#she was 14 and had a very happy life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

venusbyline · 4 months ago

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Sickly ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 14, oct.

— pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x daughter-in-law!reader

— type: smut, angst, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: thigh riding

— summary: Motherhood was sickly, sickly enough for a grieving mother to mourn her son's death while kissing her widowed daughter-in-law's lips.

— word count: 3.1k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 14th day, female!reader, Cregan Stark's twin sister!reader, Rhaenyra!mother-in-law, Jacaerys Velaryon's wife!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, thigh riding, nipple licking, lactation kink, fingering, breast worship, overstimulation, crying, disturbing themes, mommy kink, death themes, grief/mourning, mother-son relationship, mother-daughter relationship, praise kink, oral (female receiving) mentioned, vaginal sex mentioned, creampie mentioned, Jacaerys Velaryon's daughter mentioned, labor mentioned, motherhood themes, nightmares, age gap (older woman/younger woman), sexism, implied Targcest (mother/son) BUT NOT REALLY, minor Jacaerys Velaryon x reader, implied Rhaenyra Targaryen x Jacaerys Velaryon BUT NOT REALLY, mild dark, Joffrey Velaryon lives, canon divergence (the Blacks win the Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads

— crossposting: AO3

Rhaenyra Targaryen had crossed a very dangerous line.

She knew better than anyone that in her mind, there was a fine line between acting recklessly or acting so promiscuously. From a young age, Rhaenyra let herself be carried away by the thoughts that arose in her brain — or by the lust that wet the middle of her legs.

She was never the best example of chastity. The furtive glances at Alicent Hightower when they were still best friends, the tameless desire for her uncle Daemon since she was a teenager, the loss of her virginity with Ser Criston Cole, the secret affair with Ser Harwin Strong, the kisses exchanged with Mysaria. And now... the unforgivable thoughts and actions with her daughter-in-law.

It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. It was sickly. Disgusting. She was mourning Jacaerys. You were in mourning. A mother losing her firstborn son and a girl losing her husband and the father of her newborn baby. Two women suffering for different reasons.

Rhaenyra mourned Jacaerys' death, the panic she felt during his birth still fresh in her mind. She was so afraid of dying the same way as her mother Aemma that she did not even allow any man to enter during the labor. She did not want any man around. No presence of Laenor Velaryon, her husband, or Ser Harwin Strong, her lover and biological father of the baby she was carrying. Not even Viserys, her own father, should enter and give his opinion there.

Rhaenyra remembered everything perfectly. When Harwin fucked her and she discovered she was pregnant almost thirty days later, when Harwin was surprised and at the same time worried about the idea of being a father in secret, when Laenor was happy with the news, when Viserys celebrated that he would have a grandchild — believing the baby was the result of Rhaenyra's marriage to her husband.

Rhaenyra remembered the nausea, the tiredness, the strange feeling of her belly growing to adapt to the baby that was developing inside her. Sometimes she wished she had drunk the Moon Tea to avoid it, and other times she was happy at the thought of giving birth to a beautiful little girl. The princess was sure she was carrying a daughter. Just as she wished Aemma had given her little sisters.

The pain during childbirth and the fear of dying made her wish that if anyone in that body had to die, it would be the unborn baby, not her. Rhaenyra Targaryen was still so young and had a long life ahead of her. If the baby died, she could try to have another in the future. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she should never have children, especially when they were outside of marriage. Either way, Rhaenyra was aware that if she had to prioritize her own life or the life of her child, she would not think twice about saving herself. She would not make the same mistake her father made with her mother.

It was a surprise when the baby was finally born. A boy. She had longed for a daughter throughout her entire pregnancy, trying to hold on to the possibility that having a daughter would be like being able to follow her mother's footsteps, but without that tragic ending.

Her mild disgust at the midwives' enthusiasm that she had a healthy boy soon changed to panic when she noticed the small thinning strands in the baby's hair. Even though he was so tiny in her arms, she could clearly see that he would have dark hair like his biological father, the Targaryen blood not being so strong anymore.

But now, so many years after that desperate night, Rhaenyra cursed herself for three reasons: for having cared so much about Jacaerys' damned hair color, for having despised him for a few days until she got used to the new routine of being a boy's mother and not a girl's mother, and especially because she said at that time that she would not save Jacaerys during labor.

She would do anything to go back in time and never have thought about that. Now, Rhaenyra would do anything to die in every cruel and painful way possible if it was enough to bring her firstborn back.

Rhaenyra and Jacaerys had built a mother-son relationship over the years. It was not automatic like it was with Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon III and Viserys II. It was not even like the few seconds with her Visenya. She did not love Jacaerys immediately like she did her other children. She did not long for his life. She was a mother for the first time and each particularity of her connection with Jacaerys was created little by little. She learned to love him and she learned to protect him.

Rhaenyra learned almost everything about being a mother. But she never thought she would need to learn to live without her first son.

As for you, there was a painful feeling also rooted in your chest. It was not the same as what the queen felt, it bordered more on concern than guilt. You had nothing to blame yourself for.

When your twin brother, Cregan Stark, used you as a bargaining chip to ensure Rhaenyra's steadfast loyalty to the Northmen, you were not even surprised. That is what you and all the noble ladies were made for. Always used to bargain alliances and produce heirs.

Like brood mares, no woman had the right to say no.

Cregan was a good brother, despite everything. At least he had kept you in Winterfell until a truly necessary and promising betrothal came. Jacaerys Velaryon, the heir to the Iron Throne if Rhaenyra won the Dance of Dragons, would have you as his wife, and in exchange for that, the Blacks would protect the North and provide more resources for the harsh winter. It was a fair exchange and it would ensure that they would not simply ignore the treaty at any time. Lord Stark was a man of his word and demanded the same from Jacaerys' family.

You understood his reasons. It was better to marry someone kind and caring than an old and rude random lord who saw you as just a fertile young woman to produce heirs.

It did not take long for you to love Jacaerys. He was so handsome and affectionate trying to make you feel comfortable in Dragonstone, that you even kissed him a few days before the wedding ceremony, and you were not at all afraid of the consummation of the marriage. It was incredible. Especially when you noticed how shocked Jace was when you closed your legs around his hips, pushing his cock even deeper, allowing him to spill his seed inside your cunt. He did not want you to feel used just to procreate, he did not want it to be a sacrifice.

Jace did not plan on having heirs anytime soon. He wanted you to fuck with him because you liked it, because he gave you pleasure. But never out of duty.

And you enjoyed every second. You never had to fear what would happen to you if his seed did not take fast. Just as you never had to fear how he would react if you gave birth to a girl and not a man heir. Sometimes you even thought he longed more for a daughter. After all, he had lived with brothers his entire life and had never even met his little sister Visenya, who was stillborn. If the baby was a girl, he would name it after his sister. If it were a boy, he would name him after his younger brother Lucerys.

You never had to fear many things when you were married to Jace. However, you always feared for his safety. And, Gods... You were right to do that.

Now, even after Queen Rhaenyra's victory, you feared what would happen to you and your newborn daughter. You were afraid that the Blacks would break the treaty since you were just a widow of a dead heir. You feared what would happen to your people if Rhaenyra went back on her word. You feared what would happen to your daughter Visenya now that her father was dead. Rhaenyra would reign for many years to come, but what would happen to her granddaughter? You were not someone who was greedy, but you did not know if Rhaenyra would name Joffrey as the next heir to the Iron Throne, or if she would let Visenya reign in the future.

If your daughter's succession to the Throne was not considered, you feared that she would hate you or her father's family. If she were named as the legitimate heir, precisely because she was the eldest granddaughter and the result of the marriage of Rhaenyra's murdered firstborn, you feared that Joffrey would hate Visenya and you, as well as his own mother. You feared yet another war between family members. Another Kinslayer, just like Aemond Targaryen.

You feared what Jacaerys' absence would do to your and Visenya's lives in the not-so-distant future.

You and Rhaenyra felt different emotions about Jace's death, but both of you loved him and cried every night missing him.

It was not a surprise when Rhaenyra began to comfort you through your routine nightmares, all that involving the death of your dead husband. Rhaenyra also had nightmares every day. Always about her family's deaths.

She had regained what was rightfully hers, but at what cost?

It was not a surprise to her when you started hugging her while you had crying spells after dreams. It was not a surprise to you when she let you cry on her shoulder. It was not a surprise to her when you begged her to think about your daughter Visenya's future. It was not a surprise to you when she asked for forgiveness for not being enough to protect Jacaerys.

None of this was surprising or unexpected. Not even when the nighttime cuddles intensified. When caressing your hair and hugs were no longer enough. When Rhaenyra began pressing you against her full heavy breasts as you cried. When you started to put your hands under the nightgown Rhaenyra wore and caressed her soft skin.

It was wrong. Very wrong. It was sickly. It was disgusting and repulsive. It was too cruel to the memory of Jacaerys. How would the boy feel if he knew his mother was fucking his own wife?

Neither of you had any way of knowing the answer. Jacaerys was dead, after all. He never returned from the Battle of the Gullet. He and Vermax had been hooked like fishes and engulfed by the waves of the sea — Always wanting so much to have pure blood, to be legitimate... To end up just being a Velaryon rotting inside the ocean. It was ironic and you could not tell if it honored him as a Velaryon or just proved that the Strong blood running through his veins had cursed him, the last moments of his life in the middle of the place where a true Velaryon would belong, but never a bastard.

Rhaenyra hated herself for wanting you. You hated yourself for wanting her. Jacaerys would hate the two of you for this. And yet, both of you could not deal with the grief any other way. You needed each other.

You loved Jacaerys. You loved your late mother, Gilliane Glover, who died so soon after you and Cregan were born. You did not have time to live with her, just as Rhaenyra did not have time to live with her stillborn daughter.

You had lost your husband. Rhaenyra had lost her son. You needed a mother. Rhaenyra needed a daughter.

It was disgusting, very wrong. It was sickly. And you could not stop. You did not want to stop. It was the only way to deal with Jacaerys's grief and keep the boy's memory alive in your minds.

"How was the nightmare tonight?" Rhaenyra asked softly as you sat on her lap, your teary eyes closing. You let her wrap her arm around your waist, your hips bigger after you gave birth to your daughter Visenya.

"About the sea. About pain. About blood... About him." Your voice came out trembling and muffled, your face buried between her breasts, so full and heavy that you could barely breathe, even if you did not make the slightest effort to move away. You wished she still had milk to breastfeed you like your mother had done. She wished she still had milk so she could breastfeed you like she had done with Jacaerys. Like she should have done with her Visenya, if the little baby had not been born dead.

The content of the nightmares that tormented your mind was nothing new. They were always about death, just like Rhaenyra's. And she always wanted to know yours. She always wanted you to tell her what you had dreamed of. But she never shared her own nightmares. And everything was fine. You did not really want to suffer over Rhaenyra's thoughts either. Were you too selfish for not wanting that? Perhaps. And perhaps she was too masochistic, always wanting you to explain every detail that haunted you in the early hours of the morning and disturbed your sleep.

You did not mind telling her. It felt good to share all of this with someone who understood. It was good to seek comfort from a mother.

Rhaenyra moaned when she felt your tongue circle her pink nipple, your teary eyes made you look like a child being soothed by a mother's breast.

She stroked your hair, thanking the Gods that you did not have silver or blonde hair. Thanking the Gods that Alicent did not let her marry Jacaerys to Helaena Targaryen. Thanking the Gods for allowing Jacaerys to annul his betrothal to Baela Velaryon when Lord Cregan Stark demanded that his army's loyalty would only be agreed upon if the prince married his twin sister.

She could never seek that comfort from Helaena. Her sister had always been too pure for her own good. And Helaena was too much like Rhaenyra herself. She could not picture Jacaerys in Helaena's place because of her hair.

Just as she could not seek comfort from Baela. Her stepdaughter had Laena's appearance and the rebellious and tameless personality of her ex-husband Daemon.

Joffrey had the same dark hair as his older brother, but you... You were everything she needed. You had dark hair like Jacaerys and you were a girl like her stillborn daughter. You were everything she wanted currently. A daughter. But also a concubine.

"It feels good?" Rhaenyra questioned when her hands went down to your nipples, sensitive from your lack of breastfeeding. You did not breastfeed Visenya often, preferring that she be fed by a wet nurse. Looking at her reminded you of Jacaerys and that made the moment difficult. Your milk would dry up quickly if you continued looking for Rhaenyra and leaving your daughter aside. You knew you needed to act like a mother, however, you liked to enjoy your time like Rhaenyra's daugther and affair.

You did not judge Rhaenyra for imagining her son licking her breasts when you did that. You knew she had never seen him in a sexual way. It was an innocent nostalgia, even if you were also pressing her other breast while memories of Jacaerys filled her mind. She wanted her eldest son back. You wanted your husband back. She wanted to feel you the same way her son felt you. And you wanted to feel every inch of the woman who gave birth to the man you loved.

You nibbled on her nipple after gasping as Rhaenyra she placed a hand on your mound, squeezing it rough enough to make your breast milk start to flow out. "Good girl..." She growled softly, admiring your embarrassed smile.

Rhaenyra ran her fingers through the milk before bringing it down between your legs, rubbing the liquid into your already wet folds. "N-Nyra..."

"Mother." The Queen corrected while you squirmed under her touch. Your milk was supposed to be to feed Visenya. And here you were, letting your mother-in-law rub it on your clit. It was so disgusting and depraved. Motherhood was a sick thing.

"M-Mother..." You whimpered the way Rhaenyra suggested, even though the word brought a bitter taste to your mouth. Was this how she felt whenever she was eating you out? Did she pictured her son cumming inside your cunt so many times at the beginning of the marriage, filling you with his seed until it flowed, the same way his biological father had done to her in secret? Was this how Rhaenyra felt whenever you rubbed your face between her large breasts? Did she remember how difficult it was to get used to breastfeeding her firstborn? Was this how she felt now with her hand wet with your milk? Why did not she hate you, already knowing you would rather her do that than force you to breastfeed your daughter Visenya, while she did not even have the chance to feed her Visenya?

You wanted to know if she also felt disgusted by it all. You wanted to know if motherhood was really that sick for her too.

You wanted to know a lot of things, and you chose not to ask any of them. Ignorance was bliss. The answers were on both of your faces. The way she moaned as you pushed your fingers hard into her cunt, fucking the tight walls that had once dilated so baby Jacaerys could come into the world. The way your breast milk that was supposed to feed Jacaerys' little daughter had a different use now, soaking your own cunt as you took advantage of the additional liquid to ride harder against Rhaenyra's thick thigh.

You both felt sick and dirty, mentally begging for Jacaerys' forgiveness as you came, moaning each other's name. Your fingers were still inside her and your sensitive and sore clit was still pressed against her soft white skin, your cum and milk running down her thigh, while Rhaenyra kept your face against her chest.

"Thank you, Mother, thank you..." You sobbed, making no move to get off of her or release her walls. You wanted to prolong the feeling of self-loathing, enjoying the overstimulation of having your bud pulsing along with the continuous tremors of your body, just as Rhaenyra was enjoying feeling your trembling hand inside her, the four motionless fingers spreading her cunt like if you were preparing her for labor. Jace's birth or yours, you could not say. Both, perhaps.

"I love you, my dear daughter. My new daughter." Rhaenyra kissed the top of your head, caressing your dark hair. It was true. You were everything that kept Jace's memory alive in her mind. She loved her firstborn and she loved you in a sick way. After all, motherhood was sickly, sickly enough for a grieving mother to mourn her son's death while kissing her widowed daughter-in-law's lips.

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sovamurka · 2 years ago

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They're so damn soft in this scene 💘

#still thinking about the fact that Volodya and Katya (actors) were very very VERY tired while filming this because it was their last shift #and the only reason why it doesn't look that way is because they're very comfortable and happy around each other in real life #but there is a funny story about it!#as Vladimir told it... basically he was so tired that he at one point asked 'Katya. wait. where are your lips? I can't see them'#and Ekaterina (who was a little less tired) answered 'Don't worry I'll try to find yours'#and considering the fact that she had to wait for his previous shift to end (he had 14 that day) for like 3 hours...#goodness. they're phenomenaly strong.#doomsday (2022)#конец света (2022)

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alsofoundinpeas · 1 month ago

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Only Ever You

Summary: Y/N knows her husband can be a bit oblivious when it comes to women flirting with him, but when a local officer oversteps during their latest case, she reaches her breaking point. She’s exhausted from feeling like she’s always second to every other woman. Now, it's up to Spencer to prove that no one will ever come before her.

Requested fic!! : I was hoping you could write an angsty-angry-smutty fic surrounding Spencer exasperatingly telling Reader: “Cat Adams could offer herself up wide open on a bed. In fact she has! JJ could leave Will for me. Maeve could fucking walk back in here right now. And I would still choose you!”

At some point in their love-making Reader tells Spencer “you always choose women who take and take and take from you. Giving nothing of themselves back but you deserve everything. I want to give you my everything”. They essentially worship each other endlessly. In so many ways.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This was written with Season 14 Reid in mind btw :) Intense argument between Reader and Spencer (Reader is hurt and is kind of harsh). Very brief mentions of past infidelity (done by Reader's ex-partners). Jealous reader!! Crying during arguing (very brief by both parties). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (both m and f receiving), unprotected PinV sex (be safe irl!!), multiple orgasms (both m and f receiving), creampie (I wince every time I type that LMAO), slight exhibitionism (a call is made during sex), praise. Angst turned happy ending!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: First and foremost, thank you so very much to the anon who requested this!! I truly hope you enjoy it and that I wrote what you were hoping for :') <3 To everyone reading, welcome to my first fic of the new year!! I hope you guys enjoy it :) As always, please let me know what you guys think! If you like it, please consider dropping a like, reblogging it, or even sharing it with your friends :') I love you all!! <3 K

Something Y/N loathed about herself was her tendency to get overly jealous whenever other women (or even some men) were around Spencer. It wasn’t a matter of trusting him—she trusted Spencer with her life. But no amount of trust could erase the scars left by the betrayal of past partners who had cheated on her.

Y/N tried to hold back her annoyance whenever JJ hung around Spencer for what she considered far too long to be just friendly. She bit her tongue whenever a witness or suspect flirted with him. She had even managed to keep her cool one night when they went out for drinks with the team (a rare occasion) and Y/N returned from the bathroom to find the bartender borderline eye-fucking Spencer, even going so far as to reach for his arm.

Spencer’s obliviousness to women's advances toward him often made her blood boil, and as she had watched him that night, a knot of frustration tightened in her stomach. Her anger simmered, rising bitterly in her throat as she made her way toward them. Y/N knew the bartender had seen his wedding band—it was something Spencer wore like a badge of honor, always proudly visible.

Thankfully, Spencer pulled his arm away before she had to intervene, ranting about how the drink was meant for her, his wife before paying and storming back to their booth, clearly irked. In that moment, Y/N’s anger evaporated, replaced by a rush of relief as she was reminded of Spencer's unwavering love for her, a love he would always prove, with or without her presence. Rather than confronting the bartender, she turned and returned to the booth, curling up against Spencer with a contented smile, enjoying the rest of the night in his arms.

Tonight, Y/N struggled to remember that reminder as she cast a fierce glare at the back of Spencer's head from across the room.

The team had been dispatched to a small town in Oregon to investigate a particularly disturbing case where the unsub was leaving his victims strung up in the state forest along popular hiking trails, their stomachs or backs marked with cryptic quotes. Over the week, Spencer had struck up an unexpected connection with Officer Henley, a local who shared his deep knowledge of Edgar Allan Poe—particularly The Raven, from which the unsub was drawing his quotes. As the case dragged on, Y/N couldn’t ignore the growing tension, especially as Officer Henley—or Sarah, who kept insisting Spencer call her by her first name��made her interest in him all too apparent, while both women silently made their distaste for each other clear.

