. Mark loved it here; he would do anything NOT to pull out. His body began to tremble with restraint, nearly convulsing with an overarching effort. Your bodies began to shift with each powerful thrust; lost in your own pleasure, you barely noticed your head now dangling from the structure. His attempt at being romantic after destroying a city was dreadful. “Mark..!! Ah! I’m gonna fall, fuck—.” You wearily shouted, and he grimaced slightly, his fingers shoving themselves into your mouth to simulate sucking his cock as he watched you gag on them. “You know better… swearing doesn't make you cool.” He stated, flying you both into the air as his hands gripped your ass, fucking himself into you. His thrusts were erratic as his whimpers became barely contained. It was obvious his toes were curling as his feet flexed within his shoes, his eyes rolling back into his skull as the veins in his neck grew prominent.

Clasping his chin, you focused his attention on you as your insides nearly squeezed him dry. “T-Take what you… what you want.” His teeth were caught between his lips. “I wo… won’t stop you.” The words were weak, as you both heaved loudly, breath fanning in one another's face. Wrapping your legs tighter around him and with bated breaths, he buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he comes with a shout. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he hissed, unable to stop himself. After realizing what he had done, he ironically cursed under his breath, “S… shit, I should’ve come in your mouth; it would’ve been better.” He muttered, disappointed in himself as he wrapped your bare body within his cape and gingerly kissed you in delight. He suddenly observed heroes gathering within France to save the people, a grimace enveloping his face. He had enough decency to place you securely at your apartment before taking off.

This was actually fun to type up. PLEASE IGNORE ME IF YOU SEE ME EDITING GRAMMAR MISTAKES LMFAO.

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fireinmoonshot · 2 days ago

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love that lasts | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of all life from the universe, he also took you from Joaquín. Five years later, he is still trying to learn how to live without you – until the Avengers can save the world. Warnings: Google Translate is my best friend – apologies if the Spanish is used incorrectly in this fic, I do not speak it but I tried my best to make sure I used words properly. Mentions of bad mental health, nightmares. It's very angsty at the start, has a bit of fluff, but mostly full of angst. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched Infinity War and Endgame last week and came up with this idea. Since we know that Joaquín survived the snap, I decided I wanted to write something angsty about where you didn't survive and this was born. This was the most challenging fic for Joaquín I've written so far but also the most rewarding, I think. I know everyone's really moved on from the whole Infinity War/Endgame thing regarding fics, but I really wanted to write this so I hope people will enjoy it. The title of the fic comes from 'Still' by Noah Kahan – I had his album on repeat almost the entire time I was writing this.

Joaquin Torres always knew that the Avengers were going to save the world. From the moment that half of all life on Earth had disappeared, he knew that whatever had happened, the Avengers would somehow find a way to fix things.

He just didn’t count on it being five years later.

There had been one good thing that had come out of him not being blipped, though – the fact that his mom hadn’t been either. If he’d had to live without her, he’s sure he would have gone insane. Because it was hard enough to live without you.

He’d spent days wishing that he’d been taken too. The first few days had been the worst. He’d been unable to leave the house, having to learn to grieve you when he wasn’t even sure if you were dead or just gone.

He remembered every moment of that first day like it was yesterday. How he’d just arrived home from going to pick up some takeout for the two of you and he’d seen his neighbour turn to dust in his front yard while he’d been outside gardening, making the most of the evening light. He thought he must have just been seeing things.

He’d walked through the front door of your home and called out your name, heading into the kitchen to put the take out down before he went to find you, feeling more than confused. Then you’d appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and Joaquin had been flooded with relief.

“I’m home, angel, I have the takeout in the kitchen, come get yours” Joaquin called, starting to get the take out from the bags. “Hey, have you seen anything weird on TV today?”

“Joaquin…”

He’d looked up at you, then, just soon enough to see you say his name as you slowly started to turn to dust in front of his eyes. The blanket that had been wrapped around your shoulders fell to a pile on the floor as Joaquin stared at where you had been standing only seconds earlier.

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice was small, hesitant. He put the container down that he’d been holding and walked towards the doorway, half expecting you to be hiding behind the wall, ready to jump out and scare him. It’d been a trick of the light, something like that. But all that was left of you was the blanket on the floor and your phone which had fallen on top of it.

He’d fallen to the floor, grabbing the blanket in his hands and holding it to his chest for what felt like hours as the feeling of numbness overtook him. The blanket still smelled like you and he never wanted to let it go.

Whatever was happening, whatever had happened to your neighbour and to you… there was nothing Joaquin could do about it. He wasn’t an Avenger, he wasn’t anyone special. He knew in that moment that he was going to have to live with it. That fact alone could have killed him.

His knees went numb after kneeling on the floor for so long but he couldn’t find it in himself to pull himself up from the floor. Not even when the sun finally set and the house was blanketed in darkness. The food on the counter had long gone cold. It was only when your phone, sitting in his lap, buzzed, that he’d been pulled out of his stupor. His mother was trying to ring you. She’d thought Joaquin had been taken when she couldn’t get a hold of him, but the second he answered your phone, she knew that you were gone.

Joaquin had stayed with his mother for a while after that, not being able to bring himself to be in the house without you there. There were memories of you in that house everywhere he looked. The sheets still smelled of you, all of your things were still in the cupboards, every time he opened up Netflix, your profile was there. Everything was there except for you.

“You could always sell the house and move back home with me properly, mijo,” his mother had said. “It’s not smart to be paying your mortgage on that house when no one is living in it.”

He shook his head. “I know it’s not smart, mamá, but I just can’t. We bought that house together. We were making a life there. I can’t even bring myself to move her things, how could I sell the place and clear everything out?”

His mother reached across the table and placed her hand over Joaquin’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll stay here until you’re ready to go home.”

“I don’t know if it will ever really be home without her, mamá,” Joaquin said honestly, meeting her eyes. His were full of tears, as they were most days since you’d gone.

There was no hesitation as his mother stood up from the table and walked around to him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him into a hug. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “She was the love of your life. Just like your father was the love of mine. You don’t have to move on like she never existed, mijo. Time will continue to pass and she will continue to be with you, even when you cannot see her.”

Joaquin sniffed, holding his mother close as he cried. “I really love her, mamá,” he murmured, not really expecting her to hear him since his voice was so muffled.

She did, though. Gently rubbing his back, she closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh. “I know you do. I loved her too, mijo. Just like she was my own,” she hummed. “Don’t lose hope. She will return to you one day, I believe that. Your soulmate will find you wherever you are, in any life.”

As the years went on, Joaquin started to believe that this was the way it was always going to be. The Avengers had not saved the world like he thought they would. And he was going to have to learn to live the rest of his life with only memories of you. Like his mother had said, time continued to pass, no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t.

The world changed. He changed. Things became darker and he became darker with them, though he desperately tried to keep the spark alive in his chest – if only because he knew that was what you’d want him to do. You would want him to still be the same Joaquin that you’d loved, but how could he be that person without you?

He threw himself into his job, working day and night to try and keep himself afloat. It seemed strange to be doing such mundane things in a world that was so different. To have to keep earning money to pay the mortgage of your house. To have to get out of bed every morning and shave. To have to make food for himself to eat during the day. To have to go to the grocery store to get milk for breakfasts and coffees.

Five years had passed slowly. Joaquin had made it through them relatively unscathed, with a few mental scars here and there. Every day he was grateful that he still had his mom. That she was there to comfort him when the days were hard and that he was still alive to be there for her as well. If she’d been alone through all of this, it would have broken Joaquin’s heart even more.

When he eventually moved back into your home, every time he cooked dinner it was like you were in the room with him. He could feel your hand on his back as he cooked, your arms around his waist as he washed the dishes. It was like you were still there with him, but then he’d blink and the memories were gone, washed down the sink with the water he drained.

