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street-smarts00 · 4 months ago

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in omnia paratus

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer's been on the fence with his feelings for you. Due to his past traumas he’s decided to keep his feelings hidden. Until you’re caught in a dangerous situation at work

WC: 3.5 k

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long. I’ve been sitting on this for two months because I was being a perfectionist and had writer's block. Thank you so much to the person who requested this idea and I hope ya’ll like it! beta read by @whats-yesterday00

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Protective!spencer, Friends to lovers, age gap (25 and idk 33 or 34), during season 9 (sadly no post prison Reid, I refuse to watch the show after Derek & Hotch leave), Maeve is implied

Warnings!: mentions of murder, stalking, gunshot wounds, hostage situation and incorrect info about hostage situation cause Idk I'm not in the FBI

Everyone knew Spencer Reid had a soft spot for you. Well, everyone except for you.

Since the moment you met you’ve been on his mind.

“Do you know how old she is?”

“No, how old is she?”

“25!” Penelope squeaked before being shushed by Rossi.

“Wow, she’s gotta be the youngest person to ever be in the BAU. Well, second to genius over here,” JJ commented while pointing to Reid.

“That’s if she gets the job,” Morgan added.

They were all crowded around the desks in front of Hotch’s office. The blinds were cracked and they could just barely make out the woman seated across from their boss for an interview.

Due to the increase in caseload after Alex joined, Hotch made the request to add an additional member of the team. After interviewing a few people that didn’t pan out, he heard quite a bit about you from your supervisor saying how well you’ve done with the FBI and you’d be an exceptional fit for the team.

Then of course Penelope looked up everyone who was interviewing with Hotch. You being her most recent victim.

“How long has she been with the FBI?” Alex questioned.

“Three years,” Penelope answered

“What? Did she join right after college?”

“Not right away. She graduated early and got experience with law enforcement first.”

Spencer sat at his desk quietly while everyone was peering into Hotch’s office. Not to say he wasn’t nosy as well. You were already behind the blinds when he arrived for work.

“Oh they’re shaking hands! That has to be a good sign,” Penelope cheered.

Morgan turned to the window, “It’s definitely not a bad one.”

Her eyes widened before loudly whispering, “Oh no they’re leaving. Disperse.”

She scurried off in her heels towards Derek’s desk while he followed behind with a grin. JJ, and Rossi averted their eyes from Hotch’s office and found Alex’s desk far more interesting.

All while Spencer’s attention was brought to the woman led down the stairs by his boss. It felt like his heart stopped beating when he saw how beautiful you were. He was brought back to earth as Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he gestured to the man sitting at his desk.

You offered him a small wave and a kind smile, “Nice to meet you.”

It became quite obvious you two would get along very well. From very early on conversation flowed incredibly well between the two of you. There were very few people that he felt were easy to talk to because of his niche interests and the way he would ramble spitting facts left and right.

But he never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or talking too much with you. You often were a content listener or you would even match his passion on certain subjects. Most were topics Spencer already knew about.

When you first met Spencer you didn’t know the Dr in his name meant he held 3 PhD’s or that he was quite literally a genius.

So you were often telling stories or facts you found interesting that he already knew. In fact, almost every “fun fact” you brought up, he knew about already.

But he never interrupted you. He always was listening intently to what you had to say. Like he was hearing about it for the first time.

At some point you learned of his eidetic memory and how vast his knowledge was. It was during a case where you found out and mentioned it to him.

“Reid, remember when we were at the harbor and I mentioned that thing about sharks?” You hesitated, “did you know that already?”

“Yes,” he guiltily admitted.

You partially deflated suddenly feeling that the whole tangent you went on was pointless. “Why did you let me go on and on if you already knew?”

His eyes softened, “because I wanted to hear you talk about it.”

That was when his feelings started to peek through. As the months went on it only grew and grew. And you were none the wiser.

To the average person, it might not seem like much. Perhaps you were just good friends. But to a team of profilers (and best friends) it was painfully obvious.

It was almost painful the way he looked at you with a longing in his eyes. Or when his gaze immediately turned to you to catch your reaction or smile.

It was obvious by the way he found any excuse to bring you up in conversation. Or how in conversation with you he would mirror your mannerisms and lean closer to you.

As well as the things he remembered about you or the little things he did for you. Like the countless coffee cups he bought for you from his favorite coffee shop before work. And when he saw you struggling to find something or open something he was always right there to help.

Spencer Reid had feelings for you. Feelings so deep that he couldn’t pull the roots out even if he tried.

He didn’t know what to do with his feelings exactly. He hadn’t felt this strongly for someone since … well for a while. He was terrified of history repeating itself.

He couldn't lose you. He’d seen first hand what this job did to him, what it did to Hotch. Their loved ones ripped away from them too soon.

So for now at least, he kept his feelings to himself.

Well, until your last case.

The BAU was called in on a case that just turned serial. They found the unsub to be a man named Mark, who started killing because his girlfriend cheated on him. The first two victims reminded him of the man she cheated with. When that didn’t satisfy him, he hunted down and killed the other man.

Now the team and SWAT was stationed outside a bus that Mark was holding hostage. He stalked his ex-girlfriend and tracked down the new city bus she took.

The officers couldn’t get a clear shot of him because of where he was standing and he kept using the passengers as shields. Rossi was currently on the phone with him trying to make negotiation terms and get some of the people off the bus. Mark however was incredibly stubborn and didn’t want to let his leverage go.

So Rossi asked about the children on the bus and if Mark would be willing to let them off. They were met with silence on the other end of the phone, contrary to his previous behavior where he loved to hear himself talk.

After a short pause the phone spoke. “I’ll only send out the kids if you send in an agent.”

Rossi shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Are there any other circumstances you’re willing to send out the children for?” he asked.

“Nope,” he said with a pop at the end of the word.

A look of concern was quickly exchanged between Rossi and Hotch. While their faces didn’t reveal much, their eyes spoke volumes.

“How about this,” the unsub continued. “I’ll send out their moms too.”

Rossi’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the eagerness to comply from the criminal. “You’ll send out the children and their mothers if we send in one of our agents?”

“I promise.”

Rossi returned his eyes to Hotch who stood rigid and tall with his arms folded. He was met with an approving nod before returning to the call.

“Alright, we can agree to those terms.”

“Oh and agent Rossi?” Mark perked.

“Yes?”

“Send in a girl.”

There was a tension that quietly branched out between the agents listening to the phone call.

“Why do you want a woman?” Rossi asked, clearly changing the dialogue used.

“I’m losing too many ladies sending out these moms. I want one back,” he replied with a cockiness to his voice.

Ross confirmed they could send in a female agent. Almost immediately after the unsub hung up, you volunteered to be the agent going on the bus.

“I’ll do it.”

Spencer’s head shot in your direction. “No you're not.” His voice was laced with concern and a hint of demand.

“Reid-”

“He specifically asked for a woman. We don’t know what he’s planning, he’s devolving.”

“And I’m willing to take that risk to make sure those kids are safe,” You defended yourself.

You turned to your boss waiting for his thoughts. Hotch knew you’d been exposed to enough high tension scenarios to know what you were doing. But just like any member of his team, he silently hesitated, worrying for your safety.

He took a breath before meeting your eyes again. “Send her in.”

Right before you were led to the bus, Hotch took off the holster on his ankle and handed it to you. “Some extra protection in case something happens.” You couldn’t hear the concern in his voice, but you saw it clear as day in his eyes.

You made your way to the bus and saw through the window Mark holding a gun to the driver and telling him to open the door. You stepped on and the doors closed quickly behind you. The unsub took a long look at you, panning up and down.

“Well how about that. Aren’t you a beauty? He said with a cheeky grin.

You tried your hardest not to look disgusted with him. Instead you kept your composure and spoke with courage and a confident demeanor.

“You this flirty with all your hostages?” you asked plainly.

As he gazed down at your legs his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He bent down and with the gun in his hand, pushed away the bottom of your pants leg. When he saw the gun in the holster, he tsked.

“You always carry this much dead weight on you?”

He stood back up and put his hand out, “hand it over, I told them no weapons.”

You reluctantly took off Hotch’s holster and placed it in the unsubs hand. Your one line of defense was gone.

The longer you were on the bus, the more anxious Spencer got. He knew you were an exceptional profiler, and you had enough experience and skill to handle yourself in situations like this.

But that couldn’t stop the ache in his stomach or the fact that his heart rate could power a car by now.

He stood closer to the bus now to get a clearer view of the windows. They managed to successfully get the children and moms off and to safety, but you weren’t safe. Spencer figured you were trying to negotiate with the unsub, but that was going nowhere. This was confirmed when Rossi tried calling him again but every call was ignored.

This unsub was stubborn as hell. He knows he trapped himself, but didn’t want to back down. At least he didn’t want to go quietly.

Spencer was talking with the rest of the team trying to devise a plan when the gunshots were fired. The team immediately ran back to the cacophony on the bus.

More shots were fired, he didn’t know where from. He didn’t care.

He just needed to get to you.

When he got a decent view through one of the windows that hadn’t shattered he saw you. Your hand over arm in pain but still standing in front of the civilians to protect them. The unsub stalking over to you, gun in hand and smacking you over the head with it. You slammed against the chairs and fell to the floor.

Spencer's face paled. He swore he was going to throw up.

Through the fog of his mind Spencer saw Morgan escorting Mark off the bus, his hands now behind his back in cuffs.

He rushed past them, clambering through the door and up the stairs to get to you, calling your name.

“Reid?” he heard your small tired voice through the crowd.

He followed it to you, laying on the ground struggling to open your eyes and clutching your left arm.

He crouched down to your level with a gentle hand on your uninjured arm.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” he comforted.

“My head hurts,” you mumbled.

His eyes softened, “I know. I think you might have a concussion, you need to go to the hospital.”

You slowly started to fade out of consciousness. Spencer’s heart dropped and his hand moved from your arm to your face.

“No no no no stay with me okay?” he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“Stay with me sweetheart,” he consoled.

Your eyes stopped struggling to stay open and finally made their close. His other hand rushed to your pulse point as he called for a medic.

Time seemed to stand still while Spencer sat next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up. He couldn’t leave your side. He didn’t want to.

You were okay. You were laying in the bed in front of him. But of course in his mind he ran through all the possible scenarios of how things could’ve gone worse, how things could’ve gone better. What would’ve happened if you didn’t have your gun taken away, or if the unsub got angry that you tried to bring a gun in. What if he didn’t lose his cool and start firing. What if you never went inside in the first place.

And with all of those possible scenarios, the same thought plagued him.

He was wrong.

Before he was too scarred from past traumas to reveal just how much you meant to him. Not wanting to repeat the past and lose yet another person he loved cared for.

But now, after seeing you in danger right in front of him, now he was terrified at the thought of you never knowing. He was now more scared you would never know how much he loved the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. How he thought the sound of your voice could cure any ailment he had. How he admired your strength and desire to protect others. How you could light up anyone's mood by just being you. How he could listen to you for hours, even if you were lecturing him on things he’d known like the back of his hand.

To him it was a whole new experience hearing it from you.

Spencer was pulled from his thoughts as you stirred awake. He saw your eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights ahead. He quickly got up to dim the lights for you.

When he returned to his seat you smiled at him, “hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled back.

“How are you feeling?”

You sighed. “Like shit,” you complained with a hint of humor.

“The doctor said you have a minor head injury, bruised ribs, and the shot to your arm thankfully didn’t break any bones.”

“Fun,” you said sarcastically.

A moment of silence passes between you two. He doesn’t exactly know what to say. How do you casually tell your friend and coworker you have a crush on them?

There is no casual way.

“You called me sweetheart,” you broke the silence.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

You fidget with the blanket, “earlier, when I passed out on the bus. You called me sweetheart.”

He searches his mind for the memories of the day. When he finds the memory he realizes in the heat of the moment the term of endearment slipped out.

He wasn’t aware you heard it.

“I did,” he confirmed as his ears flushed.

“Why?” you asked curiously.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he’s wanted to call you that for weeks now. So instead he settled with-

“It just … felt right.”

“Oh,” you replied quietly.

Spencer tensed up at your response.

“If I crossed the line-“

“No. Of course not,” you interrupted with a comforting voice.

The corners of your mouth lifted and cheeks dusted pink. “I thought it was sweet. You don’t normally say stuff like that.”

His heart warmed at your confession and a smile spread on his face.

“You thought me calling you sweetheart was sweet?” he lightly teased.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Your laughter was cut short by a sharp pain in your abdomen. You bit down on your lip and gripped the side of the bed in pain.

The reality that you were injured on the job was rushing back to him.

He licked his lips, his nervous unconscious habit.

“I was really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he interjected.

“The entire time you were on that bus I was sick to my stomach. Terrified that something bad was gonna happen and it did,” he started to ramble.

You leaned closer to him. ”But I’m okay Reid.”

“You still got hurt. He shot you for christ sake!” his voice raising in pitch and volume.

“Reid-”

“He lashed out at you! You could’ve died!”

“Spencer,” you said firmly, pulling his attention towards you.

He never heard you say his name before. No matter how many times he said you could call him Spencer, you still called him Reid. Hearing his name fall from your lips was like the consistency of honey.

You placed your hands on his face caressing his cheek. His golden eyes meet yours.

“I’m alright. I’m still here,” you consoled.

“But if-“

“Spencer.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s important.”

You nodded your head, signaling for him to continue. He gently grabbed your wrists and brought your hands in his. He took a deep breath before he decided to spill the thing that had been eating away at his heart.

“I have feelings for you. I have for a long time. Almost as long as you’ve been at the BAU,” he started.

With your hands in his he started tracing his thumb over your knuckles.

“If we don’t have work I count down the days until I can see you again. When I do see you I desperately want to see you smile, see you happy. And if I’m the one that causes that smile, it makes my whole day. That’s why I never interrupted when you talked about something I already knew. The way your face lit up when you talked with such passion was the highlight of my day.”

“For months I was scared of my feelings and I kept them to myself. I was too scared to admit how much I liked you because I-” his hold on your hands tightened.