Tonight was testing Y/N’s patience and professionalism like never before. Spencer and Sarah had been assigned to decode the latest quote found on a victim, while Y/N focused on the geographical profile. Normally, she preferred the analysis over fieldwork, but tonight she would have rather been out in the damp forest searching for overlooked clues with the rest of the team than endure Sarah's loud, incessant laughter at some meaningless joke her husband had made.

Spencer, naturally, was just glad someone appreciated his sense of humor and remained blissfully unaware of Sarah’s clear attempts to flirt with him. To be honest, he found her a bit clingy and annoying, but he attributed it to her enthusiasm as a new officer—she had only joined the precinct a few months ago—and the excitement of working on a case far more intense than the usual petty theft or minor civil dispute her town had.

After another round of high-pitched laughter, Y/N reached her breaking point. With an exasperated sigh, she slammed the box of pins onto the table and stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. So consumed by frustration, she didn't even realize one of the pins had punctured the thin plastic until she reached for the doorknob, a muffled curse slipping from her lips as she noticed blood trickling down her finger.

The loud noise startled both Sarah and Spencer, causing them to turn quickly as Y/N stormed out of the room. Spencer’s brow furrowed with concern, and without a second thought, he excused himself, brushing past Sarah’s confused calls. It didn't take long for him to find Y/N in the breakroom, huddled in the corner, carefully applying a band-aid to her finger.

"Honey? Are you okay?" Spencer asked worriedly, making his way toward her.

Y/N looked up, unable to help the disgruntled look on her face as she huffed. “I’m fine. It was just a small poke, really. I don’t know why it bled so much,” she murmured, looking away to take a sip of the coffee she’d poured for herself.

The clock above the break room door ticked on, its hands marking a quarter past nine. Y/N's frustration simmered, a mix of exhaustion from the sleepless nights and irritation at Spencer’s obliviousness to Sarah’s clear interest in him. For someone with such sharp profiling skills, it baffled her that Spencer couldn't seem to read the obvious signs when it came to women.

Where he failed to read other women and their intentions, he had no such trouble with Y/N. He could read her effortlessly, which is why he immediately knew she was lying.

Spencer took a seat beside her, his gaze fixed on her face intently. He sat quietly for a moment before speaking up.

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart? Talk to me. Please?”

Spencer knew Y/N tended to bottle things up instead of letting them out, reluctant to share her feelings for fear of burdening him. He detested anyone in her life who had contributed to that insecurity. In his eyes, she would never be a bother for simply expressing how she felt.

Before Y/N could respond, her phone rang, and she silently welcomed the interruption. She wasn’t sure she could explain to Spencer why she was so upset—especially over something as irrational as him making another woman laugh. She knew, logically, that he would never (knowingly) encourage any flirting, yet the feeling still nagged at her. He was her husband. She loved him more than anything, and the idea of another woman encroaching on what they had stung more than she cared to admit.

Y/N held a finger up before answering the call with a brisk “Agent Y/L/N speaking.”

“Yikes, that was cold. You okay?”

When Tara’s voice came through the phone, Y/N immediately felt a twinge of guilt for how she’d answered, but it quickly faded as her shoulders eased and she exhaled softly.

“I’ll explain later. What’s up?”

“We’re not making any progress here, and since it’s so late, Emily thinks we should head to the Inn and get some rest. You definitely sound like you could use it,” Tara said with a soft chuckle.

She wasn’t wrong. The case, combined with Sarah’s behavior, had Y/N feeling stretched thin and irritable. The sleep deprivation certainly wasn’t helping. A small grin tugged at her lips before she replied.

“You know me too well, ma’am. You get some rest too. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Y/N hung up the phone and met Spencer’s inquisitive gaze. “That was Tara. Emily gave the go-ahead to wrap up and head to the Inn,” she explained, offering him a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Spencer nodded, his gaze lingering on her with quiet concern as they stood. He said nothing as they walked back to the conference room to pack up for the night, choosing not to press her about whatever was troubling her. He made a mental note to bring it up later, at a better time. They still had an unsub to catch, and adding more stress to an already challenging case wouldn’t help either of them.

After five more long, excruciating days of watching Sarah blatantly flirt with her husband and ignoring the team's questioning glances, Y/N finally got the break she all but begged the universe for.

By some miracle, they had finally tracked down the unsub. A slip-up at his latest crime scene had not only left his DNA behind, but he was also in the system for previous crimes and still lived at the same address. The evidence they found in his home during the arrest was more than damning, so Emily decided the local police captain could take it from there, handling the interrogation and everything else.

The flight back to Quantico was tense, and Y/N chose to sit with Tara instead of Spencer. His defense of Sarah—especially after Y/N confronted her for grabbing his phone and putting her number in it "as a friend"—had been the breaking point. Now, she was actively ignoring him, despite his repeated pleas at the Inn while they packed for her to just tell him what was wrong so he could fix it. She knew it was petty. She knew she should be mature and talk to him about it. But she was hurt. All she wanted was for her husband to recognize when other women were making moves on him before it crossed a line—like with the bartender who thought it was okay to touch him.

The drive home was unbearable. Spencer’s hands were clenched around the wheel, his knuckles pale from the pressure, while Y/N faced the window, staring out into the darkness, her body turned away from him. The silence between them was deafening, with neither of them saying a word the entire ride.

That silence ended the instant Y/N slammed the door behind them after they’d brought in their go-bags.

“Y/N, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” Spencer snapped, his frustration bubbling over. He had tried being patient, asking her again and again to just tell him what was wrong, but now he was done. After the long, grueling case they'd gotten back from, all he wanted was to hold his wife, not fight with her.

“What the fuck is my problem?!” Y/N scoffed incredulously. “What the fuck is your problem Spencer?”

Y/N stormed toward their bedroom, flinging her bag into the corner to deal with later. Spinning on her heels, she brushed past Spencer—who had been trailing her—and made her way to the kitchen. Spencer sighed, setting his bag next to their closet and placing his phone on his nightstand before turning to follow after her.

“Or better yet, why don’t you ask Sarah what my problem is?” she shot at him, her words laced with bitterness. “After all, she was kind enough to give you her number, and you two seem to get along so well!” Y/N stopped abruptly, turning to face him, her expression fierce.

Spencer scoffed, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Seriously? You’re this upset because a woman was being friendly with me?"

Y/N laughed sharply, the mix of anger and hurt making her delirious. She nodded slowly, lifting her gaze to his, her tongue pressing into her cheek as her eyes narrowed. With a deliberate step forward, she closed the distance between them. “As brilliant as you are, that might just be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say in all the years I’ve known you,” she hissed, her glare fiery as she looked up at him.

Spencer's throat tightened as his pulse quickened, staring at her in disbelief. He had never seen his wife so furious, and a sinking feeling of dread settled deep in his stomach. His lips parted, but before he could speak, she turned on her heel, moving around the counter to put space between them.

“I’m at a loss, Spencer,” Y/N sighed, her head dropping as her fingers drummed against the countertop. “If you honestly think her behavior was just friendly, I don’t even know what to say to you.” She looked up at him, her voice shaking with frustration as she got louder and louder. “And on top of all that, you defended her over me—your wife! Do you know how embarrassing that was? I would never, in a million years, defend another man over you!”

With the case no longer consuming his thoughts, Spencer took a moment to truly reflect on Sarah’s behavior. What he had once brushed off as clingy and overenthusiastic now seemed undeniably inappropriate. He had been so focused on the case that he hadn’t given it the attention it deserved.

Y/N was right, and he knew now that he’d been wrong to defend another woman over her. He had convinced himself that Y/N was overreacting when Sarah put her number in his phone, but now he understood. Y/N was his wife, and the guilt of making her feel hurt and humiliated weighed heavily on him.

“Y/N—“ Spencer hesitated, sighing before he continued. “Sweetheart, I never meant to make you feel like I was putting someone else before you. You know that, right?” Spencer’s voice was soft, his guilt clear in every word.

Y/N’s lip quivered as she stared at him, shaking her head before releasing a strained breath.

“No, Spencer. I don’t know that. Because, no matter what, I always end up on the back burner when it comes to other women in your life. Sometimes, it honestly feels like you’re deliberately oblivious to it—like you don’t care enough to notice or do something about it. Like you’ll always choose another woman over me."

Her words hit Spencer harder than he expected, stirring up a well of emotion he hadn’t realized was there. Anger bubbled up inside him, but it wasn’t aimed at her—not for a second. It was anger directed at himself, for making Y/N feel like she would ever come second to anyone.

Spencer realized now why he had been so oblivious to the other women’s attention. It was because he was so in love with her, so completely devoted, that he couldn’t even entertain the idea of anyone else wanting him. He didn’t care about them in the slightest—how could he when he had the most incredible, most beautiful woman alive as his wife?

“Is that… is that truly how I’ve made you feel?” Spencer whispers, a devastated look on his face as he took a trembling step toward her. “Like I’d choose any other woman over you, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat as a tear slipped down her cheek at the admission.

Spencer slowly made his way around the counter, giving her time to back away if she didn’t want him near her right now. Once he reached her, he gently guided her face up to look at his before swiping the tear from her cheek.

“My darling girl,” he murmured, his voice unwavering as he cradled her face. “Cat Adams could offer herself up to me wide open on a bed a thousand times—it wouldn’t matter. JJ could walk away from Will tonight, tomorrow, whenever, and it wouldn’t change a thing. Even if Maeve herself walked through that door right now…” Spencer paused, his expression softening. “I’d still choose you. Always you. Only you. In this life, and in every life. Without a second of hesitation. Without an ounce of doubt.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words, her eyes studying his face for any indication that he was lying. But all she saw was raw honesty and regret, his eyes brimming with tears. Her eyes closed as another tear slipped down her cheek, and slowly, she leaned into his touch, her shoulders finally giving way with a quiet surrender.

"You really mean that?" Y/N asked, her insecurity still overpowering the evidence before her.

Spencer pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as he gently cradled the back of her head with one hand and drew her waist against him with the other. “Of course I mean it, my sweet girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into her hair, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m so, truly sorry for not showing you that sooner. But I swear, from now on, I will. No one—no one—could ever mean more to me than you.”

Y/N kept her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest as she let his words sink in. After a beat, she pulled back with a soft exhale, wiping her eyes before meeting his gaze. “I’m still angry with you,” she said, poking a finger into his chest before trailing her hand up to gently tug at his tie. “But that definitely helped your case,” she added, a playful spark lighting her eyes as she slowly untied his knot. “I might even let you sleep in our bed tonight.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Spencer’s chest as he raised an eyebrow, his hands settling on her waist while she worked at his tie. “Any chance I can turn that ‘might’ into a ‘will’?” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing. “Because I can think of a few ways to plead my case.”

As he spoke, his hands slid underneath her blouse to rub maddening circles into her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Y/N tilted her head, humming thoughtfully as she let his loose tie slip from her fingers, falling to the floor. It had been almost two weeks since the last time she and Spencer had done anything remotely sexual, and the idea of make-up sex was more than appealing.

“We’ll see,” Y/N whispered, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as she pressed her hand against his chest and rose onto her toes to kiss him.

Spencer melted into the kiss, turning to press her gently against the counter. A low groan escaped his lips before he deepened the kiss, trailing a hand down her side to hike her leg up around his waist while the other settled against the side of her neck. His thumb stroked her jawline as he pressed further into her touch.

"I love how hard you get from just a few kisses," Y/N muttered against his lips. "Maybe you really are sorry after all."

"My angel girl," Spencer cooed between kisses, trailing his lips down her neck to her exposed collarbone. "I'll prove to you—" A soft gasp fell from Y'N's lips as he sucked a mark into her skin. "—just how sorry I am…” Her head tipped back as he began to kneel before her, placing both hands on her waist as he peppered kisses down her clothed body. “And worship you in the way you’ve deserved—“ Her gaze met his as he lifted her foot, resting it on his thigh before undoing the strap of her high heel. “—for so, so long.”

Y/N’s hands gripped the counter as she watched him through hooded eyes, a breath of relief releasing into the air as he slipped her shoe off, letting it hit the ground beside them with a quiet thump. He kept her foot on his thigh, placing a kiss on her knee through her slacks as he began to massage her tense calf muscles under the fabric. Once he was satisfied with the appreciative groans falling from her lips, he did the same with the other side, removing her high heel and massaging her leg.

Spencer sat her foot back down on the ground before reaching for the button of her slacks, popping it open. Her breath hitched as he leaned forward, tugging her zipper down with his teeth. The moment her zipper was completely down, he reached up, startling her from her haze as he yanked the fabric down her legs.

“Spence!” Y/N said, her laugh tinged with amusement as he merely shrugged, a mischievous spark in his eyes and a smirk tugging at his lips.

He helped her step out of the fabric, keeping his hands on her hips to steady her while she kicked her pants to the side. His lips eagerly pressed to her newly exposed skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the waistband of her panties. “You’re not the only one that’s still angry here,” Spencer mumbled against her skin, tracing his fingers up her thighs to drag her soaked panties down her legs.

“Wait… what are you angry about?” Y/N's face contorted, caught between confusion and irritation.

“I’m angry—“ A wet kiss pressed against her hip bone. “At myself—“ Another wet kiss pressed to her outer thigh. “For making you feel—“ Her face relaxed as he eased her left thigh over his shoulder. “Like I’d ever—“ A series of soft kisses to her inner thigh made her tense with anticipation. “Put anyone else above you, sweetheart.”

In one swift movement, his tongue dragged up her arousal, a guttural groan rumbling against her slick skin as he began to devour her. Y/N’s hands shot out to thread through his hair with a sharp gasp, her mouth dropping open as moans started to spill from her lips. His hands found her ass, gripping her tightly and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh there as he all but suffocated himself in her folds.

"Oh my—" Y/N rasped, cutting herself off with a whine as he let out a needy moan in response.

Her grip on his hair tightened, pulling him impossibly closer as she began to rock her hips against his face. Her eyes squeezed shut, bursts of color flickering behind her eyelids as Spencer worked his mouth against her. His movements alternated between fucking his tongue into her and suckling her clit greedily, the combination hurtling her toward her orgasm.

Spencer was painfully hard, his erection tenting his slacks as he reveled in the taste of her. One of his favorite things to do after a stressful case (which, frankly, was most of them) was bury his face between her thighs. Her taste was truly addictive, and he'd find himself craving it the longer he went without having her. It was as though the more he could make her legs shake around his head and the harder he could make her cum, the faster the stress evaporated from his body. And now he was working extra hard to make her feel good, eager to redeem himself for his behavior.

A tremulous moan ripped through the air as Y/N hunched over, whimpering his name mindlessly as her first orgasm of the night tore through her. Spencer groaned into her as her nails dug into his scalp, the slight sting sending a pang of longing coursing through him as he ached to feel those nails dragging down his back. His movements slowed, easing her through the aftermath of her climax as she panted above him. Once she was whining and shoving his head away, he gently lowered her leg to the ground, standing with a soft chuckle as she swayed slightly.

“Easy, sweetheart. Come on, hold on to me,” Spencer murmured, his hand soothingly rubbing her back as she clung to him.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, burying her face in his chest as she trembled in his embrace. "God, you're too good at that," she sighed, placing a kiss on his collarbone before pulling back to look up at him. "Take me to our room so I can return the favor?"

The grin on her face was infectious, and Spencer found himself smiling as he nodded. "Yes ma'am," he murmured teasingly.

They stripped their remaining clothes in between giggly kisses, littering the hallway with the fabric before they finally made it into their room. Y/N looped her arms around Spencer's neck, backing him against the closed door as she leaned up to kiss him hungrily. Spencer's hands roamed her body, whimpering into her mouth as her hand trailed down his body to wrap around his cock.

"Honey, you really don't have to—"

Spencer hissed against her lips, his sentence interrupted as she began to pump her hand slowly. "I'm supposed to be making it up to you—"

Y/N shushed him, nipping his lower lip gently before breaking their kiss completely. His cock twitched in her hand from the way she was looking up at him so reverently, and he swallowed hard as he stopped his protesting.

"You always chose women who took and took from you, offering nothing in return. But you deserve everything, my sweet boy. I want to give you all that I am, just like you give me all that you are. Let me make you feel good too, Spence."

There was no room for argument as her words hung in the air, causing his heart to tighten. She was right. He’d always been drawn to selfish partners, always putting their needs before his own. Or, in Cat Adam's case, completely insane women hellbent on draining him of his sanity. That was what made Y/N so surprising to him from the start. Even when they were just colleagues with unspoken crushes, long before they were a couple, she was the one woman who always made a point to put him first.

When he nodded, she grinned in satisfaction, placing one last lingering kiss on his lips before sinking to her knees. Spencer felt like his brain malfunctioned anytime he was lucky enough to see her like this—kiss swollen lips glistening as she wet her lips, or her pupils dilated so much he could barely make out the color in her beautiful irises as she stared up at him. No matter how many times he saw her like this, he would never stop being captivated by how stunning she was.

His head fell back against the door with a solid thunk as his brows pinched together at the feeling of her lips wrapping around the swollen head of his arousal, a sharp exhale leaving his nose as he tried to steady himself. She'd barely touched him and yet he could already feel his stomach tightening simply from the anticipation of what he knew was coming next. A throaty moan filled the air as she swirled her tongue around him before taking his length deeper, gagging slightly as he hit the back of her throat.

"Fuck!" Spencer whined, forcing himself to look down at her instead of squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. "Love it when you take me so deep, sweetheart. Just like that—"

Y/N smirked smugly around her mouthful, beginning to bob her head up and down his aching cock. One of her favorite things about Spencer was how, despite everyone seeing him as soft-spoken and mild-mannered because he rarely cursed in front of others, he had an absolutely filthy mouth when they did anything even remotely sexual. It felt like her own dirty little secret, and she couldn't help but revel in it.

It didn't take long for his hips to begin bucking gently into her mouth, his hands cradling the back of her head as his chest heaved. Helpless moans slipped from his lips between murmured praises, his hooded eyes locked on her so as not to miss a single second of the show she was putting on for him.

"So fucking pretty with my cock between your lips. My pretty girl. God, I'm the luckiest man to ever exist to have you as my wife—" Spencer crooned between labored breaths, his teeth digging harshly into his lower lip as a guttural groan cut off his rambling. "I'm close— I-I'm— fuck!"

Spencer cried out as Y/N swallowed around his cock, her nose pressing into the soft curls at the base of him as saliva dripped down her chin and onto her chest. The feeling of her moaning around him sent him over the edge, a string of whorish moans and whimpers falling from his open mouth as he painted the back of her throat with his essence. His knees almost buckled as she kept sucking through his orgasm, a pitiful whine leaving him as she finally released him with a slick 'pop'.

Despite feeling like he'd quite literally had his soul sucked from his body, Spencer still held his hand out to help her up from the ground. He pulled her into him as she stood, pressing sweet kisses to the top of her head as he caught his breath. Y/N peppered kisses along his warm skin, more than pleased with herself.

"Get on the bed," Spencer mumbled hoarsely into her hair, landing a gentle smack to her ass.

Y/N eagerly obliged, crawling into the middle of their bed and situating herself amongst their pillows. Her gaze fell on him as he slowly made his way over, her breath hitching at the ravenous look in his eyes.

Spencer had always been a generous lover, making sure she came at least twice before their lovemaking ended. Throughout their relationship, he tended to lean more on the submissive side, happily allowing Y/N to guide their intimate moments any way she saw fit. But after prison, it was like something had snapped in him.