He still cooked enough food for two people before realising it was only him. For a while, he could never bring himself to eat the second serving, until times got harder and he couldn’t afford to waste anything.

He would be laying in bed at night and he could swear he could feel your arm draped across his side. He could feel the ghost of your kisses on his lips. Your side of the bed was empty every night and yet, he could never bring himself to wash the pillowcase you’d once slept on for fear of the way you smelt disappearing entirely, forcing him to lose another part of you. He couldn’t lose anymore of you.

His friends who had survived the blip had suggested that he put himself back out there. Go on a date, find someone new. There were plenty of stories of people who had gone to support groups after losing loved ones and had found new love there. The likelihood of everyone who had been blipped coming back was slim to none, so why not? But Joaquin could never bring himself to let you go. Even just thinking about going on a date with someone else filled him with guilt. People had tried to set him up on dates but he had never gone through with actually going on any of them.

His mom was the only one who understood. Even if it meant that her baby would never be able to give her the grandchildren she’d wanted for so long, it didn’t matter to her. She had loved you like you were her own child. All she wanted was for Joaquin to be happy and for some miracle to bring you back to him so that he could be. But even she had lost hope after the past five years that anything could bring you back to him.

And then… the Avengers saved the world.

~~~

That morning, Joaquin is sitting in a coffee shop – one that had been your favourite before you were gone. He’s missing you a little more than normal this morning and had decided that a good way to feel like he was with you would be to come out and spend time at a place you loved. He’s taking a sip of his coffee when someone suddenly appears in the chair opposite him.

Joaquin almost chokes on his drink, coughing a little as he looks at the man in front of him. He hadn’t walked in from anywhere, he hadn’t been in the coffee shop before. He’d just… appeared. What the hell was going on?

“What the…” the man says, looking around the coffee shop with a confused and haunted look in his eyes. “You’re not my wife… I was just sitting here with her… Where is Sylvia?”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. For a moment he wonders if the man is just confused, maybe there’s something wrong with him mentally and this is his way of asking Joaquin for help… but then, on the table in front of him, his phone lights up and starts to ring.

The contact photo is of you and the name on the screen is yours.

He drops his coffee, spilling a little on the table as he reaches for his phone. His hands are already starting to shake. A part of him thinks this must all be a cruel joke. Someone has broken into your house and stolen your phone, or there’s some kind of technological glitch. But another part of him, the part that is still hoping after all these years, truly believes that when he answers the phone, your voice will be the one he hears on the other end of the line.

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice is hopeful as he holds his phone up to his ear and presses the answer button. “Is that you?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Joaquin’s stomach drops. But then he hears it. “Joaquin… where are you? What’s going on?” Your voice – your voice on the other end of the line. It’s real. By some miracle, you’re home. “You were just unpacking the takeout and then…”

“Angel, just stay there, okay? I’m coming home,” Joaquin says to you, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he stands up. “I’m so sorry, sir. You should call your wife,” he mutters to the man still sitting on the chair opposite him, looking confused.

He takes off at a run, almost running straight into a few people walking through the door of the cafe. He doesn’t hang up the phone the entire time he’s running home, just grateful that your favourite coffee shop is within walking distance of your house. He’s grateful that he wasn’t driving – he doubts he’d be able to focus on the road properly, knowing that you’re home and waiting for him.

Joaquin runs faster than he’s ever run in his entire life. His throat hurts from his heavy breathing and the air rushing in and there’s a stitch forming on his side. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, owing to the sweater he’d put on this morning and the pace at which he’s running. But he’s not going to stop or slow down for even a second until he gets to you.

Once he reaches your street, he pushes himself to run even faster. He can see your house in the distance and he hopes he’s not dreaming as he runs towards it. He doesn’t think he can deal with the pain of walking inside the house and not seeing you inside again.

He’s breathing heavily as he reaches the front door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He doesn’t even notice his neighbour in the front yard, the one he’d seen disappear five years ago, standing right where he’d disappeared, holding his wife close.

Joaquin doesn’t manage to get the key in the front door before it’s pulled open, his hands shaking too much with adrenaline. His head snaps up and his eyes fall on you, your hand on the door handle and your cheeks tear-streaked as you look at him.

“Oh, dios mío,” Joaquin mutters, instantly stepping inside the door and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly to his chest, worried that you’re going to disappear from his arms for good this time. “Are you real? Are you actually here? I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Your hands fist the fabric of his sweater as he holds you close. Whatever happened, you don’t really know yet, but what you do know is that Joaquin is acting like he hasn’t seen you for years. The house looks the same, you’d noticed, as you’d walked around before Joaquin came home and you heard the sound of his keys at the door. But something is off.

“I’m real, Joaquin,” you murmur into his ear. “You’re not dreaming. But I don’t know what’s going on… where did you go? You were unpacking takeout and then you were gone.”

Joaquin pulls away from the hug but still keeps his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. He can’t bring himself to let go and he fears it’s going to be that way forever now. “Angel, it’s… it’s been five years since I last saw you. Thanos… he wiped out half of all life in the universe… you were– you were gone.” Tears start to fall down Joaquin’s cheeks and he doesn’t realise until your hand moves to gently swipe them away. He leans into your palm, finding comfort in the feeling of your warm hand on his cheek. “But the Avengers… whatever they did brought you back to me. It was them, I know it must’ve been.”

He internally curses himself for ever doubting them.

“Five years?” You frown, eyebrows knotting together as you try and piece things together in your mind. For you, it had just been like you’d blinked and things had changed but for Joaquin… it had been five years. Five years without you, and yet when you’d called… he had literally come running. “I was gone for five years?”

Joaquin nods, reaching one hand up to wipe the tears from your own face. He can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for you to come back and not find him anywhere, for you to be alone in the house. He’s more grateful than ever now that he never tried to sell the house. If you’d come back and an entire new family had been living in your house…

“They were the hardest five years of my life, angel,” he says softly. “I thought that you were gone forever.”

You look at him for a moment, a little confused. “But you still live here… you still kept my number in your phone… you– Joaquin, you came running to me when I called… what have you been doing for the last five years?”

Joaquin’s heart cracks a little in his chest. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for you.”

With that, he can’t bring himself to maintain his self control any longer. The hand that had wiped the tears off your cheeks gently holds the back of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. You reciprocate immediately. Five years of wanting, five years of waiting for something he was sure was never going to come… a kiss five years in the making. Joaquin is surprised he was able to hold off for so long. He’s never going to take advantage of kissing you ever again.

~~~

A little later, you and Joaquin sit on the couch in the living room. Your hands are entwined, legs tangled under a blanket in front of you. It had taken a while to pull yourselves from the doorway. You were both in a little bit of shock – Joaquin in shock that you were finally back here after five years, you in shock that you had been gone that long.

“You really never dated anyone at all in the last five years?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder as one of his fingers draws patterns on your palm that slightly tickles.

Joaquin looks down at you and sighs. “Believe me, my friends tried to make me. They even set up a couple of dates for me to go on, but I never went on any of them. I just couldn’t bring myself to get out the front door.”

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”

“Because none of them were you, angel.”

He gives your hand a squeeze and you snuggle closer into his side. You’d been insecure in your relationship at times – five years ago – but you knew you could never be insecure about it anymore. How many other people could say their partner had waited five years for them on a sliver of hope that they’d come back after disappearing from the universe?

In his pocket, Joaquin’s phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and smiles as he sees his mothers contact on the screen. “I’ve got a phone call for you, mi amor.” He hands the phone to you and his heart warms as he sees your smile upon seeing who’s calling. “I think she almost missed you more than I missed you.”

You take the phone off of Joaquin and instantly hit answer, holding the phone up to your ear. “Suegrita,” is all you say and even though Joaquin isn’t holding the phone, he can already hear his mothers cries on the other side of the line.