“I know what it feels like to lose someone. This job takes so much from us; I never wanted it to take you.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“Today I realized it would be more painful if I went the rest of my life not telling you, than having even a fraction of a moment with you.”

A moment of silence danced between you two. Your head reeling from his confession, heart beating so hard you could feel it in your bones. Your palms sweaty from holding onto Spencers, but still neither of you let go.

The silence was deafening, plaguing him.

“Please … say something,” he begged.

Your lash line was collecting tears that you simultaneously tried blinking away. Your eyes found his tie less intimidating than his gaze.

“I never thought you would like me back,” you said with a soft tone.

Spencer's cheeks turned red as his heart started melting. “I do.”

You brought your eyes back to his. That precious smile on his face was infectious.

“Listen,” you squeezed his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. So you have as much time with me as you want.”

Spencer's eyes softened at your words. He raised your hands and placed a loving kiss on your knuckles.

The two of you were too lost in eachother to notice the footsteps towards the room.

“Hey, I found some Jello for her if she-” Alex abruptly stopped once she noticed what she walked into.

You both awkwardly pulled your hands away from each other; you fiddling with the hospital blanket, him rubbing his palms on his slacks.

“So, feeling better?” she asked hesitantly.

“Much,” you answered, still a bit flustered.

“Good, good to hear,” She tried not to sound too smug, but the small smile on her face said otherwise.

She raised and shook the jello container in her hand.

“I’m gonna leave this here,” she placed it on the table. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thanks Blake,” you thanked as she left.

Once she was gone you quietly giggled and mumbled “oh my god,” under your breath.

“You know, she kept teasing me asking when I was going to ask you out. And don’t even get me started on Morgan,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Your jaw dropped and eyes furrowed. “Did everyone else know but me?”

He pressed his lips in a thin line, “pretty much.”

“I must be a shitty profiler,” you half joked.

“Absolutely not,” he said in the most comforting voice. He brushed the hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear.

“You’re an amazing profiler.”

You smiled that smile he loved so much. The one where you couldn’t hide your joy and your nose crinkled.

“So, how do you think you’ll spend all those moments with me?” you inquired with a bit of a teasing tone.

“Doing anything sweetheart,” he answered seriously. He looked at you with awe written all over your face. “I'm ready for anything with you.”

“in omnia paratus” - ready for anything

Tag asks: @adrienneleclerc @ladybirdbeetle7

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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sunniques · 2 months ago

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— salacious fixation

cw/tw: hoon is mean and manipulative, yandere themes, daddy kink, size kink, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, mentions of previous rounds

minors do not interact. pt2

Sunghoon will be the first to admit that he won’t ever fuck the same person more than two times. It’s an unofficial rule he has, and he’s been able to stick by it for so long because he gets bored so easily. He’s never met anyone who’s been able to hold his attention for longer than a week.

This all changes when he meets you.

The moment he saw you taking shots with Jake, he was done for. Sunghoon felt like a creep for watching you all night, but he was physically unable to look away. Everything about you fascinated him. That night, he was only able to exchange a few words with you, but at the very least he was able to learn your name.

Getting to know you isn’t as easy as Sunghoon hoped. For some reason, you kept an annoying amount of distance from him. You always remained polite and cordial—sweet, even. Yet you always pulled away before he could get too close. It drove him insane and made his fixation more intense.

Finally, Jake let it slip one day that you disregarded him so much because one of your friends had a huge crush on him. Apparently you were a girls girl, or whatever. If Sunghoon were anyone else, he might’ve respected that. But he didn’t. At all.

It’s easy to get your friend to invite him over when you just happen to be hanging out with her. Because your friend is so infatuated with him, she’s quick to let him crash what was meant to be a girl’s night. Sunghoon can tell you’re not happy about it, but as always, you play the part of a sweet angel who goes with the flow.

It makes getting you alone that much easier.

“You’re leaving?” You exclaim, feeling your face heat up when you realize how loud your voice got.

“I’m just going to get some drinks,” your friend assured you, not at all concerned that she’s leaving you alone with her very hot crush. “I know you’re shy, but I won’t take a long time.”

You wonder why Sunghoon can’t go with her, or why she won’t let you leave so you don’t have to be a third wheel. Either way, she makes you promise to stay until she comes back, and you foolishly agree. After all, the liquor store is only thirty minutes away, and she assures you that she’ll be back quickly.

It turns out, it only took ten minutes for Sunghoon to have you naked and spread out on your friend’s bed. You feel like such a nasty slut, but somehow that just turns you on more.

According to Sunghoon, everything would’ve been so much easier if you gave into him from the beginning. Of course, it’s way too late for any of that now. He’s going to have to ruin all of your pretty little holes until he gets you out of his system.

At least, that’s what he thinks until he sinks his aching cock into your needy cunt. Once Sunghoon feels how tightly you’re gripping him, he knows he won’t ever be able to get enough. He’s so nasty, and it shouldn’t get you as wet as it does. However, all of your rational thoughts were shoved to the back of your mind after your pussy got creampied.

“F-Fuck!”

Your wanton cry is loud, rivaling the lewd squelching and skin slapping filling the room. Tears of pleasure stream down your face as Sunghoon fucks his huge, girthy cock into your tight pussy. Your mixed releases are pushed out of your cunt with every rough thrust and drip onto your friend’s bed, but her hot crush is far from done with you.

“S-Sunghoon, please!” You beg through your tears. “More!”

“Who?”

He sounds so mean and ravenous, but that only turns you on more. Your pussy tightens around him as you stain his cock with more of your cream. No one has ever fucked you so roughly before, but you love every second of it.

“Daddy, please!” You mewl into the mattress, face burning at the name he insisted you call him. “Fuck me harder!”

Sunghoon smirks as his large hands grip your ass to spread you open for him. You feel so hot and tight around him that he never wants to stop fucking you. After this, he’ll keep using you over and over until you’ve milked every last drop of cum from his balls.

“God, you’re fucking needy,” his grip is bruising. “Bet you love daddy stretching out this tiny little cunt, huh?”

You nod even though it feels like he’s splitting you in half. It hurts so good, and you know that you wouldn’t stop even if your friend were to walk in on you two right at this very second.

“Can’t believe this cute little pussy is taking my cock,” Sunghoon groans as he helps you bounce back on him. “Thought I’d need to train you a little more. Guess you were just desperate for some cock.”

You moan into the sheets, too fucked out to care about anything except the cock drilling into you and the hot guy it’s attached to.

“You’re so pretty, angel,” Sunghoon coos as his heavy balls slap against your pulsing clit. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Sunghoon groans in satisfaction when you squirt all over his cock. He licks his lips as his hips start to snap. You’re a fucked out mess underneath him, trembling on his cock from absolute pleasure.

“That’s it, baby. Get your friend’s sheets all dirty. Filthy fucking girl.”

All you can do is moan like a slut as Sunghoon fucks you like you’re his personal fucktoy. Part of you wants to finish before your friend gets back, but the other part never wants him to stop. Any guilt you felt has melted away. In a way, this was all her fault for not letting you leave when you first wanted to.

“Fuck. I’m gonna cum again,” Sunghoon roughly kneads your ass before he roughly slaps it. You jolt and cry out. “You want that, baby? Want me to fill this tight little cunt?”

“Yes, daddy!” You moan, as you deepen your arch. “Cum in my slutty little pussy. Want it so bad!”

With those needy words, Sunghoon shoots his hot spunk inside you. The loud moans you let out can be heard by your friend as she unlocks the door to her apartment, but Sunghoon only encourages those pretty noises as he fucks his cum deeper into your pussy.

#sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours

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deadsetobsessions · 6 months ago

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Sea Cryptic! Danny- pt. 10

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9]

“This you?”

Danny glanced at the stone tablet in Spoiler’s hands and groaned, Phantom form flickering with embarrassment as his face got even more neon green. It was indeed him.

——

The first Atlantean and Ghost King encounter went something like this:

Imagine Danny, sleep deprived. Easy enough. Now, imagine Danny, trying to corral a ghost that had a penchant for sea life.

“Alabastor, I swear to Ancients, if you don’t get back here, I’m gonna make you into ghost sea-food boil!” Danny yelled as he chased Alabastor through the ghost zone. The crustacean shaped ghost cackled, skittering along the Zone.

"Make me, Phantom! You have not seen the might of the sea!"

"That's it, soup-time, crabby!"

Danny dove after Alabastor, chasing him face first into a temporal portal and right into the sea.

"BEHOLD!" Alabastor rumbled, claws raised and sea churning around him. Danny flew at him, noticing the screaming people below. He quickly raised a dome of clear ice to protect their entire city before returning his attention back to the giant crustacean. The distraction cost him, as Alabastor blasted him with a beam of his power. "THE MIGHT OF THE SEA!"

"SOUP!" Danny bellowed back, Alabastor's power forcing him into a giant crab form, aside from, hilariously, his head. Danny, always quick to adapt, slammed a massive claw straight into one of Alabastor's eyes and popped open the Fenton Thermos with a feral grin. In but moments, Danny manages to soup Alabastor but not before slamming him down onto the unbreakable ice Danny had just made.

Carefully turning by skittering sideways, he unmelted his ice.

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly to the gawking civilians below.

"Suh-ree? What is suh-ree?" A brave woman asked.

"Oh," Danny uttered as he realized that he should probably switch languages. His giant crab body and small itty bitty human head swayed in an unsure motion. "Sorry means "my apologies." I had not meant to involve you. I am Phantom."

"It is alright... thank you for protecting us... God Phantom?"

He grimaced. "Not a god."

"King, then." She stepped forward. "May I ask of the ice?"

——

Spoiler, sensing weakness like the Riddler to a riddle, leaned in. "Did you know they have a traditional dance to honor the god that gave them the unbreakable ice that protects Atlantis to this day? It goes like this," Spoiler stepped back and did the dance, complete with exaggerated arm movements and, embarrassingly, the scuttle walk Crab!Danny was forced to learn with his new crab form.

"We shall never speak of this again," Danny huffed.

"But King Phantom, the God of Eternal Ice and Protection, how could we not celebrate your iciness?" Spoiler simpered, Black Bat not too far away and shaking with laughter. The purple donning vigilante did the scuttle dance once more, picking up bottles as she went a small circle around one of Bludhaven's rock beaches.

Danny scowled and plucked the tablet away from her, hair flowing an a more agitated direction. His jumpsuit burned brighter. "Why are you two menaces in Bludhaven? I thought your territory was in Gotham."

"Nightwing asked for back up and we were in the area." Spoiler, blessedly, stopped the walk to answer him. "By the way, are you and Danny dating?"

"Pardon?" He asked, insulted but highly amused.

"Oh, you know, he has your number, and you only ever talk to him outside of us, and how you guys have a high level of communication." Spoiler said leadingly.

Oh, Danny knew what this was about now. He found out their identities and now these two are interrogating him because he liked them best. They thought they were so clever. Well, they clearly haven't gotten to know Danny at all if they thought he was going to make good decisions.

Danny tilted his head, making sure his face gets as eerie as possible, shadows elongating and eyes burning just that much brighter. The neon green of his face shone even brighter against the suddenly dark landscape of the place. Black Bat stood up, laughter seizing immediately. Spoiler tensed.

"I have a riddle for you. You are good at those, are you not?"

Spoiler blinked but gamely said, "Bring it."

"What do these things have in common? An arguing couple, papers on a stranger's desk, and Star City's robbers."

"..." Spoiler slipped into her solving mode. "Stolen goods. Stolen hearts?" She guessed.

"No. The answer is that they're all none of your business," Danny snarled. His form flickered. "Keep your questing away from Danny- Daniel, vigilante. Your duty is to protect your city and help her," Danny swept an arm out. "Stick to that instead of inserting yourself into places you are not wanted."

Then, with a toss of an ecto-crossed recorder that held the verbal report he'd promised Nightwing towards Black Bat, Danny blinked out of the visible spectrum and flew above the two.

"... Shit, I think I pissed him off."

Black Bat nodded. "He was defensive."

"Yeah... did you hear that slip? Oh, they are so dating."

Danny grinned. He couldn't wait for Tim to interrogate him soon.

——

"You're kidding."

Danny shook his head, maniacal grin still on his face hours later. He'd taken the liberty to call his best friends before classes started for the day.

Tucker groaned. "Danny, I can't believe you're messing with Batman. Why are you like this."

"Look, I need your help."

"Oh no, keep me out of your dumbass plans, Fenton," Sam pointed at him through the screen, immaculately painted black nails threatening.

"Okay, if you go along with my plan, I'll give you Dr. Isley's number."

"Deal," Sam said immediately, changing her tune at a drop of a hat. Or, at a drop of a number.

"What about me?" Tucker asked, offended. "I deserve compensation for my work too, dammit!"

"I'll give you Tim Drake's number and persuade him to let you have a crack at Wayne Industry's tech basement."

"Deal, what are we doing?"

Danny's grin spread even wider. "We're dating. And, you two? You're Phantom's exes. Tucker, you say good stuff about me. Sam? You make up terrible things about me. But we're all dating each other and I'm dating Phantom on the side."

"I hate you," Sam deadpanned. "But fine, it's not that hard. I've got tons of embarrassing stories about Phantom. You better get me that number, Danny, because you know Dr. Isley was my gay awakening."

"For Tim Drake, I'd be willing to puff up your ego." Tucker said solemnly.

"Perfect. I'm cleaning his brother of ectoplasm today. so expect a call later! Love you guys!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, boyfriend." Sam clicked off the call.

"Think Tim Drake would be interested in a date?" Tucker asked Danny.

"Nah, I think he's got his heart on Benard."

"Damn," Tucker sighed. "Guess I'll have to mend my broken heart with the tools of a state-of-the-art lab, right, Danny?"

"Yep, see ya!" Danny hung up. Today was going to be a good day.