Now, he wasn’t afraid to get rough with her (within her limits, of course). Where he’d once been hesitant to grip too hard or move too fast, he’d now easily leave fingerprint-shaped bruises and pound into her until tears leaked from her eyes from how good it felt. There were still days when he’d let Y/N take the reigns, days when the world was so heavy that all he wanted to do was shut his brain off and let her use him to get herself off, but those days were rare.

Y/N welcomed the change with open arms, excited to let Spencer tap into and explore his more dominant side. Truthfully, she was surprised by how much she enjoyed letting go of control. Her job forced her to be tougher than she liked—always having to stand her ground with local officers or unsubs who underestimated her simply because she was a woman. With Spencer, it felt freeing to leave that hard-edged persona behind, letting him dote on her and take control of her pleasure.

Spencer stopped at the foot of their bed, a wicked look on his face as he observed her. Y/N felt her cheeks warm under the scrutiny of his gaze, shifting restlessly as she waited to see what he was going to do. He kneeled onto the mattress, shuffling forward until he hovered above her.

Instead of speaking, he ducked down and left a lingering kiss on her forehead before lying on his side beside her. Y/N shifted to face him, but he stopped her, keeping her in place on her back. "Like this, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing his lips against her temple. He propped up, guiding his right arm underneath her so he could cradle her head while nipping her earlobe gently.

Spencer trailed a hand down her body, chuckling as she squirmed in his hold. He gripped her thigh firmly, bringing her leg up to rest on his waist to allow him better access to her dripping folds. Spencer began kissing down her neck, relishing in the soft sighs Y/N let out as he angled his hips to nudge the head of his hardening cock against her pussy.

"Need you so bad, Spence—" Y/N whimpered as his hand left her thigh to rub teasing circles against her clit. "Please!"

Spencer hummed, dipping his head down to take her nipple into his mouth as he picked up the pace of his fingers. When she whined louder, he dipped a finger down to tease her entrance and swirled his tongue around her pert bud in retaliation.

"Shh, pretty girl. I'll take care of you," Spencer cooed as he pulled away from her breast. "I always do," he murmured, pressing his finger into her while meeting her lips in a tender kiss.

One of Spencer's favorite things about this position was how accessible it made her. He loved having her spread open for him, unable to do much of anything besides take the pleasure he delivered. He also loved how deep it allowed him to get, able to bring her to the brink over and over because of the constant stimulation to her g-spot.

Moans continued to spill from Y/N's lips as he added a second finger, her hips rolling into his touch frantically. Calling their kiss a kiss seemed too generous—it was more a messy, half-hearted press of lips together. She reached up, tugging at his curls hard as her climax rapidly approached. She was so close—

Spencer swiftly removed his fingers, breaking their kiss to stuff the digits into her mouth before she could complain. He thrust his hips forward, pushing into her in one smooth movement. Y/N let out a muffled cry around his fingers, her eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling her.

"God— shit, baby," Spencer groaned loudly, stilling his hips once he bottomed out to let her adjust. "Always so fucking wet and so fucking tight."

She clenched hard around him, still dangerously close to cumming. Spencer pressed his forehead to her temple as he began to move, thrusting into her in slow, hard thrusts. His right hand stroked her hair while his left slipped from her lips to grip her thigh again, keeping her spread open for him as his pace began to increase.

"So good for me, sweetheart. So perfect," Spencer panted, driving into her in sharp, wild thrusts now. He could tell she was close, and he wanted to feel her falling apart around his cock more than anything.

"Feels so good, Spence," Y/N whined, panting as the pleasure began to coil tightly in her stomach. "Always fuck me so good—"

A choked moan ripped its way from her throat as she came around him, the feeling of her clenching around him causing Spencer's hips to falter as he cursed under his breath. Y/N writhed beneath him, whimpering as he kept his grip tight on her thigh to keep her from clamping her legs shut.

"You can take another one, can't you pretty girl?" Spencer murmured, moving to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone as he slowed his hips to help ease her through the overstimulation. "I know you can," he cooed encouragingly. "My precious girl. You always take me so well."

Y/N nodded frantically, the sting of overstimulation beginning to fade back into dizzying pleasure as he fucked into her gently. Spencer pressed a kiss to her shoulder, praising her softly before an idea came to mind. He wanted her to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that no other woman could ever take her place or come before her, right?

What better way to do that than by calling the woman who sparked this argument and showing her exactly what she couldn’t have and who she could never be?

Spencer slowed his thrusts to a halt, chuckling breathlessly as Y/N whined in protest. "On your stomach for me, sweetheart," he coaxed her gently, slipping out of her so she could flip over.

Once she was settled on her front, Spencer slipped a pillow beneath her hips and kissed the back of her head before bending to whisper into her ear.

"How would you feel if I called Sarah right now to show her exactly how much my gorgeous wife means to me—and how insignificant her 'friendship' is in comparison?"

Y/N grinned smugly, shoving her face into the pillow tucked under her head as her face warmed. Was it petty? Absolutely. Had she ever been more turned on than when she heard those words leave her husband's lips? She doubted it. It felt almost primal, staking her claim in such a way. But Sarah more than deserved it for how she'd acted... so fuck it.

"Do it."

Spencer smirked at her muffled words, reaching for his phone and setting it beside them. He lined back up at her entrance, pushing into her with a groan as her warmth enveloped him once more. Once he set a steady rhythm, with Y/N so lost in her pleasure she'd almost forgotten about their plan entirely, he hit dial on Sarah's contact.

Sarah groggily sat up, reaching for her phone as it rang. A sly smirk tugged at her lips when she saw who was calling, and she answered with a hint of excitement. "Well, hey there, handsome. Does your wife know you’re calling me at this hour?" she purred, her grin widening as she waited for him to speak. She knew he was into her—

Sarah’s brows furrowed as she was met with rustling on the other end of the line followed by a very clear moan. Her smile dropped, her mouth gaping open in shock as she listened.

“Fuck, Y/N—“ Spencer’s muffled grunt came through the speakers before he continued, the bed squeaking with each rough thrust. “I love you so fucking much. My beautiful wife. God, sweetheart—"

Sarah dropped the phone, appalled by what was happening on the other end and embarrassed by how confidently she'd answered the phone. One thing was clear—he definitely wasn't into her. Her face burned as she realized she hadn't actually ended the call, the sound of muffled moans streaming through the phone as she hunted for it in the covers. Once it was back in her hands, Sarah ended the call abruptly, blinking hard as she stared down at the screen while she tried to process what had just happened. Spencer had to have butt-dialed her... right?

Spencer chuckled darkly as he realized Sarah had ended the call, reaching up to shove the phone further up the bed and out of the way before he began pounding even harder into Y/N. She was close again, clenching deliciously around him and hurtling him towards his own orgasm just as quickly. He clasped their hands together, shoving them into the mattress as he buried his head in the crook of her neck with a guttural groan.

"I'm cumming— fuck, Spence, fuck!" Y/N cried out, thrashing underneath him as she came so hard her vision blacked at the edges.

Spencer followed suit, burying himself inside of her with a choked groan as he came. His head rested on her shoulder, his hips rocking gently through the aftershocks of their orgasms until they were both whimpering from the sensitivity. He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her flushed skin before rolling off of her and onto the bed with a deep exhale.

Spencer pulled Y/N into him, stroking a hand down her back as she trembled. "Such a good girl, sweetheart. Always do so good for me. My beautiful girl. I love you so much," he whispered reverently, holding her while she came down from her high.

"I love you, Spence. With everything that I am," Y/N whispered back, lifting herself up enough to kiss him tenderly.

It took a few minutes before either of them could get up to get cleaned up, with Spencer guiding her to the bathroom with a hand wrapped around her waist to steady her. Their shower was spent murmuring apologies and praises to each other, the both of them expressing just how much they loved each other between soapy passes of the loofah and tired giggles as they washed away the remnants of the night. And as he wrapped her into a towel, Spencer couldn't help the grin that broke across his face at her quiet words.

"You can absolutely sleep in the bed tonight—just as long as you change the sheets first."

Continued A/N's: I still have a few requests to fill after this and then I'll be posting some original ideas before I open requests back up! Thank you guys so much for the requests, they've been so much fun to write and I hope you guys are enjoying them as much as I am! :') <3

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #Spencer Reid x fem!reader #Spencer reid x self insert #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x bau!reader #Spencer Reid x reader #angst to happy ending

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trueloveandotherscificoncepts · 2 years ago

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Me: this day couldn't possibly get any worse

Universe: that's what you think bitch *kills dog*

#listen she was 14 #she had a very long and very happy life #and she wasn't in any pain at the end #but i am a blubbering mess and will be so for the foreseeable future #personal

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sl-ut · 2 days ago

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the warmth of winter

happy valentine’s day!!! since yall have been dying for this i figured i’d offer up some smut!! enjoyyyyy <3

pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader, alicent hightower x daughter!reader, cregan stark x monster-in-law!alicent hightower

description: after a long and difficult labour, cregan is eager to spend some time with his wife and their newborn children, but for the warden of the north, duty cannot be put on hold in favour of love.

warnings: smut, rough pregnancy/labour, sexually frustrated reader and cregan, controlling!alicent, swearing, mention of alcohol consumption, potential of all other canon warnings (just to be safe)

words: 6.2K

date posted: 14/02/25

part one

A weight seemed to have been lifted from Cregan’s shoulders with the departure of the queen and her family, slowly lessening his duties more and more as the realm settled into summer and the last of winter’s chill dwindling to little more than an early morning frost. With the transition from winter to summer behind them, Cregan was glad to be able to finally spend some time with his family, especially with the newest additions of the Stark family growing bolder and stronger with every passing day. Life seemed to be almost perfect for the Lord of Winterfell, if only his beloved wife’s mother had not decided to stay until after the birth of her grandchildren.

Cregan was obviously not pleased with this decision, but understood fully well that his wife was thousands of kilometers from her home and it would be very beneficial for her to have this form of familiarity to comfort her while she laboured for the first time. The Dowager Queen was a stern woman, set in her beliefs, and made quite the ruckus when it came to enforcing Southern tradition into her daughter’s routine. Lady Stark was rather passive when these issues came about; on one hand, she understood her mother’s desire to teach her these womanly practices, to follow the routines that she would have so many years ago; on the other, the practice of these Northern customs brought her a sense of connection to both her children’s heritage and also the people she ruled over. She simply rubbed her belly and held her husband’s hand as he and the maesters argued ceaselessly with her mother.

He grew less and less agitated by his good mother’s ideas with every conversation with his wife, who was always very soothing as she broke the news to him that–some of her mother’s traditions would be taken into practice. Her husband was not overly pleased to hear this, mainly for the sake of his pride and out of his desire to stop his wife’s mother from being granted her every whim, but he also understood that his wife’s need for comfort was a major motivator in her decision, which was something he was unable to deny her.

The firstborn children of the princess seemed to hold the resilience and stubbornness of their ancestral houses, and with lungs that never seemed to grow tired. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell were set to have their hands full if all of their children were to inherit these traits, for the twins hardly gave the wetnurses a break. The septa assured the princess that they were simply missing their mother, as she’d been forced into a period of bedrest as a result of her difficult labours. Her lord husband and her mother alike were keen to have her follow the maester’s every instruction for her recovery, even if it meant she was unable to spend much time with her newborn children. Instead, they were under the constant care of wetnurses, Lady Stark’s mother, and Lord Stark himself whenever he was able, all of whom made an effort to bring the twins to visit with their mother as often as they could throughout the day, but with her frequent periods of resting it was not as often as she would have preferred, but at the end of the day, Cregan would keep her separated from them for as long as it took for her to regain her strength.

He’d seen a plethora of horrifying sights in his time, faced challenges that haunted his nightmares even years later, and yet nothing has ever caused him such terror as when he entered the birthing chambers after hours of pacing and cursing with no understanding of what was happening beyond the ear splitting screams that echoed through the winding corridors of the castle. When a midwife entered the great hall, white in the face and red staining her hands and apron, the Lord of Winterfell wasted little time in disregarding whichever of his bannermen were hoping to speak to him and rushing up to see his wife.

When he’d finally been permitted into the room, easily pushing past the maester, who’d made an attempt to speak to his liege lord. Standing at the foot of the bed, he could only stare down at her, all colour faded from her flesh and crimson pooling on the fabric of her shift and the mattress as it seeped out from between her thighs. He’d been unable to focus, words of those around him muffled the world seemed to pause around him. After that, the most he could remember is being held back by his good mother when the maester proposed taking surgical measures, not even time that he spent at her side as she wailed and pushed their children into the world. On the other side of the bed, the lady’s mother wept in relief when both children were delivered and the maester finally stabilized the lady (certainly feeling the pressure of his liege lord’s unbridled rage if he were unable to save his wife).

While Cregan wanted to spend as much time as he possibly could with his newborn children, he was determined to spend just as much at his wife’s bedside while she recovered. A week of complete bed rest followed by many more of delicate treatment would be difficult for his wife to become accustomed to; she’d taken to her duties as Lady of Winterfell better than anyone could have imagined, so it was very uncomfortable for the princess to be left with nothing to do but sleep and chat with the visitors that came to see her, which was almost always her mother, but she did not mind since she usually had a wetnurse accompany her so she could bring the twins. Little Rickon had also taken to joining Alicent to visit his stepmother, crawling to snuggle up to her side and stare down at whichever of his siblings she would be holding. It warmed the hearts of both women to see how enthralled the young boy was with his new sibling, and it gladdened Alicent to see that her daughter had already taken on a motherly role in the child’s life long before she had become pregnant for the first time.

In the weeks that had passed since the birth of their children, a new routine had been constructed amongst Lord Stark’s private household. The vast majority of his servants were meant to be at the beck and call of his wife’s needs when they were not following his own direct order, while the wetnurses who attended their children were meant to come directly to him, despite the many attempts to steal this authority made by his good mother. Alicent was a constant presence for her daughter’s servants, often found at her daughter’s bedside one moment, and coddling her grandchildren the moment that Lady Stark fell into a deep slumber. Cregan did not mind this so much, as the Dowager Queen’s behaviour became a routine of its own, allowing him to visit his children while she sat with her daughter, and sit with his wife while Alicent moved to the nursery.

These moments were precious to him, despite the fact that she was asleep for most of his visits. On occasion, the soft scrape of his trimmed fingernails against her scalp would stir her from her dreams, a sweet smile dawning on her face as her eyes fluttered open to take in the sight of her husband’s comely face.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” she teased, a finger brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from his face, “I’ve missed you, husband.”

“I didn’t know you took me for such a fool, my love,” he frowned at her, catching her wrist in her strong grasp and pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, “not even the feeblest of men could forget the most beautiful woman in the world.”

That wondrous expression crossed her face, that same one she wore every time he praised her. Such a slight shift in her features was enough for Cregan to seek her out again and again, pride swelling in his chest for his ability to charm her so well. They were silent for a moment, fingers intertwining over her belly, now beginning to settle from her pregnancy.

“Have you been up today?”

The maester, while still apprehensive about his liege lady’s condition, had admitted that short intervals of walking and fresh air could begin to speed up her recovery.

She offered him a small smile and a nod, “Mother and I went to the nursery,” she beamed at him, “they are so beautiful.”

“Little surprise when you consider their mother,” he murmured, “I would reckon they’ll each have their choice of suitors when the time comes.”

“Let’s not think of that just yet,” she pouted, “I don’t know how I’ll let them go–I love them far more than anything in the world.”

“As do I,” he nuzzled his nose against the warm flesh of her neck, flushed under his affection, “I do not know how I can thank you for the things you have given me; our family, your heart…”

“Well, I could think of a few ways,” she smirked up at him, laughing as he groaned, dropping his forehead against her shoulder.

The maester had also instructed Lord Stark to avoid his lady wife’s bed for three moons after her labours to avoid any further internal tearings or damage that he would be unable to treat. Cregan did not hesitate to follow these orders, but could not deny that he was desperately missing his wife’s touch, and there was still some time yet to pass.

“Don’t start with that,” he mumbled against her flesh, “not when you and I both know it cannot be finished.”

There had been a time, in the very first week of Lady Stark’s ordered bed rest when she had come to realise that, while she had been unable to fulfill her husband’s desires, he might seek out the touch of another. Through bitten-back tears and an empty stare she had given him her permission to take a lover; if he was to be unfaithful, the least he could do was be upfront about it. She’d seen her husband angry on many occasions, but never before had she witnessed such a rage, let alone one that was directed at her as when she met her husband’s gaze.

How could you think so little of me?, he’d asked, his own emotions bubbling to the surface as his own eyes filled with tears, have I failed to prove my love for you?

The topic had yet to be brought up again, but she sometimes wondered if his words still held true. He was a man, afterall, and most would not think twice about taking a mistress–or five, at that–especially after gaining their wife’s permission. She had to give her husband some credit, for his desire for her truly never wavered in their time together, nor had he ever given her much reason to suspect any infidelity on his part, but she would not be the first lady to be blindsided with such an upset.

Her fingers carded through his long hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, “I love you.”

He pulled just far enough away to meet her gaze, a pinch of colour covering his pale cheeks at her words while a lazy grin pulled at his lips, “And I you. More than I ever could have imagined.”

A knock echoed around the room, breaking the small bit of peace that Cregan had afforded himself. One of the guards stepped inside at Lord Stark’s command, keeping his gaze low out of respect for his liege lady’s state of undress.

“A raven from the Wall, m’lord.”

Summer made the wildlings bolder, and the villages north of Winterfell were being ransacked faster than the men of the Night’s Watch were able to react. Each time a tribe would be taken out or chased back beyond the wall, two more raids would take place. It was not unusual for the Lord Commander to request resources and more men from the Warden of the North, nor was it unusual for Lord Stark to visit the Wall upon summer’s dawn, but Cregan was hoping that such a request would have waited until after his wife had fully recovered from her labours.

Unfortunately for him, he was not in any position to put his duties off for personal leave, and so he found himself at his wife’s side once again three weeks later, only this time she was dressed and upright, wishing her farewell. He’d be gone for a fortnight, if all went well, but even an hour without at least a passing message from his wife was tortuous to him. The silver lining of it all was the fact that, when he returned, enough time would have passed and he could take her to bed once again–not that their advised abstinence was a hindrance to him, for he’d rather have a healthy wife than a sated libido. It also made him glad to see her up and actively interacting with their children, slowly taking on her regular duties as Lady of Winterfell once more. She was proving herself to be worthy of her title–his bannermen had continued to question Lord Stark’s choice in bride up until now, all watching with a newfound respect for her as she juggled the weight of her duties and motherhood only weeks after they had all thought she would bleed out in the birthing chambers.

“Do your duties, but I only ask that you do them quickly,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Every moment that we are apart will feel like a year, I’m sure of it.”

He chuckled, “I have no doubt that my men will help me get things in order as quickly as we can.”

She scoffed, leaning closer with a wicked glint in her eye, “Well, if it hurries you any further, your wife will be waiting, very impatiently, may I add. I believe there is one duty that we have been unable to fulfill these past weeks.”

He smirked at her, “I believe so, too. Trust me, my love, there is nothing in this world that can keep me away from you for long.”

And he was right in saying that. The men of the Night’s Watch found Lord Stark to be a very stern presence, bulldozing his way to ensure that everything was in order as quickly as possible. The Lord Commander even joked about his eagerness to leave, and Cregan only responded with the truth.

I think you would not be so surprised if you had ever laid eyes on my wife.