He motions for you to put the call on speaker.

“Mamá, you told me not to lose hope,” he says, taking advantage of a moment of silence from the other end of the line while his mother isn’t sobbing. He’s already planning to go and see her as soon as possible – especially when she’s like this.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his mothers sobs on the other end of the line, and then she speaks. “You bring her home to see me soon, mijo!” She exclaims to Joaquin. “Mi querida niña, you do not understand how happy I am that you are home with your love.” Her words are directed at you now.

There are already tears streaming down your cheeks at her words. “You must have taken really good care of him these past five years for me, suegrita,” you sniff. “Thank you for looking after him when I couldn’t.”

Joaquins arm wraps around your shoulders and squeezes tightly.

“I knew you would come home to him one day, querida,” his mom says. “Soulmates will find each other in life no matter what comes between them. I told him that years ago.”

His mother only hangs up after Joaquin promises that he’ll bring you around to see her tomorrow. You know you’re going to need to prepare yourself for plenty of hugs and kisses from her, and even though for you it’s only been a matter of weeks since you’ve seen her, it’s been five years since she saw you. It’s going to take a while to get used to that fact.

“Mamá took good care of me, angel,” Joaquin says, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “I don’t know what I would have done without her here. I cried in her arms more than I can count over the past five years.”

You frown, moving until you’re straddling Joaquin’s lap and you can hug him properly. You bury your head in his neck and one of your hands moves to rest in his hair. His arms wrap around your back. “You don’t have to cry anymore, baby.”

Joaquin chuckles a little. “I think I’m probably still going to do a lot of that. I can’t make any promises, angel,” he rubs your back. “A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. That I’m going to wake up any second and you’re going to be gone.”

You pull away just enough so you can look him in the eyes. “I’m real, Joaquin. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless there’s some other alien out there that’s going to get rid of half all life in the universe again.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Don’t joke about that. Too soon.”