#batman #danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #sea cryptid danny phantom #danny: am i dating myself idk #the bats are good at conclusions #they tend to be right #so when they're wrong they're *wrong*#sea cryptic! danny au

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eu-nicola · 1 month ago

Text

one night part 2

summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about

warnings: nothing i think

word counter: 9788

author’s note: english is not my first language

tags: @seasonswinter @spngirl05 @seonghwaexile @sleutherclaw @hc-dutch @96mcobo @g3org1al33 @rawr-123s-stuff @callsignwidow @mid5nights @htpssgavi

After that first dinner and walk, Max became a constant presence in your life again, as if time hadn't passed and everything could be as simple as before. At first, you told yourself it was nothing, just chance encounters between two old friends who had met again after a long time. But, with every message that arrived on your phone, with every offer of coffee, a walk or even help with shopping for the baby, his presence slowly began to integrate into your daily routine.

Mornings, which used to be quiet and lonely, were filled with unexpected visitors. Max would appear with two coffees in hand, as if he had memorized your schedule and knew exactly when you needed him. Sometimes, you would find him waiting for you outside the store where you had spent the last half hour choosing clothes for the baby, with a smile that seemed to light up everything.

The days passed between small shared activities. Walks along the port of Monaco, strolls through the cobblestone streets of the old town, even visits to shops specialising in baby things, where he seemed to move with unexpected ease, commenting on how nice this or that would be. In those moments, everything seemed easy, almost natural, as if he had always been there, as if he had never left.

At first, you refused to think about what that meant. You didn't want to analyse it. It was easier to go with the flow, to enjoy the company without questioning it too much. However, the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the small changes around you.

The time you used to spend by yourself was filled with his presence. The moments of solitude in which you used to think about your baby's future were now coloured by his voice, his gestures, his laughter on those night walks in which the silence between you became comfortable, but charged with a tension that you both pretended not to notice.

At the same time, the closeness began to awaken something in you, something you had tried to bury since that night when everything changed. Every time his eyes fell on you, every time his attention focused on your pregnancy, a part of you was torn between the need to protect that secret and the almost uncontrollable desire to tell him the truth.

But you resisted. You knew you shouldn't let the illusion grow. He had a life, a stable relationship. You didn't want to be the person to tear that down, even inadvertently.

Despite your efforts to maintain an emotional distance, there were times when you found it impossible to ignore how easy it was to be with him. Max had become a constant. He was there in the small moments and the big ones, offering you support without you having to ask for it, reminding you, unintentionally, of what once was and what, in a different world, could have been.

However, as the days went by, you began to notice a change in him as well. There was something in his gaze, a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, as if he was looking for something in you that he couldn't quite find. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, beating in every encounter, in every gesture, in every word you shared.

And although you tried to convince yourself that everything was temporary, that he would soon realize that he had to return completely to his life, you couldn't help but wonder how long that fragile routine could hold up before something, or someone, broke it completely.

During those days between coffees and walks, the specific day arrived when you had decided to start decorating the baby's room. You wanted it to be a reflection of you, of your story, of everything you loved and that you would one day share with your son. And Max was not far behind.

Max appeared just as you began to move boxes and unpack small objects that you had been accumulating in the last few months. Without even asking you, he took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and started helping you. “You don’t have to,” you wanted to tell him, but he was already there, moving furniture, opening cans of paint, and asking where you wanted to put everything.

The room, which until then had been an empty room with white walls and a light wooden floor, slowly began to transform into something warmer, more personal. You had chosen soft shades of blue, a mix between the clear sky and the calm sea, a palette that reminded you of freedom and speed, of your love for cars, that same love that had been with you since childhood.

Max helped you measure the walls, choose where to hang the pictures of small classic cars you had bought at a local store, and even offered to assemble the crib, a piece of light wood that you had chosen for its simplicity and elegance.

“Are you sure you want everything to revolve around cars?” he asked you at one point, with an amused smile as he held up a small mobile with figures of tiny cars and stars.

“Completely sure,” you replied, also smiling. To you, there was nothing more symbolic than that. Cars represented movement, speed, freedom… everything you hoped your son would find in his life.

Hours passed between laughter, conversation and work. Max seemed to enjoy the process as much as you did, even suggesting ideas you would never have considered. It was his idea to put up a bookshelf shaped like a racetrack for the children’s books you had already started collecting. And he was also the one who insisted on putting down a dark blue rug with details of racetracks, which fit perfectly with the theme of the room.

As the afternoon progressed, the room began to take shape. The crib was in the center, next to a white dresser in which you had already started to store small clothes and blankets. On the main wall, you placed a mural of a starry sky, with a racing car crossing the horizon, something that Max had suggested when he saw your sketches.

“It’s perfect,” you said quietly, looking at the final result. The room was no longer just a room; it was a space filled with life, with dreams, with promises for the future.

Max was silent for a moment, standing next to you, looking around the room with an expression that was a mix of pride and something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His eyes scanned every corner, as if he were trying to memorize it, as if that place meant something more to him than he was willing to admit.

“It’ll be fine,” he finally murmured, breaking the silence. “All this… being a mother. I can tell you’re ready now.”

His words made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if you really were, but hearing that from someone who knew you so well, who had been by your side through so many important moments, gave you a sense of calm, that maybe, just maybe, everything would work out.

The afternoon began to turn into night, and as you gathered up your tools and cleaned up the last traces of paint, you realized how natural it all felt. As if it had always been this way, as if Max had always been by your side to help you build something bigger than yourself.

But you knew that the reality was more complicated. That, as much as you both enjoyed those small moments shared, there was a latent truth between you, a truth that would one day have to come to light. For now, however, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, the warmth that filled the room and Max's constant presence.

And although everything seemed to be peaceful for both of you, in Max's case it wasn't like that. The change didn't happen overnight, but Kelly, with her keen intuition, began to notice Max's absence from home more often than usual. At first, she didn't give it much importance. Max had always had a busy schedule, between meetings, events and commitments related to his career. But this time, something was different.

The “meetings” outside the house began to become more constant. It wasn’t just about professional commitments anymore. There were nights when he came back late, with a lame excuse, a quick smile, and a distracted kiss.

“Max, meeting again?” she asked one night, her tone casual but her eyes attentive as she watched him adjust his watch in front of the mirror.

“Yeah, nothing important. Just a couple of things pending with the sponsors,” he answered, without looking up. The excuse came out too easily, as if he had already prepared it.

Kelly nodded slowly, but her eyes followed him as he collected his keys and walked out the door. She knew something didn’t fit. Work meetings usually happened during the day, not at this time.

The days continued, and with them, the distance between them became more evident. Max was no longer spending as much time at home, and when he was, he seemed distracted, his attention divided between her, Kelly's stepdaughter, and something or someone else that Kelly couldn't see but felt more and more intensely.

One night, after Max came home late again, the inevitable argument erupted in the kitchen, where silence used to be their refuge but had now become a battleground.

“What’s going on, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm, though she tried to remain calm. She was leaning against the edge of the counter, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on him.

Max, surprised by the direct confrontation, looked up from his phone, where he had been absentmindedly checking messages. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re going out more and more often, you’re late, and your excuses don’t make sense. Are these really “meetings”? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his discomfort. “You’re overreacting. You know how it is. There are always things to be resolved.”

“There have always been things to be resolved, but you’ve never been so… absent. You’re not even here when you’re home, Max.” You're distant. Is there something you're not telling me?

The words hung in the air, charged with a tension that Max tried to dispel with a tired smile.

"You're imagining things. There's nothing more."

But she wasn't convinced. The arguments began to become more frequent, small daily battles that undermined the relationship. Kelly watched him closely, every look, every gesture, looking for answers that he wasn't willing to give her.

Meanwhile, Max continued to spend more and more time with you. The baby's room was almost finished, and casual walks had become common. The connection they shared had strengthened, as if the months of distance had never existed. For Max, those moments were a respite from the tension he felt at home, a refuge where things seemed simpler, more real.

Kelly, however, was not oblivious to those changes. She knew something was happening, and although she had no concrete proof, she could feel it in every fiber of her being. Suspicion became a constant presence, a shadow that accompanied her during the day and kept her awake at night.

One evening, while Max was out, Kelly checked his phone. It wasn’t something she usually did, but the uncertainty was consuming her. She found no compromising messages, but something that caught her attention: a couple of recent map searches, all directed to the same address… yours.

Kelly slowly closed the phone, her mind racing. She had no clear confirmation, but something inside her clicked. She knew there was something more between Max and you.

That night, when Max returned, she didn’t say anything. She watched him silently, trying to read him, looking for a sign that would confirm her suspicions. But he, as always, was calm, as if everything was under control.

Kelly wasn’t one to give up easily. She knew time would give her the answer she was looking for.

Days later, the sky had turned gray early in the morning, and the rain fell with a calm persistence, hitting the windows of your house. The sound was almost soothing, a constant accompaniment as you and Max worked on the final details of the baby's room. The room was almost finished, soft blue tones filled the space, and car-inspired decorations hung precisely on the walls.

It had been your idea to include a small shelf with miniature cars, a subtle reference to the passion you both shared for speed and racing. He had brought some from his personal collection, something you hadn't expected but that excited you more than you wanted to admit.

“This one will be perfect here,” Max commented, holding up a silver car that gleamed under the soft lamplight.

“Yeah… perfect,” you murmured, your attention more on him than on the shelf.

It was inevitable. There was something about him, the way his hands moved with precision as he adjusted every detail, that caught you. And the worst of all was the closeness, the familiarity that had blossomed again between the two of you. It felt like it hadn’t been months since you were last like this: comfortable, in sync, like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

Max reached over to place the car on the shelf, right next to your hand. His fingers brushed yours, barely a touch, but enough for an electric current to run through your skin. It was a brief touch, insignificant to anyone who had seen it, but to you, it was so much more than that.

You looked up, meeting his blue eyes. They were close, too close. You could see the intensity in them, that glow that had always captured you and now seemed stronger than ever. The space between you was filled with a palpable tension, one that made the air in the room seem thicker.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence became complicit, letting the rain be the only sound that filled the room. Max's breathing mixed with yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.

One more step.

You knew that if either of you took one more step, if you crossed that thin line that separated you, there would be no turning back. And part of you wanted it. You wanted to lose yourself in that moment, to let everything else disappear.

Max looked down, watching your lips for a fraction of a second. It was subtle, but you noticed it. You felt your heart race, your hands tremble slightly as you tried to keep yourself busy with the cars on the shelf.

“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence. You weren’t sure what you were going to say, but you needed to say something, anything to cut that tension before it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, though his voice sounded hesitant, like a part of him didn’t want to walk away. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“It’s okay,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, because you both knew what had happened in that instant. What had almost happened.

You focused back on the cars, lining them up perfectly on the shelf, though your hands were shaking. You felt Max’s gaze on you, like he was waiting for something more, like there was still a part of him that was resisting leaving the room.

“Maybe I should go,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You nodded without looking at him, because you knew that if you did, if you looked into his eyes one more time, all that self-control you had managed to muster would crumble. “Yeah… maybe that’s for the best.”

Max stayed a few more seconds, silent, before finally walking towards the door. You heard him open it, the sound of the rain intensifying for a moment before he closed it behind him.

And when you were left alone, with the rain as your only company, you allowed yourself to breathe. A deep, shaky breath, as if you had been holding your breath all this time. You knew that things were getting more complicated than you had anticipated.

When Max arrived home the air still smelled of rain, and a few drops remained on his jacket as he closed the door carefully, trying not to make noise. He didn’t want another argument. Lately, things with Kelly had been tense. Too much. Every little absence, every exit, seemed to become the trigger for a new fight. And though he insisted that everything was under control, she knew things were far from okay.

Kelly sat on the couch, her gaze fixed on her cell phone, but Max knew immediately that she was waiting. She always did. She waited for him to arrive, as if every night was a test, a chance to confirm her suspicions. Hearing the click of the door, she raised her head and watched him.

“You’re late again,” she said, not raising her voice too much, but with that tone that Max knew well. It was the calm before the storm.

“Yeah, I was just fixing some stuff,” he replied, taking off his jacket and leaving it on a nearby chair. He walked into the kitchen, looking for something to drink, any excuse not to stay still under that scrutinizing gaze.

“What stuff?” Kelly insisted, putting his phone aside and crossing his arms.

“Just… some pending stuff with a friend,” he said, trying to sound casual. But he knew he wouldn’t succeed. Kelly always had a way of seeing beyond, of noticing when something didn’t fit.

The silence stretched for a few seconds, and Max felt the air become thicker. Finally, Kelly got up from the couch and walked towards him with the phone in her hand.

“A friend?” she repeated, her tone now tinged with disbelief. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, but this time not with affection, but with a mix of distrust and something deeper, something Max wasn’t sure he wanted to identify. She picked up her phone, screen lit, and showed it to him.

Max felt his stomach tighten at the sight of the image on the screen. It wasn’t a compromising photo, there was nothing objectively wrong with it. It was a simple snapshot, taken without much thought, during one of the days he’d spent helping you decorate the baby’s room. In the picture, there was you, in profile, placing some small cars on the shelf while he watched from the background. The soft light of dusk came through the window, giving the scene an unexpected warmth.

“What’s this, Max?” Kelly asked, her voice firm but restrained, as if she was trying to remain calm.

Max took a breath. “It’s just a photo. It doesn’t mean anything. I was helping a friend.”

“The one from the other day?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. His gaze grew sharper. “Since when do you spend so much time with that ‘friend’? Since when do you stay up late helping her?”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the situation crumble in front of him. “It’s not what you think, Kelly. I was just helping with her baby’s room.”

“The baby?” The word seemed to hang in the air. Kelly took a step back, looking at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion. “Why do you care so much about that baby, Max? Why are you so involved?”

Max ran a hand through his hair, sensing that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. “Because she’s someone who was important to me… and still is. I’ve known her since we were kids, that’s all.”

Kelly watched him in silence for a few seconds, her gaze searching for something in his eyes, some sign, some hidden truth. Finally, she put the phone down on the table with a thud.

“You’re not telling me everything,” she stated, her voice now laden with a certainty that made him feel uncomfortable. “There’s something else. I know.”

Max tried to get closer, but she took a step back, creating a physical distance that seemed to symbolize something much deeper.