Meanwhile, Lady Stark had returned to business as usual, tending to the internal business of her household and taking on a few of her husband’s in his absence. She was glad to have her mother during this period, no matter how hard headed and overbearing she could be. She’d taken on a maternal role for Cregan's son from his first marriage, but Rickon was a boy by the time that she’d arrived in Winterfell, so she had little to no experience with babies beyond her youngest brother Daeron, who had been born when she was only four years old. Even her elder sister Helaena had only just given birth to her own children before she had set out for Winterfell–miraculously also giving birth to twins. Alicent was her saving grace in the moments where she was unsure of how to care for her children, but also in caring for herself.

While her body had begun to lose the telltale signs of pregnancy, there was no avoiding the bodily changes she had undergone–her belly was softer than before, her waist was not quite as slender as she would have liked it to be, and her breasts were still painfully swollen. She’d spent much of the first three months postpartum in and out of bed rest, which only proved to make the changes of her body more painfully obvious to her, and her husband’s insistence to follow the maester’s every order in regards to their marital bed had caused her some doubt–he’d assured her that he had never even considered the possibility of seeking out another, he still had not seemed very adamant for the maester’s approval and he had been reluctant to even sleep in the same bed with her. She did not doubt his love for her, she wasn’t that foolish, but his love did not necessarily mean that he was entirely attracted to her anymore. Her mother was sympathetic to this, remembering exactly how uncomfortable she’d felt with her body after her own labours. She could not stop this discomfort, nor the pains, but she could help settle her nerves and dull the aches.

It also allowed for an extra helping hand with the children themselves, for the wetnurses were helpful but ultimately made the experience much less personal and only furthered the connection between mother and child; a connection that had been majorly robbed from Alicent herself, as no one save the king himself was able to make decisions for his infant children. The Dowager Queen had actually found that this connection between herself and her children had strengthened through her involvement with their own children. She could not deny that the relationship she had with her sons was likely irreparable, but she had only grown closer with her daughters following their respective births, and considering that she would soon be leaving Winterfell and likely would not be able to return for each of her youngest daughter’s labours, she was eager to teach her as much as possible in the time that she had left.

Her insistence on creating a stronger bond with her daughter had also later developed into a fierce protectiveness, especially after she had been forced to sit idly by and watch as her daughter nearly bled out, anxiously awaiting her good son’s decision of whether or not her daughter would live. She had let out a sob of relief whenever he’d cursed at the maester for even suggesting… But there was still a part of her that wondered exactly how concerned that Lord Stark truly was with her daughter’s health, as he wouldn’t be the first man in the world to have greater concern for appearances and his own personal desires rather than her actual wellbeing. Alicent could very strongly remember how it felt to be cared for out of respect for her title rather than for her actual person.

It truly did warm Alicent’s heart to witness her youngest daughter caring for her very own children with such devotion. Whenever she was able to, she would be found in the nursery.

“I do not think I will ever get over this feeling,” the new mother had hummed, holding her daughter close to her chest with her nose nuzzled into the quickly growing patch of dark hair atop her head.

Alicent glanced over at her while cradling her grandson, smiling down at him while he tugged at a lock of her curly red hair, “You won’t. There is no time more precious with your child than when they were children, long before they can be taken from you. The gods know my life has never been so peaceful since Aegon learned to walk.”

Lady Stark scoffed, “Good luck to the man who tries to take either of them from me.”

“A woman’s curse,” her mother tutted, smoothing over the boy’s wispy silver hair, “Powerful enough to bring life into this world, and yet not enough to choose when or how it is done.”

“They are my greatest creations,” she admitted, “I hope to give them another sibling soon enough.”

Alicent’s eyes snapped to her, confusion crossing her features at the prospect of her daughter looking to have another child so soon, “Surely you cannot expect to have another just yet.”

She shrugged, “The maester has approved me to begin laying with my husband again upon his return. If the gods wish for us to have another child, then I will gladly have another.”

Alicent scoffed, laying the child back into his crib, “And what does your lord husband have to say about this?”

Gently lowering her daughter into her own cradle, Lady Stark sighed, “He is…I cannot be sure. Every time I bring it up, he seems uncertain. He has assured me that he would not take a mistress, but I know I do not look exactly as I did before.”

“Perhaps he simply wishes for a healthy wife rather than a litter of children. He has his heir, Rickon, and you have given him two more already.”

“So what would you suggest I do, then?”

Alicent huffed, taking her daughter’s hand in her own as an act of both comfort to her and to calm her own nerves, “Tea. That is what I did for a time, when I did not think I could handle another labour for some time.”

Lady Stark took her mother’s hand in her own, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you have been subjected to the things you have, both by my father and your own.”

Alicent seemed surprised at her daughter’s transparency, opening her mouth to attempt a response when a sharp knock cut through the quickly growing tension between mother and daughter. Lady Stark called out for her saviour to enter, glad to have ended that conversation earlier than her mother would have willingly allowed her to. A servant peeked her head in, seemingly sensing the Dowager Queen’s annoyance at the intrusion, bashfully pushing her way into the room and dipping into a curtsy before her lady.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lady.”

“It’s alright, Amara,” Lady Stark shook her head, “what is it?”

“Lord Stark’s banners have been sighted just past Long Lake. The scout says it should only be a few hours now.”

She thanked the serving girl, pulling her hand away from her mother’s grasp as she moved to follow her into the corridor, “Excuse me, mother, I must prepare for my lord husband’s return.”

Cregan was glad to be welcomed warmly as he returned to his ancestral home, enjoying a hot bath, followed by a hearty meal, both while accompanied by his loving wife. She took her place at his side in the dining hall, her fingers curled around his bicep while he ate and recounted exactly how honourable the men of the Night’s Watch were–she would use a different word for most of those men, but she was far too pleased to be together once again to argue with him on something so piddly. The glances shared between husband and wife were enough to make even the most stern of Cregan’s greybeards blush, nothing but love, admiration, and carnal desire passing between them.

She gave him a moment to visit with the twins, taking that free time to prepare herself, stripping herself of her wool and fur and donning her favourite silk nightgown, a soft blue in colour and embroidered with greys and white around the neckline. The sleeves were short, just barely covering the slope of her shoulders, while the neckline dipped lower than any of her others–it was something that she would only wear for the sake of seduction, not comfort, and she was certain her husband would be equally grateful and bashful for it.

When Cregan finally returned to his chambers for the night, it was nearly the hour of the wolf and the castle had long turned silent. He was surprised to find his wife still up, sitting in the plush chair before the raging fireplace with a book in her lap. Her eyes snapped to the door as it creaked open, smiling to herself at the sight of her affectionate but tired husband as he crossed the room and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead.

He moved to the grand wardrobe in the opposite corner, freshly ungloved hands tugging at the buckle of his thick black fur cloak. He was quick to shed his clothes, his hot northern blood eager to be free of the many layers of wool and leather and fur now that he had entered the chambers that his southern wife required to be kept warm. Her own chambers were actually the warmest in the castle, and they did frequent them from time to time, but she much preferred her husband’s after spending weeks on end in her own bed, unable to do any more than stand to relieve herself.

“You did not need to wait for me, my love,” he called as he finally stripped himself of his linen undershirt, his broad back decorated with bulging muscles and jagged scars from his years of hardened training and the mischief of his youth, “it is late.”

She shook her head, smirking to herself at her husband who was ever concerned for her wellbeing, “Nonsense. It’s been three weeks, I will not forfeit our first moment alone.”

When he turned, a dark red blush spread from ear to ear, covering every inch of his freckled flesh in between. She had moved from her seat in the chair, now standing a few steps closer to him, but the flickering light from the fireplace illuminated her figure beneath the nearly sheer nightgown, exposing curves that he had yet to feel beneath his rough hands, breasts heavy with milk, and belly soft from her childbearing. He had denied himself pleasure while he was unable to have her, only taking matters into his own hands when the images of her in his head began to appear to him in the nude.

She seemed to take note of the effect that her body was having on her husband. Bashfully, she stepped forward, the rapidly growing bulge in his pants boosting her confidence as she presented her body to him. When she finally reached him, he wasted little time in grasping her hips in his meaty paws, drawing her closer as she traced her hands over his warm chest, one gliding over the muscle of his pec to curl around the back of his neck.

“I know I may not look…or feel as I once did,” she nervously chewed on her lip, “but I would give anything to have you tonight.”

He rested his forehead against her own, brows furrowed seemingly in a mixture of confusion and concern, “I will not hear such things about my wife, who is the most beautiful woman in the world and could never leave me unsatisfied.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to the bridge of her nose, then to her cheek, and finally to her lips, “I have loved you before as my wife, and I love you impossibly more as the mother of my children. The changes in your body only represent the greatest gift you could have given me, only a fool would be blind to that.”

She smiled as she pressed her lips against him once again. Cregan was eager to reciprocate, chuckling into her mouth at her hunger as she easily melted into his arms. His palms slid around her hips to grasp at her bum, squeezing each of her cheeks appreciatively as he lifted her from the ground. She squeaked in surprise as he moved back across the room to drop her on the bed, standing tall over her as she bounced against the plush feather mattress.

She stared up at him, eyes drinking in the soft grooves of his abdomen, thick muscles framing his broad figure. His hands reached down to unlace his trousers, breath hitching as his hands were pushed away by his wife, who quickly replaced them with her own. She held eye contact with her husband as tugged the fold in his breeches apart, the laces pulling loose and allowing her to slowly slide the thick fabric down just enough to release his member. It was warm against the flesh of her palm, growing in size as she dragged her hand up and down his length, a droplet of his arousal forming on the tip as she brought her lips down to gently press against it.

Her lips curled into a wicked grin at the sound of the throaty groan he let out, eyes catching every shift in his normally stoic demeanor. She was very appreciative of how attentive her husband was to her, both in private and in the public eye, but there was nothing more satisfying than seeing exactly how easily she was unable to unravel him in a way that no one else would ever witness; big, strong Lord Stark brought to his knees by his southern wife, it was almost blasphemous to even think of.

Cregan allowed her to continue touching and licking and kissing at his member for a few moments before pulling her away.

“My love, be kind to me tonight,” he murmured through gritted teeth, “I cannot promise that I will not finish before you do, at least do not deny me the pleasure of doing it inside of you.”

She nodded quickly, moving away from his groin to rid herself of the lacy nightgown, not trusting that Cregan would be able to resist tearing it from her body, as he had so many times. When she returned, she pushed him to sit on the mattress, taking her rightful place in his lap as she reunited their lips in a demanding embrace, sighing at the sensation of her husband’s hands tracing over her naked flesh for the first time in so long–he’d joined her in the bath a time or two during her recovery, but he’d been very mindful in his touches as to not work either of them up when their desired release was not feasible.

He groaned into her kiss as his fingers finally found purchase between her thighs, months of built up desire having caused her to drip into his palm as he traced over the familiar folds before pressing his fingers into her entrance. She sighed at the sensation, pushing her hips into his touch. He continued his movements, pulling away from her kiss to take one of her heavy breasts into his mouth.

She toppled over the edge easily, her body so incredibly sensitive to his touch after months without it. There had been times after her period of bed rest had ended where she had hoped to initiate some sort of intimacy with her husband, and there were many times where he had been so close to falling into the temptation, but alas, Cregan embodied every trait of a typical Northern man, especially the stubbornness.

Only giving herself a moment’s rest, she pressed her hands to her husband’s firm chest, watching as he bounced slightly as his back hit the feathered mattress and a look of surprise crossed his features. He stared up at her, blue-grey eyes wide and filled with wonder as he stared up at his wife, a warm glow bouncing off of her soft skin under the flickering light of the fire, silver hair gleaming in the dark. He was a man of the Old Gods by tradition, but he was certain that he was looking upon the Mother herself, or perhaps even one of her own ancestral gods from Valyria. Her figure, though equally as divine as it had been before, only fuller and softer, and he was now certain that there was no possible way that she could steal away even more of his being (though this was not the first time he’d thought, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. A soft hiss rumbled through his as her hand reached down to grasp at the base of his cock, squeezing firmly before lining the tip to her weeping entrance and sinking down in a single fluid motion.

“You’ve denied me this for months now,” She gasped as she settled onto his hips, pausing to adjust to his size, “I forbid you to do so for a moment longer.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They fell into a heavy silence, only the sounds of their staggered breaths and the soft sounds of their flesh meeting over and over again. His hands ghosted over the curve of her hips, taking hold and tugging her along in a steady pace, taking control from her easily as her head fell back in relief. This was a common thread in their marriage, where Cregan was physically the dominant figure in the relationship, always the protector and provider for his wife, while she held every ounce of control over his mind, heart, and soul.

He dug his fingers tighter into her hips and his own began to arch off the bed to meet her slow but eager pace. He finally removed one, moving it across her abdomen to press against her lower belly, grinning at the feeling of himself through the layers of tissue and muscle, his thumb stretching down to find her throbbing pearl. Cregan was fully aware that he would not be able to last much longer, but he would be damned if he was going to have his wife for the first time in months and not feel her finish around him.

Her hips quickened, movements shifting from a slow grind into a more rapid bounce as she chased after the pleasure she had been denied for so long. Cregan watched greedily as her breasts swayed with each of her movements while her whimpers and moans grew louder and more desperate. Her head rolled forward, meeting his gaze for the first time since she had first taken him inside of her, and the affection that gleamed in his grey eyes brought her forward, hands moving to fist the furs on either side of his head as she captured his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Cregan–” she whimpered against his lips, voice cut off by her own heaving breaths, “I can’t, I can’t–”

He shushed her, the hand that had been anchored to her hip gliding up the length of her spine until he was able to take hold of her hair, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…” he repeated like a mantra, forcing her face into the crook of his neck as he forced his hips up faster and harder than before, curses and grunts falling from his lips as she stiffened, a weak cry falling from her lips as she finally tipped over the edge, her juices flowing down his length as he continued to thrust in and out of her until he too fell into bliss.

They laid there together for a few moments, completely pressed against one another as they came down from their nearly unison high. She was jelly against him, barely mustering enough strength to lift her hips enough to slide his softening length out of her.

Cregan held his wife against him as he sat up, carefully maneuvering her to lay back against the pillows, pride filling his entire body at the sight of her glossy, wide eyes and the few tear tracks over her cheeks. She had a terrible habit of crying during their most intimate moments, a sight that had once scared him now only served as a reminder of how good he was able to make her feel. He moved across the room, offering her a loving glance in response to the whine she let out at his departure, returning only moments later with a damp cloth from the wash basin set up in the corner of his chambers. His touches were soft as he cleaned up the mess that had been created between her thighs, gliding the cloth between her swollen lips and across the plush fat of her inner thighs.

“Should I send for some tea?” He muttered to her, “I do not want you to feel as if you must give me more children straight away.”

She hummed, sliding her palm across his firm chest appreciatively, “Nothing would please me more than to bring more and more children into this world… but I do not think I can handle going without your touch for that long again.”

Cregan chuckled, taking her hand within his own and bringing it up to dress her knuckles to his lips, “I must admit that I feel the same way. I’ll send for the maester.”

“Not yet,” She stopped him as he moved to get up from the bed, smirking at his confused stare, “It would be a waste to have to send for more before I am finished with you.”

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #cregan smut #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x you

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willowed-wisp · 2 months ago

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könig as a dad (part three)[ könig ]

part one | part two

AGES 10 - 14:

- These are what he dreaded the most. Where kids think they’re smartasses and get addicted to video games and other sources…

- But he’s presently surprised when your two sons are very polite in supermarkets.

- They’re tall and more mature women ask for them to get things from the higher shelves- he was a proud dad that day.

- There’s definitely a rivalry between the boys but a friendly one.

- They walk your daughter home everyday that König is away

- I think at this stage, König asks for more of a strategic position which means he doesn’t go into the field.

- And you thought you’d never see that day, not complaining that he was at home. The most he was at work in the city was half a day, returning to your bed and trying to make another baby (you swear he still has baby fever)

- Friends of the boys don’t believe the age difference between you and your husband, because somehow König still has a slight baby face… he looked in his late twenties when you met him (he was about late thirties) and you were in your mid-twenties.

- Your daughter says to her dad, “I want what you and mumma have,”

- “And what’s that? Three little ones?” He tickled under her chin, he cherished that smile every day of his life.

- “No… how you look at each other… love…”

- He is NOT open to the idea of her getting a partner- whoever they turn out to be- he doesn’t want his little mouse to grow up.

- Your boys are on the rugby team and your girl does cross-country and long distance running

- All physical capability taken from König, unless you’ve done sports in the past- then you bicker over who’s responsible

- He definitely enrolls the boys in martial arts…

- Then your daughter begs him to go, she wipes the floor with her brothers.

- Teaches all of your kids carpentry, and your eldest absolutely gels with it. It’s like second nature to him.

AGE 15-19

- No boys in the house, that’s König’s rule, you stand by it in some respects especially when she gets older.

- However, “Wouldn’t you have her talk to you about people rather than going behind our backs?”

- He contemplates the idea, “She is my little mouse…”

- “Little mouse is becoming big mouse, König… don’t push her away by being papa mouse…”

- The next day on the way to her track and field training, she turns to you, “What did you say to dad? He’s been going on about little mice and ‘little mice don’t push away papa mice…”

- You’re confused to say the least, “But he also said that I can have people round the house- as long as my doors open,” That sounded strange and unlike your husband.

- “That’s good… did he say anything else?”

- “He’s been asking me names and addresses…”

- Ahhh…

- “Don’t give him last names or addresses, honey…” You looked at her, face dreaded with guilt. “You already told him, didn’t you?”

- You turn the car around after dropping her off. And find König staking out a 16 year old’s house, “Sweetheart… what are you doing here?”

- “Don’t play innocent with me… we’re going home. No more of… THIS…”

- He did stop, but still did background checks… he’s allowed to do those (his own logic)

- Your daughter only brought a girl home, they would study and bake with each other in the kitchen.

- “It’s nice she has a friend…” Your husband was so clueless.

- His eldest son raised an eyebrow, knowing the truth… “Talk to her, dad…”

- That night when it was just the family, your little girl came out to König. She was crying, terrified that he wouldn’t accept it- being a bit older than her friends’ dads.

- But all he did was bring her into a bear hug, like her brothers had when she came out to them. König really didn’t care what she identified as, as long as she was happy… he’d be happy.

- As for your sons, König doesn’t want either joining the military. Luckily for him, neither does.

- Your youngest wants to go into teaching, and your eldest wants to become an engineer- taking on his dad’s numerical intelligence.

- He was much more relaxed when it came to dating for the boys. You had the talks with them, much too awkward for König to do himself.

- Your youngest son would become a father at 19… fully supported by you two.

- Part of König is glad he has a grandchild while he’s under a certain age and can run around. Treats the grandkids like his own children.

- Maybe make them cry unintentionally but that wears off.

König is so proud of the family you and him founded on a whim after being together only a year after you met.

————

masterlist

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jambalaya-enthusiast · 3 months ago

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MOUTHWASHING CHARACTERS HEADCANONS!

under the cut!

Captain, Grant Curly.

Nationality : His mother is Half Australian/Canadian. And his father is Half British/American.

Age: 36

Height: 193 cm ( 6'4 )

Sexuality: he is questioning,but he definitely ain't straight.

Comes from a very big and happy family,is the 3rd oldest brother to 2 sisters and 1 brother. And has 2 older brothers.

His parents are very happily married.

His family is the type to host dinner parties every now and then and invite the entire neighborhood over for barbeques.

has a reputation of being 'the picture perfect family'.

He is the tallest out of his siblings.

Got his driver's license first.

Is very protective of all of his siblings,even the older ones.

Valedictorian.

Was the sports team's captain for 3 years running.

Extremely well liked at the gym,lots of newcomers look up to him.

Can play the violin, effortlessly.

Can also play the guitar very well.

His family had a Rottweiler for 17 years.

All of his siblings have moved out.