Smiling, you lean in and touch the tip of your nose against his gently. Joaquin takes advantage of the closeness of your face to lean up and capture your lips with his. He can feel you smiling into the kiss. Maybe if he does this enough, he can make his brain realise that this is real. That you’re here in his arms, your lips on his. That against all odds, you’re home.

~~~

He knows the nightmares aren’t going to go away any time soon. They’ve been plaguing him for years at this point. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s woken up from a dream that you were alive, or a nightmare where he had you back only to lose you again. It’s why, when he wakes up later that night, his heart racing and sweat drenching his body, that it’s not a surprise to him.

What does surprise him is that he forgets you’re here now. It’s not until he hears your soft, sleep filled voice speak his name and feels the mattress move underneath him that he spins around from where he’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed to see you.

“Baby, are you okay?” You ask quietly.

Joaquin takes you by surprise by pretty much launching himself at you. He places a hand on your cheek, another one on your thigh. You’re sitting up, legs crossed, staring at him full of worry.

“Baby?” You try again.

“You’re real,” Joaquin mutters. “I’m not dreaming. It’s not a nightmare.”

You reach up a hand to rest on the one on your cheek. “It’s not a nightmare. I’m real.”

Tears fill Joaquin’s eyes again. He’s still haunted by the nightmare, one where he’d lost you again, and his brain is just sleepy enough to make him think that this is all a dream, even after trying to convince himself that it isn’t. Even after hearing your words confirm that it isn’t.

“Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs.

You shuffle closer to him until you’re face to face, until you can feel his unsteady breaths on your face and your noses are almost touching. “I’m not going anywhere, Joaquin.”

He brushes his lips against yours softly, barely even a kiss. “Don’t leave me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and kiss him properly in an attempt to wake him up a little. It’s almost like he’s still in the midst of the nightmare, that he can’t manage to pull himself out of it completely. The fact that he’s had to deal with all of this alone for the past five years makes your heart hurt.

“I’m home now, baby,” you mutter against his lips after you pull away. “I’m not leaving you. I’m home.”

Joaquin’s arms move to pull you closer to him until you’re almost sitting in his lap. “You’re home,” he says softly.

“I’m home,” you repeat.

He takes a moment to just breathe, then. Focusing on the feeling of your hands on him, the feeling of his hands on you, trying to ground himself. You’re home. You are really home. And for the first time in five years… Joaquin finally feels like he is home too.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america brave new world #mcu #mcu x reader #i'm lowkey terrified to post this cause this fic feels so special to me #but i really hope people will enjoy it!!

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thebibliosphere · 9 hours ago

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if this is too heavy to answer that's totally fine and you don't have to but

how do you keep going when the world is as awful as it is? it's getting harder for me to find reasons to do that because the US government clearly doesn't want me to live and I can't go anywhere else because I'm broke and disabled and so I just feel trapped and I've been in tears about it for the last hour.

and you've had to deal with so much more health bullshit than I ever have but you keep going and I just... how?

I hope this doesn’t come across as trite but in all sincerity: because I know there are other people out there fighting to keep folks like us alive because even though they don’t know us, probably won’t ever know us, they care for us anyway and want us to survive.

They might seem vanishingly few right now, but you need to remember, hatred is loud because it’s the only way these dipshits can be heard.

The people screaming the loudest right now? Are not in the majority. They are afraid of the progress that has been made over the last few decades and want to drag us back to a world where they feel in control. And to do that they need to be as loud and intimidating as possible because they are not the majority, they know they are not the majority, and that frightens them.

They’re playing a fascist game of chicken, hoping the rest of us will blink first, and I don’t pretend to know what’s going to happen. I won’t pretend I’m not terrified. That the things happening all over the world right now don’t feel hopeless and lost. But I refuse to blink first.

For myself. For you. For everyone.

And I take comfort in knowing I’m not the only one. I know I’m not. And I’m so incandescently furious at the state of the world right now that even just hearing some people speak makes my blood pressure spike so hard I syncope.

The last time I heard the vice president speak, my vision turned literally red then black and I woke up on the couch with a thudding headache and a heart doing its best to escape my rib cage.

But I pick myself up because I have no other choice, I take care of myself. I do what I can to avoid that level of overload. I avoid the news if I have to because there is a fine line at present between being informed and being overwhelmed. And then I go out of my way to be kind and help the people I can because it’s something I have control over and by god if I can make the world better for just one person, it’s worthwhile.

Take comfort in your people. Protect yourself and your community as best you can. Even if sometimes that means letting others comfort and take care of you for a bit.

I’m sorry you’re struggling so hard. But I promise you are not alone 💖

#chronic health tag #current events

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jungwnies · 11 hours ago

Text

f1 grid (2/2) | pranking your husband with your kid

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐 anon) : your little one confidently drops an “stfu” in front of their unsuspecting father, chaos ensues... (i wrote ollie and kimi differently bc i dont think they'd be fathering at their young ages LMFAOOO)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : tws : children cursing ୨ৎ : word count : 1638

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : everyone drop ur race predictions >.<

ʚ・lando norris

the three of you were hanging out in the living room, lando lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone while your child sat beside him, munching on snacks.

you sighed dramatically from across the room. “hey, sweetheart, can you pass me the remote?”

your child barely blinked before deadpanning, “mom, shut the fuck up.”

silence.

lando’s mouth immediately dropped open, his entire body going stiff.

five full seconds passed where he didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe.

then—a nervous, awkward giggle bubbled out of him.

“wait, wait—did you really say that? oh my god.”

he turned to your child, completely horrified yet slightly impressed, like they had just learned a completely forbidden skill.

you covered your mouth, trying not to laugh, but lando was already spiraling.

“where—wait, where did you hear that?!” his voice cracked slightly, looking at you in panic mode. “have you been letting them watch netflix unsupervised? is it youtube?”

your kid, bless their little dramatic heart, simply shrugged. “i dunno.”

lando ran a hand through his hair, looking completely distressed. “i—what? i don’t—”

and then, you lost it.

your laughter burst out before you could stop it, and the second your child started giggling along, lando froze.

his wide eyes darted between the two of you as realization hit him like a truck.

“…it’s a prank, isn’t it?”

you wiped away a tear, grinning. “gotcha.”

lando exhaled so dramatically, you thought he might actually pass out.

then, without another word, he collapsed onto the sofa, throwing an arm over his face.

“i can’t handle this emotional rollercoaster,” he groaned. “this is too much for my heart.”

your child climbed onto his chest, still giggling. “sorry, daddy.”

lando peeked at them from under his arm, pouting. “you scared me, mate. that was not cool.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was a quiet evening, the three of you sitting at the dining table, enjoying a simple dinner. the soft clinking of utensils against plates was the only noise filling the room.

oscar sat across from you, taking a slow sip of water, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

right on cue, your child turned to you, brows furrowed, and in the most casual, sharp voice, snapped—

“just shut up, mom.”

the air in the room shifted immediately.

oscar’s glass froze mid-air.

he didn’t choke. he didn’t gasp.

he just… paused.

then, slowly, he set his glass down, his brown eyes blinking at your child in quiet disbelief.

“…what?”

your child held firm, looking back at their plate, as if they hadn’t just rocked oscar’s entire world.

oscar’s voice was soft, firm, but laced with that classic dad disappointment tone that could crush souls.

“absolutely not,” he said, calmly. “apologize to mom. right now.”

your child squirmed slightly, but before they could break character, you cracked first—a snort escaping before you burst into laughter.

oscar narrowed his eyes immediately.

“oh my god,” he muttered, rubbing his temple as your child giggled alongside you.

you wiped away a tear, grinning. “gotcha.”

oscar exhaled deeply, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“you two will drive me insane,” he mumbled, though there was a small, exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

your kid beamed, climbing into his lap. “sorry, daddy. we were just playing!”

oscar sighed, wrapping an arm around them, pressing a kiss to their temple.

“i should’ve known,” he muttered, looking over at you with a knowing stare. “this has your name all over it.”

you smirked. “what gave it away?”

he rolled his eyes, but the soft smile never left his face.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

movie nights with kimi and his little sister, maggie, were always a routine affair—blankets sprawled out, snacks piled high, and kimi usually taking forever to pick a film because he was weirdly particular about the plot.

but tonight? tonight was different.

because tonight, you and maggie had a plan.

the movie had just started, the room dimly lit by the glow of the tv. kimi was sitting in the middle, one arm lazily draped around you while maggie sat cross-legged on the other side, munching on popcorn.

everything was normal.

until, out of nowhere, maggie turned to you and, in the most casual, unbothered tone, said—

“shut the fuck up, y/n.”

kimi immediately grabbed the remote and paused the movie.

the room fell into silence.

his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned toward maggie, his little sister, who was suddenly way too interested in her popcorn.

“maggie.” his voice was low, steady, but firm.

