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polarisjisung · 17 days ago

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ꨄ X-O, KISS ME, DON'T SAY NO

KISSES WITH ENHYPEN

pairings: enha x fem! reader genre: fluff wc: 1k warnings: use of petnames, slightly suggestive notes: I wrote this for dream had to do it for enha too ! | LIBRARY

HEESEUNG — desperate, flirty kisses

A simple peck doesn't exist for Heeseung. You're like his drug, once he gets a taste, he's addicted. Quick morning kisses are impossible. One peck on your forehead easily turns into a full makeout session and suddenly you're late for work. And not for a second is Heeseung worried about your impending anger, instead he'll try and convince you to call in sick, no work meant more time for kisses, right?

“Heeseung, I have places to be�� You know it's no use arguing but you seem to try anyway.

You'd been in this situation countless times before, and it ended the same way each time. In your defence, Heeseung was pretty good at convincing.

“Yeah, want me to list a few?”

Something about a kiss-driven Heeseung is so exceptionally flirty. You both know that you're never getting out of this your way. “My arms, the bed, against the wall if you're into that.

Okay maybe you didn't take much convincing either.

“All of the above?”

Heeseung can't dispute that.

JAY — forehead kisses

Jay's kisses are spontaneous, but so tender and loving, like a scene cut out straight from a high school romance.

You're perched up on the sofa with your nose stuck in one of those picture-perfect romance books you love so much.

Jay can barely make out your face from the material of the hood pulled over your head.

You look cute. There's a pair of blue light glasses resting on your nose and your eyebrows are furrowed with concentration. Jay couldn't help but leave a soft peck against your forehead. He takes a couple moments to just sit beside you and stare, truly wondering how he ever got so lucky.

Next thing you know, his hand moves carefully to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb positioned just under your chin, guiding you into a slow, soft kiss.

JAKE — messy kisses

Jake kisses like a man starved.

Hands tugging at your hair, arms around your waist, loud, shallow pants filling the room. It's like he can't get enough.

He pulls back to stare at you, breathless. But only for a moment.

To Jake, catching his breath seems awfully difficult when you're staring up at him with swollen lips and a sultry gaze.

“I could kiss you forever.”

His words are more a promise than a statement, and how could you not believe him when he pulls you back in so impossibly close, letting his cold fingertips run across your skin.

Both his hands cup your cheeks, passionately. Lips moving over yours with an unsteady, fervent rhythm, and so much urgency, you swear you feel your heart beat out of your chest.

Each time you kiss is like the first, brash. But Jake always holds you so tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear the second he lets go.

When he does finally pull away, Jake exhales a soft laugh, giggling almost.

“You alright?”

You can only nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

SUNGHOON — distracted kisses

Playful fights or debates like whether orange juice is better than apple (it's not) or whether milk comes before or after the cereal always seem to arise with you and Sunghoon.

Part of it has to do with the fact that Sunghoon thinks you look so insanely fine when you're passionately arguing your point forwards.

But somewhere along the way Sunghoon stops listening to what you're saying, eyes zeroing in on your lips when he'd come to a sudden realisation. That shade of lipstick suited you, a little too well maybe.

“Hoon, are you even listening?”

He nods, he's not listening.

He wouldn't have this problem if the lipstick wasn't there. But you were still explaining in full detail, hand gestures and everything. And as much as he loved to hear you ramble, Sunghoon could not concentrate.

He was going insane— he needed to kiss you. Now.

You don't really know why you continue, seeing as Sunghoon's clearly not present, but you can't help but gasp when he pulls you in close and crashes his lips to yours.

“You're right, I wasn't listening”

JUNGWON — soft morning kisses

Soft and intimate, that's what kissing Jungwon feels like.

There’s quiet whispers of ‘I love you's’ and the sweetest compliments.

Even if you've just rolled out of bed, when your hair's a mess and your eyes can barely open all the way, Jungwon thinks you're beautiful.

“Good morning my love” he presses a kiss to the back of your head, just below your ear as he slips past you on the couch, making his way to the kitchen so he can check on breakfast.

But he can only stay away for so long, running back a few minutes later with your morning coffee and a couple kisses to keep you occupied while you wait for it to cool down.

“I love you.” he'd keep it short and sweet, holding your face in hands with so much care. By the time breakfast is ready, not a single inch of your pretty face remains unkissed and that's an achievement Jungwon is insanely proud of.

SUNOO — giggly kisses

You and Sunoo are like the epitome of PDA— cuddling, quick pecks on the cheeks, always holding hands— you have to have your hands on each other at all times. It's sickeningly sweet.

And matters only get worse when your behind closed doors, Sunoo would spend all his time with his lips glued to yours if he could.

He's obsessed with you, and your strawberry flavoured chapstick is anything but helpful. He needs kisses, no matter what it is you're doing.

“Sunoo, I'm busy.” You roll your eyes at him playfully, but he only shrugs, spinning you around on your desk chair.

“Too busy for kisses?”

When you nod, it's Sunoo's turn to roll his eyes.

“Wrong answer.”

And he crashes his lips to yours just as he had intended, illiciting a few giggles from you, laughing at his urgency.

NI-KI — kisses in the rain

Kisses never last too long with riki, quick pecks, passionate and loving but short. Long kisses, something you'd both be down to try but had never actually made the effort to. It's felt scary, awkward, maybe?

The two of you always had a more easygoing relationship, so your more affectionate gestures had always been kept to a minimum.

Until one night when your car broke down and you found yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Rain pelted down from the sky and the wind whistled loudly, but even so, you'd be a fool not to step out of the car and watch the sunset in person.

You and Riki sat with your legs crossed, dangerously close to the cliff edge, bodies pressed against each other as an attempt to conserve heat.

There was something about that moment— maybe the soft glow of the sky as the sun dipped just below the horizon — or the way your eyes beamed and sparkled as each strand of your hair slowly grew wet. Something so raw.

Riki couldn't even bring himself to hesitate, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion and kissing you urgently.

One hand reached back to grip your hair, and another cradled your chin, guiding your lips further into his.