Was a very popular jock in high school,but so kind that students and teachers alike loved him.

Met Jimmy in middle school,and for some reason became joint at the hip with him. His fellow peers didn't understand why he liked jimmy so much.

Has had a fuckton of girlfriends all throughout highschool and college.

Only drinks beer,does not smoke.

Is kind of a country bumpkin.

Co-Pilot, Jimmy "Jim" Zare.

Nationality: American. ( Mom is from Louisiana,Dad is from Florida ) Born and brought up in Texas.

Age: 34

Height: 180 cm ( 5'11 )

Sexuality: Closeted gay with internalised homophobia.

Comes from a nuclear family consisting of him and his parents.

Did not have a happy home life growing up.

His parents did not have a happy marriage and were constantly fighting.

M O M M Y I S S U E S

his mother didn't like him from the get go,he was very close with his father up until his death.

His mysogynistic behaviour comes from the pent up hatred towards his mother.

Used to be a kleptomaniac.

Contrary to popular belief,he takes good care of his hygiene.

tw. ( used to self harm,but hated his scars,hence he always wears full sleeved clothes )

When he met curly,he wanted so badly to be friends with him because he thought he was so cool.

Had no friends other then curly growing up.

Picked up a smoking habit at the age of 14.

Heavy drinker.

Although he is quite lanky,his agility is shit.

Might be ooc for him,but he's an incredibly talented chef. But hates talking about it.

His grades were average at best growing up.

Was a great swimmer.

After his mother's death,his grandparents took him in.

Has a huge ass crush on curly but feels so disgusted with himself that he passes homophobic comments in front of curly to erase any suspicions.

This pent up crush slowly started building up into hatred.

The school counselor did try to look out for him,but he just never cared.

Never been in a relationship.

Nurse,Anya Marinova

Nationality: American/Russian.

Age: 29

Height: 175 cm ( 5'9 )

Sexuality: Closeted Lesbian.

Her parents divorced shortly after she was born,she never really saw her father because her mother moved to America soon after the divorce.

Her father did help out with her education.

She has a half-sister. ( Same mother different father )

Is very close to her half-sister.

Her sister was diagnosed with stage 2 cancer at the age of 7,it's where she got her dream to be a nurse from.

Loves listening to music when she goes out for walks.

Is a skilled scuba diver.

The only makeup she wears is mascara.

Isn't really all that close with her mother.

Her grades were very very impressive up until college,where she slipped due to feeling burnt out.

Jollibee > Kfc

She has visited russia once when she was 8

Used to have a pet snake.

Has lots and lots and lots of friends from high school and college that she still hangs out with.

Doesn't drink but occasionally smokes due to stress. ( She has never told a single soul this )

Prior to boarding the tulpar she had heard about curly. ( Due to his popularity )

Loves sweet things.

Wanted to be a vet originally.

Mechanic,Swansea Harold.

Nationality: American. with Welsh/Irish Ancestry.

Age: 58

Height: 172 cm ( 5'8 )

Sexuality: Straight.

Used to slack off in college.

His father passed away without having seen his son's sobriety.

His mother was heavily disappointed in him,up until he decided to get sober.

Is the middle child of 7 siblings.

His older brothers helped him out financially throught out his struggling years.

He met his wife when he was in his mid to late thirties,his wife had already been divorced with a son.

After his marriage he had a daughter with her.

Drinks root beer a lot.

His sneaker collection is no joke,he has a closet dedicated to them.

Curly was an intern of his,and he is incredibly proud of him.

He actually had given his paella recipe to jimmy.

Snores very loud.

Dislikes sweet and heavily spicy things.

'who the fuck messed with the thermostat?' kind of a dad.

Has showed up to every single one of his kid's school events.

Is quite scared of his father in law.

Whenever Daisuke would fall asleep,he would sometimes sneakily play on his game boy kid.

Mechanic Intern,Daisuke Juanez

Nationality: Half Japanese/ Half Mexican.

Age: 20

Height: 177 cm ( 5'10 )

Sexuality: Questioning.

has 3 older sisters.

His parents relationship was quite tumultuous but they always managed to work it out.

Comes from wealth.

His three sisters are already well settled in different countries.

Was very popular back in high school and college.

Although his grades weren't the brightest,his charismatic personality is what drew people to him.

Runs very fast.

Although he was popular, he's only been in a relationship twice.

The arcade which he frequents has kids waiting for him to show up,to teach them how to win.

Loves to eat different cuisines. ( Indian and Mexican are his top ones! )

Loves eating spicy food.

Had a weeb phase.

Used to be in the theatre club in school.

His family loves animals.

Has 7 cats.

He got his left ear pierced at 16. His mom whooped the shit out of him.

Very clumsy,has random ass bruises all over his body.

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multifandomfanatic02 · 11 months ago

Text

"My Little Partner in Crime."

pairing : father!Alastor x daughter!reader

synopsis : you spent nearly 80 years by your father's side without him knowing who you truly were. Don't you think it's about time you told him the truth? Would he despise you?

warnings : weep bitches.

word count : 3,106

It had been 76 years since she had passed. Yet she remained in the body of a 15 year old girl. In hell, of course no one aged. Not many child sinners were often found in Hell but she was special. While she wasn't an overlord, she was a brilliant mind behind one.

In life, [Y/N] felt she had been misplaced in the world. So many terrible things had happened at such a young age. She got by though. Through learned methods and maybe a little bit of her genes had helped too.

She was orphaned at the age of 10 years old. Father died before she was born and mama fell severely ill when she was 10. It was an unfortunate circumstance for such a young child to be in, however it only got worse from there. After both parents had died, she ended up in a very poor fostering system. In which none of the children were treated right. It was so much worse for her.

[Y/N] was the daughter of an infamous serial killer in Louisiana. Which did not look good to potential foster parents. If her father was a fucking psychopath, what would she be like? In a way, they weren't far off in their speculations. And they proved to be right later on.

Her mother didn't find out about the love of her life's deeds until he was pronounced dead one eventful night. Gunshot to the head in the midst of burying his own victim. Regardless of what was said about the man, she still loved him all the years after before falling to her own demise. It wasn't like he was a crazed monster, in fact, he likely saved more people than he killed. He only went after the worst of the worst.

It was obvious that the man loved his wife more than life itself. More than his job. It saddened her knowing that he would never get to meet his daughter. Children were never planned or even talked about between the two considering sex was kind of a sensitive topic for the both of them and for different reasons. So the one time they decided to 'experiment' she ended up conceiving. Funny enough, 6 weeks later was when he died. Neither parents had knowledge of [Y/N] presence yet.

[Y/N] was scorned throughout the entirety of her foster community. Not for anything she did, no no. But for something her father did. No one wanted her. Regardless, she was happy that she was on her own in a way. Her 4 years in foster care were quite peaceful.

It wasn't until she was 14 that she had been finally picked out of the system. An old man, maybe in his fifties, had come to get her. The fostering system, not wanting her to continue her stay any longer, kept their dealings with him under wraps so everything stayed out of legal documents. [Y/N] wasn't adopted, no, she was to become his wife and to bear several of his children. Figures. What else would a man like him want in a child. Women were still known as the caretakers at the time. Nobody in this day and age was evolved like her father whom treated her mother like a queen when they were alive.

Thankfully it never got too bad before she decided to take her fate into her own hands. She was an avid reader. Her favorite things to read were the medical books found in her room when she was in the system. So she eventually learned a thing or two. It started off with a crushed pill in his drink every morning to stave off his libido. So he was never in the mood to touch her. (Don't ask where she gets the medication, it's a secret.)

Wearing him down slowly every day and night for the next year before his untimely death. An insulin overdose. It'd be like he died in his sleep. During an autopsy, no one would even know. She grinned ear to ear, feeling the man's pulse disappear from his neck. She took a breath before calling 911 in a faked panic tone. Convincing actually. "Hello? I n-need help. My husband isn't b-breathing, I think he may be dead. Please come save him! He can't die! I love him!" She managed to force tears from her eyes.

Ultimately, he did indeed pass away and she was finally on her own. I guess it wasn't a totally bad set up since his property, belongings, and money went to [Y/N]. It was short lived, unfortunately. All that money that went to ballrooms and jazz music. It was paradise and worth every penny she thought. Only to die at the age of 15 from an infected fox bite. (Random, right? Just like dad's lol)

[Y/N] had been in Hell for 76 years. She wasn't well known unlike her companion. Sticking to the man like glue after all this time. She worked well with the Radio Demon. Their minds complemented each other very well. Almost to a point of familiarity. When she first arrived in Hell, it was like she had made a big boom in the talk of the town. She was a mastermind and very talented at killing and pranks. It sparked a lot of the overlords' interest, especially since she wasn't interested in becoming an overlord herself. All she wanted was to enjoy her dark and very humorous afterlife. [Y/N] of course declined all their business proposals, even the famous Vox.

There was one she couldn't turn away from. He was charming and the two immediately had an unbreakable connection. The connection itself was unreadable but it was there nonetheless. He made a deal with her, promising absolute protection from the exterminators and other overlords and in turn she would help with his dealings. It was a fair trade, the Radio Demon was a bit impulsive with his actions while [Y/N] methodically planned all her own dealings 30 steps ahead. And with her being 15, well, she was thought to be an easy target.

It was actually strange, they look alike too. The same color scheme, same nose and eyes. Both shared that constant shit-eating grin and composure. The only difference between them being that he's an elk demon while she, a fox demon. It was literally just the tail, antlers, and hairstyle that set them apart.

Overtime, the radio demon, opened up to her piece by piece. Alastor, that was his name. It didn't take to long for her to come to the realization that he was in fact her beloved father that her mom talked about oh so much. It was clear. It wasn't just their appearance but mannerisms that were so similar. Her name being the same as his mothers surely didn't help either. He thought nothing of it. Alastor didn't know, he was too oblivious to anything that wasn't himself. And up to now, it never felt like the right time to tell him, so it's been a secret.

Turns out she wasn't the only one to have this realization. Carmilla Carmine along with many other overlords figured it out before even she. Carmilla being a mother herself felt empathy for her and talked to her whenever she needed it. Rosie found a deep love for [Y/N] herself, acting as a mother figure as well. The little darling was just like her bestie, Alastor, how could she not? Other overlords weren't as reasonable and often threatened to use the knowledge as a weapon against her. What would Alastor think? Did he ever want a child? Would he stray away from her if he found out? Often enough, the overlords who threatened her ended up without their lives by her hands by the end of the day.

Seventy-six years, Alastor had kept [Y/N] by his side every step he took. It wasn't until his powerful fight with Vox that he decided to step away. He disappeared for 7 years without notice. It broke her heart into a million pieces but just like before in life, she marched on and kept her promise to him.

It wasn't until news arrived in Pentagon city about this Hazbin Hotel that she'd heard Alastor's name after so long. He was working as the host of the hotel. It wasn't often [Y/N] showed emotion but this time she couldn't hold it in, tears streamed down her face. Her sturdy smile began to slowly break apart. It seemed her father was her weakness. While he didn't want to admit it, it was mutual. He left without saying a word to avoid seeing her disappointment in those little eyes of hers. He didn't want her see him so weak. In a way, he subconsciously felt he had some kind of responsibility over her.

The walk to the hotel was nerve-wracking for [Y/N]. Seeing him after all this time felt bittersweet. She was excited of course but she was awfully upset about his random disappearance.

Knock, knock, knock

The Princess of Hell had opened the door, to her surprise to see a red and black fox demon with a huge smile on her face. Charlie was suddenly having a flash of deja vu. Where else has she seen this before? In any case, it wasn't the most obvious thing to pop out at her. This girl was a child. There shouldn't be a child in Hell, whose cruel idea was it to send her down here Charlie thought.

"Princess Charlotte, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is [Y/N]." She bent down pulling her dress between her fingers to greet her.

"Just call me Charlie! It's nice to meet you too! Are you here to stay in the hotel? If so we would love to have you here with us. Especially someone as cute as you." Charlie reached out to pinch the young demon's cheeks before composing herself.

"I actually am, among other things. I was hoping I could be of service to you." Charlie sat questioning her proposal for a second.

"I'll gladly accept any help I can get but love, you are a child, don't you want to focus on going to heaven and get out of this place?" Charlie bent down to her level and took the girl's hands in her own.

"Don't let her age fool you, my dear. She is a very capable demon. In fact, better than most overlords I know." The familiar radio static voice tickled [Y/N] ears as Alastor materialized behind Charlie. He smiled genuinely as he held out his arms, waiting for her embrace. Tears suddenly streamed down as she ran into his arms. The two holding onto each other as if one of them would disappear forever.

"I apologize for my sudden departure, darling. I hope you know that I would never leave you willingly. It was the only way I could keep my side of the deal." He stroked her hair in attempt to calm her sobbing. She couldn't say anything, she had already forgiven him a while back. Alastor couldn't do anything to make her hate him.

"Alastor aren't you going to introduce us? Who's this sweet thing?" Angel dust walked to the doors to join him and Charlie. The rest of the sinners in the lobby following suit.

"I guess you could say she is my partner in crime. This little darling has been by my side for nearly 80 years. I owe a lot of my victories to her truth be told." Everyone stood around confused, expecting a different answer. There's absolutely no way she could JUST be his partner they look too much ali-

"Al, is that.. is that all she is?" [Y/N] sent vaggie daggering eyes as a warning not to continue her statement. Getting the hint, Vaggie backed off and went to sit on the couch in the center of the room. "Nevermind, forget I said anything."

"Hey [Y/N], it's been a few months. How you holding up. Still getting into trouble I hear." Husk gives the fox demon some pats on the head.

"It's nice to see you again Husker, I would like to thank you for looking out for me these past few years." Her grin grew looking up at the fluffy demon.

"Just doing what the boss told me." Alastor often had souls he was contracted with look after her in his absence. There wasn't much he could do, but knowing she was safe and sound and thriving eased his cold heart. It wasn't often he found himself tied to someone. But there he was, worried for the safety of someone else. A child no less. It took a while to understand his feelings but he eventually did accept it. He cared about someone other than himself.

Introductions to the residents went smoothly, all of them having such lively personalities she thought. What an amazing new family to have. Besides missing Mama, this was much better than what she had in life ironic as it is.

The times were changing and everything felt still, peaceful. [Y/N] had an amazing new family and business. Angel Dust being like an amazing big brother and Charlie like an amazing older sister. However the biggest change was how close she got to Alastor. He insisted her bedroom be near his radio tower so he could watch over her. It was so out of character for the residents that have only known him since he joined the hotel staff.

She was back to being glued to his hip. Her charm helping to gain more residents with her adorableness. It brought on a whole lot of business deals for the feared radio demon as well. Everything was perfect. Something still weighed on [Y/N]'s heart. Alastor needed to know the truth. Why the two of them have such a strong connection. And why they can't seem to ever let each other go. It's not something easily brought up in conversation. Thankfully, luck was on her side one day during one of their business outings.

"So.. do we have a deal?" Alastor held his hand out to damaged overlord. The enemy's eyes flickered over to the fox demon, causing a distraction. Long enough for his partner to sneak a gun to the young girl's temple. Her composure stabled, a smile creeping on her face.

"Before I agree to this deal, you are going to hear me out. Or my partner here will end the little girl's life. And you'll be pickingup brain matter off the ground." Alastor's eye twitched, returning his hands to the top of his cane. His expression eased back into his typical smile, seeing her unfazed by the imminent threat.

"Fine. What do you want?" The man smiled seeing Alastor accept his conditions.

"[Y/N]. I want the girl." The Radio Demon's breath hitched in his throat upon hearing the request. Never. Never in a million years, he thought. "You see that BITCH had me killed. Secretly drugging me for a year. Didn't think I would have noticed, huh? She never payed for it, she never had to answerfor her crime. Got her out of that shithole of a foster care and this is what I get?"

He forcibly grabbed the collar of her prim and proper dress, picking her up to his face. Her ears folded to the back of her head, scowling at the man now. "You were going to make me a child bride."

"You are a woman. You do what I say. If you don't accept my proposal, I'll tell daddy here your little secret. Won't he be surprised." Her eyes turned red at his words, both her and Alastor, in his demon form, shoving an arm through the man's chest in unison. All he felt in that moment was fear, dying for a second time.

It took a second for the man's words to process in Alastor's head. Secret? What secret? He didn't want to pry but it was obviously tearing [Y/N] up inside. Her expression said it all. All he wanted was to know she was okay. It was time to let him know. And whatever decision he made, she was going to be okay with.

"There's something I need to tell you."

"Darling, you don't have to tell me anything if you are not comfortable. That fuck was just trying to get under your skin." And it worked.

"No. You need to know." [Y/N]'s lip began to quiver in fear. Scared she was suddenly going to be a disappointment. How could she keep this a secret for so long. He had the right to know. Now. "My name is [first name] [Shared last name]. I.. I am your daughter."

The gears in his head turned as he tried to process the new information. When something suddenly clicked in his head. The love of his life just before he died, was constantly sick and had been for a few weeks. Alastor had just thought she had a cold and constantly doted on her, trying to provide the best medicine he could.. hm.. find. She never took it thankfully. She was pregnant.

He hadn't thought about it before now but it has come to his attention that the reason why he cared for this child so much was because she reminded him of his wife. She was careful with every decision, she was always calm in every situation she's been in, and they both had that beautiful fire in their eyes. The fire that let everyone know that they weren't going to submit to nobody. The dynamic between him and his wife wasn't much different from the dynamic between him and his daughter.

Why hadn't Alastor seen it before. [Y/N] was obviously named after his mother. The girl was literally his mini me. He couldn't help but let a tear or two drop from his eyes before bending his knees to look at her at her level.

"Tell me... what uh. What happened to your mother?" Alastor held the girl's cheek in his hand caressing it gently and wiping away her own tears, slightly smearing the blood on his hand.

"Mama died of the influenza virus when I was 10. I'm sure she's in Heaven, having the time of her life." Alastor pulled his daughter into a tight embrace, never wanting to let go.

"After all this time, I've had a precious piece of her with me. And I won't ever leave you alone again."

A/N: Yall let me know if you liked this concept, this was fun to do. I know it's kind of out of character for Alastor but I hope it healed something in y'all with daddy issues 🙏

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months ago

Text

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 20

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18 || PART 19

Chrissy is willing to admit that when Steve doesn’t call her after his date, she panics. If her mom wasn’t such a light sleeper, she would’ve snuck out to check up on him. But instead, she wallows, dozing on the couch, not even able to call Jeff to bitch because what if Steve chooses that moment to call?

So, she can admit, when he finally calls a few minutes after seven in the morning, she’s a little short with him.

“Finally, Steven,” she hisses into the phone, keeping her voice quiet so as not to alert her mother to their conversation. “I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he rushes out, sounding contrite. “We sort of fell asleep.”

Chrissy gasps, a smile slowly spreading on her face as the implications set in. “You guys slept together?” she demands gleefully.

“We didn’t have sex!” he shouts, and she’s glad, for the first time, that his parents are so absent from his everyday life. “We just fell asleep!”

She’s still smiling, twirling the phone cord round and round her fingers. “Does that mean it went well?” she wheedles.

She doesn’t think that Eddie would suddenly realize he’s straight and renege on the date, not really, but Steve had, and she can’t get the terrified tone of his voice out of her head.

“Well—” he drawls, leaving her on tenterhooks for a few seconds more. “He took me to see some shitty horror movie.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, full-on grinning now. “What a stereotypical move.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he replies so wryly that she can almost see the way his eyes must be rolling. “Except he barely talked to me the whole time and didn’t even try to hold my hand.”

“No!”

“And then he took me into the woods like some sort of serial killer, and then tried to kiss me so abruptly that my lip split a little.”