she hesitated, keeping up the act. “what?”

kimi’s expression did not waver. “we don’t speak to y/n like that. ever.”

he wasn’t mad—just disappointed, and somehow, that was worse.

maggie cracked first, a guilty giggle slipping out before she burst into full-blown laughter.

you followed immediately, clutching your stomach.

kimi blinked, glancing between the two of you, confusion quickly shifting into realization.

his jaw tightened. “no way.”

maggie grinned. “we got you.”

kimi let out a slow breath, tossing the remote onto the couch before leaning back against the cushions, shaking his head.

“great,” he muttered, rolling his eyes playfully. “now my partner and my sister are plotting against me.”

you grinned, nudging him. “welcome to family life, babe.”

maggie threw popcorn at him. “you looked so stressed.”

kimi shot her a half-hearted glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement.

“remind me why i hang out with either of you?” he muttered, pressing play on the movie.

maggie smirked. “because you love us.”

kimi sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he pulled you closer.

“unfortunately.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

grocery shopping with ollie and his little sister was usually an easy task—grab some snacks, stock up on essentials, and maybe, if she begged enough, he’d let her throw in something completely unnecessary, like extra chocolate bars or a random toy from the checkout aisle.

but today? today was about chaos.

because you and his little sister had a plan.

you were pushing the cart, casually strolling through the aisles, when you stopped in front of the cereal section.

ollie, standing a few feet away, was inspecting a box of weetabix like it contained classified information, clearly debating if it was worth switching brands this week.

and that’s when his sister struck.

in the most confident, unfazed tone, she turned to you and said, “y/n, shut the hell up.”

silence.

ollie’s entire body stiffened.

his head snapped up so fast, he nearly dropped the cereal box.

his eyes darted around the aisle, taking inventory of every single person who might have overheard. a mom with a toddler. an older man squinting at the oat selection. a tesco employee stocking shelves nearby.

he whisper-yelled, his voice barely above a panicked breath.

“mate, you can’t say that! who taught you that?!”

his sister kept up the act shockingly well, simply shrugging and picking up a pack of biscuits like she hadn’t just rocked his entire world.

ollie looked at you, stunned and betrayed. “why aren’t you saying anything?!”

that was it.

you lost it.

the laughter bubbled out of you, and his sister finally cracked too, her giggles echoing through the aisle.

ollie’s expression dropped.

“oh my god,” he muttered, realization dawning.

“it’s a prank, mate,” his sister wheezed, clutching her stomach.

ollie exhaled so dramatically, you thought he might actually pass out.

he ran a hand down his face before breaking into laughter, shaking his head.

“you almost got us banned from tesco,” he exclaimed. “do you want me to die young?!”

you smirked, placing a hand on his shoulder. “you’ll survive, love.”

his sister grinned. “you should’ve seen your face.”

ollie sighed, shoving the cereal into the cart with unnecessary force.

“i can't go out with you guys ever again.”

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

you were all sitting at the dining table, enjoying a cozy meal when your child, completely unbothered, sighed heavily and muttered,

“ugh, shut the fuck up, mom.”

absolute silence.

yuki’s chopsticks slipped out of his hand, clattering loudly onto his plate.

his entire body went still as he stared at your child in pure, unfiltered shock.

for a solid three seconds, he didn’t move. didn’t blink.

then, in a sudden burst of energy, he sat up straight, his voice rising as he scolded,

“nani o itta no!? yabai yo, sore!” ("what did you just say?! that’s so bad!")

his arms flailed slightly as he continued, switching between english and japanese in classic yuki fashion.

"you don’t talk to your mom like that!"

your child, still sticking to the act, shrunk into their chair, avoiding his piercing dad glare.

you?

you were seconds away from breaking down in laughter.

but yuki wasn’t done yet.

he turned to you, clearly distressed. “where did they learn that? is it the internet?! netflix?! i knew we should’ve blocked youtube—”

that was it.

the dam burst, and you finally let out a loud laugh.

your child giggled too, kicking their legs happily under the table.

yuki froze.

his face immediately dropped, realization dawning like a slow-moving train crash.

“…wait.” his eyes narrowed. “did you two—”

your child clapped their hands. “we pranked you, daddy!”

yuki let out the loudest, most dramatic sigh known to mankind.

then, in full dramatic effect, he flopped face-first onto the table, groaning into his arms.

"i’m so done with both of you..."

you were still laughing when you reached over and ruffled his hair. “oh, come on, yuki. you have to admit, it was funny.”

he slowly lifted his head, squinting at you like he was contemplating divorcing you right then and there.

“…you are never allowed to prank me again.”

your child beamed up at him. “so… next week?”

yuki stared at them in horror.

you just smirked. “next week.”

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kneelbeforeclefairy · 1 day ago

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What I think is most different and most striking about Sunrise on the Reaping is how CYNICAL it is. To some extent we knew it was going to be. This is a midquel. That the reapings go on and the Hunger Games only ends 25 years later is a forgeon conclusion. We know nothing that happens here is going to work.

The book is about implicit submission, and why, with numbers on their side, the many submit to the few, even when the few are unjust. And it's because, the book seems to say, numbers aren't ENOUGH. the Newcomers alliance is much bigger than the Careers. They should be able to team up and defeat them easily. But they don't. Eighteen of them are killed outright, because the Careers have the strength, the skill and the training. And that's just that.

Plutarch asks why the tributes don't overwhelm the Peacekeepers during training, and Haymitch is rightfully outraged at the privilege of this question. Why don't they? Because they probably couldn't kill them all, and even if they could, what good would it do? It wouldn't stop the Hunger Games. It wouldn't change a thing. No one would even know about it outside that room, because the Capitol would change the narrative. Just like Katniss and the Star Squad can't REALLY take on the Capitol single handed and assassinate the president, the scrappy alliance of kids can't really do any real damage to the system the Capitol has in place. All they can do is choose if they want to die now or later. So why don't they, if there's no difference to them, as Plutarch asks. Because, as Snow puts it. Hope. The slight chance that one of them will come out of it. And, more cynically, the hope that if they are good tributes and obey, their families will be left alone. If they choose to rebel and choose to die now they guarantee retaliation against their families and perhaps their entire district. We see that even in the tributes that attack the Gamemakers in the arena. They rise up, they break that bond of implicit submission--and they die bloody for it.

Why don't they rebel? Because they don't have the privilege to lose.

Even Lenore Dove, the Joan of Arc of Twelve, fails to do any real damage or have any real effect. All she does is get herself a reputation for being a trouble maker, and eventually get herself killed. Was she killed as part of the retaliation against Haymitch, or was her punishment because she's a rebel, and that's what happens to rebels? (and Snow hates covey girls.) but she fails because she IS alone. She focuses on small, symbolic acts that do nothing, but that she hopes will rally the people to action.Unfortunately, the people of Twelve don't want their lives to get any worse, and they don't have the privilege of spending time and energy on revolution the way a teenager girl whose family doesn't need her income to survive does--sadly, Twelve will remain this way, in an uncanny valley where they're beaten down enough to need change, but not enough to have NOTHING to lose. They are not one of the districts that rise up. So acting alone does nothing, teaming up does nothing. How does one fight an enemy with better technology, better weapons, and better organization? Beetee's plan doesn't work out. Of course it doesn't. Could it ever? Was it just borne out of grief for his son? And even if it had, then what? What was the plan? Haymitch's poster gets edited away. The Newcomers fail. Lenore Dove dies. The most you can say is Haymitch himself becomes too important to kill, like Beetee, and Snow let him live to fight another day, but so destroyed that he no longer WANTS to.

So, then, what WORKS?

The answer is, quite cynically, Plutarch's version of the world. Numbers mean something, there are more of US than there are of THEM , but that isn't enough. You need weapons, you can't bring a knife to a gun fight, you need EVERYONE on your side. You need organization, not just a series of disconnected rebellions, and you need an Army, provided by Thirteen, as problematic as they are. The timing just needs to be right. And most crucially, what I think Plutarch and everyone involved here learned is that victory belongs to those who control the narrative. Those who control the flow of information and tell their story. And it's not Plutarch, for all his cameras and his propos and his idea behind The Mockingjay, who eventually does that well.

It's Haymitch.

Who learned to tell a story and sell a narrative with himself and the Newcomers. Who tried to paint his poster in the arena only to see it rewritten in front of him. Who won't make that mistake again. When it's time for the deciding factor in the revolution, it's Haymitch who creates the Mockingjay-- and is he also using Katniss and her image? Yes. but he at least sees Katniss and the human she is inside it, unlike Plutarch who hasn't changed much from the man who makes a grieving family do reshoots over and over so he can get his footage, while congratulating himself for letting Haymitch have his goodbye.

When Katniss sets off the spark twenty five years later, the world is ready. The work is in place. Plutarch, Haymitch, Beetee, everyone can say GO , and this time it'll work. So buckle in, and wait for the Long Game, even though only Plutarch really has the privilege to wait, the rest of them don't have a choice. It's cynical. It's awful. People die. The lone rebels and the plucky girls and the alliance depending on its numbers all fail. Plutarch motherfucking Heavensbee, the richest of the rich the privilegedest of the privileged, pulls off the revolution, takes the credit, and lives to see the end of it, without ever once examining his own privilege, and unpacking the fact that despite his head being on the right side of history, he's never managed to see the Districts as PEOPLE . (and you could argue, ANYONE as people. ) But it's just the only way.