Safe to say, kissing in the rain might just be his favourite.

taglist: @chenlezip @nanawrlds @mystverse @jenobubbles @flaminghotyourmom @lotties-readings

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rafecameronssl4t · 1 month ago

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i’m actually obsessed with all your works pls i need more ceo!rafe and sweetheart!reader, maybe something with their kids??? you’re actually amazing 🙇‍♀️

Office visit || CEO!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: thank u for the request xx

Warnings: use of daddy and mommy but not in a sexual way 😭

Word count: 2,002

MASTERLIST (CEO!Rafe au masterlist)

“What do you boys want to do after this?” you ask, glancing back at Luca and Kai as they focus on their ice creams. The two of them sit on the edge of the bench outside the tennis club, still buzzing with energy after their lesson. The faint scent of sunscreen lingers, and their flushed cheeks tell the story of a morning well spent.

Kai pauses mid-bite, his little tongue darting out to catch a melting drip before it slides down his cone. His brows knit in concentration as he thinks, his chocolate-streaked fingers almost comically poised. Luca, always the quieter of the two, finishes his bite and watches his brother, waiting to see what he’ll suggest.

You reach over and smooth Kai’s tousled hair, the strands damp from sweat and the summer heat. “What about…” you trail off, pulling your phone from your bag to check the time. It’s just past noon, and an idea sparks. “How about we go and see Daddy at his office for lunch?”

Both boys instantly straighten, their eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yes! Yes!” they exclaim in perfect unison, their voices loud enough to draw amused glances from a passing couple. Kai bounces slightly in his seat, and Luca’s smile stretches wide, making your heart melt.

“Alright, finish up your ice creams first, and then I’ll make a quick call to see if he’s free,” you say, chuckling at their eagerness. You bend down to zip up their small tennis bags, tucking away their water bottles and rackets. Their names are embroidered neatly on the sides of their bags, a gift from Rafe when they started lessons last year.

Sliding your phone out again, you scroll to Rafe’s assistant, Rachael, and hit call. It barely rings once before her bright, professional voice answers. “Hi, Mrs. Cameron! How are you?” “Hi, Rachael,” you greet warmly, stepping a little away from the boys, who are now energetically debating whether they should bring Daddy a surprise snack. “Does Rafe have any meetings or calls in the next hour or so? The boys want to see him, and I thought we could bring lunch.”

“Let me check for you,” Rachael replies. You can hear the soft tapping of keys as she looks at his schedule. “You’re in luck—he’s free until 2 p.m. today!” “Perfect,” you reply with a relieved smile, already picturing Rafe’s reaction. “We’ll be there soon. Thanks, Rachael.” “Of course! See you soon,” she says, and you hang up, sliding the phone back into your bag.

Turning back to Luca and Kai, you find them eagerly finishing their ice creams, their little legs swinging excitedly beneath the bench. “Okay, it’s all set. Daddy’s free, so we’re heading to his office. But first, wipe those sticky hands!” you tease, handing them some napkins. They giggle as they clean up, practically bouncing with excitement as they climb into the backseat of the car.

You secure their tennis bags in the boot and slide into the driver’s seat, glancing in the rearview mirror to see their gleaming faces. As you pull out of the car park, their excited chatter fills the car. “Do you think Daddy will let us sit at his desk like last time?” Kai asks. “Maybe we can help him work!” Luca chimes in, his voice hopeful.

You laugh, your heart full as you drive toward Rafe’s office. “Let’s see how much work Daddy gets done with you two around,” you joke, feeling a surge of warmth at the thought of surprising him with his two biggest fans.

The second you parked your car in the reserved spot beside Rafe’s sleek black car, Luca and Kai were out of their seats in a flash. “Wait for me!” you called, though you already knew your words would be ignored. You watched with a mix of amusement and exasperation as the two bolted toward the glass sliding doors, their laughter echoing through the underground parking lot.

“No running inside, please!” you called after them, quickly grabbing your bag and locking the car. Your heels clicked rhythmically against the pavement as you hurried to catch up. By the time you reached the doors, Steve, the ever-friendly security guard stationed by the front entrance, was already greeting them. “Well, hello, Luca and Kai!” he said with a broad smile, his weathered face lighting up at the sight of the energetic boys.

“Hi, Steve!” they chorused, their voices loud and cheerful before they darted further into the building. You reached Steve just in time to catch his amused chuckle. “And hello to you, Mrs. Cameron,” he greeted warmly, his tone respectful yet familiar. “Hi, Steve,” you replied with a smile, placing a light hand on his arm. “How’s Margaret doing?” you asked, genuinely curious about his wife.

“She’s doing well, thank you,” Steve replied with a proud nod, the lines around his eyes crinkling with warmth. “That’s wonderful to hear,” you said softly, offering a kind smile before glancing ahead to see Luca and Kai at the front desk, already reaching for the small bowl of lollies. “I’d better catch up with them before they cause too much trouble. See you later, Steve!”

“Have a good visit, Mrs. Cameron,” he called after you with a wave as you made your way inside. The front desk staff greeted you with bright smiles as you approached. “Hello, Mrs. Cameron!” Jake, one of the receptionists, said cheerfully. You chuckled softly, smoothing Luca’s hair as he eagerly unwrapped a lollipop. “I hope these two aren’t bothering you too much,” you joked.

“Not at all,” Jake replied with a grin, glancing down at the boys. “They always bring a little extra energy to the office.”“Well, that they do,” you said, shaking your head fondly as Kai offered Jake a gummy bear from his stash. “Alright, boys, let’s not take all the lollies.” Luca and Kai quickly popped the last of their treats into their mouths and followed you toward the elevator, their small feet pattering against the polished floors.

As the elevator arrived, a group of Rafe’s staff stepped out, their chatter pausing as they noticed you and the boys. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Cameron,” one of them greeted, while another bent down to fist bump Luca and Kai. “Good afternoon,” you replied, nodding politely as the boys giggled, clearly thrilled by the attention.

You guided them into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where Rafe’s office was located. The doors closed, and the boys glanced up at you, their excitement bubbling over. “Do you think Daddy will be surprised?” Luca asked, his voice full of anticipation.