“No!” she shrieks with laughter before catching herself and slapping a palm over her own mouth as Steve’s own amused chuckle filters through the phone line. “And you still spent the night?”

“He was nervous!” Steve defended. “And besides, the second kiss was much better.”

“Your boy’s a fast learner, huh?”

Steve hums, and she wishes he was here with her, so she could see the dopey grin that must be on his face as he says, “yeah,” with a dreamy sigh. “He took me stargazing.”

Chrissy coos, can’t help it, not when this whole thing’s been building for so long now. Not when there’s been an edge of fear to everything Steve’s said for months. He deserves something nice for once.

“And you’re going out again?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, and a knot of fear she’s had tucked beneath her sternum loosens.

He sounds excited, happy, hopeful. If Eddie does anything to jeopardize this, Chrissy will be digging a very deep hole and tossing him into it. She’s got a shovel, and the muscle strength built up from years of cheer—she’ll manage just fine.

So, when Eddie walks up to her in the cafeteria in some sort of fucked up parallel to that first time and bends at the waist in a showy bow, hand outstretched as he asks, “a word, madam?” she’s ready to kill him.

But, when she glances at Steve at her side, his ears are red, and he’s smiling up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. And when she looks back toward Eddie she catches the tail-end of a wink that has Steve sputtering.

Even Jason doesn’t protest from the other side of the table where he’s quietly seething.

So, she takes his hand and follows him out of the cafeteria.

Eddie doesn’t seem to know where he’s going, as he walks through the halls, peering into nooks and crannies until he finds a corner he deems suitably vacant enough. He flops down, legs outstretched in front of him, uncaring of the dirt caking the floor.

He pats the spot next to him, smiling up at her, so she slides down the wall and crouches beside him, unwilling to let her bare legs touch the floor.

Eddie leans away from the wall and wrestles his jacket off before placing it on the floor in front of Chrissy. Gratefully, she sits atop it, crossing her legs to keep them safe. She turns her body so she’s facing Eddie dead on, and he follows her lead.

When he doesn’t say anything, she breaks the silence with a quiet, “I hope you know that if you hurt my friend, I’ll kill you.”

“I have no doubt, Lady Cunningham,” Eddie replies, drawing an X across his heart with his finger. “But, I’m not here to talk about Steve.”

“Then—what?”

He’s grimacing now, no longer meeting her eyes as he fiddles with his rings, one of his fingers bizarrely missing its usual adornment. “We’re friends, right?” he asks hesitantly, like he’s choosing each word with deliberate care.

“Of course,” she replies, eyes trained on the little furrow between his brows. He’s picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans, further fraying the edges. “Why would you ask that?”

He sighs, slumping into himself in a way that makes him look small. “I’m glad I’m here, okay?” he asks, not waiting for her to answer before he continues. “Steve’s great, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But, you still lied to me—"

"We never lied to you," she cuts in, and he waves his hand in assent.

"Yeah, yeah, but you all like, conspired behind my back, and that feels…”

“Shitty,” she continues for him when he seems to lose his words.

“Yeah! Shitty, it feels shitty that you were all talking about me behind my back all so you could keep this from me."

Chrissy sighs. She’d known they’d have to talk about it eventually–clear all this stale air so they could move on–but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. But, he’s right; no matter their intentions, they’d all made a mess of things. She’d known that even as she’d been in the thick of it.

So, she starts where these things should always start, and looks him dead in the eye as she says, “I’m sorry.”

He finally looks up, seeming almost surprised. “Just like that?”

“Yes, Eddie, just like that,” she replies, maintaining eye contact even as her gut squirms. “We were just trying to protect each other, but that doesn’t mean it was the right choice.”

His eyes are wide, still shocked, and she wonders, something uncomfortably close to pity bubbling up within her, if he’s not used to receiving apologies at all.

“Both of you?” he asks.

Chrissy averts her gaze, mouth twisting up. “You know how Steve said Jason has been kind of stalkery?” she asks, watching Eddie nod out of the corner of her eye before she continues. “Well, it was worse before. He kept coming to my house and cornering me at school, and I just wanted to move on.”

It was more than that, though. She still remembers the way fear crept down her spine as cold sweat when she’d opened her door to Jason smiling at her like they’d never broken up, the way her throat had closed up when he’d scooted far too close to her side at the lunch table.

The way he kept cornering her in the hallway when no one was around to witness it.

“So, when I found Steve trying to write that first letter, I struck a deal,” she continues. She feels bad about that, even now, even still. “He’d be my boyfriend, and I’d help him with the letters.”

She finally turns back to Eddie, braced for, what? Condemnation? But he’s squinting at her like she’s a puzzle he’s trying to crack as he says, “you totally would have helped him anyway,” with so much conviction that it warms her.

“Oh, definitely.”

He’s still looking at her, but he’s smiling at her, eyes warmer than she’s ever seen them.

“Alright, I forgive you,” Eddie says, like it’s easy.

It’s too easy.

“Just because we had reasons doesn’t mean it was fair to you,” she replies, steel in her voice as she squares her shoulders and looks at him dead on. “It doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt,” she finishes, reaching out to pat his knee.

He doesn’t jerk away, just looks at her hand on his knee with a peculiar smile on his face. “You know there was a time when you touching me like that would’ve sent me into a tizzy,” he says, still looking down at her hand.

“And now?”

“Nothing,” he replies, shrugging. “It was never you, Chrissy Cunnigham.”

“You either, Eddie Munson,” she replies, matching his smile as she smacks his hand once before withdrawing. “Now is that it, or was there something else you needed?”

He looks away, cheeks darkening to a blotchy red, she’s almost worried he’ll faint. “I, uh, well, the jacket?”

She thinks of Eddie’s jacket beneath her first, but that’s not where he’s looking. His eyes are planted firmly on the sleeve of Steve’s letterman with a sort of longing that’s almost funny in its intensity.

She doesn’t ask any follow up questions—if he wants the jacket, he can have the jacket. After all, it’s Steve’s no matter how attached to it she’s become, and Steve had looked up at him with the sappiest look she’s ever seen on his face.

She’d do more than give up his letterman to keep him happy.

Still, it feels strange when she pulls it off her back. A shiver runs through her–she feels almost naked without its familiar weight.

Since that first day in the library, it’s been her shield against Jason’s pushy advances, and her reminder that, no matter what happens, she’d still have Steve.

But, Jason’s backed off, and everywhere she turns, she sees her people: Steve, yes, but Jeff, and Eddie, and the Hellfire boys–even Robin. Her life’s full to bursting in a way that it’s never been before.

Chrissy will miss it, but she doesn’t need it anymore. Besides, she knows where Steve keeps his spare key, and she’s not above stealing something else from his closet.

“Jeff’s going to be sad,” she says, patting the bundled fabric in her arms like it’s a favored family pet, feeling strangely choked up. “He really liked it.”

Eddie grimaces down at it and asks, “do I need to get this thing dry cleaned?”

Chrissy throws her head back and laughs. “No, but if you would’ve waited a few more days, you might have.”

He makes a gagging noise, but when she holds it out for him, he readily takes it, even if he doesn’t put it on. She wonders if it’s fear of homophobes or the thought of her and Jeff’s bodily fluids that stops him. She’s polite enough not to ask, even as Eddie says, “Wait, is it you wearing it or him that Jeff likes?”

She opens her mouth to reply, ready to offer up a vague “both,” but Eddie holds up his hand and cuts her off, talking quickly like he’s afraid of what she might say. “Wait, don’t tell me. I really, really don’t need to know.”

Chrissy springs to her feet and picks Eddie’s own leather jacket up off the floor and sliding it on. It’s even baggier than Steve’s was on her, clearly designed for layering. “I’m borrowing this,” she says, turning her back on him and making her way toward her next class just as the warning bell rings. “It’s cold today.”

“Don’t do any weird sex things with it!” Eddie calls.

She laughs again, making a point to neither confirm nor deny her intentions no matter what he yells after her retreating back.

When Jeff slides into her passenger seat after school, he quirks a brow at her new look, and asks, “that Eddie’s?” as he buckles his seatbelt.

“He wanted Steve’s,” she says, reaching out to pat his knee consolingly.

“I’m going to miss that jacket,” Jeff sighs, looking genuinely forlorn for a second before he gets a particular gleam in his eye that Chrissy’s becoming increasingly familiar with. “You know—”

“Eddie requested that we don’t ‘do any weird sex things’ with his jacket,” she cuts in, putting her car in reverse and slowly backing out of the spot.

Jeff groans like he’d been shot, and throws his head back into the headrest. She reaches out to dig her fingernails into his knee, just this side of too-hard so his groan shifts into a hiss.

“I know, baby,” she says, smiling sweetly at him as they pull away from the school. “But, I’ll get your mind off it in no time.”

Jeff gulps, and doesn’t utter another complaint for the rest of the night.

***

Robin watches Chrissy follow Eddie out of the cafeteria. Even after the door closes behind them, she keeps staring, wanting desperately to know what they’re talking about. This might have all started because of her crush on Chrissy, but Robin’s nosy at heart, so even as the flames of her crush burn down to embers, she wants to know.

Steve had called her on Saturday, spilling all the details of what sounded like a truly horrible date as if it was some sort of fairy tale while Robin cackled in his ear. But he’d sounded buoyant with exhilaration, and all Robin had been able to think about was that he’s like her and he’s happy.

Maybe there’s hope for her, too.

Robin’s broken out of her reverie by a shoulder bumping into hers. “Should we help him?” Vickie whispers, and it takes Robin a minute to snap her eyes away from her vibrant green eyes to follow her gaze over to Steve.

All the losers he’s still pretending to be friends are jeering at him, Tommy H. going so far as to slip into Chrissy’s vacant seat so he can jostle Steve around with a decidedly unfriendly look on his face while Steve picks halfheartedly at his lunch.

Robin’s out of her seat before she can even think about it, palms slapping noisily on the table as she calls. “Harrington!” Steve perks up, metaphorical tail wagging as he meets her eyes from across the room. “Come help me win a bet!”

He’s up and out of his seat in a matter of seconds, leaving the remains of his lunch abandoned on his table as he trots over, slipping into the empty seat across from her while all the other band kids look at him like he’s got the plague.

“What’s the bet?” he asks, looking far more relaxed already than he had while surrounded by his supposed friends.

Robin kicks him under the table as she replies, “the bet was whether you’d come when you’re called.”

“Oh, hardy har har,” he mocks, kicking her right back until she links both her feet around his ankle and yanks him so he damn near falls off his seat.

“Poor little puppy,” she coos, reaching across the table to pat his head while he bats her hand away.

Vickie’s laughing from beside her; it rings through Robin’s ears like church bells. She gets stuck, staring at the pink of her cheeks, the red of her hair, the mirth in her emerald green eyes, hand still outstretched toward Steve’s hair.

He kicks her again, and she snatches her hand back, grateful for the intervention until she catches sight of the knowing look Steve’s shooting her. In retaliation, she grabs one of her carrot sticks and tries to shove it down his throat.

“Not a word, Harrington, or we’re through,” she hisses, finally succeeding in shoving the carrot into his mouth.

“You guys are so funny,” Vickie says, still laughing.

Steve smiles, carrot sticking out of his mouth like it’s a cigar until he bites into it with a snap, seeming oddly satisfied.

Chrissy and Eddie don’t come back, and by the time lunch is over, the rest of the band kids have finally stopped sitting there like scared lemmings, waiting for King Steve Harrington to attack. She’s sure they’ll soon learn what Robin already knows: the king is dead, long live the king.

She loves him so much, it’s almost stupid.

“So, Steve Harrington, huh?” Vickie asks, inexplicably walking out of the cafeteria with her even though Robin knows for a fact her class is on the opposite side of the school.

“I mean, yeah?” Robin replies, feeling her face heat from the inside out. “He’s just like, not what I was thinking at all, and maybe the best friend I’ve ever had, which is crazy—it’s crazy, because it’s Steve Harrington, right?” Her hands, she realizes with horror, are miming an explosion above her head while her mouth makes a weird, crackling explosion sound. “Who would’ve guessed?”

When she finally gets her mouth flapping under control, Vickie’s smiling at her, walking close enough that the sleeve of her sweater brushes against Robin’s bare arm.

“I don’t know, I always thought he seemed nice.”

Robin’s nodding along like one of those bobble head hula girls that boys are always putting in their cars, even though Steve Harrington isn’t nice. He’s an unmitigated bitch with a sacrificial streak a mile wide, but he’s not nice.

“He’s like a stray that I let into my house one time, and then my mom fed him, so now he keeps following me home,” her mouth says.

Vickie’s mouth laughs in return, so maybe it’s not all that bad.

Robin’s mind replays the angelic sound as she walks into her class, waving goodbye to Vickie as the other girl rushes away in a mad dash to make it on time to her next class.

God, Steve’s going to be such a bitch about this.

***

After Eddie’s talk with Chrissy, things shift.

Steve doesn’t sit with the jocks at all anymore. He and Chrissy, still joined at the hip like they really are dating, shift back and forth between the band geeks and the hellfire tables at lunch on Tuesday, prompting hushed whispers to filter through the entire cafeteria.

For his part, all Gareth says is, “does this mean you two’s weird feud over Chrissy is finally over?”

Jeff snorts chocolate milk out of his nose while Eddie laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bench entirely, only staying upright because Steve props him up.

“What?” Gareth demands, tearing into his chicken strips with a viciousness that betrays his ire.

“They’ll tell you when you’re older,” Doug replies despite having no idea himself.

Eddie loves his friends so fucking much.

By Wednesday, a clearly fed up Robin frog-marches the pair of them to the Hellfire table and plops down beside them.

“Munson, I can’t do this split custody thing anymore,” she says, making the red-head that’d followed her over giggle. “They’re too much of a handful.”

“Or maybe even two handfuls,” Steve replies, across the table at her like he’s not playing the most overt game of footsie right below it.

“Don’t be gross, dingus,” she scoffs, and Eddie’s mind goes galloping off with thoughts he shouldn’t be having in a room full of teenagers just waiting to push someone a few more rungs down the ladder.

“Are you guys coming back to Hellfire?” Gareth asks, clearly unable to stand not knowing what’s going on a second longer.

Steve looks at Eddie, brown eyes devastating beneath his lashes. “I’d like to.”

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to grovel at Steve’s feet to get him to come, to get him to keep looking at him like that, but then Robin cuts in with a sly, “you know this means you’ll have to come to Steve’s basketball games,” and he slams his mouth shut.

Steve grins, all seduction dropping off his face as he reaches across the table to give Robin a high five like they’re already on the fucking court. She slaps his palm hard enough that the sound of skin on skin damn-near shatters the sound barrier.

“We can sit together,” Jeff says, but he’s not even looking at Eddie, eyes trained on Chrissy’s blushing face. “It’ll be fun.”

Eddie groans and lets gravity overtake him, dropping his head to the table so suddenly that it would have hurt if Steve hadn’t put his palm over the spot just in time. Eddie turns his face so he can glare up at the other boy, but Steve looks so hopeful and excited that he has to look away again, burying his face into Steve’s palm.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he drawls, lips brushing against Steve’s hand with each word.

“What the hell is happening?” Gareth demands.

Much to his dismay, no one replies.

Things slide back to normal after that—Chrissy and Steve showing up to band practice and hellfire and lunch like nothing had ever come between them. But, it’s better now because Steve knocks their feet together beneath tables, and lets his hands settle on knees and stares just a little too long at Eddie’s lips.

It’s driving him crazy; he wants to reach out and touch, reach out and take.

But that’s not something that’s allowed. Boys are born in their own, invisible bubbles to keep them from touching other boys. Eddie doesn’t know how he never noticed it before, but he wants to shatter it like glass, let it cut up his feet if it means he can brush his lips against Steve’s.

There are all these rules left unwritten, but flung at their feet like slurs: don’t stand too close, don’t look too long, don’t dare to touch.

He wants to, though, thinks maybe in the confines of Gareth’s garage and behind the closed doors of the drama room he could, and it would be safe.

But they live in Hawkins, Indiana, and he’d like to live long enough to get the hell out of here.

So he lets their feet tangle beneath tables and doesn’t lean across them to have a taste, no matter how often Steve licks his lips.

Friday can’t come soon enough.

***

Robin’s been twitchy for days by the time she pulls Steve into their bathroom stall. He follows her dutifully, only laughing a little as she pulls a towel out of her backpack and lays it down before sitting on the floor.

“You plan this, Birdie?” he asks, settling across from her, the towel beneath them insulating him from the cold that’s seeping up from the floor.

Robin’s face turns a blotchy red like a blood vessel burst and dispersed beneath her skin. “Boobies,” she blurts, staring at him with beseeching eyes before she slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Steve nods, his attempt at sage wisdom undercut by the way he has to bite his lip to stop from laughing at her. “Boobies, yes,” he chokes out. “I’ve, uh, heard of them.”

That’s all it takes for Robin to kick out at him. When her foot gets dangerously close to his crotch, Steve grabs her ankle and cradles her foot in his lap, rubbing the bone.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she whines, still trying to kick him.

“Okay, okay!” he cries out, chuckling as he holds onto her leg for dear life. “Sorry, just—what’s this about boobies?”

“Stop saying boobies!”

Steve uses his free hand to lock up his mouth and toss the invisible key into the toilet, smiling as the blush on Robin’s cheeks creeps up her nose and onto her forehead until she resembles an especially square tomato.

“Vickie—”

And Steve can’t help it, he really, really can’t. “Has nice boobies?” he cuts in, already grabbing at both her legs to stop her jackrabbiting feet from finally landing a blow to his balls.

“I hate you!” Robin shrieks, but even she’s laughing now as she writhes atop the towel, scrunching it as she earth-worm-inches closer to him so she can slap at his ribs while he’s defenseless. “Steve Harrington, you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

She tries to say it with conviction, but Steve’s hands have crept beneath her crew socks, and his fingers are tickling against the inside arch of her foot, so her words come out more as shaky exhalations of laughter. He wiggles his fingers as she squirms away, kicking out with such reckless abandon that one of her feet breaks free and kicks him far too high on his inner thigh for comfort.

“Get your boy cooties off me!” she demands, and he does, pulling his hands out of her socks as she backs away until she’s leaning against the opposite side of the wall again, pouting at him. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, feeling lighter than air. “Now tell me about Vickie’s girl cooties.”

Robin smiles bashfully, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. “Vickie doesn’t have cooties,” Robin replies, gaze distant. She looks wistful, enamored, hopeful. “She walked me to class the other day, even though I know it made her late.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, helpless to do anything but to smile back.

“Yeah,” she replies. “And maybe it’ll be like Chrissy again, you know? But you and Eddie…” Robin kicks out at him again, nudging her foot into his and then leaving it there, their soles pressed together. “Maybe there’s more of us out there than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, absolutely in love with brave, hopeful, honest Robin, here in this stall, in this moment. “Maybe there are.”

They smile at each other, two queer kids in the bathroom together, seeing themselves in each other, again, and again, and again. Steve hopes they’ll always be like this, here, on the bathroom floor, finding hope in each other’s smiles. He has Chrissy, and Jeff, and Eddie now, too. But, Robin will always be the first person who looked at him and made him feel seen.

“We should get married,” he says, not thinking about it before it comes out of his mouth and hangs in the air between them, making Robin’s eyes bug out of her skull. “Just think about it! Eddie and I can’t get married, and neither can you and Vickie—”

“You’ve literally gone out with the guy once, and we don’t even know if Vickie likes girls yet—”

“—but we could totally just marry each other instead!”