But this book isn't the middle of the series. It's the end. How awful would it be to read if we didn't know that Katniss and the Mockingjay rebellion would eventually succeed. We know that despite the cynism of a failed revolution and all its players, that one day it WILL work out. This book is called sunrise on the Reaping....the sun rises on a world where this is inevitable. But one day it won't be.

#sunrise on the reaping #sotr #sunrise on the reaping spoilers #sotr spoilers #the hunger games #haymitch abernathy #i could go on about how hunger games came out during the obama era and this came out during trump 2 #and all the implications of THAT #but thats another post #lets just analyze the book itself for now

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queen-mihai · 2 days ago

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Poor people don't have money. And thanks to morons like musk they're not gonna get more

But you know what the world is never gonna run out of? Fire.

Voting with our wallets doesn't work when we already can't afford stupid products dude keeps shoving in our faces

But fire? Fire pulls money *directly* out of his pocket.

Fire forces him to go begging states for more money for more charging stations, and they're not cheap. They take months to build and burn down in hours

He has to pay people to build them

Who are the people he's paying to build them? Us.

He. Has to pay you. For burning his shit.

He is practically rewarding you for burning his shit

And if he wants to keep being rich he has no fucking choice

He thinks we'll be so busy worrying about trans people that he can keep fucking our country up

But even transphobic bigots work for the government and are being forced to be poor by his stupid ass actions

He just put trans people and bigots on the same side

Racist idiots work for the government and are being forced to be poor by musk

He just put racist idiots and people of color on the same side

He put everyone on the same side and took all their money away so that the only voice they have anymore is fire

Holding up snarky signs doesn't seem to be working.

For me, it isn't about whether this action is appropriate or not. It's about how this kind of action is inevitable.

I'm going to let Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. explain in a quote no one seems to post during his annual holiday.

"It is not enough for me to stand before you tonight and condemn riots. It would be morally irresponsible for me to do that without, at the same time, condemning the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society. These conditions are the things that cause individuals to feel that they have no other alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention. And I must say tonight that a riot is the language of the unheard. And what is it America has failed to hear?"

If you only speak up about a supercharger catching fire and ignore the unheard, you are prioritizing a thing over people.

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pathologicalreid · 13 hours ago

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omg consider this a request to bury reader again lol. imagine having to go through that again…imagine SPENCER knowing you’re experiencing it again…….margot pLS IM BEGGING🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🙏🙏

black hole | s.r.

in which the BAU has to race against the clock to find you after you've been buried alive, again

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: spoilery content warning at the end of the post. lol. claustrophobia, being buried alive, death. reader does NOT die, spencer reid crashout, kids/pregnancy, blood, hospitals, spencer's addiction, being drugged, the replicator, i probably missed something!!!! word count: 5.35k a/n: guys can u believe my first fic on here was buried alive. and here we are. doing it again?

Spencer was surrounded by people who cared about him, and yet, the only person he genuinely wanted to see was nowhere to be found. He’d sent you home from the office, passing the car keys along and swiping the incomplete files from your desk.

You’d kissed his cheek the same way you’d done it thousands of times before, and he’d taken it for granted. He should’ve turned his head to kiss your lips. He should’ve left the files to finish tomorrow and gone home with you. He shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder right now, searching for something that wasn’t coming. You weren’t coming.

He’d sent you home, only to find himself standing in your kitchen hours later, surrounded by evidence of a struggle. There had been blood smeared across the floor, a nauseating pattern that, in his professional opinion, looked like someone had been dragged. Without enough time to DNA test the blood, he couldn’t be sure, but once the crime scene unit had typed the blood and it came back as your type, he felt comfortable in his assumption. You had been taken.

Abducted right from the home that the two of you had created for each other, a safe haven to retreat to when the world felt too cramped, too dark.

Remnants of fear lingered in every corner of the house, skylights built into the ceiling for optimum light and nightlights in every room. Spencer had designed the house for you, and Derek arranged the construction. To the average bystander, the open floor plan looked like a modernization of the original structure. To you, each wall was placed purposefully so that you’d never feel like they were closing in on you.

The first person he called was Alex. Part of him wondered if he’d chosen her because she was the only member of the team who hadn’t been around to witness this the first time. The first time Spencer had been standing in a room and had been told you were missing; it felt as though time had completely stopped. This time, it felt like a jackknife to the chest, stabbing him continuously until his legs went out from under him, leaving him gasping on the phone to his friend. The rational side of his brain tried to tell him it was because Blake lived closest, but the irrational portion of Spencer Reid was the only part of him that ever had second thoughts.

That irrational side of him was the side that was in love with you, and he couldn’t justify the probability of this happening again. The math couldn’t be completed, and Spencer was once again left in fragments, nothing more than a shattered mirror that bore the reflection of someone who had it all.

Now, back at the BAU, he stared at the confidential FBI folder that had been abandoned on the kitchen counter by your abductor. It had been dusted, only to find no sign of fingerprints. The evidence was laid out on the roundtable; each page, each horrifying photo served as a memory of what had happened to you two years ago. Left on top of the folder was a piece of paper torn from the journal your therapist had instructed you to keep. Scrawled in unfamiliar penmanship, the note read: He who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.

He wasn’t concerned with the origin of the quote; he’d recognize Michel de Montaigne as surely as he would his own work. No, Spencer’s concern laid solely with the implications of the quote, and there was only one outcome he could come to. After all, suffering and your name were synonymous in his mind, even after all of this time.

You kept your eyes closed, grounding yourself just as your therapist had taught you in your hundreds of sessions. Soon enough, Spencer would wake up to your soft whimpers, and he’d coax you out of your paralysis. His hands would find their way to your shoulders, skimming his palms over the cotton of your sleep shirt, and he’d pull you up.

Any minute, Spencer would use the fader to illuminate your bedroom, providing you with the light that you needed as proof that everything was going to be fine. You’d anticipated this; the second anniversary of you being buried alive was just around the corner, and with it, the trauma bubbled to the surface. Even still, you found yourself frowning at the things your senses picked up—the smell of the dirt, the hard surface you were lying on, and the eerie silence of your surroundings. It took you a moment to realize that Spencer wasn’t cooing your name, trying to get you out of your nightmare without scaring you too much.

Clenching your fists, you found yourself missing the familiar pressure of your wedding ring on your left hand, and you told yourself that this had to be a dream. Since you’d gotten it, you only ever took it off if it was absolutely necessary. You’d missed the band so much that you’d gotten a cheaper one to replace it while you had the two pieces soldered together.

You took a deep breath, immediately overwhelmed by the rich earth that flooded your senses, the scent so pungent that you could almost taste it. Against your better judgment, you opened your eyes, letting the lids flutter open while you tried to adjust to the all too familiar darkness. A wave of nausea ran through you, churning your stomach while you tried to swallow it down—not wanting to lay in a puddle of your own sick. “No,” you breathed, having half a mind to sit up and look around, but as your eyes adjusted, you estimated there were only a few inches from the tip of your nose to the roof of your enclosure.

Tentatively, you felt around, grazing your fingertips across the interior surface of your newfound prison. Opposed to the smooth silk of the casket, you were met with a rough wooden surface that grated against your skin, tugging and pulling at the ridges of your fingerprints while you tried to bury your panic.

Denial only got a person so far, and there was nowhere else for you to go except to accept it. This was happening to you again.

This time, it seemed as though you were trapped within the confines of a wooden box, a collection of old two-by-fours haphazardly connected with various nails and screws. You could smell the age of the wood, damp and mildew only served to nauseate you further when mixed with the smell of the dirt.

He’d been put in time-out. Not that Hotch would ever use such layman’s terminology to describe the action taken but being told to sit in the roundtable room and stay there until they knew something felt like a child’s punishment. A flash out of the corner of his eyes signaled that JJ and Rossi had returned from checking the house, meaning Spencer had some explaining to do.

“What did you see?” Hotch asked as soon as they walked into the room. Spencer turned his head to gaze out the windows, watching the cacophony of the joint task force as it entered the next hour. He avoided JJ’s curious eyes, knowing that she knew.

Rossi’s leather boot tapped at the worn carpet in the doorway. “There was a cup of what looked like water on the kitchen counter,” he responded, nodding at the rest of the team as they all filed into the room. “The crime scene techs took a sample of it for testing. The field test came back positive for narcotics, but we won’t have an exact makeup until it comes back from the lab.”