“I think he’ll be very happy to see you,” you assured them, adjusting the strap of your bag as the elevator hummed softly. As the elevator ascended, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, already picturing the look on Rafe’s face when he saw his two little boys storming into his office like it was theirs.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the sleek, modern design of Rafe’s executive floor. The expansive space was quiet, save for the faint hum of activity from his staff in the open office areas. Luca and Kai immediately bolted out of the elevator, their small sneakers squeaking against the polished marble floors as they made a beeline for Rafe’s corner office.

“Boys, wait!” you called, your voice firm but amused as you followed them at a brisk pace, your heels clicking against the floor. You exchanged polite smiles and greetings with passing employees, most of whom glanced at the boys with fond amusement. It wasn’t the first time Luca and Kai had stormed through these halls like a whirlwind.

By the time you reached Rafe’s office, the boys had already pushed the heavy door open just enough to slip inside. You caught up just in time to see them racing toward Rafe’s large mahogany desk. Rafe was seated behind it, his brow furrowed as he reviewed a stack of papers. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted the sharp lines of his face, but the moment he heard the familiar sound of his sons’ excited giggles, his head snapped up.

“Daddy!” Luca and Kai shouted in unison, running around the desk to get to him. Rafe’s expression softened instantly, his serious demeanour melting away as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, what’s this?” he asked, his lips curving into a smile. He opened his arms just in time for the boys to climb onto his lap, their chatter filling the room.

“We came to surprise you!” Kai exclaimed, wrapping his small arms around Rafe’s neck. “Did you now?” Rafe replied, his tone warm as he ruffled Kai’s hair. He glanced over the boys’ heads to see you standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on your face as you watched the scene unfold. “And you brought reinforcements, I see.”

You chuckled, stepping further into the room. “They insisted. It was either this or trying to sneak into your meetings.” “Good call,” Rafe said with a smirk, shifting Luca onto his other knee. “You two behaving for Mommy?” Luca nodded earnestly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes made Rafe arch a brow. “Mostly,” you teased, leaning against the edge of his desk.

“Mostly?” Rafe echoed, giving them both a mock stern look that made Kai giggle. “We were good, Daddy!” Kai insisted, throwing his arms out dramatically. “I’ll take your word for it,” Rafe replied, pressing a kiss to the top of Kai’s head before glancing at you. “Thank you for bringing them. This is the best kind of interruption.”

“They wanted to see you,” you said softly, your heart warming at the sight of Rafe with the boys. “And they may have bribed the front desk staff with gummy bears on the way up.” Rafe laughed, his deep, rich tone filling the office. “Sounds about right. So, what’s the plan now, little troublemakers?” “Lunch with you!” Luca declared, leaning against his father’s chest.

“Lunch, huh?” Rafe looked between them, feigning thought. “Well, I think I can make that happen. What do you guys feel like eating?” “Pizza!” Kai shouted, while Luca chimed in with, “Burgers!” Rafe glanced at you, his grin widening. “Guess we’re having both.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll call get Rachael to call the kitchen while you catch up with your boys.”

As you stepped aside to make the call, you couldn’t help but glance back at them—Rafe, with his arms full of Luca and Kai, looking more at ease than you’d seen him in weeks. Moments like these made all the chaos worthwhile.

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d-z20 · 3 months ago

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A Favour Owed (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You get caught in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin, when Rio Vidal comes to the rescue. In exchange for her help, she asks for a favour with a mischievous glint in her eyes -OR- Rio walks you home in the rain and later cashes in the favour to take you home and fuck you silly (Modern AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, more smut, a little bit of fluff at the end, Top Rio, Dom Rio, bratty(ish) reader, even more smut, R receiving: fingering, strap, bondage, blindfolding, light choking

Words: 4.0k

A/N: I planned out the rest of my Agathario backstory and it’s broken my heart so I've countered it by writing this. It is a healthy way to cope and you cannot tell me otherwise.

AO3 link my loves <3 | Master List

It’s pouring rain by the time you leave work, the sky dark and brooding as you step outside. You don’t even make it half a block before the downpour hits, drenching you in seconds. You duck under the awning of a nearby café. Already soaked through, hair dripping, you curse yourself for not checking the weather before you left the office. The wide-legged jeans cling uncomfortable to your legs, heavy with water, and the cropped olive cardigan you thought would be perfect for the chill now feels like a poor choice, offering little protection against the rain. Your white tee, once neatly tucked, is now plastered to your skin and slightly see-through. Cursing the cheap fabric, you glance around at the empty street, your teeth starting to chatter as the cold settles in.

As you stand there shivering, you notice someone approaching through the sheets of rain—a figure in all black, moving with a confident stride. It’s only when she steps closer that you realise it’s Rio Vidal, her umbrella held high above her head. You’ve seen her at the gym more times than you can count, occasionally sharing a class. You’ve exchanged a few nods and maybe a smile or two, but that’s as far as it’s ever gone. You don’t expect her to stop now, not in this weather. But then she sees you, and for a moment, you think she’s just going to walk on by.

But she pauses when she spots you, her expression unreadable as her eyes flick over your drenched figure. You can tell she’s about to keep going—there’s a split second where she looks away, like she’s debating whether she cares enough to stop. Then she rolls her eyes, heaves a dramatic sigh, and steps under the awning with you.

“Really?” she drawls, tilting her head as she looks you up and down, eyes lingering at the sight of your bra showing through the now definitely see-through top. “No umbrella?”

You shrug, giving her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t realise I had to expect a monsoon today.”

Her lips twitch into a smirk, and she shakes her head. “Clearly.” Without another word, she shifts under her umbrella, angling it so it covers both of you. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”

You fall in step beside her, matching her pace as you make your way down the rain-soaked street. It was awkward at first, the two of you trying to find a rhythm without bumping into each other. You make a bit of small talk, mostly about the weather, but then Rio starts teasing you, throwing out little jabs at your lack of preparedness, and you find yourself laughing despite the rain soaking through your clothes.

“Do you always go out unarmed in a storm?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I like to live dangerously,” you grin.

“Oh, is that what this is?” she retorts dryly. “Because it looks like poor planning to me.”

You snort, bumping into her playfully. “Careful, you might actually sound concerned.”