The silence of the bathroom rings once Steve’s declaration is out there. Robin swallows, throat bobbing, eyes wide enough that Steve can see the little red veins near the back. Suddenly, Steve wonders if he’s stepped over some line he didn’t even know was there.

Before he can spiral too far, Robin launches herself across the space between them, knees bracketing Steve’s hips as she leans over and bites his shoulder, hard.

“Ow, Robin!”

“You’re insane, Dingus, you know that?” she asks, moving away from his shoulder to plant a kind of wet kiss against his forehead. “I’m sixteen, and you’re proposing in the boy’s bathroom.”

She rubs her hand against his head, likely fucking his hair up beyond repair, but he doesn’t even care because she kisses him again, this time on the top of his head.

“I meant like, later?” Steve says shyly.

He’s always fallen hard and fast, knows that about himself. It’s a fundamental law of the universe: gravity makes things fall down, the earth’s always spinning on an axis, and Steve Harrington puts his whole heart into people who don’t always give it back.

But Robin’s on his lap, kissing his head, and leaking what’s either snot or tears into his hair. “Alright,” she warbles, sounding embarrassingly soggy. “When I get a girlfriend, we can just be permanent beards for each other.”

Steve puts his arms around her and hugs her tight, mashing his face awkwardly into her neck as she laughs. “Grow old in separate bedrooms,” he replies.

“Gotta keep our cooties separate,” she says, like she’s not currently dripping on him on the floor of the boy’s grimy bathroom.

He just squeezes her tighter and gives her a little shake, like a dog with its favorite toy. “Tell me about Vickie,” he demands, but it sounds a whole lot like I love you when it comes from his mouth.

“Okay,” she replies, and it sounds a lot like I love you, too.

PART 21

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #me in a steddie fic: but what if robin and steve get married #also shoutout to gareth for now being the oblivious one

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celestialgalaxyglow · 17 days ago

Text

Batfam and Danny, Part 12

Danny: Hey Alfred, I was going through some old files and I was wondering if you could explain something to me.

Alfred: Sure thing Master Daniel.

Danny: How long were each of the Robins, Robin?

Alfred: Well Dick was Robin from the time he was 14 till he was 17, when he decided to become Nightwing. After that your father was Robin from the time he was 14 till 16, when the Joker... killed him. He was gone for six months but by the time he retuned Tim had become the new Robin so your father become Red Hood. Tim was Robin from the ages of 14 to 17, Till Steph came to us and he gave the mantel of Robin to her and became Red Robin. Steph was Robin from the age of 17 to 18, she gave up the mantel to Damian when he was dropped off by Miss al Ghul and took the name Spoiler. Damian took up the mantel of Robin upon his arrival at the age of 10 and has been Robin for the last two years.

Danny: Ok, how old is everyone?

Alfred: Dick is 25, Jason is 22, hopefully you knew that one, Tim and Barbara are 20, Steph, Cass, and Duke are 19, Damian 12, Master Bruce is 34, and my age is classified information.

Danny (laughing): How do I gain clearance to access that information.

Alfred: I grant the clearance.

Danny: Can I have clearance?

Alfred: No.

They laughed.

Alfred: I must ask Danny, what brought along this line of questioning?

Danny: It's the way Bruce talks about the former Robins. The official reports state their ages the way you told them, but between the lines, and the way Bruce talks about their times of Robins I imagined they were all around ten when they took up the mantel.

Alfred: That's a reasonable conclusion to reach. Even though everyone, except Damian, were already teenagers when Bruce took them in, he's always talked about them as if they were little kids. And in all honesty he still does.

Danny: Hmm, interesting. Wait so Bruce took on Dick in when he was 24?

Alfred: Yes. Not even a fully grown adult, the brain doesn't fully develop till the age of 25, but yet Bruce decided to adopt a kid 10 years younger than him.

Danny: Our family is strange.

Alfred (sipping his tea): That it is.

Later at Jason and Danny's apartment.

Danny: Dad can I ask you something?

Jason: What is it kid?

Danny: How did everyone react when you came back to life?

Jason: Oh, that is a story! So after I fought my way back to the Land of the Living I woke up in my coffin and dug my way out. I was a bit disoriented, but somehow made my way around the manor to the front door. I remember nocking and Alfred opening the door and that's it. This part I got from Alfred, I feel into his arms, he called for Bruce, and I was sent to a medical bed in the Batcave. When I came to, Bruce, Alfred, and Dick where next to me. They were happy to see me again, but very confused as to how I came back to life. I explained my story, and Dick started laughing, saying only I of all people would fight my way back to being alive. Bruce on the other hand would not stop apologizing for my death, no matter how many times I told him I forgave him. That's also when I learned that Bruce had killed the Joker.

Danny: What about Tim?

Jason: Tim was hiding behind a wall. Poor kid thought I'd be mad at him for stealing my job as Robin. I told him I wasn't mad and that I was done with all the vigilante stuff for the time, and wanted to take a break. He was also a little worried that Bruce would kick him out but we all put a stop to those concerns, he was part of the family and he wasn't getting rid of us that easily. Anyways, the next day Bruce tackled my legally dead status by creating a fake body of me and putting it in the coffin. So when the police asked questions, they saw a very alive me, and a very fake body in the coffin, and Gotham being Gotham, they didn't ask further question, and my legally dead status was revoked.

Danny: Really? No further questions? Like where you've been for the last six months?

Jason: Nope. But I was allowed to keep my death certificate.

Danny: What about Gotham high society and the general population?

Jason: We told this story that some madmen had kidnapped me and that I managed to escape and make it home. Everyone bought it, or at least knew better than to question it.

Danny: Honestly, that checks out.

Jason: Anyways, after that I started helping Tim train, and after two months of rest I decided to jump back to work and took up the name of Red Hood, and started infiltrating Gotham's criminal underground and quickly rose the ranks. Keep in mind I didn't tell anyone, so Bruce got concerned about this new guy taking over Gotham's criminals and sent Tim to spy. I quickly caught him and brought him for an "interrogation." I expected Bruce to send Tim so I prepared an evil monologue and everything. After I was done monologuing I removed my mask and started lecturing Tim about how easily I caught him, and that Bruce, Dick, and I taught him better. Tim got mad and we started having a screaming match. Shortly after that Bruce arrived and saw us. Bruce was not happy that I decided to go back to vigilante business without saying anything, but he was proud of the work I was doing, so I got away with it. And that's more or less everything.

Danny: I love this family.

Jason: Yeah, we're great. I still have a grave, right next to grandma and grandpa. ... Please don't tell Bruce I called his Martha and Thomas, grandma and grandpa, poor guy will start crying and hugging me while calling me his son.

Danny (laughing): Don't worry I won't.

(Master Post)

Current ages

Bruce - 34

Alfred - [Classified]

Dick - 25

Jason - 22

Tim - 20

Barbara - 20

Steph - 19

Cass - 19

Duke - 19

Danny - 16

Damian - 12

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cressidagrey · 4 months ago

Text

Stars all aligned - Chapter 14

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

“I want to go home,” Zahra said softly, Azalea slumbering safely between them. His mate, his wife… she was subtly golden glowing that morning, looking like the sun incarnate.

It was more obvious now…or maybe he just saw it more than he had before. Or maybe it was because Zahra was happy. Content.

“Are you sure, sunshine?” He asked her softly, his thumb tracing her cheek. “There is no need to rush.”

There wasn’t.

He was willing to take all the time in the world right here in Rosehall with the two of them. And maybe a part of him…a part of him was hoping for some more time before the insanity of their family was going to descend on them.

Azriel didn’t believe for one moment that that was over already.

“I want her to come home to the cottage,” Zahra said softly. “Though we’ll need to figure out some way to…extend it maybe?“

They had talked about it before in passing, comments about adding an office… but now they would be adding a nursery. And maybe other rooms as well when they were already at it.

Azriel could feel the warmth of his mate’s body against his, their daughter sleeping peacefully between them. He was acutely aware of her golden glow, of her scent, of the press of her hand against his chest. The knowledge that this female, this beautiful, strong, incredible person, was bound to him for eternity was a heady joy. A light in the darkness.

He pressed a soft kiss to Zahra’s forehead, his wings curling around them again.

"Of course, Sunshine," he murmured against her skin. "We’ll return home."

Whatever she wanted.

Her request was so simple, and yet he understood the importance of it entirely. The cottage was home, yes, but more importantly it was part of their story. Their story together. Their lives with their daughter.

“Your sisters won’t be patient forever,” he warned Zahra nontheless.

It wouldn’t be pretty. He knew that. She knew that too.

Zahra looked at him, fierce green eyes meeting his.

“I don’t care,” she murmured, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I am not going to hide. I am not going to wait because they don’t like me or the choices I made. I don’t care, Azriel,” she told him flatly.

Her fingers brushed against his cheek, her touch gentle yet firm. “Azalea is my priority. You are my priority. I’ll deal with my sisters if I must,” she told him, her voice soft yet filled wth conviction.

Azriel had thought it was impossible to love her more than he already did, but with every look, every word, she proved him wrong.

He couldn't imagine a life without her, without their daughter. He couldn't imagine living without Zahra by his side.

He had found his mate, his love, his everything.

"We belong together," he whispered, his voice full of love and promise.

"Always."

His lips found hers, his hands gently cupping her face as he kissed her.

Her lips were warm and soft against his, and he could feel the love radiating from her.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever. With the beautiful woman he loved more than anything, their daughter nestled between them.

The rest of the world could wait.

All that mattered was this. This moment.

His fingers trailed over her face, tracing the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw.

She was his. And he was hers.

Nothing could ever take that away. Nothing could ever come between them.

Azriel would fight for her, and for their daughter, until the end of time.

She pulled back, resting her forehead against his.

"Besides, I can't ignore them forever," Zahra said quietly.

Azriel chuckled softly against her lips, his hand moving to cup her face gently.

"You could try," he replied softly, a teasing edge to his voice.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb, his gaze locked on hers.

"You should be able to. They owe you at least all the time you want," he told her softly.

Zahra sighed.

"They don't owe me anything," she disagreed quietly.

Azriel frowned at that, his brows furrowing slightly.

He had hoped that she wouldn't say something like that.

He knew that she felt like she didn't deserve anything, that she wasn't owed anything. But it was so untrue.

She deserved everything.

"Zahra…" he began softly, but she cut him off before he could say anything else.

"Stop," she said firmly, her hands gripping his shirt tightly.

She was too gentle. Too kind.

But he knew he couldn't force her to see it the way he did.

He would do anything to protect her, their daughter. Even if it meant accepting her forgiveness of the people who had done her so wrong.

It didn't mean he had to like it though.

He pressed another kiss to Zahra's lips, his hand moving to trace down her spine.

He wanted to protect her, to keep her close and shield her from all that was wrong in the world.

But he also knew that Zahra was strong, that she had the strength to make her own decisions.

Even if he didn't necessarily agree with them.

"You're too damn forgiving," he murmured softly against her lips, his voice husky with emotion.

His hands curled around her body, pulling her close, his lips never leaving hers.

He held her tightly, his body enveloped her in a tight embrace.

“I am not,” Zahra disagreed. “But quite frankly, I would rather not spent my energy on them when I could spent it on Azalea.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his body still wrapped around her.

He understood her reasoning. It was better to focus on what truly mattered. Their daughter.

"You're right," he murmured against her hair, his wings twitching in agreement. "She is our priority," he said, his voice firm. "Nothing else matters."

Not even his own anger at his family. All that mattered was his wife and daughter.

He leaned back slightly to look at her, his hands running over her back in soft circles.

"I love you," he said softly.

It was a plain truth. Something he felt was worth repeating as often as possible. He knew she was aware of his love for her, but it would never hurt to remind her.

Azalea let out a little noise then, her small hand fisting in Azriel's shirt.

Both of their gazes went to their daughter, their eyes filled with affection. She looked small and so innocent, wrapped up in their embrace.

"There you are, sweetheart," Azriel murmured, a soft smile on his lips.

He let his hand brush over their daughter's head, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chest.

"Just like her mother."

Zahra chuckled softly at the compliment, her eyes twinkling.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Shadowsinger," she teased, her voice low. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Azriel's cheek. "You're lucky you're so good at it."

She winked at him slyly, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

There wasn’t much to pack up. The things Zahra had brought, the chest that houses the few pieces of clothing Esmeray had made for Azalea… Which prompted the shadows curling themselves around his wings, May we go shopping, Master?

Azriel paused at the question, his brows rising in surprise. He should have expected it.

They were an extension of him. The desire to shop for their daughter was simply reflection of his own desire to spoil the little girl. Of course, the shadows would want to buy things for their daughter, he thought. It was quite natural for them to want to provide anything and everything to his child.

"They want to go shopping?" Zahra asked him with some amusement and he realised that they must have spoken loud enough for her to hear. He just shrugged. "Let them," she said easily. "And if you want to buy some furniture, be my guest."

He leaned down to press a kiss to Zahra's cheek, his hand coming up to her chin to tilt her face to him. "Thank you for understanding," he murmured softly.

"Maybe they'll find a crib for her," Zahra said drily. "I feel like a horrible mother already."

Azriel frowned at that, his brows knotting together. He didn't like her saying that.

She should never feel that way. Ever.

"You're not a horrible mother, sunshine," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You're a wonderful mother. Our daughter is happy and healthy. That's what matters."

He reached up to cup her face, his thumb tracing over her cheek. "You're doing everything you can for her. And that's all anyone could ever ask for."

Zahra gave him a hesitant smile. "I never want her to feel as alone as I did," she said softly.

Azriel's expression softened at Zahra's words, his heart aching at the thought of her feeling so alone. He'd do everything in his power to make sure she never felt that way again.

"Of course not," he said, his voice soft and full of love. "Our daughter is never going to feel alone. She's going to be surrounded by so much love. From us, from our family. She's going to grow up knowing that she is loved. That we would fight to the ends of the world for her.” He pulled her closer in his arms, his wings wrapping around them. "I promise you," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "Our daughter will never feel the way you did. She will be safe and loved. We'll make sure of it. "

The sound of Azalea's soft whimper interrupted any further conversation between them.

"I think she wants something too," Azriel observed with a chuckle, looking at their daughter.

The little girl looked up at them with clear demand in her eyes, her tiny hands reaching out to them.

"Seems like she wants us to pay attention to her," Zahra said with a smile, her expression filled with adoration as she looked down at their daughter.

"Always so demanding, it seems," he quipped with a warm smile.

He reached down to pick up Azalea, holding her gently in his arms.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly.

They promised his mother that they would come to visit soon, and then it was simply a question of him wrapping his wife and daughter into his shadows and winnowing them home to their little cottage.

The world around them shifted and blurred, a surge of darkness and weightlessness as the shadows swirled around them.

And then they were there, standing in the middle of the living room in their cottage.

The shadows had been busy already, Azriel reflected drily. They must have started before even asking for permission.

Zahra gave a shocked laugh, as she saw the bookcases lining one wall of the living room.

The cottage, which had once contained little more than the basics, was now filled with furniture and decorations. A new sofa, that somehow managed to compliment the horrible ugly armchair, and new curtains adorned the main room, along with several of Azalea's new toys and baby supplies.

"This is…a lot," Zahra muttered, looking around their home with wide eyes.

Azriel couldn't help a small, proud smile from forming on his lips. "Did you expect anything less?" he drawled, his voice laced with amusement.

He hadn’t. There was a touch of pride in his gaze at the sight of his mate and daughter in their home.

He shifted their daughter in his arms, the baby's weight a comforting presence against him.

"Are you complaining about how our daughter's needs are being met?" Azriel teased, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of Zahra's hair from her face.

Zahra huffed in response to Azriel's teasing, but there was a smile on her face.

"Of course not," she said with feigned indignation. Zahra wrapped her arms around him and their daughter, her eyes twinkling with humor. "I'm simply astounded by your ability to spoil me and our daughter so thoroughly."

Azriel chuckled, pulling her closer to him, his wings enveloping them both.

"It's not spoiling if it's deserved," he replied, his voice low and husky as his lips brushed against her neck.

A proper bed was in the bedroom now, big enough for them to share, even if Azalea slept with them, which Azriel thought was quite likely.

Zahra stole Azalea who looked around wide eyed and showed her the kitchen her soft voice carrying through the room.

Azriel just watched.

He was filled with a sense of contentment as he watched them together, his chest filing with warmth

The sight of his wife and daughter exploring their new home…he couldn't imagine a life better than this, a family more perfect than what he had.

Rhys? he reached out carefully. We are home.

As Azriel reached out through their link, Rhys’ voice filtered into his mind.

You're home? Everything alright?

The concern in his voice was plain, his tone laced with worry, his surprise palpable.

Everything's fine, Azriel reassured him quickly, his answer swift. The last thing he wanted was for Rhys to be concerned or worried. We're alright. No need to panic. Zahra wanted to bring Azalea home.

Zahra wants to bring her home? Rhys echoed through their mental connection, bewilderment evident in his voice.

Yes, she wanted her home, Azriel affirmed, his voice calm and steady.

He could sense Rhys’ trepidation though, the question in his mind before he even asked it.

A question that they both knew the answer to.

I doubt we'll be able to keep her sisters away for much longer, Rhys warned him quietly.

Azriel's lips pressed into a thin line at Rhys's words, a wave of irritation rising in him.

He knew that. But that didn't meant that Azriel was a fan of it.

If they upset my wife or my daughter, I won't stand for it, he growled.

He knew Rhys could sense his anger through their mental connection, the protectiveness he felt for Zahra and Azalea.

For a moment it was quiet. Then...Your wife? Rhys demanded. Azriel?!

Azriel sighed, realizing that Rhys had picked up on his unintentional slip. He hadn't meant to reveal the truth just yet, but it seemed that he had inadvertently done just that.

Yes, my wife, he admitted softly.

You got married and didn't tell me?! Rhys's voice thundered across their minds in clear surprise and shock.

His reaction was predictable, but Azriel could hear the hint of offence in his voice.

You should shut up, we didn't know about you and feyre either, he shot back.

That's different, was Rhys's only response through the link, his voice almost whining.

Azriel rolled his eyes; Rhys was the High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful being in their world, and yet he was sulking like a child.

We just wanted something small, just for us, Azriel answered with a mental shrug.

I probably shouldn't even be surprised, Rhys said with a sigh.

We didn't want Azalea to be a bastard, Azriel offered with some amusement.

Rhys’ sigh sounded through the link again before his brother replied through the mental connection.

So you are just being responsible. That’s a first, Rhys teased though his mind, Cassian will insist on throwing you a party, he warned.

Azriel rolled his eyes again; he could already imagine the glee in Cassian's eyes when he found out.

His brother would be relentless.

Let him try, he shot back. He won't get past the shadows.

Rhys laughed aloud at that, the sound echoing through their mental connection.

You underestimate his determination. You know there will be a party, whether you like it or not, Rhys insisted, his tone laced with amusement.

***

Zahra looked around the cottage as she held their daughter in her arms, her eyes taking in the sight of the new furniture and decorations.

There was a new bed, a rocking chair, and toys and supplies for their baby all over the cottage.

“You really went all out,” she said aloud.

But she loved it. She loved all of it.

The cottage had been hers since she won it in that stupid card game...but now...now it was a proper home. Their home. Home for Zahra and her family, for her mate and her daughter. Nothing that she thought she would ever have.

Nothing that she would ever want to lose.

She watched as Azriel settled onto the horrible armchair, his large form taking up the space. He spread his wings out behind him, the sight of them making the space look even smaller. He patted his lap, a clear invitation.

She understood the silent gesture and moved over to him, taking a seat on his lap, their baby on her lap.

Azriel's arms encircled them both, holding them close as he wrapped his wings around them, enveloping them in his warmth.