“There’s nothing more,” she insisted, but even to him it sounded weak. He knew the seed of mistrust had already been planted, and was now beginning to take root.

She looked at him for a moment longer, and then, without saying anything, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Max alone, the rain still pattering softly against the windows.

She slumped into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees and rubbing her temples with her hands. He knew this was just the beginning. The tension in his relationship with Kelly had been building for weeks, and now, with that photo, it had all come crashing down.

And the worst thing was, he couldn’t blame her. Because, deep down, Max knew his feelings for you weren’t as innocent as he’d wanted her to believe. And even though he hadn’t crossed that line, he was getting closer. Too close.

The next afternoon you were in your apartment, organizing some things in the baby's room, when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text from Max:

"Can I see you? I need to talk to you."

You knew something wasn’t right. You had felt the tension growing over the past few weeks. The outings, the talks, the closeness they had regained… it had all been an escape for both of them, a bubble in which the outside world didn’t exist. But reality always finds a way to break in.

You answered with a simple “yes” and minutes later, Max was knocking on your door. When you opened it, you found him with a tired face, his eyes duller than usual and his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He wasn’t the confident and serene Max you knew, but someone who was struggling with something he couldn’t control.

“Come in,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

Max crossed the threshold, but didn’t move beyond the hall. He stood, looking around the room as if looking for something to give him peace, something that could sort out the chaos inside him. You closed the door and turned to him, waiting for him to speak.

“Kelly and I…” he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Things aren’t okay.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but still, hearing those words made your chest clench. You knew your presence had contributed to that tension, even though you didn’t mean to. Max ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he made when he was nervous.

“She confronted me about a picture… one of the times I was here,” he continued, looking at you with a mix of frustration and sadness. “It was nothing, you know. But for her it was enough. She thinks there’s something more.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. You had waited for this moment, and now that it was here, you felt like everything was falling apart. You couldn’t allow yourself to be the cause of any more problems in her life. You couldn’t allow this situation to continue to progress.

“Max…” you began, your voice soft but firm. “This isn’t working.”

He frowned, taking a step towards you. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I mean… we should stop seeing each other. At least for a while.”

Max looked at you as if he hadn’t heard right, as if your words didn’t make sense. “Stop seeing each other? Why? We haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just here to help you.”

“I know,” you admitted, feeling the weight of each word. “But your relationship with Kelly is on the verge of collapse, Max. And my presence isn’t helping. I can’t be the reason why everything in your life falls apart.”

“You’re not the reason,” he replied quickly, almost as if he wanted to convince you as much as himself. “What’s going on with Kelly is… complicated. But it’s not your fault.”

His eyes searched yours, as if with one look he could change your mind. But you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t go on like this. You couldn’t be the cause of more pain, not for him, not for yourself.

“Max, you need space to sort out your life,” you said, standing your ground. “We can’t just keep going like nothing’s happening. Not when everything around you is falling apart.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to insist, like he was going to find a reason to stay. But something in your gaze, in the firmness of your voice, stopped him. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of reality had finally caught up with him.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

You felt your heart clench. You didn’t want to lose him either, but you knew it was for the best. For him. For you. For the baby.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you assured him, a small lump in your throat. “We just… need time. To think. To heal.”

Max nodded slowly, though his eyes reflected the internal battle he was fighting. He didn’t say anything else, just staring at you for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to burn your face into his memory.

Finally, he turned to the door. Before he walked out, he paused, one hand on the knob.

“If you ever need anything… I’ll be here,” he said, not looking at you.

“I know,” you replied softly.

And then, Max was gone, leaving behind him a feeling of emptiness that filled the entire space. You stood in the doorway, listening to the echo of the door closing, feeling the silence envelop you.

You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. You knew you had made the right decision. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The weeks after your separation from Max were a whirlwind of emotions and silences. You had tried to keep yourself busy, focusing on the final preparations for the baby’s arrival and avoiding thinking about everything you had left behind. Every corner of your house seemed to be filled with recent memories: his laughter, his hands helping you hang the blue curtains in the baby’s room, the conversations you shared late at night while the world slept. But now, everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, one cold morning, the world you had been rebuilding changed forever.

You had been experiencing discomfort throughout the night, but you ignored it, thinking it was just signs of the end of pregnancy. You had read that many women experienced false alarms before the actual moment. However, when the pain became more intense and frequent, you knew it was time.

You took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, as the clock read 4:12 a.m. Your suitcase was packed, weeks in advance, in a corner of the room. You grabbed your phone with shaking hands and called your mother. Her voice, always calm, immediately calmed you down.

“I’m on my way,” she said with a firmness that made you feel like everything would be okay.

In less than half an hour, she and your father arrived to take you to the hospital. The streets of Monaco were deserted, the glow of the lights reflecting off the wet pavement from the nighttime drizzle. Everything seemed unreal, like the world was on pause as you headed into one of the most important moments of your life.

The hours at the hospital were a mix of anxiety, pain, and anticipation. Your best friend arrived shortly after and stayed by your side, holding your hand when the pain was unbearable. Doctors and nurses came and went, their faces kind but focused. You felt each contraction like a wave, bringing you closer and closer to the moment you would meet your son.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you heard the first cry.

A loud, clear, life-filled cry. You gasped, tears filling your eyes as you looked at the little being who had just entered the world. Your son. Miles Emilian.

“He’s a healthy boy,” the doctor informed you with a smile as they placed the baby in your arms.

You looked at him, and in that instant, everything else disappeared. His small, pink face, his tiny hands clenched into a fist, his half-closed eyes that seemed to seek you out. You felt an immediate, deep connection, as if your whole life had been destined for this moment.

“Hello, little one,” you whispered in a broken voice, caressing his soft cheek. “Welcome.”

Your mother, at your side, couldn’t hold back her tears. Your father, always stoic, had his eyes shining with emotion. Your best friend took a photo, but not to publish it, but to keep it as an intimate memory of that moment.

The next few days in the hospital were a whirlwind of doctor visits, check-ups, and learning how to care for Miles. Your mother was with you the whole time, guiding you with the experience that only the years could give. Camille spent the afternoons with you, helping you plan how you would organize your new life.

You knew that this moment would change everything. Miles would become the center of your world, and you were prepared to face it alone, at least for now. You didn’t want anyone else to know. You didn’t want awkward questions, curious glances, or the inevitable murmur that would rise in Monaco if people found out you’d fathered a child without a known father figure.

You’d decided to keep this between those who truly mattered: your parents and Camille. The only family you needed right now.

One afternoon, as you cradled Miles in your arms in the room lit by the soft light of dusk, you thought about everything you’d gone through to get here. About Max, about what you’d shared, and how things had changed. You wondered if he would ever suspect the truth. But you shook your head. It wasn’t the time to think about that. Now, only Miles mattered.

You watched him sleep, his little chest rising and falling rhythmically, and you knew you had made the right choice.

This little being was your life now. Your greatest adventure. Your greatest love.

A few weeks after Miles was born, life was still slowly falling into place. You were at home, surrounded by the smell of freshly washed bottles and diapers, your head still reeling from the experience of being a first-time mother. Every day brought something new: Miles’ first bath, the first night he managed to sleep for two hours straight, and the first smile that barely appeared on his small, pink face.

Sometimes, as you cradled him in your arms, you wondered if you had done the right thing by keeping his existence a secret. But you quickly dismissed those thoughts. You had done it for everyone’s peace of mind, especially Max’s. You couldn’t afford to be another complication in his world.

As you sank into that bubble of motherhood, away from you, something was about to change.

Max was in his apartment, enjoying a quiet moment after an afternoon full of commitments. Kelly was out with his daughter, and he was taking advantage of that time to relax, answer some pending messages and review the preparations for his next race. He had tried to concentrate, but his mind kept coming back to you. Since you had decided to distance yourself, something inside him had been put on hold. A strange feeling that something important was being hidden from him.

Then, the phone rang.

It was Leo, a mutual friend of both of them. Max answered without thinking too much, imagining it would be a quick call about some event or meeting.

“Dude, how are you?” Leo greeted in his usual tone. “Are you still in Monaco? I heard that your life is pretty busy.”

“Yeah, you know, always running around.” Max smiled slightly, resting the phone on his ear while checking some emails. “What's new?”

“Nothing special… although, well, I found out something.”

Max arched an eyebrow, pushing the screen aside.

“Oh, yeah? What thing?”

Leo hesitated for a second, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But in the end, curiosity won out.

“It’s about… Y/n. I heard she finally had her baby.”

Max’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?”

“Yeah, she had it a few days ago. I thought you knew.” Leo sounded confused. “They said the baby is beautiful… and everything went well. His name is Miles Emilian.”

Max fell silent, processing the information. You hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t told him you’d already given birth.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to stay calm.

“Totally. The funny thing is… no one knows much about the father. Some people say the baby is from a night you never mentioned afterward, before you moved to London.” Leo laughed softly. “Maybe someone who preferred not to get involved.”

The words hung in the air, and something clicked in Max’s mind. A night you never mentioned. A night where things between you changed forever.

“Leo, thank you. I have to go.”

Max hung up before he heard a reply, his mind racing. Could it be possible? He’d been with you that night, and then… you walked away. And now, there was a baby. A baby you never talked about.

Without a second thought, Max walked out of his apartment, his heart pounding. He knew that if he wanted answers, he couldn’t go to you. You were too protective, too secretive. But your mother… she might know something.

He drove quickly to your parents’ house. The light rain was beginning to fall, covering the streets of Monaco with a thin layer of water. When he arrived, he knocked on the door harder than he intended. Anxiety and fear mixed within him.

It was your mother who opened it, surprised to see Max in the doorway.

“Max… what are you doing here?” she asked in a worried voice.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, bluntly. “It’s important.”

Your mother invited him in, closing the door behind him. Max walked into the living room, his mind full of questions and possibilities. He turned to her, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“I know she had the baby,” he said directly, without preamble. “And I need to know the truth. Is it mine?”

Your mother looked at him in surprise, but also with a look of guilt that she couldn’t hide.

“Max…”

“Please,” he interrupted her, his voice almost pleading. “I can’t go on without knowing.”

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. She had tried to protect you, but she knew this moment would come sooner or later.

“Yes, Max. Miles is your son.”

The words hit Max like a wave, stealing his breath. He stood still, taking in what he had just heard. He was a father. You had kept something so big, so important from him.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes searching for answers.

“She thought it was for the best. She didn’t want to complicate your life… knowing you already had so much going on.”

Max clenched his fists, feeling a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion. He didn’t know what he would do now, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t walk away anymore. Miles was his son, and he would do everything in his power to be in his life.

From the moment he left your parents’ house, Max couldn’t think of anything but you. The revelation left him devastated, furious, and most of all, betrayed. How could you hide something so important from him? He had been willing to support you, to be present in your life, but he never imagined that behind that distance there was a secret that would change everything.

The car moved quickly through the streets of Monaco, crossing avenues wet from the recent rain. Night had fallen, and the city lights were reflected in the puddles that covered the asphalt. Max barely noticed the journey; his mind was focused on one thing: facing you.

When he arrived at your house, he didn't hesitate. He parked the car abruptly, got out in the light rain, and quickly climbed the stairs until he reached the door of your apartment. His heart was pounding, a mix of adrenaline, pain, and rage. He knocked hard on the door, almost as if demanding an immediate response.

Inside, you were rocking Miles in your arms, trying to calm him down after a long day. The sound of knocking on the door made you jump. You looked towards the entrance, out the window, a feeling of unease running through your body. You saw it.

With your heart racing, you left Miles in his crib and walked to the door. When you opened it, there was Max, soaked by the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes lit up by a mix of fury and anguish.

"Max..." you whispered, but he didn't let you continue.

"How could you?" he said, his voice low but full of tension. He took a step forward, forcing you to step back into the apartment. He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off you. “How could you hide from me that you had a son?”

The words fell like a slab on you. You knew this moment would come, but you never thought it would be like this, so sudden, so emotionally charged.

“Max, I…”

“No!” he interrupted you, raising a hand to stop any explanation. “I don’t want excuses. I want the truth.”

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as tears began to burn in your eyes.

“I thought I was doing the right thing…” you murmured, your voice breaking. “I thought it would be better for you. You have a life, Max. You have Kelly, her daughter, your career… I didn’t want to complicate things for you.”

He laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, full of disbelief.

“Better for me?” he repeated, taking a step closer to you. “You don’t think I had the right to decide that? He’s my son! He had the right to be here from the beginning, to see you go through all of this, to know him…”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words. You knew he was right, but you also knew you had acted with your heart, believing you were protecting him.

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes for the first time. “I didn’t want you to feel forced to be here.”

Max stared at you, and for a moment, the fury in his eyes mixed with something deeper, something more painful.

“You would never have caught me,” he whispered. “Because I would have been here. I wanted to be here… with you.”

The silence stretched between the two of you, thick and charged with unresolved emotions. You could feel the tension in the air, every unspoken word, every repressed feeling.

“Max… I just wanted to protect you.” —Tears began to run down your cheeks. —I never wanted to hurt you.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to calm himself, but his chest kept rising and falling rapidly. Pain. That was what he felt. Pain for having missed the first moments of his son’s life, for not being there for you when you needed him most.

—You didn’t have to protect me —he said at last, his voice softer but still firm. —You were my friend. I was always willing to be there for you… and now, I want to be here for my son.

His words were a promise, but also a declaration of intent. No matter what happened, no matter how complicated it was, Max wasn’t going to disappear from his son’s life.

You stood there in silence, heart pounding, knowing this was the point of no return. Max was here, and he wasn’t going to leave.

“He’s asleep,” you whispered, breaking the silence. “Do you want to see him?”

Max nodded slowly, his eyes still shining with a mix of emotions. You led him over to where Miles was sleeping peacefully in his crib, wrapped in a blue blanket. Max walked over, watching the little boy with a gaze that combined love, wonder, and a silent sadness for all he’d missed.

Max stood there, standing over the crib, watching Miles with an intensity that made you hold your breath. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop as he took in every detail of the sleeping little face.