Her smirk softens into something warmer, and for a moment, she just looks at you, as if she’s seeing you for the first time. It’s disarming, the way her eyes linger, and you suddenly realise how close you’re standing.

As you walk, the rain intensifies, pounding against the umbrella. Rio adjusts it, stepping even closer until her arm presses against yours. You glance at her. She had chosen to shelter you with the umbrella more even though it meant she was getting caught in the downpour; the scent of her perfume mixing with the rain is intoxicating, and you can’t help but shiver.

“You’re getting wet,” you murmur mostly to yourself, voice softer than you intended.

She looks down at you, her smile widening into something almost predatory. “You have no idea, darling,” she says, her voice dropping low. The look in her eyes is heated—a flicker of something you’ve never seen before—and it makes you shiver for a completely different reason.

You hold her gaze, the world fading away around you. The rain, the city noise—it all melts into the background, leaving just the two of you standing there, inches apart. It would be oh so easy to lean in, to close the gap between you. But then she clears her throat, stepping back just slightly, and the moment breaks.

“We should keep moving,” she says, almost too casually, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Right. Yeah.”

Soon enough, the conversation picks up again and you’re back to casual teasing.

“You know, they do sell these things called coats,” she says, glancing sideways at you with a teasing smile.

“Oh yeah?” You play along, nudging her lightly with your elbow. “I’ll have to look into that.”

She laughs—a low, husky sound that makes your pulse skip. “You probably should. You look like a drowned rat.”

“Rude,” you shot back, but you’re smiling, warmth spreading through your chest despite the cold rain.

By the time you reach your street, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. She stops, tilting the umbrella back as she looks up at the sky. You quickly steal a glance at her neck, imagining what it would be like to trail kisses down her throat, to nip at the soft skin just under her collarbone, to take her ni-

“Looks like you’re safe now,” she says, a small, teasing smile playing at her lips.

The words snapped you out of your daydream.

Shit. She had caught you staring. And oh fuck, your mouth had dropped open slightly as you fantasised about her. Your clothes weren’t the only thing that was wet now. “Uh, um, yep. Thanks for the rescue,” you reply, scratching the back of your neck, trying to play it cool. “I owe you one.” You offer her a weak smile.

She cocks her head, considering you for a moment. “Yeah, you do.” There’s a flash of something playful in her eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by her easy agreement. “Oh? Planning to cash it in?”

Her smirk widens. “Maybe,” she says, voice low. “But I like to keep people guessing.”

Before you can respond to invite her in for a drink, she steps back, giving you a small, almost imperceptible wink before turning on her heal and walking away, leaving you standing there, wetter than you had been when she first found you but not from the rain.

You’re still thinking about your little encounter with Rio the next day at the gym. You’re in the locker room, towelling off after a particularly gruelling class, when you hear the familiar sound of a certain teasing voice. You glance up and see Rio leaning against the row of lockers, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with that same smirk from the day before. It was only then you noticed just how attractive you found her hands as they gripped her bicep.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she drawls, arching an eyebrow.

You chuckle, tossing your towel into your bag. “It’s almost like I come here at the same time every day or something.”

She doesn’t reply straight away; instead, she pushes her tongue into the cheek of her mouth, shaking her head at your retort. She pushes off the locker and steps closer. “Almost,” her gaze flicks over you, lingering just a moment too long. “You remember that favour you owe me?”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your belly at the way she’s looking at you—dark eyes glinting with mischief, like she’s got a secret she’s about to share.

You swallow hard, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I remember. You planning to cash it in?”

“Oh, definitely.” She takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin. Your body seemed to be absorbing all of her heat and sending it straight between your legs. She reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, and her fingers linger against your cheek, a teasing caress that makes you ache with need.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

Her smirk widens, and she leans in, her lips brushing yours as she whispers, “You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart.”

You shiver, your breath catching in your throat as she pulls back, giving you one last lingering look before she turns on her heel and saunters out of the locker room. Your heart is racing, anticipation thrumming through your veins. For a split second, you stand there frozen, unsure if you imagined the intensity in her gaze.

But then, just as you start to gather your things, you hear her voice call back from the doorway, rich and teasing.

“Well, are you coming? And remember to pick your jaw up off the floor on the way out.”

Your pulse spikes at the challenge in her tone, the words hanging in the air, heavy with desire. You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You grab your bag, rushing to follow her out of the locker room, silently cursing yourself for being caught gaping at her once again

She’s already halfway down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder with a grin that sends a thrill through you. “Hurry up,” she calls, her voice low, almost like a command.

You catch up to her as she pushes through the gym’s exit, the cool night air hitting your skin. Without missing a beat, she heads straight for the parking lot, her steps purposeful. You fall in line beside her, curiosity and desire mixing in equal measure.

Her car is parked near the back, and before you can say anything, she’s unlocking the door and sliding into the driver’s seat with an easy, confident motion. She looks over at you as you approach, her eyes dark and inviting.

“Get in,” she says, low and charged.

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide into the passenger seat, and before you know it, the engine roars to life, the sound of tyres crunching on the gravel as she drives with purpose. The ride is quiet but thick with anticipation, the only sounds coming from the hum of the car and the occasional shift of your bodies as you both settle into the journey.

When she pulls into the driveway of her place, you can’t help but feel the electric charge in the air—there’s no mistaking the unspoken agreement between you. She parks and turns off the engine, unbuckling her seatbelt, leaving the silence to stretch between you, thick and expectant.

You wait for her to make the first move, and she doesn’t disappoint. Without a word, she reaches across the console, her fingers brushing yours as she unbuckles your seatbelt. “You’re going to see just how much I care,” she whispers in your ear, remembering your teasing comment from yesterday.

You just look at her, mouth going dry, searching for any hint of hesitation, but there’s none. Just an almost predatory stillness to her gaze. She leans down, her lips brushing the side of your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

“You wanted to know what I had in mind,” she murmurs against your skin, her breath warm, sending goosebumps over your arms. “I think it’s time you found out.”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, and before you can even respond, she’s kissing you—hard and hungry, her hand tangling in your hair, pulling you close. It’s urgent, like you’ve both been waiting for this moment, the tension from yesterday finally snapping.