A test that you didn’t have time for, but Spencer felt it was unnecessary. Hearing what they knew from the scene was enough to turn his stomach inside out, the kind of information that gets delivered and then all of a sudden, your ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton. He’d subconsciously tuned out any other news to protect himself while he looked at the data on the form that Rossi had given him. For a long time, Spencer had accepted that his brain was one that worked with figures and reason, but looking at the numbers in front of him—nothing processed. Every number seemed foreign to him, and nothing made any sense to him.

He stood up suddenly, sending his office chair flying behind him, the aged wheels clattering within themselves as he looked around. Horrified looks were sent to him from everyone in the room. It only took one glance at your picture on the screen for him to grab the paper from the polished wood table. “I have to… I need to…” He rambled aimlessly, staring at the paper while he blindly tried to find his way out of the roundtable room and down the ramp.

Practically bolting out of the bullpen, Spencer sought the fresh air that the campus would bring, but Hotch had told him to stay put, so he settled for the more or less abandoned interview room that neighbored Morgan’s office. The room sat unused most of the time, a fine layer of dust coating everything in plain sight.

Gracelessly pulling at the strap of his watch, he flung it across the room, each faint tick of the seconds a haunting reminder that you were rapidly running out of air. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting down before his legs had a chance to give out beneath him. If he had shut down the first time, he was nothing more than a shell of himself right now, merely a pile of skin and bones that concealed organs—like a heart that was breaking. Pulsatile tinnitus made it seem like his heart was pounding in every area of his body, causing him to pull his legs to his chest, condensing himself so he didn’t take up so much space.

A soft knocking saved him from his own pit of despair, a familiar curtain of brown hair on narrow shoulders greeted his eyes, and the soft smile that Blake gave him dripped with pity. “Do you mind?” She asked rhetorically, gesturing to a chair in front of him before taking a seat. “What is it?”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, too stressed to deduce the meaning of her question. “What is what?” Dropping his hands, he thumbed the hem of his slacks, fiddling with a loose thread to occupy his busy mind. He tried to act as if there weren’t tornado sirens going off in his head, cluing him to an impending storm—one where he was bound to be swept up.

“There’s more to this thank you’re letting on,” Blake nudged the toe of her boot against Spencer’s sneaker. “Hotch wouldn’t have taken you out of the field if there weren’t exigent circumstances.”

Sometimes, he had to remind himself that even though she hadn’t been a profiler for very long, Alex had plenty of experience in the bureau. She had a knack for reading people and reaching conclusions, and, at this moment, Spencer despised her for it. He turned his head, resting his cheek on his knee, the displacement of his face causing one of his eyes to close. “She’s pregnant,” he confessed, the weight of the secret crumbling from the air around him.

He shut his other eye to avoid the look of shock that had inevitably taken place on Alex’s face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen; you were supposed to be able to wait three more weeks until the second trimester and be able to tell everyone. It was supposed to be a joyous moment, not a secret choked out when there were no other options. “Hotch knows?”

Blinded by his eyelids, Spencer nodded. Hotch was the first person he’d told once that little plus sign popped up. Before you’d told any friends and family, Spencer knew he had to tell Hotch about the baby; he had to keep you safe. What a waste that had been.

Just last week, you’d gone to see the baby for the first time, the sonogram had been gleefully posted on your refrigerator that same day. He knew the chances that JJ and Rossi hadn’t seen it were next to none, so really, there was no more secret to keep.

You were just barely nine weeks along, the last few days had been spent debating whether or not you wanted to do a blood test to find out the sex, and now you might never know. He’d thought you’d be better off at home. He’d thought getting away from the office at a normal time would be healthy for you, but instead his well-meaning gesture had placed you under the radar of someone who wanted to hurt you. What was worse was this person undoubtedly knew who you were and what you were afraid of, they’d probably been watching you for a while.

Guilt burrowed deep inside of his gut when he lifted his eyelids, looking at the paper he’d taken from the roundtable room. Mixed in with whatever they’d given you to knock you out had been an unlisted narcotic. The field test hadn’t been precise enough to name the drug, but in the end, Spencer found he didn’t really care about the specifics. He only cared about what he knew. Narcotics were known to cause miscarriages, and when you combined that with whatever had knocked you out—GHB, Rohypnol, whatever—it only killed more hope. It brought Spencer to a place of desolation.

He was miserable as he handed the paper off to Blake, vaguely aware of the people passing by in the hallway, rubbernecking near the door to try and get a glimpse of him. “Did the UnSub just take whatever was left over in your medicine cabinet and give it to her?”

The question was innocent enough. Maybe in another lifetime, you’d have a few pills left over from various hospital trips, but that wasn’t the case in this timeline. “We don’t keep narcotics in the house,” he answered a tad too quickly.

Interrupting his thought process, JJ poked her head into the interrogation room, “Uh, Hotch wants everyone in the roundtable room.” Her sorrowful blue eyes pierced through Spencer, with him sitting on the floor, everyone felt so much bigger than him. “The Replicator sent us a message.”

You gasped a sob, trying to rein in your emotions so you wouldn’t use as much of your limited air supply, but with every passing moment, you found it that much more difficult to hold yourself together. Reaching up a hand, you pressed your palm at the ceiling above you, pushing up at the roof of your enclosure to no avail. Paranoia was beginning to creep in, telling you that the things you were hearing were the worms in the soil preparing to return you to the earth.

Swiping your hand on the wood, you repeated the motion until you were clawing at the rotting material, attempting to burrow yourself out of confinement. The split grains tugged and pulled at your fingertips, leaving splinters to interrupt the fine lines of your prints. You were on the verge of throwing a tantrum, kicking and scratching at your confines, until one of the boards broke, bringing you to a screeching halt.

You’d kicked one of the boards loose, breaking it and leaving the void to fill with dirt. Lowering your shaky hands, you took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regulate your breathing through techniques you’d learned over the years. You’d spent countless hours in therapy trying to help your claustrophobia, but you’d used that time to navigate things like elevator rides and tiny bathroom stalls. You never thought you would need to prepare for this to happen to you a second time.

You couldn’t halt the tears when they finally came. Part of you knew that crying would use up what little oxygen you had at a fast rate, but the other part of you, the despondent part, didn’t have the energy to care. You tried for a moment, covering your mouth with your bleeding palm to contain the volume of air you were taking in, to no avail. You had finally lost control, and the fuzzy feeling in your brain was only exacerbated by the scent of the dirt that coated your hands.

It just wasn’t fair. Subconsciously, you knew the concept of fairness should’ve been something you’d given up on years ago, but as the air surrounding you grew stale, it was all you could think about. The idea that you’d spent your morning with Spencer trying to prove to you that your bump was showing, giggling while using the false name you’d assigned to your unborn child as you insisted you were just bloated.

Slowly, you dragged your bleeding fingertips down your torso, leaving them resting hesitantly on your lower belly, the exact spot that Spencer had insisted was protruding just that morning. Bile rose in your throat as you feared what your day of turmoil meant for your baby. You had no idea how long you’d been in the ground, and you had no idea how much time you had left. Spencer would’ve figured it out—he had last time. One sleepless night, you’d made him explain tidal volume to you, and he’d let you comb your fingers through your hair while he told you the story of the last time he came to your rescue.

As you lay there, paranoid, wondering if you were imagining the pain in your head and stomach, it occurred to you that you never should have come back to the BAU the first time. The sleepless nights you’d spent combing through the trauma of your teammates, convincing yourself that what you’d been through was nothing in comparison to their scars, had been entirely unnecessary. You kept a tally of the flights of stairs you’d taken when one elevator ride would’ve sufficed, wearing the count as a badge of honor. You could count on one hand the number of elevator rides you’ve taken in the last two years—they were usually spent with your head in your hands and Spencer’s hand on your back.

You’d always compared yourself to Emily, who’d lost her life, and Hotch, who’d lost his love, and you decided that if they could return to the field after those events, then there was no reason for you to lag behind. You forced yourself to play a part you didn’t belong in, and you could never forgive yourself for it. It’s part of the reason you let your eyes fall shut when the air grows thin, wondering if there was any point in coming back to a life you weren’t mean to be living.

He'd run out of things to throw, eyeing the books that he’d left scattered on the ground, his watch still discarded somewhere in the interview room. His tie was loosened to the point that it was almost slipping off of his neck while he desperately tried to catch his breath. Each time he settled down, he remembered you were suffocating, and the cycle continued.

The Replicator had all but taken responsibility for your abduction, and the world around him had begun to spin. Quickly, everything began to make sense, repeating a crime that had been committed against you and using narcotics to knock you out.

His addiction had never been officially documented in any FBI files, but that didn’t stop Spencer from placing fault on himself. There were easier ways to incapacitate someone, and somehow, the Replicator had chosen the method that was likely to do the most harm. Spencer put his trembling hands over his head, knowing that if he’d never taken that vial off of Tobias Hankel’s corpse, you wouldn’t be in this situation now. His mind that had been previously praised for genius drew convoluted lines between the dots, making connections that he never should’ve considered.