Miles had soft, light hair, a small, upturned nose, and those rounded cheeks that still held the blush of a newborn. His small hands were relaxed, resting next to his face, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions his arrival had brought.

After a long silence, Max spoke, his voice low and heavy with emotion:

“He looks like me… when I was little.” An almost imperceptible smile curved his lips as his eyes remained fixed on his son.

You looked at him, and even though you had noticed it before, you were still amazed at how much Miles reflected his father. You nodded softly, your eyes filling with tears once again.

“Yes…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He has your eyes… and that little wrinkle on his forehead when he frowns.”

Max let out a soft laugh, more of a sigh. He didn’t take his eyes off Miles, as if he were trying to memorize every feature, every little detail that had been taken from him during those first few weeks of life.

You stood by his side, watching the scene you had imagined so many times but feared would never happen. And then, guilt took hold of you again, so strong that you could barely breathe.

“Max…” you murmured, breaking the silence.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with a mix of feelings you couldn’t quite decipher: pain, tenderness, confusion.

“I’m so sorry.” The words came out in a whisper, full of sincerity. “There is no excuse that justifies what I did. I took you away from something that was also yours, and I know I hurt you… I never wanted to do it, but I did, and I’m sorry… with all my heart.”

Max watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes searching yours, trying to understand the depth of your words.

“You thought you were doing the right thing, didn’t you?” he said finally, with unexpected calm.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your tears.

“I thought I was protecting you… and that I was protecting Miles too. But now I know I was wrong. I should have told you the truth from the start.”

Max sighed, running a hand over her face as she moved away from the crib a little, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you right away…” she admitted honestly. “This… is a lot. But I want to try. For him.”

His words were a blow, but also a hope. You didn’t expect everything to be fixed in one night, but the fact that he was willing to try meant more than you could express.

“That’s all I can ask for…” you said quietly, with a mix of relief and sadness.

Max nodded, her gaze returning once more to the crib, where Miles shifted slightly, letting out a small sigh before settling back into deep sleep.

“He deserves us to be here.” “Both of you.” Max looked at you again, and this time, there was a determination in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “And I’m going to be here. No matter what happens, I’m his father, and I’m going to be there in his life.”

You stayed silent, letting his words sink in. He stood a moment longer by the crib, watching Miles as if the entire world revolved around that tiny being. Then, with a deep sigh, he moved away slightly and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. You could see the conflict on his face: the internal struggle between the pain you had caused him and the decision he was about to make.

Finally, he spoke, his voice firm but tinged with vulnerability.

“I can’t keep living a lie.” His words were direct, almost like a whisper, but heavy with weight. He looked at you, his blue eyes holding yours with an intensity that made you hold your breath. “Kelly and I… it’s over.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You hadn’t expected that, not so soon, not under these circumstances. You gripped the edge of the table next to you, seeking some stability as you processed what he had just said.

“Max…” you started, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“Let me finish.” He pushed away from the wall and took a couple of steps towards you. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Even before I knew the truth about Miles. Kelly is a good person, but our relationship has been falling apart, and now I understand why.” He paused, his gaze darkening for a moment. “I can’t be with her while my heart is here… with you and our son.”

His words hit you like a storm. You had dreamed of this moment, but not under these conditions. You didn’t want to be the cause of a breakup, or the reason for her pain.

“Max, I don’t want you to make a hasty decision…” you said cautiously, your voice shaking. “I don’t want to be the reason you break up with Kelly. It’s your life, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this out of obligation.”

He shook his head, moving even closer, until he was just a step away.

“It’s not because I have to. It’s because I want to.” His voice was low but full of conviction. “I love you. I loved you before, even when things got complicated between us. And now, more than ever, I want to be here, with you. I want to be a father to Miles, and I want him to know that his parents love him and are in this together.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, this time from the mix of emotions overwhelming you: fear, relief, hope. You didn’t want to allow yourself to dream of a perfect future, but Max was offering it to you, even in the midst of all the confusion.

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” you asked in a small voice. “What if all this just makes things worse?”

Max moved a little closer, until his hand found yours. He held it firmly, as if he wanted to assure you that he wasn’t planning on letting go.

“I don’t know.” “He was honest, and that somehow reassured you. “But what I do know is that I don’t want to move forward without trying. I want to be a part of your life, Miles’, every step of the way.”

His words cut deep, but fear still resided in your chest. You knew that nothing would be easy, and that you would both have to work hard to repair the wounds and build something new. But at the same time, his determination and love were an anchor that kept you firm.

“Max.” You took a deep breath, looking at your joined hands. “If this is what you really want…”

He nodded, squeezing your hand gently.

“One step at a time,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile. “I’m still angry, though.”

The weight of the decision seemed to have lightened a little with those words. Max was willing to do whatever it took to be by your side, and you, for the first time in a long time, allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have the family you’d always wanted.

After that, it wasn’t more than a week until Max told you. It was a quiet afternoon, one of those where the rain fell softly and the world seemed slower. You were sitting on the couch, with Miles asleep on your chest, his rhythmic and calm breathing filling the silence of the apartment. You had lit a vanilla-scented candle, trying to give your home a warmth that sometimes seemed elusive.

Max arrived as he did lately, unannounced but always welcome. He knocked on the door softly before entering, as if he knew that any loud sound could disrupt the peace that reigned in the small space. He found you there, with the baby in your arms, and a tired smile appeared on his face.

“I’m done with Kelly,” he said, his voice calm but firm, as if he were releasing a burden he had carried for too long.

You didn't say anything at first. You just nodded slowly, looking into his eyes that searched for a reaction in yours. You knew that moment would come, but now that it was here, you didn't feel the need to say much. You weren't going to keep getting involved in it. It was his life, his decision, and although you knew the situation was complex, you also understood that it wasn't your place to intervene more than necessary.

"Do you want to hold him?" you asked softly, changing the subject as you pointed at Miles, who was still sleeping peacefully.

Max nodded and approached with a gentleness that always surprised you. He took Miles in his arms as if he were the most fragile and precious thing he had ever held. The baby moved slightly, but didn't wake, settling against his father's chest naturally.

The next few days became a silent but comforting routine. Max began to spend more and more time with you and Miles, almost as if he had never been away. He would arrive in the mornings with coffee in hand and a bag of food or things he thought might help you: diapers, bottles, even toys that Miles was still too small to use.

You watched him transform before your eyes. Every day he spent with Miles, he showed you what a good father he was, even in those little details that you had previously underestimated. He would get up when the baby cried, rock him until he calmed down, and look at him with a mix of love and wonder that broke your heart.

One afternoon, while Max was on the floor playing with Miles—although the baby was just beginning to notice the toys in front of him—you stopped for a moment to watch them. Max was talking to him, although Miles only responded with laughter and babbling. It was a scene so simple, but so powerful, that you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

Why didn't you tell him before?

That question had become a constant shadow in your mind. You had your reasons, you knew. You thought you were protecting him, yourself, everyone. But now, watching Max give himself over to his son, you understood that you had stolen something priceless from him.

There was one night in particular that you couldn’t forget. Max was in the kitchen preparing a bottle while you cradled a restless Miles. When Max returned, he took the baby in his arms and whispered something to him, as he often did to calm him.

“You’re so strong, little one,” he said, with that look of tenderness that disarmed you every time.

You stayed silent, leaning against the bedroom door. You felt small, vulnerable. You had made a decision that had left him out of this for months. And even though he didn’t mention it, you knew that deep down it still hurt. It hurt you too.

One night, as Max said goodbye, he stopped at the door and looked at you for a long moment.

“Thank you for letting me be here,” he said softly.

“It’s your place, Max,” you replied sincerely, trying to hide the emotion in your voice. But you knew he could tell.

“I didn’t always feel that way,” he admitted, almost in a whisper, before he walked out.

As you closed the door behind him, you leaned against it, feeling the weight of his words. You knew you had a lot to make up for. But you also knew Max was willing to stay.

When racing resumed, so did the frenetic routine Max knew so well. Airports, photo shoots, interviews, team meetings… everything resumed as if time had been paused. But this time, something had changed. Max wasn’t the same driver who went out into the world a year ago. Now, he had a much more important reason to return home after each Grand Prix: Miles.

You, meanwhile, were adjusting to the new normal. But the nights were the hardest. Max had promised you he would be there, and he made daily calls from all over the world. He told you about training, team meetings, and how, despite everything, his thoughts were always with you and his son.

However, there was something in your heart that just didn’t quite fit. You had kept your pregnancy and birth private for so long, but now, you realized you couldn’t hide it anymore. You didn’t want Miles to grow up in the shadows.

It was a difficult decision, but after days of thinking about it, you decided it was time. One quiet afternoon, while Miles was sleeping in his crib, you grabbed your phone and opened the Instagram app. You looked through the photos you had taken since he was born: simple but meaningful moments, like his first smile or the way he slept peacefully in Max’s arms.

You picked a special photo: Miles, with his curious eyes and a smile that melted hearts, sitting on your lap while Max, behind you, held his little hand. It was the first photo that showed not only your baby, but also the life you had begun to build with his father.

The caption was simple but meaningful:

“Miles Emilian. The love of my life. Our adventure together is just beginning.”

You took a breath before posting it. You knew that once you did, there would be no turning back. The comments, the questions, the curious glances... it would all come with it. But you were ready.

The reaction was immediate. Your followers, family, friends... they all started commenting with messages full of love and surprise. They had suspected your absence, but now they understood everything. The words “congratulations,” “beautiful,” and heart emojis flooded your phone.

But what you didn't expect was that, within minutes of your post, Max did the same.

On his profile, he shared a different photo: Miles in his arms, both dressed in personalized racing jerseys, with the name “Verstappen” embroidered on the baby's back. The caption was short, direct, but full of meaning:

“Welcome to the world, Miles Emilian Verstappen. My son, my pride.”

The impact was instantaneous. The news spread throughout the motorsport world and beyond. Sports media, celebrity magazines, even his teammates and other drivers commented on the post. Some were shocked, others couldn’t believe it, but most of the messages were positive, congratulating Max on his new stage as a father.

That night, as you watched the avalanche of reactions on your social media, Max called you. His voice sounded different, more serene but also excited.

“It’s done,” he said, with a mix of relief and pride. “The world knows I have a son. That I have a family.”

You stayed silent for a moment, letting his words settle in your mind. There was something deeply liberating about that. No more secrets. No more hiding. Now, the entire world knew that Miles was his, that you and he shared something much deeper than a passing romance.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice soft but concerned.

“I’m fine,” you replied, with a smile he could feel even through the phone. “Ready to start this life with you.”

That night, as you rocked Miles to sleep, you felt a calm you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You’d been through so much to get here: difficult decisions, secrets, fights, reconciliations. But now, with Max by your side and your son in your arms, you knew you were where you were meant to be.

Max returned a few days after his last race, and this time, when he walked through your door, he was no longer just the star driver or the man who had been an important part of your past. He was the father of your son, your partner, and the person you were ready to build a future with.

The three of you, together, ready to face whatever came.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #max verstappen x yn #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max x reader #max verstappen #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1

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look-at-the-stars-tonight · 2 years ago

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Today my coworker I hate sooo much said “rum is the drink of your people to the intern” and both me and the intern repeated HIS/MY PEOPLE??? and then the boy clarified that he meant Hawaii and hmm did you tho 🤔🤔

#also I complained about a PROVEN racist thing #unintentional to some degree #but doesn’t change the fact that it STILL affects the program to a great degree cause things haven’t changed in 50 years .-.#and he started talking about how he’s from someplace people think there are only racists but #he doesn’t care if u just speak in grunts as long as u can do the job #and hmmm I wanna punch him in his smug stupid little face soooo badly svery single fucking day #I was at my desk at 8:01 instead of 8:00 #and so he made me wait 15 min #for a meeting meant to benefit HIM #and woooow it reminded me just why I hate him so much #I am trying. so hard with this boy #and it’s making things Worse #however :))) did have a Great time watching him seethe because my friend is doing the COOLEST shit #and unlike him. she’s actually charming and not easy to see right through #so she’s making Friend Friends with some powerful ass people and I’m so proud of her and I told him about it and just watched him. Seethe.#and then start talking about how he was supposed to start stuff. yeah buddy! u sure were! maybe if you didn’t suck.#I didn’t tell him I’m starting to go on his path yet. that’s gonna be a fun little suprise for him #my ultimate goal. would be to pass him in the flow #that would KILL HIM #but I can wait. for him to self destruct #delete later #sometimes coworkers are the most annoying people in the world #also so so so so proud and also pretty envious of my friend #not too envious because I just. don’t have the qualifications to do what she’s doing NOR the charm to make Friends the way she does #but holy SHIT LEAH HOW DO U GET SOMEONE THAT IMPORTANT TO PROMISE YOU A (redacted) RIDE WITHIN FIVE MINUTES OF MEETING THEM #like it’s incredibly on brand for her. cause she’s INSANELY charming and literally her superpower is Making Friends but WOW. I wanna be her #when I grow up. we joke about getting on that plane all the time. and I had a Feeling she’d do it by the end of the week. but five min.#at the start of the class. this girl could convince a room full of republicans to ban guns #she tries it with me sometimes. and I’m a very gullible individual but I Know her so it doesn’t work. most of the time.#she just fucking. turns up the charm. but if I’m annoyed enough at her it doesn’t work and she’s realized that so she does it less with me

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livebeforeyoulearn · 18 days ago

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All of Me Is for All of You

Warnings: angst?? smut, 18+

Word count: 3.7k

Request (tweaked it slightly hope you don’t mind!)

Alexia and you are the perfect pair. Sure, there are arguments now and then, what couple doesn’t have those? But deep down, it feels like fate brought you together, like you were always meant to be. You met through mutual friends and clicked instantly, the kind of connection people dream about. Now, years later, your lives are so intertwined that it feels like you’ve become part of each other’s world in every possible way. You wouldn’t call it codependency, but sometimes it feels that way. When she’s away for games, the days stretch unbearably long. But when she’s home, when she’s in your arms, just there, everything feels right with the world. A glance, a touch, a shared silence is enough. You are hers as much as she is yours, and that kind of belonging is rare.