Her lips move against yours with a feverish intensity, her hands already tugging at your clothes, exploring the heat between you. There’s no more teasing, no more games. Just the heat of the moment, the rush of desire, and the feeling of her body pressing against yours, claiming you as much as you’re claiming her.

She pulls back for a moment, breathless, her eyes scanning your face with a satisfied smirk. “You wanted to know,” she whispers again, her voice thick with desire, “now you’re going to learn exactly what it means to owe me.”

Before you can respond, she’s already round by your door, pulling you out of the car, her grip firm and unrelenting as she leads you towards her front door. The way she moves is confident, like she’s done this a thousand times, and it sends a thrill of excitement straight to your core. You stumble slightly, half from the urgency, half from the anticipation buzzing through your veins, but she doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath.

Rio unlocks the door with swift precision, shoving it open and tugging you inside. The moment you cross the threshold, she’s on you again, pinning you against the closed door with her body, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your hip.

“Do you need me to do everything for you?” she murmurs, her voice full of mockery as she tilts your chin up with a single finger. There’s a taunting gleam in her eyes, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you, and it’s infuriatingly effective.

You try to muster a cocky retort, smirking up at her. “Maybe I just like making you work for it.”

Her laugh is low and dark, vibrating against your skin. “Oh, you think you’re in control here?” She presses her knee between your legs, pinning you firmly in place. The pressure is just enough to make you gasp, your bravado faltering for a split second. “That’s cute,” she purrs, leaning in until her lips are brushing against your lips. “But we both know who’s really calling the shots tonight.”

Before you can react, she captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, her hand threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle. It’s a claiming kiss, like she’s determined to make sure you remember this moment, to imprint herself on your body.

You try to push back to regain some semblance of control, but she’s not having it. She breaks the kiss with a sharp tug of your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. “I don’t think you understand,” she says, her voice a husky whisper as she drags her lips down the column of your neck, nipping at your skin. “You owe me. And I’m going to take exactly what I’m owed.”

You shiver, a whimper slipping past your lips before you can stop it. You hate how easily she turns you on and how she seems to know every spot that makes you melt. “What if I don’t want to pay up?” you manage to taunt, your voice breathy.

Rio’s smile is slow, scheming. “Oh, you will,” she says simply, stepping back and yanking you by the hand, dragging you down the hallway to her bedroom. You barely have time to register the surroundings before she’s pushing you onto the bed, her body hovering over yours, caging you in.

She pauses, looking down at you with a smirk, her eyes dark and half-lidded with desire. “Do you need me to do everything for you?” She repeats, and this time there’s a distinct edge of command in her voice.

You raise an eyebrow, refusing to look away. “Maybe I do.”

She chuckles, the sound low and almost dangerous. “Fine,” she breathes, leaning down to kiss you again, softer this time but no less intense. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Her hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, stripping you bare with a skill and efficiency that leaves you breathless. Every touch feels like it’s setting you on fire, the anticipation building to a fever as she takes her time, teasing, testing your limits. When you try to touch her, she grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with a single hand.

“Ah, ah,” she chimes, her grin sharp. “You said you needed me to do everything for you. So keep your hands to yourself, and let me take care of you.”

You want to argue, to push back, but the look in her eyes makes you hesitate. There’s a thrill in giving in, in letting her take control, and you realise with a pulse of excitement that you want this—want to see what she’ll do when she’s given free rein.

Rio doesn’t waste any time. Her mouth is on your skin, lips and teeth and tongue, exploring every inch of you. She’s relentless, drawing out sounds from you that you didn’t even know you could make. When her hand slips between your thighs, you arch into her touch, a moan slipping out before you can stop it.

“Already?” she teases, her fingers teasing along your inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where you want her most. “You talk a big game, but look at you now. So eager, so needy.”

You glare up at her, trying to muster a retort, but it comes out as a whine instead when she finally touches you where you need it most, her fingers sliding against your slick heat. She smirks down at you, clearly enjoying the way you react, your back arching off the bed, your hips bucking into her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, her voice soft but edged with dominance. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? You’re going to give me everything I want.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan. “Maybe,” you say, aiming for defiance but sounding breathless instead.

Her smirk widens. “Maybe?” she repeats, leaning down until her mouth is at your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “That’s not good enough.”

With a sudden, purposeful movement, she shifts, sliding two fingers inside you, her thumb pressing against your most sensitive spot. You cry out, your hands instinctively trying to reach for her, but she tightens her grip on your wrists, keeping you pinned down.

“Say it,” she commands, her voice low and insistent. “Say you’ll be good for me.”

You struggle for a moment, clinging to the last shred of your pride, but when she curls her fingers just right, the pleasure shoots through you like a lightning bolt, and you break.

“I’ll be good,” you gasp, your voice almost a sob. “I’ll be good for you, Rio.”

She hums in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your mouth. “Good,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a smile against your skin. “Now let me show you what it means to really owe me.”

Once again, you are gaping at the woman before you, and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your moans are gradually growing louder and more unhinged with each stroke of Rio’s fingers, and you’re about to cum when she pulls away completely.

You whine at the loss of touch, but this only spurs Rio on more. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” she asks, now running her hands up and down your sides. “I’m going to undress for you now, and you need to look at me the whole time, okay?”

You’re not sure if you should answer. Not sure if you can answer. The questions seem rhetorical, but you’re so eager to get her touch back that you nod enthusiastically, hoping it’s the right thing to do.

Rio chuckles softly at your desperation and starts to strip. It’s slow and deliberate. She starts by shimmying her shorts down, kicking them into the corner with a flick of her foot. Next she peels off her top, crossing her arms at the hem and pulling it over her head slowly. Very slowly. The action pushes Rio’s tits together, drawing your eyes to her cleavage. It’s all too much, and you bring your hand down and start to touch yourself, your eyes fluttering shut. Feeling your wetness on your fingers for the first time, you let out a soft pathetic whimper.

Big mistake. Rio is on you in an instant, tugging your hand away and securing your wrists to the bed frame with ropes you had failed to notice until now.