In the doorway, Alex came to his rescue once more, holding a Kevlar vest in her hand while smiling at him kindly, “We found her.”

The distance between Quantico and the cemetery was no more than a blur to him. He had no idea when it had started to rain, but he found each pelt of a raindrop to be soothing, welcoming the constant drumming that occupied his minds, keeping him away from catastrophizing.

Rossi, Hotch, and Emily had arrived only moments before the second SUV, but they’d wasted no time in getting the cemetery staff to dig at the coordinates Penelope had found in the message sent by the Replicator. The rain made the soil move like sludge off of the makeshift casket that contained the love of his life, and he took his first step toward you when he saw the broken pieces of wood.

A familiar arm went out in front of him, blocking his path to you with a sense of fraternal protection, but Spencer tried to push Morgan away. He was the weaker of the two, exhausted by his own emotions as he shoved his way through to you. Distantly, he heard himself asking to be let through, but it wasn’t until the lid of the casket was popped that Blake spoke up for him, “Derek.”

Immediately, Derek’s arm dropped, releasing the hold he had on Spencer and allowing him to run to you. The sopping ground sept into his shoes as he ran, falling into the mud while Emily and Hotch precariously pulled you out of your enclosure. Morgan’s intention had been to shield Spencer from the harsh reality of your death, but even if you were gone, he still felt an otherworldly pull to you. After all, what was the point of promising ‘til death do us part if he wasn’t with you when you went?

Mud coated every spare inch of his clothes, but he couldn’t care less as he scrambled to take your hand in his, gently pressing his fingers to your wrist and waiting for something—anything. “Baby, please.” He couldn’t tell, the radial pulse could be undependable, so he moved his hand to your neck and crouched his head over your face, immediately comforted when he heard the faint whistle of air flowing through your nostrils.

Relief flooded his senses, inclining his head to rest his forehead against yours and nodding profusely when Emily asked him if you were alive. His chest shook with a sob as he pulled back, tugging his FBI jacket off and laying it over you to try and warm you up, the rest of the team following suit while JJ and Hotch tried to flag down the ambulance. He tuned out the frantic discussion of the team and the loud blare of the emergency vehicles.

Shifting so he was sitting on the ground, he gingerly placed your head in his lap, using his fingertips to deftly wipe away the dirt and blood that covered your marred skin. He noted a scratch on your head, and a quick scan of your body didn’t show him any visible injuries, though your hands displayed a nauseating portrait of your time in the ground, torn apart with dozens of splinters. “I’ve got you,” he cooed to your unconscious body. He looked up to see a team of EMTs running towards you, decked out in rain gear and medical supplies, “She’s pregnant.”

His words elicited a stare from one of the rain-soaked paramedics, telling him he had reached the same conclusion that Spencer had already resolved himself to. “We’ve gotta get her out of this rain,” he said, loading you onto a spine board and lifting you to the gurney so they could easily roll you to the ambulance, leaving Spencer scrambling to catch up with you. He practically threw himself into the ambulance, refusing to separate himself from you.

Spencer squeezed your hand, hoping you’d squeeze back, staying as far back as he could from the paramedics while keeping his fingers intertwined with yours.

Nothing hurt when you came to, but you could feel the familiar pressure of a bandage around your leg. Sensation traveled up to your hands, each of your fingertips precariously wrapped with cause, initiating the healing of your cuts from when you’d tried to scratch your way to freedom. Slowly, you took a deep breath, letting the antiseptic air of the hospital flood your senses.

Through your eyelids, you could see that the room around you was bright, and a soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself—Spencer was here. You felt him now, the soft touch of his hand on your arm, the imprint of a hand you knew as well as your own. The warmth of his palm served as a brief distraction before your brain registered a dull ache in your stomach, and somehow, you just knew. A low keening sound slipped from your throat, more from the compressed escape of air than a complaint of any pain you felt.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered gently, his voice hoarse with emotion, “So, so much.” He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your battered knuckles. “Oh, honey,” he sighed, gently squeezing your hand, minding your wounds.

He was so gentle with you—he always had been. His fingertips drifted over your arm with an attention to detail that rivaled a medical doctor, minding the IV in your arm when he moved past it. You tried to mumble an I love you in return, but the words came out unintelligibly.

Spencer’s ministrations came to a halting stop at this first sign of life, “Hey,” he cooed, “What was that?” You felt the side of your mattress dip as he took a seat on your bedside, he hushed you gently, dragging a knuckle up and down your cheek while silently pleading for you to speak.

He was testing you, that much you knew. He wanted to know if being deprived of air had cost you your ability to speak. You shook your head at him, denying the implication as you cleared your throat determinedly, “I love you, too.” Your voice was gravelly, likely from all of the screaming you had done in the tomb, but it was there, and it was coherent.

The hospital sheets scratched at your skin while you tried to coax yourself into opening your eyes, the promise of seeing Spencer providing an incentive. Taking a deep breath, your eyelids fluttered open, looking up at his sorrowful eyes. Even so, he smiled at you softly, just happy to see you awake, “There’s my girl.”

The tear tracks on his face were like daggers to your heart, bringing with them a terrible reminder of whatever fear he felt when you had gone missing. You blinked additional sleep out of your eyes, focusing on him and his exhaustion, “How long?” You asked, watching him reach over for a glass of water, guiding the straw to your mouth.

He waited until you’d taken a few sips before answering your questions, “You’ve been asleep for two days.” He said, setting the cup to the side—close enough that you could grab it on your own if need be.

You made a face—two days was a long time—and sighed, relaxing back into the pillows while you tried to find the right words to say. “How’s…. Am I…?” You stumbled through the question, tears welling in your waterline before you even had the chance to ask. Swallowing thickly, you could only hope Spencer understood when you were getting at before you had to force the words out.

Your husband shook his head softly, “There’s no heartbeat.” His voice was tight, but he maintained his position as a pillar for you to lean on, keeping your hand in his just in case you needed additional support.

It didn’t hurt, not right now. You were sure the grief would hit you at some point in the near future when the sun hit your face just right or a blue car passed you by. Some inexplicable harbinger of grief would enter and exit your life just as quickly as your child had. “Okay,” you breathed, gazing at Spencer, hoping your eyes would have the ability to convey how you felt.

“They haven’t pinpointed a cause; it could’ve been any number of things, but it’s not… Are you in any pain?” He cut himself off to check in on you; he studied your expression with a stoicism that rivaled your boss.

You shook your head, “No.” The achiness you felt wasn’t strong enough to fully qualify as pain, and anything that was there, your body had already gotten used to. You were sure there was something in your IV that was assisting the numbness in your limbs.

Spencer raised his eyebrows doubtfully, “Would you tell me if you were?” He asked you, giving you a look that reminded you he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Will you just… not tell anyone I woke up yet?” You shifted uncomfortably on the bed, “I’m not ready.” You needed time to prepare for the prying eyes and barrage of questions that were bound to come with the BAU.

His head bobbed, “Anything. Anything you want,” he promised, dragging his knuckle up and down your cheek. Subconsciously, you leaned into his touch, prompting him to cup the cold skin in his warm palm. “You could go back to sleep if you wanted to.”

You hummed woefully, “Not yet. I missed the light.” Besides that, you wanted to enjoy your sedated mind before it became overwhelmed with a flurry of emotions. Right now, you felt peace, and you deserved to have that kind of silence. Surely the dam would break, but as long as you could hold it off, you just wanted to lay in bed with Spencer. “’m cold,” you mumbled thoughtlessly, thinking of it as a throwaway comment before you remembered who you married.

Spencer had a pile of blankets to his left, and he deftly pulled the top one from the pile and got to work placing it over you. “Is this better?” He asked, timidly tucking the blanket under your side and making sure you were well-covered.

Wincing, you slid your hand beneath the blanket and lifted the side, creating an opening for him to slip into. Your silent invitation was accepted when Spencer kicked his shoes off and joined you in the crowded hospital bed, “Much better.” You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, “Spence?”

“What is it, honey?” He asked, skimming the pad of his thumb over your side, his large hand splayed against your back.

Clenching your left hand into a fist, you sighed, trying to ignore the tears that were pricking your eyes. “Did you find my ring?” You remembered missing it in the ground, but you’d forgotten until just now, your finger once again intolerably bare.

A gentle kiss was pressed to the crown of your head, “Yes.” He twisted back, plucking the familiar ring off of your bedside table and returning it to its rightful home on your ring finger. “It was on the back of your sink in the bathroom,” he explained, twisting the band so the gem was facing out.

Small, sad tears trickled from your ducts. You sniffled, and Spencer’s grip on you changed—not tighter, but firmer as if he had anticipated this moment. The moment when what you had been avoiding finally caught up with you.

“I’ve got you,” he reassured you. You didn’t even have to ask for him to rub small circles on your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. As it had been for years now, Spencer was the only reason you felt safe enough to let your eyes fall shut, and even the darkness of sleep didn’t seem so intimidating when you knew you had him near.

spoiler content warning: miscarriage

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

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