But there’s one shadow on your happiness; her ex, Jenni. It’s not the fact that they dated, that’s ancient history, water under the bridge. What gnaws at you is what Jenni did to Alexia. When Alexia finally told you the whole story of why they broke up, you couldn’t hold back your anger. You don’t just dislike Jenni – you want absolutely nothing to do with her, to keep her at arm’s length for eternity. Alexia, always the diplomat, tries to downplay it, brushing it off with a casual shrug. But you know better. You can see the flicker of pain in her eyes when she talks about it.

Even now, Alexia and Jenni are close. Too close, maybe. You remind yourself it’s not about jealousy. You trust Alexia, and you know they’ve been through so much together, things most people wouldn’t understand. Still, when you watched them during the World Cup, practically joined at the hip, something in your chest tightened. But Alexia explained it all to you. The federation’s mess fucked with them all, and they needed to come together, to be there for each other to survive it. You wanted to believe her, and for the most part, you did. After all, Alexia is your person, and you’re hers.

–

Your pinky links with Alexia’s as you walk through the restaurant doors. The noise of clinking glasses and overlapping conversations fills the air as she guides you through the crowded tables, weaving effortlessly until she spots her friends gathered at a large table near the back. Smiles and greetings are exchanged, hugs shared, and soon you’re settling into seats near the end of the table, side by side.

The evening starts off perfectly. The food is delicious, and the conversation flows effortlessly. You’ve always enjoyed being with Alexia’s friends, they feel like family, a circle you’re grateful to be part of. Laughter bounces around the table, stories are shared, and everything feels light and easy.

Then Patri, seated directly across from Alexia, changes the tone with a single question. “Alexia, did you hear from Jenni? Is she coming?”

“Yeah, she said she could make it,” Alexia replies with a small smile, taking a sip from her glass.

The words catch you off guard. Your mouth parts slightly as your eyes dart between the two women. “Coming to what?” you ask.

Alexia doesn’t look at you. Her expression remains carefully neutral, her eyes fixed on the table as she avoids your gaze. You glance at Patri, silently hoping for clarification. Unaware of the feelings building inside you, she answers, “The vacation! Jenni’s joining us for the trip.”

The revelation hits hard. You sit up straighter, pulling away from the relaxed posture you’d had moments ago. Alexia already knows she’s in trouble – you can see it in the expression on her face. And then it clicks; she’s known this for a while.

It isn’t Jenni’s presence that angers you most – you could have tolerated her, ignored her, and still managed to enjoy yourself. What hurts is that Alexia knew and chose not to tell you. She didn’t give you a chance to talk about it, to process it together. You could have reasoned with her, but she robbed you of that chance.

Alexia leans back in her chair, her fingers nervously toying with the rim of her glass as she waits for your reaction. When it doesn’t come right away, she slumps further, clearly anxious. She thought she could let this slide, brush it off as “not a big deal” and deal with it later. She was wrong.

Patri senses the mood changing. Though she doesn’t directly address the tension, she changes the subject and starts talking more in-depth with Alexia about Jenni’s travel plans. At first, you try to tune out the conversation, not wanting to let your irritation show in front of everyone. But Patri presses on, unknowingly unravelling the truth.

“When did Jenni confirm? I thought she wasn’t sure about her schedule,” Patri asks, leaning forwards.

Alexia hesitates, her response slower than usual. “She told me a while ago. She just wasn’t certain at first.”

A while ago. She’s known for weeks, maybe even months. Your mind starts to spiral. If she didn’t tell you about this, what else has she been keeping from you? Was she afraid of your reaction? Or worse, does she not trust you enough to have an honest conversation?

By the end of dinner, you’re barely holding it together. You mumble quick goodbyes, eager to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts. Alexia follows you out of the restaurant, her steps hesitant, her silence heavy.

The walk to the car feels longer than it is. When you climb inside, you buckle your seatbelt, cross your arms, and stare out the window, avoiding her entirely. Alexia slides into the driver’s seat, closing the door softly. She buckles herself in but doesn’t start the car right away.

“Please, don’t be like that,” she says finally, her voice almost pleading as she rubs her temples.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter, shaking your head as she starts the car and backs out of the parking space.

“I wasn’t hiding it. I was going to tell you,” she says firmly, though her tone is careful, her eyes flicking towards you nervously.

“Oh, sure. When? When we’re boarding the plane? Or maybe when she’s already sitting next to you on the beach?”

“You’re being so dramatic. It’s not a big deal. We’re just friends,” she says, her voice rising slightly.

“Dramatic?” you snap, turning to face her. “You deliberately didn’t tell me something you knew would upset me!”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” she counters, her frustration evident as she glances at you.

“Because it is a big deal! But, of course, my feelings don’t matter, right? As long as you and Jenni are happy,” you reply bitterly. You clench your jaw, your gaze returning to the window.

“That’s not fair,” she says sharply, her tone demanding as though her words alone should convince you to drop it.

“What’s not fair is you keeping things from me!” you fire back. “You knew how I’d feel, and you still didn’t say a thing. Not one word!”

“Because I knew you’d overreact like this!” she snaps, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

You scoff, choosing to ignore whatever else she has to say. The fact that she chose to hide this from you is a betrayal you can’t quite shake. You’re partners, communication should be the cornerstone of your relationship, the one thing you could always count on. You thought she trusted you enough to talk about things like this, to be open and honest no matter the circumstances. The anger that first surged through you has ebbed now, leaving behind a more painful ache. It’s not just the omission that hurts; it’s the way it feels like she didn’t think you could handle the truth.

When you arrive home, you unbuckle yourself quickly and, in a petty flourish, slam the car door shut. You know how much it annoys Alexia, that’s precisely why you do it. After the night you’ve had, she deserves to feel a sliver of the irritation that’s inside you.

“Don’t slam my door,” she calls after you, her voice clipped. You ignore her, heading straight for the elevator. The doors nearly close on her, but she slides her hand between them just in time, glaring as she steps in beside you. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath.

“What’s ridiculous is me finding out about your secret vacation plans. At dinner. With your friends!” Incredulity laces your voice.

“It wasn’t a secret. I told you–”

“Nothing! You told me nothing, Alexia,” you cut her off.

“Because I didn’t want to deal with this exact situation!” she counters, her tone rising, her words bouncing off the elevator walls.

The elevator pings open, and you step out, “Well, congrats. Now you’re dealing with it. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Alexia, helplessly trailing behind you, starts rambling, her voice rising with excuses you have no patience for. You ignore her completely, the words flowing out of her like nonsense that you can’t be bothered to absorb. As you dig through your pockets for the keys, you can feel your frustration heightening with each passing second. It's a perfect, almost satisfying moment when you finally find them and stand in front of your door.

Once it swings open, you make a beeline for the kitchen, the need for a glass of wine urgent. Alexia follows you, naturally. As much as you love her and her presence, right now, all you want is some space. But you know her too well. She won’t give you that, not until this is somehow resolved.

You grab the wine bottle and twist it open, holding the glass in your other hand, your fingers lightly cupping its base. As you tilt the bottle, the deep red liquid pours smoothly into the glass, filling it just enough to satisfy your need. The bottle returns to its place, and you bring the glass to your lips, taking a deep breath before you sip.

Behind you, Alexia exhales audibly. You turn, shooting her a glare, your patience already thin. She inches closer, the gears turning in her head as she processes your silence. Her eyes narrow before that damn smirk slowly spreads across her face.

Does she think this is funny?

You lower your glass slightly as she steps closer, but when her hand reaches for it, you pull it out of her grasp and take another sip, just to spite her. Her smirk widens at your defiance, her dark eyes sparkling with something teasing.

“Are you… jealous?” she asks, her voice lilting with amusement.

“Jealous?” you repeat, incredulous. The idea offends you. How could she think this was jealousy? All you wanted was respect and trust from your girlfriend. “What the fuck? No. Why would I be jealous of Jenni?”

Her voice raises again, her smirk disappearing, “If you’re not jealous, then why are you so mad about her coming? You blow everything out of proportion. Every single time.”

“Because when you’re around her, it’s like I don’t exist. All you care about is Jenni, Jenni, Jenni, and did you forget what she did to you?” The words come out before you can stop them.

Her hands find your hips, the heat of her touch seeping through your clothes and silencing your words. Your mind stumbles, the argument dimming as your cheeks burn under her gaze.

“You are jealous,” she murmurs, her voice steady as her thumbs brush over your sides, ignoring the question.

“No, I’m not,” you protest, but your voice falters, betraying your doubt. A nervous gulp follows, and she hums, the vibration visible in her throat as she leans closer.

Alexia knows you, maybe even better than you know yourself. What if she’s right? What if this ache in your chest isn’t just hurt or betrayal but jealousy you’ve been too stubborn to acknowledge?

“I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s all I want in life,” she says softly, her voice breaking through your spiralling thoughts. One hand reaches for the glass, and this time, you let her take it, watching as she places it on the counter behind you. Her gaze locks with yours again. “There’s no need to be jealous. She’s nothing compared to you.”

Your heart beats in your chest like a moth under a dome of glass. The way she looks at you is intoxicating and you can’t find the will to look away.

“So show me,” you whisper, your voice is barely audible. Her face hovers close enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath against your cheek.

She isn’t gentle when she leans in to kiss you; her lips latch onto yours with fervent intensity. She’s hot and she’s messy. Her urgency shows with the way her hands roam over your body with a sense of desperation, as if she’s discovering you for the first time and cherishing you like it’s the last.

Her fingers grope at your chest before sliding over your shoulders and down your back, settling on your ass, where she gives a firm squeeze. Then, without hesitation, she lifts you. You instinctively jump, wrapping your legs tightly around her waist and your arms around her shoulders, one hand cupping the back of her head to keep her impossibly close.

She carries you blindly towards the bedroom, her movements hurried as if every second counts. Your mouths remain fused, the connection deepening as her tongue slips past your lips, licking into your mouth with an eagerness that takes your breath away. You gasp softly in surprise, parting your lips further to make it easier for her.

When you reach the bedroom, she throws you onto the bed roughly, her chest heaving as she steps back to take you in. Her eyes, dark with lust, rake over you while her tongue slides along her bottom lip. She looks at you as if she’s cataloging every possibility, silently deciding how to make you feel everything – loved, wanted, needed, hers.

“Get undressed,” she commands, her tone brooking no argument.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you quickly comply, unsure of what might happen if you didn’t. As the last piece of clothing falls away, you recline on the bed, your eyes never leaving her as she moves to the drawer where you keep your things.

She strips off her remaining clothes, the sight leaving you breathless. When she steps into the harness, pulling it up over her toned legs and adjusting it around her waist, your mouth goes dry. Each second of her not touching you feels torturous, your craving for her becoming unbearable.

She starts making her way back to you, your eyes drawn to her toned torso and the perfect curve of her breasts.

Instinctively, you press your thighs together, the ache between them becoming too much to ignore. As she crawls onto the bed, you lift your knees slightly, seeking some kind of relief. But she’s quick to act, placing her palms firmly on your knees and forcing them apart. The sudden motion has you gasping, though the sound is swallowed as her lips crash against yours.

The kiss is intense and demanding. It’s all teeth and tongues colliding, lips biting, and breaths mingling in a heated clash for dominance. Your head sinks deeper into the pillow as her hands trail up your thighs, her fingertips gathering the evidence of your desire and spreading it deliberately along the tops of your thighs. Her lips curl into a smirk against yours, her confidence radiating as she revels in how easily she can unravel you.

She pulls back slightly, her teeth catching your bottom lip and releasing it with a snap. Before you can catch your breath, she finds a heartbeat to put her lips to in the crook of your neck. Your head tilts back, granting her access, and a needy whimper escapes your throat.

A finger slides through your core, teasing your entrance before gliding upwards to begin harsh, tight circles on your clit. You moan, her name escaping your lips like a whispered mantra, repeated again and again in the air.

Your hips start to buck in response, but the sensation isn’t enough, you need more, all of her. “Ale, please,” you gasp. She grunts against your neck, nipping at the bruised, sensitive skin before lifting herself slightly, leaving a sting in her wake. She runs the toy through your slickness, coating it before pressing the tip teasingly against you.

“What do you want?” she asks, a smirk tugging at her lips as her eyes meet yours. The control she wields over you is absolute.

“You,” you breathe.

She bites her lip, tilting her head slightly.

“I need you inside me,” you plead, knowing it’s exactly what she wants to hear. “Please, Alexia.”

Her smirk widens, dripping with pride, before she pushes the tip inside. The stretch is intense, your body adjusting quickly as she didn’t take the time to prep you with her fingers. Her thrusts begin slow but quickly build in rhythm, and before long, the entire length fills you with every movement, driving deeper each time.

Alexia’s hands move to your breasts, squeezing them firmly as her gaze stays locked on your face, watching you arch into her touch. Your head falls back, your eyes shut tight, your body radiating pure bliss.

She grunts with each thrust, her hips snapping against yours in a perfectly timed rhythm. You match her movements, rolling your hips to meet her, the sensation intensifying with each stroke. That familiar tightening in your stomach grows stronger, signalling your impending release.

Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, she stops. You let out a breathless whine, eyes flying open to meet her steady gaze. Slowly, she pulls out and settles beside you.

“Get on top,” she orders.

“What?” you stammer, momentarily confused, until she takes your arm and helps you up. Your legs tremble as you straddle her hips. Her hands steady you as you position yourself, the toy poised at your entrance, before you lower yourself down.

“Ride me like I’m yours.”

The words alone almost draw a moan from you. Her hands glide over your thighs, squeezing lightly, before moving up and around to your ass. She grabs hold, helping lift and guide you as you begin to bounce along her length. Your own hands find purchase on her thighs behind you, bracing yourself as your hips set a heady rhythm.

Her expression is intoxicating, a sight you want permanently etched into your memory. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her head tilting slightly as if she’s losing herself in the connection between your bodies. A moan builds in her throat, but she traps it behind her teeth, biting her lip as she tightens her hold on you and urges your movements faster.