“If you can’t behave, I will make you behave.” Rio snapped, her voice wasn’t malicious, no, instead, it almost came out as a moan and you realised just how turned on she was.

Disappearing into her closet briefly, she quickly returns, holding something behind her back and an innocent smile plastered across her face, but her eyes hid something more dangerous. “Shut your eyes,” she demanded. “Now.”

You obliged and then felt as the mattress dipped with her weight. You could feel her straddling your waist, gently lifting your head to put something over your eyes.

“Since you clearly didn’t want to watch,” she clarified, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You strain your ears trying to get some sort of idea of what was going on but you cannot make out any distinct noise. That’s when you feel her start to caress your legs again, trailing light, teasing kisses right up to your core.

She was kneeling between your thighs when you felt the tip of something cold and hard push in to your entrance.

“Fffuuuuccckkkk,” you moan, drawing out the word as Rio’s strap fills you completely.

Her movements are slow at first, easing you in to it. “You’re being so good for me, darling,” she coos. “Taking me so well.” Then her pace starts picking up, thrusting in to you harder each time.

It’s a relentless pleasure, and you can feel yourself barrelling towards an orgasm. Rio must sense it too as she grasps her hand around your throat, giving it a light squeeze. “Ask for it.”

“Pl-please. Please Rio. I need to cum,” you try your hardest to get your words out between moans, unsure if you could actually stop yourself from climaxing if she denies your pleas.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to find out as Rio hums her agreement, tilting your hips to reach another angle. “Good girl. Cum for me, I want to watch your beautiful face as you cum,” you hear her gasp out, clearly working herself up as well.

You climax with a flurry of moans and gasps, arching further into Rio. The woman fucking you shows no sign of stopping, drawing out the pleasure. You feel her leaning over to her nightstand, picking something up with a grunt, when the stap rubs just right against her clit. Just as you start to wonder what an earth she had picked up, you hear a faint click, and suddenly the strap starts vibrating inside you.

This time it’s both of you moaning and gasping with each thrust as Rio guides you through another orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck,” Rio is panting. “Fuck, baby, I’m cumming.” Rio collapses into you, breathing hard. She stays there for a while before slowly pulling out and removing the blindfold, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

She ducks into her bathroom, grabbing a cloth to clean you up. Her touches are gentle and soothing. “You did so good, sweetheart.” Rio’s voice is soft as she lies down next to you, scooping you into her arms.

You look up at her, blinking slowly, the adrenaline draining out of you. “That was not what I had in mind when I said I owe you one,” you sigh, coming to rest your head on her chest.

“Oh yeah?” One of Rio’s hands comes up to play with your hair, the other stroking up and down your arm. “And what were you thinking of, hmm?” She whispers softly. “Because your staring was definitely not subtle.”

All you can do is huff out a small laugh, her hands coaxing you into an easy sleep. With another kiss to the top of your head, Rio wishes you a good night and holds you as you drift off peacefully.

remember to like/reblog if you enjoyed :)

#agatha all along #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #rio vidal smut #rio vidal fluff #rio x reader smut #rio vidal x reader smut #rio x reader fluff #agatha all along fanfic #rio vidal fic #rio vidal fanfic #aubrey plaza character #alternate universe #marvel #mcu #rio vidal x you #rio x you

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whatifitis · 2 months ago

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♡ Long May You Roar - LN 4 ♡

Summary: this is based off this request! P makes sure to see Lando before the final race and wants to give him a lucky sticker. You think about a life with Lando and what a family with him would be like.

Author's Note: I didn't think it would end up so short but i really tried my best 😭

WC: 882

CW: fluff, Lando and P being besties

“Lando! Lando!” you heard coming from a few feet away. You turned to see P running up to Lando with a sheet of stickers in hand.

You were hanging out with Lando’s mom in the Mclaren hospitality and were standing outside and chatting with Lando before he had to get to the car.

“P! What ya doin?” Lando greets her.

The girl is smiley as she starts to converse with Lan. You watch as the two interact, the girl's mom standing behind a pillar nearby and resting a hand on her belly.

You watch as P asks Lando to bend down to her level so she could whisper something, “Do you want a sticker? They’re lucky.” the girl beams.

“Lucky stickers?! Are they real? I thought they were super rare. How’d you get a hold of them?”

“Magic.” she giggled.

“Oh, well then I must have one then, yeah? So that I can beat Maxie today?”

“Well, not that much luck.”

“Ah, well then.” Lando couldn’t help but laugh a bit. No matter how much she loved Lando, P was very loyal to Max.

“Which sticker would you like?” P asked Lando, displaying the sticker sheet in front of him so he could get a decent view of them.

Lan takes a moment to really think about it and scan the remaining sticker on the sheet before making the final decision, “I would like this one, please.” he said, pointing to the design of a redbull can.

“No, you can’t have that one. You can have this one.” P says as she peels a long sticker off the sheet. It was a design of one of the red bull cars, maybe Lando could use it as motivation to beat them and win the constructors. God knew they needed a bit of magic, from a red bull sticker.

“Yeah, sure. I like that one too, I guess.” Lando dramatically sighs.

“Dramatic. Where do you want the sticker?” P asks, looking up at Lando.

“Hmm, why don’t we put it right here over my wrist. That way it’s easy for me to see.”

P puts all her focus in putting the sticker on Lando’s wrist carefully and precisely.

When she was pleased with the placement of the sticker, she took a step back and smiled at her work. Lando looked at the sticker and gave P a high-five, “Way to go tiger. Long may you roar.”

But, of course, he couldn’t leave before P could get her hug from him. She immediately ran into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Lando was one of Penelope’s favorite people and it showed. She was always excited to see him and hangout with him. She even cheered him on during races from time to time.

While P and Lando hugged, Lando’s mom went in to hug him as well but it seemed as if the little girl wanted to be the last one to get a Lando hug before he set off. She subtly tried pushing his mom away with her foot which was quite cute and funny. P really did enjoy having Lando around. The two had sort of watched each other grow and Lando was always a constant figure in her life.

Watching him with P and other kids sort of settled a debate that you’d had with yourself in your head. When you and Lando had started dating, you talked about potentially having kids in the future. You both wanted to have that conversation early on so that it wouldn’t become a problem later down the line.