He dropped a kiss on top of her head, his breathing slow and steady, his heartbeat calm and comforting.

She let her head rest against his chest as his hand moved to stroke Azalea's head.

"I told Rhys about the wedding," he said softly.

Zahra chuckled at that, leaning her head back to look at him.

“How did he take it?” her eyes were filled with curiosity.

Azriel chuckled as well, his fingers gently stroking along her leg, his touch warm and comforting.

“As well as you could expect,” he replied, his voice filled with amusement. “He was shocked and offended that we didn’t tell him or invite him to the wedding. His ego may never recover.”

Zahra just snorted. "It was perfect," she disagreed. "Just us." Just the way she liked it.

The shadows swarmed around them at that, playing with her hair and Azalea squealed as she reached out for one swirling tendril. It held still for her, letting pudgy baby hands grip at it and wove through her fingers excitedly.

Azriel chuckled at the sight their daughter's interaction with his shadows.

"She likes them, huh?" Azriel observed, his voice filled with humour.

Zahra watched as Azalea's pudgy baby hands gripped at the tendril, her wide eyes watching it intently. She couldn’t help but giggle at the look of intense concentration on Azalea’s face.

Another tendril unceremoniously dumped a velvet jewellery box on Zahra's lap at that moment. Like a silent We need to do everything around here!

Zahra's eyebrows rose as the box appeared in her lap, her gaze moving from the box to Azriel.

"And what is this?" she asked, the corner of her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh.

"Open it and find out," Azriel said drily.

Zahra chuckled and rolled her eyes, but her fingers lifted the lid off the box anyway.

She couldn't help her curiosity. As she looked inside, her eyebrows lifted again. "Oh," she breathed, her eyes widening as she took in the contents.

Two matching gold wedding bands laid there in the velvet. Simple. Unassuming.

She had never loved any piece of jewellery more, as she lifted the bigger one to slide it over Azriel's ring finger.

Azriel watched silently as she put the ring on his finger, his expression tender and soft.

And as she moved to put her own ring on, his hand stopped her.

"No," he said firmly, his voice low and demanding. She looked at him, surprised by his denial. "Why?" she protested, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Azriel gave her a sly smile as he took the smaller ring from her hands, his fingers gently caressing her skin.

"Because that’s my job,” he said simply.

Zahra's breath caught in her throat at his words, the intensity in his voice making her heart race. She swallowed, her eyes darting between the ring and his face. "Is that so?" she replied, the words coming out huskier than she’d intended.

Azriel's lips curled into a smirk as he heard the change in her voice. His grip on her hand tightened as he brought her fingers up to his lips, his eyes darkened further as he kissed them softly.

He took the ring then in his free hand, holding it between them. "It is," he answered firmly. "I am your husband."

Her lips parted in surprise at his demand, a flutter of anticipation in her chest. Azriel's eyes remained focused on hers, his gaze burning with a possessiveness that should have scared her.

Instead, all it did was make her want him more.

Her mind went blank as he gently picked up her ring finger and, with a single fluid movement, eased the gold wedding band over it.

Zahra’s heart skipped a beat when he slid the ring onto her finger, his touch lingering on her hand for a moment longer than necessary.

He held up her hand and turned it gently, studying the ring on her finger with an expression of satisfaction.

"It looks good on you," he said, his voice low and rough. His gaze flicked up to hers, his eyes almost glittering.

Azalea took that moment to yawn. Zahra couldn’t help but coo slightly. Azalea's little yawn caught Azriel's attention, and his gaze immediately moved to the baby in her lap. His lips curled into a soft smile at the sight of her.

"Someone's sleepy," he said, his voice filled with affection.

He reached out his hand to run it over her soft hair, watching as the baby's eyes fluttered closed.

“Let’s lay her down for a nap and I’ll tell Violet that we are back home,” Zahra said softly. And probably ask her for…well. They needed to figure out the childcare situation after all. No more 10 hours days hunched over her kitchen table..but then she had made quite the dent in the accounts of a few decades already.

Azriel nodded, his eyes still fixed on their sleeping daughter.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," he agreed, his voice soft. "I'll take her."

He stood up, carefully picking up Azalea in his arms. The baby shifted slightly, but then settled back into a deep, peaceful sleep against his chest.

Zahra had not expected for Violet to show up at her front door 3 hours later, out of breath and shoving a gift bag into Zahra’s arms. “The next time you get a baby, I need a forewarning!” Violet declared. Zahra couldn’t help laughing heartily, her eyes glittering in amusement.

Violet’s declaration and the breathlessness in her voice were priceless. She took the gift from her friend’s hands. “You want to meet her?” Zahra teased, her voice filled with affection.

Violet, still huffing and catching her breath, gave her a mock glare. "You really are not funny," she said in an irritated tone.

But despite her irritation, there was a small hint of a smile on her lips. Zahra could see the affection in her eyes.

“Of course I do!” Violet said brightly.

Zahra opened the door wide.

As Violet entered the cottage, her eyes immediately went to Azalea and Azriel, who were sitting on the floor, engrossed in their game.

She watched as Azriel carefully played with their daughter, his big hands surprisingly gentle and tender.

The sight was nothing less than heart melting.

“Oh, she’s adorable,” Violet cooed. Zahra chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement.

She had never expected her friend to swoon like an enamored girl.

“She is, isn’t she?” Zahra agreed with a smile, her heart swelling with maternal pride.

Violet moved further into the room, her eyes still fixed on Azalea as she stepped closer to them.

Zahra watched as the baby giggled happily, her tiny hand reaching out to grab Azriel's fingers.

Zahra could see the tender look in Azriel's eyes as he played with their daughter, his expression filled with love and adoration. And then Azalea spied Violet and started at her wide eyed, dark eyes fixed on the purple wings sprouting from Violet’s back.

She stared at them intently, her expression filled with fascination and awe.

Azriel chuckled at his daughter's reaction, his hand gently stroking her head.

"Seems like she’s quite interested in your wings," he commented, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

He watched as Azalea reached out a small hand toward Violet, her tiny fingers grasping for the shimmering wings.

Violet couldn't help but smile at the baby's interest.

She bent down slightly, bringing her wings closer to Azalea, giving her a better view.

Zahra chuckled at the scene before her.

"Yeah, she’s like a moth drawn to a flame," she joked.

Azalea’s small hand grabbed onto Violet’s wing, her grasp surprisingly firm for such a small baby.

She tugged at the wing gently, clearly curious about the strange appendage.

Violet winced slightly at the unexpected grip but laughed, not seeming bothered by it.

Azriel shook his head, amused by the scene unfolding before him.

"Careful, she's surprisingly strong for being so small," he warned, a fond smile on his face.

Violet just laughed. “Gods, she’s adorable,” she gushes. “Yes, you are!” She cooed at Azalea.

Azalea beamed at the attention, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her tiny hand released its grip on Violet's wing and she clapped her hands together, as if applauding the compliment.

Zahra chuckled at her daughter's reaction. "She likes you," she observed.

“Clearly,” Violet agreed, her smile growing wider. “She has impeccable taste.”

She reached out a finger, gently tickling Azalea's stomach, prompting the baby to giggle and squirm.

Zahra watched the exchange between her baby and her best friend, her heart swelling with happiness.

"I think she has a talent for endearing herself to everyone," Azriel added, his voice filled with pride.

He watched as Violet continued to interact with their daughter, her hand moving from Azalea's stomach to her tiny hands, which clutched at Violet's finger.

"Must get that from her mother," Violet teased, giving Zahra a playful wink.

Zahra snorted in response, rolling her eyes but unable to contain the smile on her face.

"Oh, please. I don’t see you being immune to her either," she shot back.

Violet laughed out loud at that, admitting defeat with a shrug. "Touché. Your baby’s too cute for her own good."

She turned her attention back to Azalea, her eyes sparkling with playfulness.

Azalea responded gleefully to the attention, her wide eyes fixed on Violet, her attention unwavering as if she couldn’t get enough of her. She cooed and babbled, her hands continuing to grasp at Violet’s finger.

Azriel chuckled at the interaction, enjoying the way his daughter was so enthralled by his mate's friend.

He exchanged a glance with Zahra, his smile mirroring hers.

Zahra couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. Seeing her daughter enjoying herself and being showered by adoration was a sight she could get used to.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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the-earth-priestess · 5 months ago

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the thing about pmmm analyses that a lot of you people forget is that these girls are like. 14. forget the loops they're literally mentally all kids. it's not so much about selfishness or selflessness. you miss the point. you forget who the real enemy is: the incubators, for the deception and abuse.

AND ALSO. putting all my beef in one big post. i would argue even with all the christian allegories that madokami represents jesus/god but homura does not represent the devil.

why? because homura hates herself. she loathes her very existence. she fancies herself evil for pulling madokami from the sky but she doesn't want power.

the devil does not hate himself. the devil is proud. he loves himself, and only himself. he wants power. he wants to rule.

homura does not want to rule. she wants everyone she cares about -- that's right, all of the quintet, not just madoka -- to be happy. even if it means playing the bad guy. even if it means splintering. even it means she has to break herself and fall apart and become her beloved's enemy. homura treats herself as evil in the way an unreliable narrator would.

this is not about the devil and god. i'm not educated on the bible enough to know for sure what this is. but my best guess?

this is about jesus and judas.

doomed yaoi became doomed yuri.

could i make it any clearer?

they're not critiques on the christian god, the devil or blind faith. that's the worst, most tradcath reading of both the bible and pmmm i've ever heard.

homura and madoka are doomed by the narrative, not each other.

they're just trying to make things work in the way that aligns with their own youthful motives. the way that they love. throughout the series, madoka wants to save everyone and had the power to. homura wants to save everyone and only had the power to increase madoka's potential.

that is the difference between them.

remember? homura called herself a demon. demons are different from the devil himself, and yeah, girl needs an exorcism from her girlfriend.

if you call homura and madoka selfish or selfless you're missing the point and actually, you're adhering to reductive readings of not just the media but how you may be approaching mentally ill kids too. art imitates life and all that.

#pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #arjuna sings #homura akemi #madoka kaname

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multifandom-exe · 4 months ago

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Intimidation – S. Reid X Reader

A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic from like 5 years ago, if you want to check out the original here to see how much has changed. Feel free to leave requests! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS OR ASKS PLS i need to know if I'm still writing like I'm 14 😭. Trying to rewrite one fic of each fandom so i get that reach.

Request: hey could you make a spencer reid x reader where the reader is new to the BAU and she has more PHDs than reid. which makes him super intimidated and insecure (bc he also finds her very pretty)

Word Count: 2.1k

Today was an emotional day. Quickly trying to blink back the tears that burned the back of your eyes, you stared up at the skyscraper. A lump rising in your throat, you reflected on all the hard work, all the time, all the energy, you put in just to be able to stand here right now. Years. Years of school, universities, exams, lack of a social life, and probably enough coffee to kill a small village. All to stand at the doors of the BAU, ready to take on your first day.

You walked through the double doors, flashing your badge, and security directed the way for you. In a brief call with the Boss, Aaron Hotchner, he had given you a rundown of the people who will be on your team. You mentally revisited all the notes you took, trying to suppress the anxiety crawling up your throat. The elevator bell’s ‘ding!’ interrupted your thoughts. Quickly stepping out, you assessed your surroundings, briefly reveling the fact that you were actually here. You are actually, officially, FBI. You glanced through the double glass doors just in time, to catch a stare from someone you could only assume was Spencer Reid. Your eyes followed as he fiddled and dropped a stack of files on the ground. At his clumsiness, who you would assume would be morgan, followed his line of sight to see what all the fuss was about. His lips curled into a smirk as he said something inaudible to the other team members standing by.

Looking particularly suspicious, just idling in the corridor, you made your way through the double glass doors. You put on your best smile as a distraction from the blush crawling up your neck. You excitedly walked over to the gathering of people; your happiness evident in every step.

“Hi! I'm officially Supervisory Special Agent Dr. (Y/N) (L/N). Can you use two titles like that? I'm not sure, but regardless just call me (Y/N).” You beamed like a sunflower as you stuck your hand out to shake, who you assumed to be Emilys, hand. Morgan raised his eyebrow, looking you up and down.

“Well, hey mama, what a nice Suprise.” He looked over at his team members to find their confused faces but raised his eyebrow, nonetheless. A pretty lady in his midst, Morgan would never complain, especially not when she carries a gun.

“Team.” Everyone's head turned toward the stairs as Hotch ran down them. “I forgot to mention, new team member, (Y/N) meet, Morgan, Emily, JJ, Rossi, and Dr Reid.” He pointed at each one whilst introducing them.

Your lips curled into a small smile as you beamed again. “Infamous Dr. Reid, Hotchner told me so much about you, apparently we are going to get along.”

“Yes uhm.” He coughed, ready to list the facts he knew about you. “She can speak several languages, has 4 PHD’s, In Mathematics, Chemistry, Engineering and Psychology, and she has 4BA’s, Philosophy, Sociology, Linguistics and archeology if I remember correctly, all at the age of 26. Very similar to you.” He took a breath after rattling everything off and gave you a smile.

“A new resident genius huh?” You and the team turned to the source of the voice, immediately noting that it was Penelope Garcia. You gave a small wave as she walked over. “Our boy genius finally has some girl genius competition.” She smiled as a very speechless Spencer opened his mouth, but closed it again, finding he had nothing to say.

You turned a confusing look at the girl next to him and spoke. “I'm sure we will have lots to talk about, I'm definitely a talker.”

You gave him a big smile and God he could've died and went to heaven right there. So many thoughts rattled around his head. He was used to being the smartest person in the room. The one constant in his life was his intelligence. And here you were, looking like a fucking sunflower, taking that constant away. 2 degrees. 2 degrees more than him. He genuinely couldn't wrap his head around it. Attraction and intimidation swirled in his mind like oil and water. The best he could do was gulp down his fear, paste a small smile on his face as you walked away to get situated.

The hours wore on, and the effect of your first day at work was taking its toll on you. Heading over to the coffee machine, you spotted spencer, making what seemed to be his fourth coffee of the day. “I suppose Hotch was right about you being a coffee addict.”

A giggle erupted from your throat as his head shot up and his eyes widened at you, looking like a deer in the headlights. And once again, he found himself without anything to say. The anxiety of making a fool of himself in front of someone smarter than him was too much. He just grabbed his coffee cup and ducked back to his desk. Your eyes bore holes into the spot where he once stood, a small frown on your face. Had you seriously offended someone on your first day? Shaking your head, you returned to make some delicious coffee.

Morgan quickly placed himself on the edge of Reids desk as he sat down. “Our babies will be smart and beautiful.” He mocked in a dreamy voice, breaking Spencer away from his thoughts.

“What?” He gave Morgan a look of feigned innocence.

“Cmon, Pretty Boy. Youve already got it bad for wonder girl over there.” At the mention of your name, they both look towards the coffee station where you stood, looking like you were right out of a movie. He stuttered out an attempt at denying his friends accusations, but Morgan simply laughed and clapped him on the back, leaving him a stuttering mess at the thought of you.

“Briefing room!” Your ears perked up at the sounds of your boss’s voice ringing out across the room signaling you had a case. You turned your head and caught Spencers eye on the way, flashing him a timid smile. Finally, something to draw Spencer's thoughts away from you and your intrepid little mind.

Having been briefed they introduced you to the private jet. Of course it was met with gasps of astonishment from you, never having seen something so amazing in all your life. Everyone had settled in, and you sat down on the couch next to Spencer, taking in everyone on the plane. “Hey Genius Boy.” The common nickname caused Spencer to look up from his book. “Listen, I'm sorry if I offended you, I'm not trying to take your place as resident genius here, I think we could have some crazy in-depth conversations, if you would actually talk to me that is.” Your hands moved to match your voice, as a giggle left your throat to cover the awkwardness. He stared at you, looking like the human embodiment of his dreams, and decided today was not the day for his brain to fail him, he will not come across as stupid as he feels right now.

“Thank you, I think we would too, you didn't offend me, I'm sorry, I just get a little anxious about things sometimes. And honestly, I've never met anyone with more degrees than I have.” The way he talked with his hands mirrored yours as he explained himself. You beamed at him after hearing you hadn't offended him, and Spencer swore he was melting. He studied your face and noticed your darker eye bags, and your second cup of coffee in hand. He assumed you'd had a sleepless night. He was all too familiar with insomnia, and first day nerves. “I can move if you want to lay down and take a nap.” A nice offer in his eyes, so he was surprised at your reaction.

Your hands shot to cover your face as you squealed. “Do I really look that bad?” You spread your fingers to look at him whilst still shielding your face. His eyes shot open as he waved his hands a little frantically.

“Oh god no! No! You look beautiful, really, I just assumed you were tired because of all the coffee.” He gently grasped your hands and removed them away from your face. A blush creeped up your neck at the compliment, and your hair stood on end at the sudden contact. His hands darted back as he felt his own cheeks darken.

“I'm kidding Spence, I have trouble sleeping on a good day but thank you for caring anyway.” You smiled at him, taking in his features. God he really was beautiful too. Something about having such an intricate mind made a person all the more attractive.

In hopes to make you feel better, Spencer did what he did best, and rambled, his hands intricately moving as he practically word vomited on you. “Yaknow, some sleep experts have said that sleeping with someone around, and or cuddling with them, actually improves sleep. Your brain releases endorphins and dopamine and all that good stuff when you cuddle with someone, and it is said that aids sleep. I personally don’t believe in sleep studies, or dream studies for that matter, but it could be something to think about in the future.” He stared at his lap as he finished his ramble.

“Are you asking me to sleep with you, Dr Reid?” You quirked your eyebrows as endless giggles spilled out of your throat at his reaction. His eyes shot open again and he stuttered out some form of apology. He really needed to get his shit together if he ever wanted to have a normal conversation with you. “Okay, okay relax.” Your giggles faded away as you laid a hand on his arm.

“I was just suggesting, you know you need to be refreshed for a case, if you wanted to sleep near me, if that's okay with you. I mean I could use a little bit more sleep as well.” He tried to distract your eyes from his searing cheeks as he motioned to his coffee cup.

A smile broke out onto your face as you nodded softly, heat climbing up the back of your neck at the thought of the close proximity. You had heard Spencer was afraid of germs? Huh, maybe that wasn't the case. With 5 hours left till landing, Spencer retrieved a pillow from the couch opposite and laid it in the crook of his arm. Twiddling your fingers together, you shifted on the couch, moving to slip in between his body and his arm.

You had never been so glad he couldn't see your face, but at this point, you were sure he could probably feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. You sighed into the comfort, with the thought of sleep weighing heavier and heavier on your eyelids. You took in the scent of his shirt, Pine, and old parchment. You gave it 5 minutes until you were whisked away into dreamland.

Spencer, on the other hand, had never been so awake. He desperately hoped you weren't able to hear his heartbeat thrum against his chest as you got close. He slightly inched his head to lay on top of yours, the scent of your shampoo absolutely intoxicating him. If it were up to him, he would fly this plane to Antarctica just to be here a bit longer with you.

Bonus

The jet took a sharp turn and Morgan looked up from his cellphone. His eyes caught you and Spencer, practically wrapped around each other on the couch. The biggest grin broke out on his face as he laughed under his breath. As quietly as possible, he nudged Emily and JJ, pointing his finger in the direction of the couch. Emily rolled her eyes with an incredulous look, and JJ cooed quietly over how cute you two were. Emily whispered, not-so-subtlety, to Derek. “Take a picture before they wake up.” Quickly digging in her purse and throwing him her disposable camera.

“I hate you all.” They all broke into silent laughter as Spencer grumbled.

Since that day, that picture had remained pinned on Spencer's desk.

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