“Fuck, Ale, oh my god,” you gasp, leaning forwards and pressing your palms against her abs for balance. Your nails dig into the defined ridges of her muscles as she begins to meet your pace, her hips rolling into you.

At first, the pace remains controlled, giving you time to adjust to the sensation of being on top. But soon, her hands find your waist, her grip firm enough to promise marks tomorrow. Then she takes over completely, thrusting into you with an intensity that makes you cry out.

Her movements become relentless – harder, faster, deeper than you thought possible. It’s primal, raw, and consuming, her strength evident in every powerful thrust as her legs and core drive her into you.

“Don’t stop,” you manage to moan, your voice catching in your throat. “Please, don’t stop, Ale.” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the familiar tension builds in your lower stomach, the knot tightening with every thrust. Your back arches prettily, drawing Alexia’s gaze to your chest. She aches to lean up and take your nipples into her mouth but instead drinks in the sight of you, undone and lost in her touch.

“You close, mi amor?” she rasps, lost in desire.

“Yes, Ale, so close,” you whimper, your moans growing louder, more desperate, a sound that defies words.

“You wanna come?” she asks, her tone teasingly questioning. You hum in reply, nodding weakly. “Go ahead, amor,” she murmurs, her voice softening unexpectedly, catching you off guard.

Your fingers curl, nails digging into her skin and leaving crescent-shaped imprints as you cry out her name, your voice breathless and broken as wave after wave crashes over you. She holds you down firmly, not letting you move as she keeps rolling her hips, guiding you through the peak.

It’s powerful, stealing every coherent thought, leaving you lost in ecstasy for what feels like an eternity before it begins to ebb and you regain awareness of your body.

Her knees provide support against your back, her thumbs tracing soothing patterns on your skin. She sits up, brushing strands of hair away from your face before burying her head in your neck. Her lips trail tender kisses along your skin, your collarbone, shoulder, jawline, and just beneath your ear, before finally returning to your lips.

Your breaths come heavy, but your arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“I love you, and only you, mi amor. All of me is for all of you,” she whispers against your lips.

You lean in to kiss her again, then she rolls you onto your back, positioning herself once more between your legs.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas smut #alexia x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso one shot #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader

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nervoushottee · 2 months ago

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it happened quiet | daryl dixon x fem!reader

Summary: [1.5k] What you and Daryl have is a soft quiet love.

Big Bald Ass Note: I’ve always had a love for Daryl Dixon. He was one of the first “older man” crushes I ever had many years ago. I’ve always loved his character and the way Norman Reedus has and still does portray this character is like no other. My favorite thing about him that I didn’t understand when I watched twd when I was young but grew into adulthood was his introverted character. And how his care for others was soft, quiet and subtle yet strong and profound all at the same time. As a person who has a quiet love, personally prefers it and deeply cherishes that quiet love. I had the sudden urge to write this. I’ve been getting back into my Daryl Dixon phase recently and I just couldn’t get this out of my head. Thank you to @moonpascal for giving me that little push I needed to just go for it while the juices were flowing despite my other fic waiting outside waving her hands hoping to be seen, This is a long author’s note but this piece is truly something that means a lot to me. Which is funny because this is literally fanfiction but it's still writing and it's still art and it's mine.

Enjoy.

Daryl wasn’t an affectionate person. It’s never been something that just came easy to him. He never received it as a child and didn’t think anything of it once he got older.

There was one time when he was really really young. He was waiting for Merle after school, his older brother’s school building a few blocks away, and he watched his classmates greet their parents. He saw the parents with bright eyes and wide smiles. Mothers kissing their sons on the cheeks and fathers rubbing the top of their heads.

A strong deep feeling within his belly grew from the sight of it and it got bigger and bigger as the two Dixon brothers walked back home.

And when they got to their home, Daryl saw their mom had been exactly in the same spot where the two boys had left her. Face down into the pillow, an arm hanging off the side of the bed where a spilled bottle of Jack Daniels had stained seeped into the carpet.

Daryl cried for the first time ever. He cried for something he never had.

He didn’t cry when he saw kids on the streets with new bikes and scooters. Didn’t cry when his mom and dad would yell until the sun went down. But he cried for this. That deep strong feeling that he couldn’t name poured out of him and he cried. Standing in the hallway as he watched his mother sleep.

Merle, barely a teen and was bitching about spilled liquor, thought he was crying because mom looked too still. His older brother checked her pulse and felt the faint thump, thump, thump. “She’s jus sleepin’ Daryl.”, he explained to him. But Daryl didn’t stop crying. He hunched over, clutched his chest like his heart had been twisted and shoved down into his stomach and cried.

When Merle finally found out why he was crying, the older brother placed his hands on each of Daryl’s shoulders, stooped to his level and looked directly into his eyes.

“Dixons don’t cry. Not over that or anything else. We just weren’t made for that stuff.”

Daryl never cried or wanted it again.

Until now.

Until you.

When the world’s gone to shit and the dead are walking. You gotta learn how to start trusting the living. Well, to learn how to trust your group. They don’t just become a group of people you survive with. They become your family whether you like it or not.

And in the beginning, Daryl sure as hell didn’t like it.

He tried to force it away. To keep himself on the outside like he’s always done. Still did even when his brother went missing when they went back for him on that roof. But when time goes on and people die you build something, you find something and you learn something. He warmed into being more into the group. To being something of importance to Rick and the others. More than just Merle’s younger brother.

He remembers Carol telling him that he was meant for a leadership role but he’s never thought that about himself. And never will.

And getting closer to them came with affection. Came with a bond. With awkward hugs from Carol when he had spent day and night looking for Sophia. Her cropped hair pressed against his bandaged ear. It came with pats on the back from Rick and looks that meant something a lot more brotherly than he’s ever felt with Merle. With you and your small smiles and lingering eyes.

He had to learn to accept it. To learn that it was okay and wasn’t out of pity. That it was something he was actually allowed to have. It took him a long time to and he still only takes it in doses. Giving Carol a Cherokee Rose or the brief massage of her sore shoulder. Patting Rick’s shoulder, hoping he knows how much his brotherly bond means to him through it. Nodding his head at you with the tip of his ears a bit red as he turns his head away from you.

You’ve been a part of the group for as long as he could remember. And the two of you didn’t become something immediately. Daryl was an ass to you when all of this first started. He was an ass to everyone. But when he would small smiles from the courtyard, he would feel something that had never stirred inside of him before.

You were a touchy person.

Always within arms reach of someone. Giving Lori a reassuring squeeze of the hand or hug when she seemed like she would just break down in tears from the stress of being pregnant in this world. Kissing the top of Beth's head when she came to you with her anxieties over the group's safety. Or playfully slapping T-Dog’s shoulder when he used to make you laugh.

But when it came to Daryl you never touched him. And he felt off about it. Thankful but off.

When the two of you were starting to become something more, he had subtly brought it up when the two of you were on watch. It felt like pulling teeth when he asked you. And he would rather have done that with a rusted wrench than do this.

“I know you Daryl.” you said to him with a shrug.

That was the only thing that you said to him when he had asked but it was all that he needed. As your eyes never left his, he watched you smile softly. The moon giving your skin a light glow. You knew that he doesn’t respond well to physical affection. To hugs or kisses on the cheek (except from Carol who does it despite the awkwardness she laughs through). You knew it was something he just wasn’t used to. Or even maybe never had. It was only four words but it meant more to Darly than he could even say in a lifetime.

And if you ever told anyone that he was the one that made the first move and kissed you at the top of the prison tower. He will lie until he’s blue in the face and say he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

After that you became more affectionate with each other. More touchy than before. Not touchy like Glenn and Maggie. Kissing each other goodbye when the other would go on a run or a quick kiss good morning. Or hugging after a run gone bad and they almost lost the other. Public display of affection to his partner, to you, is something Daryl could never really get on with.

But what the two of you had was a quiet love. A word Daryl still had a hard time saying and rarely ever said but knew deep in his heart that he felt it whenever he looked at you.

It was a quiet love filled with small glances and innocent touches. His hand against the small of your back or a quick tap on your arm or thigh. Your small smile to greet him and the nods that greets you. Holding his hand underneath the table. Feeling his calloused thumb rub against your hand once or twice. Checking on eachother during the other’s watch shift. Him adding some of his food on your plate as he walks past you. You giving him a snack of whatever random thing you have on hand in the evening. Placing your head on his shoulder very briefly when there's not many people around. A mutual meaning of a hug when it's late at night and you won’t see him for a while.

It was a silent bond the others knew about by name(ish) and feeling but not as much by action. Those actions were yours and yours alone. And you both preferred it that way.

Tender kisses and tight hugs. Soft caresses on the cheek and tracing fingers across bare chests. Whispered stories of childhood that turn into bedtime stories throughout the night. Expressing moments of doubt, fear or anger. Tears that would fall on your face and the feeling of his lips pressed against the top of your head.

Even in moments when you were sleeping next to him. Your head on top of his chest or his arm curled around your stomach. Daryl would feel your wrist, his thumb against your pulse to make sure it's still beating. Or hold as still as he can like he’s tracking a buck in the forest to feel the up and down of your body to ensure you’re breathing.

You became a big part of his life. This group (his family) became a big part of his life. Who knew that it would only take the end of the world for him to feel something more than just anger for the first time in his entire life.

Daryl wasn’t an affectionate person. But he learned how to be. For the good of the group, for himself and for you.

dividers by @saradika

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fic #the walking dead fic

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kisakunt · 1 day ago

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BABY TRAP? LIKE THE MOVIE WITH THE TWINS?

description… you two are meant to be. sealed by fate, star crossed lovers. you’ll keep each other around however you need to.

warnings… dark content! baby trapping! noncon! obviously they’re being baby trapped they say something trying to stop it. consensual sex. full penetrative sex.

a word from the writer… i’ve had this in the drafts for aWHILE. it’s about time. do yall still read dc? i’ll never stop supplying… are we too woke now?!

TRAPS YOU

you’re hot under him, and he’s making that face he always makes right before he cums. it’s like repetition; eyes blanked out, mouth ajar but not fully open, brows furrowed like he’s desperate— and it’s scary.

“baby,” the word is cut in two with how fast he’s going, tease of pain as he hilts into your cervix with every thrust. “baby, you’re not wearing a condom.” your voice is uneasy, shaky from the movement and pleasure and build up. you think, in a way, the way you have sex is unfair. he gives you so much, orgasm after orgasm, rubbing your clit as he drills you to the point you go fucking stupid.

you feel safe with him. sex is sacred with him, no matter how sick it gets. but right now, with your calves pressed into his shoulders, his hands pushing your thighs impossibly back, you feel uneasy.

“baby, baby, pull out.” he gasps, sweat dripping down right near your eyes as a shaky groan escapes him.

“fuck,” a chaste kiss to your forehead, a shakiness in his movements, an unmatched rhythm as he gets closer and closer. “fuck. oh my, god. you feel so fucking good— so fuckin’ good.”

and so does he. but you’re scared.

“you’re gonna make such a good mommy, gonna be such a good mama. gonna— gonna give you my babies. gonna get you pregnant, gonna make you mine.”

“hey, wait,” your hands raise to his chest but he hits that angle that makes your eyes roll and they fall back. it feels so good you almost don’t care. “baby, baby, baby stop. baby, you gotta pull out.”

“you’re gonna be such a good mommy. gonna give you my kids. gonna give you my kids.” and it’s instant. it’s before you can even think— if you could anyway— it’s pressed so deep in you you betray yourself and cum, too.

he places his head to yours, kisses you greedy and whole, and whines into your mouth. it’s him, it’s real, it’s love. but— and you know this— it’s something so wrong.

“did you just…?” and before you can finish your question, he’s regaining his rhythm, fucking his cum into you with a half hard dick. it’s precise, it’s calculated, it’s intention.

he looks at you, eyes wide, breath heavy, and gives you a little grin. “gonna keep fucking you even when you’re pregnant, baby. gonna make sure i can keep you all to myself.”

GOJO, GETO, SUKUNA, YUJI

GETS TRAPPED

your legs hurt. you’ve been on top for all of thirty minutes, which you have no one to blame other than yourself. you love to edge him, love to get him so close and then take it all away from him. you think it gets him a little addicted.

but right now, as he squirms under you, losing every ounce of masculinity he’s ever had, something takes over you.

“gonna cum,” it’s breathless, short and sweet. “oh shit, i’m gonna cum.” you think he must think you’re edging him again. you think he’s expecting you to slow down, stop all together, pick up off him fully for ten or so seconds and then slam back down.

but you pick up the pace, grinding your hips into his, hitting his pelvic bone with your own as your hands grip at his pecs.

“wait, are you—” he falls apart under you, voice failing him, body failing him, hands only finding the strength to grip at your hips. “baby girl, i’m gonna cum.”

it’s melodic, tactile and articulate, a steady flow of bounces while your squelch fills the room.

“sweetheart, you gotta stop.” your right hand lifts from his chest to his mouth, shoving your fingers between his lips while he groans. he’s so easy to you, for you, because of you.

and then you feel it, milk it, relish in it— the way he comes undone at your touch, loses himself deep inside you. you don’t say a word about it, don’t think about it too much as you press your wet fingers to your stomach.

it’s a quiet giggle as reality washes over him. he looks cute, you can’t help but realize, panic and flushed under you. you’re sure of it then; he’s gonna be a sexy dad.

MEGUMI, NANAMI, CHOSO, TOJI

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ghouljams · 3 days ago

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Your Failure, His Rebirth

Tags: knight!Ghost x princess!reader, blood and violence, minor character death, medieval medicine, terrible parenting, allusions to Ghost's past, knight!Keegan x f!oc, king!Konig Summary: Sometimes the universe works in your favor, sometimes it forces you into a role you were never meant to play. a/n: look I know he wouldn't say that, that's why he's reading off the teleprompter while I hold him at gunpoint.