You were both pleased when you learned that neither of you had a set decision on whether you wanted kids in the future or not. It was sort of in the middle, you wouldn’t mind having kids, but it wasn’t something you’d always imagined or dreamed of. If it came down to it, you wouldn’t mind having kids or not having them.

It was also a matter of who it was with. You both wanted to have kids with the right person. And now, after all this time, you think if you were to have kids with anyone, it would be Lan. You wouldn’t want to have a family with anyone else.

You knew you wanted all of it with him. Watching dragonflies fly above your heads, having favorite spots on swing sets. There was never any room for regrets in your dreams and now you know that Lando is a part of all your dreams, and that you would never regret anything with him.

The time will arrive for settling down and having a family with him, but for now, the both of you will learn to grow and be curious about life.

Before Lando started his trek to the garage, he went to you to give you a quick hug and kiss. He smiled at you, eyes twinkling in the shining sun. Nowadays, it’s not often you see him this happy.

“You look happy.” you tell him.

“I got a sticker from P. That’s like the biggest approval you can get from a kid, ya know.” he joked, “Alright, I really have to go now. I’ll see you after.”

He kisses you one more time before running off, wilder and lighter than before.

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mv1simp · 6 months ago

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Earned It ♥️

Max Verstappen x Wife! Reader

cause girl you’re perfect, you’re always worth it (I see nobody, nobody but you)

PART TWO HERE ♥️

The story of how you met your husband, Max Verstappen, is a fan favourite. A classic rags to riches Cinderella story - well, in this case, a working class med student with an outrageous loan meets F1 multimillionaire. For years, you two dodge the questions of having kids, due to your busy careers. But lately, your husband can’t stop thinking about a 3rd addition to your family…and no, he didn’t mean another cat.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, fluff, humour, pregnancy, angst but happy ending, very brief description of sexual harassment (not from Max obviously), simp!Max, brat! reader, smut, size kink, breeding kink (very versatile from me for once), 5.7k WC

Guys, seriously, we’ve talked about this behaviour, you need to be tidier. You look up from your comfortable position on the couch, where you’re typing away one of your research projects, to see your darling husband gently scolding your three pets. You muffle your laughter with your hand, 20karat diamond ring glinting, admiring his toned build as he stands with his hands on his slim hips, reprimanding the two cats - Sassy and Jimmy - and labrador Arlo about the mess they’d made on the patio. Hearing your giggles as you fail to contain yourself, Max turns around, grinning at the pretty sound. All done, schat? Want to go out for some lunch?

You hmm in agreement, standing up to stretch and walking over to him with a cheeky expression. But first I need you to explain just what you’re doing here. You know they can’t understand you right, babe?

Max immediately tells your three so called “kids” to ignore your blasphemous words, making you giggle again at what a dork your husband was. No one would ever guess how sweet and domestic he was with you, compared to the ferocious lion he was when terrorising his rivals on the track. It is a very serious matter, schat, Max says indignantly. You’d let them get away with murder. I’m the only one who upholds any discipline in this household.

You stand on your tippy toes to kiss him lovingly on the cheek to appease him, batting your eyelashes innocently as you say sorry, baby, shall I make it up to you? and any annoyance Max had slips away as he pulls your petite frame against his much larger one to press a kiss to your lips instead. You two had been married for almost two years now, and dating for six before that, but you simply can’t get enough of each other - even now, as your innocent kiss deepens into a steamy make out session that has you panting and grinding against your husband’s thick thighs as he squeezes your plush ass with his large hands. You’re just about to ask him to carry you to the bedroom when your on-call phone rings, signalling an emergency at the hospital. Sorry, baby you say, apologising genuinely this time with a guilty look. I have to get this, go ahead and eat and I’ll make us some dinner when I’m back, ok?

Max reassures you that you have nothing to worry about, and that he’d make dinner of course, you’re going to be tired after sorting out an emergency. Your heart swells at how thoughtful he is of you and your busy career. You give him one last quick kiss before speeding out the door, scrubs on and barking orders over the phone already.

Admittedly, it hadn’t always been like this. When you had started dating, Max had been the considerably busier one - at the peak of his racing career and collecting multiple world championships as if it were child’s play. And the way you met was a classic dinner party story - F1 driver crashes his Ferrari into studious med student. It was hotly debated as to whether the fault lay with him for illegally going 80 in a 40 zone, or with you for walking with your nose buried in a textbook. Regardless, his insane reflexes had slammed on the brakes just in the nick of time to stop any real damage happening, but your textbook had gone flying in the air and straight on top of a passing truck, disappearing for good. You’d been devastated by the loss of it, more concerned with your upcoming final exam rather than any bodily harm, and as Max sprinted out from his car to worriedly ask if you were okay you’d whirled around angrily.

He was immediately struck with your natural beauty, with your pretty caramel skin and full lips and dark curls. Then he realized you were furiously pointing a finger at him and roasting his driving skills. Watch were you’re going! God, what is it with you boy racers speeding through the tiny side streets?

What?! Boy racer? Oh, Max was not going to let this grave insult slide, yelling back that he was a World-class driver, thank you, and you were the one who needs to watch where you’re going cause who reads and walks, that’s just dumb-

You cut him off, demanding to know who he worked for. Uber? Lyft? Monaco Taxi Incorporated? I’ll be sure to leave a scathing Google review, you said hotly.

Max had now realized you had absolutely no clue who he was, so basically he just looked like a complete dickhead - including to all the passerbys who gawked at the incriminating scene of the 6 foot Dutchman childishly arguing with a 5 foot, pouting girl. Deflating, he offers you his insurance information but you rolled your eyes and walked off, muttering about the goddamn Monaco elite in their Ferrari taxis.