Blood hits the ground and is covered by Ghost’s armored knee as he struggles to stay up. Struggles for his next move.

It happens so quickly.

Your hands shake where they press to the fence keeping you from the field

but your feet are sure

and your body knows how to jump the barricade as surely as it swings onto a horse.

You’re deaf to the shouting behind you. Uncaring of the hands that grab for you as you run. The ground lurches under you. The wind roars in your ears, racing your blood for which can leave you faster.

Your fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife on Ghost’s hip, ripping it from the sheath as you turn to face your would-be husband.

Your breath comes in hiccups, gulped down with the same fear that threatens to paralyze you. Your hands shake but your grip is tight as you hold the knife up towards Graves’ throat.

The blade of his sword brushes your dress, the razor’s edge leaving thin slices in the fabric. You hope it cuts you, gives you some bite to gnash your teeth against. You don’t see how it would be any more painful than his win.

The stands are raucous. Screaming and shouting hits your ear like the crash of waves, ebbing and flowing with each breath. Everything is too loud, too bright, too alive when you feel like you’re dying, like your belly’s been slit and it’s everything you can do just to keep standing.

You grip the hand holding the knife with your other, trying to stop the shaking. All it does is double it.

“Come on now darlin’,” Graves coos, his voice dripping with mirth, “What do you think you’ll do with that?”

“I’ll kill you,” You assure him, “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill myself.” After all, if Ghost is going to meet his end, it’s only fitting that you follow him.

Graves tips his head to laugh. Malice fills the air. Ghost says your name, the only softness that could find you in this grave you’ve dug, and Graves twists his hand. Hearing the squelch of Ghost’s skin turns your stomach, frays your nerves. Ghost grunts against the pain, you’re sure it must be torture.

“Hush now. Royalty is talkin’,” Graves reminds him, holding a finger to his helm, uncaring that your knife hovers dangerously in front of him. His hand drops to his side before he turns his attention back to you.

“I like a little fight in my horses too, makes it more fun breaking you in.“ He tilts his head, showing you the soft pink of his neck. “Go on, let’s see if you can do it.”

You can feel the tears stinging your eyes, pushing forwards against your lash line. You will the knife forward. Grit your teeth with determination and beg your body to just move. Your hand feels so unsteady, your nose clogged with the scent of iron, he’s pointing the way, it should be easy to kill him.

The memory of blood seeping over your hands pulls at you. The warmth of it, almost sticky the way it clung so desperately to your skin. That damn Baron’s last attempt at keeping himself alive, blood released from his body in a way it never should have been still trying to stick to the body, any body really, in a plea to cling to life. Skin had never broken so easily, had never felt so penetrable, so delicate, had never changed itself from barrier to entryway, had never sickened you quite the same as it did when your knife met it.

You remember the bile rising in your throat, the same as it does now. You know the panic still. You’re not meant to hold such instruments.

Ghost had saved you then. He dealt the killing blow. Or, at least said he did. But the blood that pooled under the crumpled body had reached towards you. A damning accusation. It had known, as well as you did now, the sins that had been committed by your hand. Sins you could still feel under your fingernails, pressing at your skin in the hopes that it too would part.

You can’t do it.

Your breath shudders.

Your knife lowers.

You feel the sick unseen smile that Graves wears under his helm, the knowledge that he’s won, like a death shroud.

And you feel Ghost’s hand just as fast,

the wrap of his fingers around yours,

And the thrust of your knife,

his knife,

into Graves’ throat.

The blood that comes now is like a fountain.

It sprays over you with a sickly gurgle. You hardly have time to blink and your eyes sting with the shock of blood you couldn’t avoid. Ghost’s hand wrenches yours to the side to slit his opponent’s throat, and your eyes follow it. The jagged edge of Grave’s neck, the wheeze of his windpipe, the instant drop of his sword to grasp at his neck, you feel your body shudder with the convulsion of it.

You can’t drop the knife, Ghost’s grip makes sure of that. Your knuckles creak under the strain of his hold, your fingers going numb the same way the rest of you is.

You can’t keep a breath in. Each gasp feels tighter than the last.

Ghost leans his weight on you as he stands, and you feel blood soak your back, your dress cut to the skin as he rips Graves’ sword from his side. You barely feel the warmth of your own blood under the rapid cooling of theirs.

Ghost points Graves’ sword at the priest, his weight against your back, his hand still holding yours, your world holding himself up on your shoulders. Your Atlas passing you the Earth.

“Call it,” He growls.

“Sir- Sir Simon Riley, is- is,” The priest stutters, glancing at your father still back in the stands, his face is white with the same shock that grips you, “has bested-” he tries again, “-Sir Phillip Graves is unable to continue-”

“Dead,” You correct, your voice little more than a whisper, “he’s dead.”

The priest nods, gesturing to the crowd with a flourish, “Your victor: Sir Simon Riley!”

The explosion of rabid excitement from the crowd deafens you, each voyeur throwing their own comments into the ring. Some cheer. Others curse. You couldn’t piece any single voice together, all of them seemed to bleed into the ringing that filled your ears, but you got the gist: villain, beast, heel. Blood they begged for, but murder… You didn’t understand the line that they drew, what was the difference? They cheered for Ghost’s injury, but screeched at Graves’ death. Blood was blood. Wasn’t it?

It all felt the same sticking to your skin.

Tunneled your vision until you couldn’t see anything but the blood soaking your empty fingers.

Your lady-in-waiting holds your face in shaking hands. Her handkerchief wiping your brow, over your cheeks, her lips move silently as she takes your hands to wipe them as well. Keegan swipes your --Ghost’s-- knife from where you’d unfeelingly dropped it to the dirt and slips the blade into his belt.

The ringing is starting to leave your ears, replaced by your lady-in-waiting’s sobbing. “My lady,” repeated over and over through her tears. It’s only then that you realize the weight of your knight has left you.

You turn to look at the dirt, praying you don’t find him lying there, dead.

“Where’s Ghost?” You find your voice long enough to ask.

“With the physician,” Keegan replies. His hand finds the back of your lady-in-waiting’s neck, turning her sobs to sniffles. She keeps wiping at your hands, the bloodied handkerchief doesn’t clean anymore, it smears. Bloodying and unbloodying your hands with each swipe.

You cast your gaze around. They land on the retreating shoulders of your knight. His armor hanging awkwardly off his body, his side still bloodied and leaking. He leans his weight onto another knight, one arm around the man’s shoulder, the other around the doctor that helps him limp back towards the tents. You pull your hands from your lady-in-waiting to run after him, and she pulls you right back.

“My lady,” Her voice rises in a panic.

“I have to make sure he’s alright,” You tell her thoughtlessly.

“You’ll have to do more than that,” Your father’s voice booms behind you. Again you feel your blood drain from your body. Your shoes squish in the bloody mud, you’re sure most of it must be from your own shock with how quickly it seems to rush from you. You turn to find your father, your mother beside him, her hands clenched so tight in her skirts that the fabric is starting to protest.

“Have you any idea of the mess you’ve made?” Your father asks, his teeth grit. “Throwing my kingdom to a dog with no master. Who knows what he’ll do to us.”

“And you’re any better? Bringing in foreign brutes to try and- and-” You gesture vaguely to König who hovers behind your parents, then to yourself, “You think a man like that wouldn’t kill me before my wedding night?”

König scratches his cheek under the chain mask he wears, muttering in German, “Ah, I miss my wife.” You don’t know what the fuck he’s saying but the weary-nostalgic look he gives your bloodied dress doesn’t make you think it’s anything good.

“You think Graves would have been any better?” You ask, your gaze steadily kept off the corpse at your feet.

“Graves was loyal to-”

“To himself!” You cut your father off, “You truly think that man had the kingdom’s best wishes in mind while brutalizing his opponents?”

“And you think a Riley does?” Your father asks, his tone flat, accusatory.

“No,” You relent, anger rising in your throat. You’ve never cared where Ghost came from, the reputation that hung like a sword over his family’s crest. Ghost has more than proved himself, more than shown his capabilities, and more than shown where his allegiance lies. “But he doesn’t have to care about the kingdom,” You harden your voice, Ghost doesn’t care for the crown except when it sits on your head, “he’ll care for the people because he cares for me.”

Your father shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak, and freezes. König’s knife dimples his neck, exerting the slightest pointed force to press the skin without breaking it. The German looms behind him, bending over his shoulder to cock his head and watch the pallor of your father’s face as the blood drains from it. The chainmail of his mask hangs haphazardly to the side, and you watch the sickly smile that splits his mouth, showing his teeth as he speaks.

“You are a weak fool,” He seethes, “What battles have you fought to earn your kingdom? What foes have you slaughtered?” The knife presses more firmly against your father’s throat and you feel your stomach flip, your heart clench, at the blood that blooms and falls over his skin. As much as you may hate the man, you don’t want to watch anyone else die. “I have often thought that crowns should be won.”

Your father, proud and steady, has never felt the kiss of a sword. His throne was handed to him, and though he once trained in fighting, he’s never seen battle. You watch the man that you have always looked at as a pillar of steadfast rule, of divine right, crumble in the face of a little blood. A man who would sell his own child in a time of peace, looks like such a small evil next to König.

You’re starting to think perhaps thrones should be won too.

“But the-”

“Do not start caring for your people now Herr König,” König drawls, the words thick on his accented tongue, “it is-” he pauses, looking for the word.

“Embarrassing?” You suggest, your father tries to glare, any malice already snuffed by his fear.

“Yes, embarrassing.” König agrees. He points his knife your way and gestures at you, “Go on little maus, go find your prize.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You grab your skirt in still shivering fists and run towards the knights’ lodgings.

The losing knights are licking their wounds when you get to their tents. They nurse scrapes and bruises, split lips and cut brows, bruises already purpling over their ribs as their pages assist them in discarding their armor. They pay you little mind, but those that do… You can feel their eyes tracking you, imagining what they might have had if they weren’t up against such formidable foes.

You don’t give them a second thought, pushing the flap for the physician’s tent to the side in order to duck inside.

Your eyes find Ghost immediately. Stripped down to his breeches, the wide plane of his back tensed as the physician pokes and prods at the deep gash that runs through his side. Blood oozes out of the hole in his back, the tensed muscle so beautifully displayed under his skin now fills in a deep red between its torn edges. The physician leans in to sniff at the wound and Ghost’s already tensed muscles seem to tense further, as if even the sound of it might hurt him. No. His chest expands a fraction before the tension is back, squeezing tight at his ribs like a vice. It’s breathing that’s hurting him.

The mess of his blond hair is drenched with sweat, his skin smeared with blood and dirt, he looks the picture of a man beaten into the ground, and yet he positively glows in the dim light of the tent. Your new king.

You take a hesitant step forward and the physician glances at you. Only to stop his work and dip his head in a bow that forces Ghost to turn and look as well. You watch the painful twist of his muscles as he moves, the squeeze of blood from his wound. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a pale-ness to his cheeks, it must be excruciating. You can’t help hurrying to him, throwing your arms around his slick shoulders and burying your face against his neck.

Your dress is already bloody, your nerves already frayed, what else can you do but look for his pulse’s quick thump.

Ghost’s hand squeezes your wrist. Clean.

“My lady,” He murmurs, “Let the physician work.”

He has more hair on him than you’d thought. You feel it vaguely when you shake your head, the light strands of hair on his shoulders tickle your nose, and you can feel where it’s been slicked close to his skin running down his spine the same way you feel your dress stick to you. You feel terribly childish, failed somehow. Why do you still feel like you’ve lost even with your prize in your arms?

His hand doesn’t leave you, doesn’t push you away, he makes no noise of discontent at your flagrant disregard of his order, and you wonder how much of his comment was more for the physician’s benefit than his own.

“She’s alright sir,” The physician informs Ghost, “Can move to your lap when I tackle the back.” Ghost grunts and you peek over your arms to watch the physician. His fingers are prodding Ghost’s wound again. The cut looks just as bad from the front, the skin bowed in and sliced long from the wiggle of Graves’ sword, and the muscle streaked with blood. Pulling your own needle and thread through his skin feels like a distant memory now.

How had you managed to hold your stomach then, when you find it so fragile now.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost grits, as the physician packs herbs into the wound and pinches the edges, “There’s blood on your hands because of me.”

“Royalty mustn’t apologize.” You mumble. His fingers squeeze your wrist lightly.

Ghost is quiet, only the wet pull of threads through skin filling the silence between you. There’s no comfort in the rub of his thumb over your wrist, and the longer you stand there the more pointedly you feel the drying mud of blood and fabric congealing against your skin. It’s unignorable and uninterrupted. There is only the chill of tacky discomfort that sticks to you.

“Ghost?” You ask nervously, the air feeling heavy, bearing down on your shoulders like a terrible weight.

He breathes and it feels like a noose being fitted to your neck. You squeeze your arms tighter around his shoulders, begging him to be as selfish as you feel, to give you this one thing, to not let you go now.

“It will follow you,” He says finally, his words cutting through the anxious tension in your shoulders, “You’ll scrub your hands and still feel blood under your nails, you’ll ask yourself if there wasn’t someone better, a hand that didn’t hold you like a weapon.”

“I made my choice,” You press, “you’re my sword, and if I can’t be-”

“I’m your knight,” He clarifies, “and I have loved you far past what is acceptable for a knight-” he hisses through his teeth at the physician’s work, his voice faltering for only a second, “-but I’m still your knight. Not the other way around.”

Despite yourself you smile, your cheeks hot and your stomach giddy. He’s reprimanding you, his voice anything but sweet and yet you can only focus on one thing. Love. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Love, love, love. Far past what’s acceptable, far past what’s expected, what’s necessary, far past what’s proper. Love, love, love. From your knight who’s always held his hands steady and now seems to shake down to his fingertips as the physician presses herbs between the stitches of his wound.

“I love you,” You whisper, sure he’ll hear you. He always has.

“I know,” He tugs at your wrist, raising it to his lips to scrape his teeth over your pulse, you wonder if he can feel the way it hammers under his lips, “and I’ll be dead in the fucking ground before I let anyone take you from me now.”

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