He’d forgotten all about you until 6 months later, when he and Lando end up in the emergency department after a padel game gone wrong, only to find you pulling back the curtain - looking for Max, wait, Uber driver Max?! You’d narrowed your gorgeous doe eyes at him, then demanded to know if he was here cause he’d gotten in another hit and run. It was not a hit and run, that is an incredibly misleading statement, Max hissed, ignoring Lando’s goggle eyed stare, cause why on earth was his mate arguing with the pretty doctor who thought he drove for Uber and not F1 World Cup winning team Redbull-

The third time you had run into each other, at a charity ball where both your employers were sponsors, Max was convinced it was fate. Either that, or you were a crazy stalker. But he was, like, 98% sure it was fate as he felt his heart race at the sight of you in a fitted red silk dress and gold stilettos, your short frame still not even brushing his chin. This time round, you knew who he really was, and had an embarrassed flush on your pretty face as you said you know, you could have corrected me, it was a very awkward lunchbreak that day when the nurses starting asking if I’d gotten your signature.

He laughed, finding you adorable, and held out his hand for you to shake, grinning Let’s start over then, shall we? You’d easily returned the gesture, an undeniable spark running up both your arms as you touched. And a few months later, at the exact street where you first met, he pulled out a copy of your missing textbook that you excitedly took, laughing that he remembered only to gasp as you open it to see his messy scrawl - Thanks for not suing me, want to be my girlfriend instead of my victim? And the rest had been history, with you two now blissfully married years later.

Sure, you had your fair share of ups and downs, just like any couple did. Before your marriage, Max’s busy career meant that he was away more often than not, and although it helped that you had a busy life yourself, he knew you missed having him there at home after a long day or by your side at friends’ weddings where you’d have to attend solo. But you never complained, never asked for more because you understood that at this time of his life, his career would be first priority, and always supported him with diligently made meal preps, looking after his cats when he went away, and late night debriefs after arguments with his demanding father, your soothing voice helping calm down the burning anger in his chest.

And although you couldn’t attend every race like the other WAGs, you’d always do your very best to make it. He still grins when he remembers his last Monaco race, where you’d gotten held up in emergency surgery and had sprinted straight to the track, not having time to change into the Chanel outfit you’d sweetly picked out the night before (from a very large pile Max had generously insisted you fund with his black Amex). You’d made it just in time to see him cross the line in P1, and the pictures of you happily crying for his win as you jumped into his arms, still in your scrubs, long curls flying as he whirled you around went absolutely viral on social media. He was glad for it too, because you received so much online hate for not always being dressed like a model and by his side at every event - and knew that deep down, you felt guilty about it, even though it was such an unfair double standard. So he’d framed that famous shot of you and hung it in the entryway, so it would be the first thing everyone would see when they walk in, and understand why Max’s heart swelled with pure love and adoration whenever he looked at you.

So when he had gotten his fill with his eight - eight! - world championships and wanted to spend his Sunday mornings waking you up with his skilled tongue in between your soft thighs instead of on a racing track halfway across the world, he had promptly quit F1 - to the outrage of his father and thousands of fans - and stepped back to coach his own team instead. It was quite an accomplishment, you had thought amusedly when reading the headlines that year, to be known as the woman who had "seduced Max Verstappen to retire and become her trophy husband". Of course, Max stood for none of the media circus, retaining his infamous status as Mad Max when he openly shut down that storyline in a media statement that had blown up, making it clear that this had always been his plan and he would not be tolerating any slander of his beautiful wife whom he loved very much - who, by the way, was now the associate head of the emergency department, had they heard?

As time passed the fans eventually relaxed and enjoyed the new talent that came on, with your husband still a common figure on the paddock as coach. He'd had more time these past two years to look after you now - cooking your favourite meals and meeting you on the hospital rooftop for lunch and making all the nurses blush at how romantic your husband was, picking you up from a late shift in his Ferrari, taking you jewellery shopping in Paris one weekend then stiletto shopping in Milan the next with all your bags in his hands and his Amex in yours, and listening attentively in the living room as you practised your powerpoints on Intracranial Haemorrhage: Do early CAT scans change mortality rates? Your personal favourite gift, though, had to be when he'd brought home a 2 month old golden labrador as your birthday present. You'd always wanted a dog but had never had time for one on top of his two cats - but now, with Max home more often, he was able to look after all 3 of your kids, as you both affectionately referred to them.

And speaking of kids - the topic was something that had increasingly come up over the family events and meetups with friends you two went to. Of course, when it had first been asked, the two of you had dismissed it given there was simply no time with your careers. You religiously used contraception - with you on the pill and Max using condoms everytime. At one point, though, you both realised you rather enjoyed doing it raw - when the condom had broken after a particular rough session post 6th WDC win. Max still remembered your blushing face as he came down from what had been one of the most intense orgasms of his life, already addicted to the feeling of spilling inside you. You had bit your lip, shyly saying you know Maxie, the pill is 99% effective, I don't think we need to use condoms anymore-

He'd cut you off with a pleased growl, sealing his lips back onto yours for Round 2 as the thought of getting to fill you up every night sent all the blood rushing to his cock. Safe to say, there hadn't been a box of condoms in your home for a very long time. But as time passed after your marriage, Max started to feel an unfamiliar desire simmer in his gut everytime he saw you playing with his nieces and nephews, or when he would be showing Daniel's toddler how to operate a racekart, or when he’d finish inside you, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure, and wonder what would happen if you weren’t on the pill. He avoided saying anything as your answer to the kids? question at Family Xmas was still not right now.

But lately he hadn't been able to deny the aching yearn he felt any longer, and especially not when you two had been celebrating Charles' and Alex's pregnancy announcement on their yacht last weekend. You'd looked so happy for the couple, congratulating Alex on her glow and admiring the ultrasound pictures but all Max could think about was how amazing he was sure you'd look carrying his child, how he wanted to have your baby scans on the fridge door and argue over names, how he was sure you would be the most amazing mother to his kids and he couldn’t have picked a better wife. He must have been looking quite jealously at the scene because Charles comes upto him, greeting him with a Hey, mate and a knowing smirk. Max grunts, sipping his G&T, then realises he might be acting in a way you would refer to as "dickhead behaviour", so he also throws in a gruff congratulations.

Charles' is not having it though, having recognised the intensity which Max was staring you down with. You know, he starts, prompting Max out of his one-way thoughts, You could always try bringing it up directly with her instead of expecting her to read your mind, hmm? Max glanced at him side ways. Already practising your fatherly advice? He joked, diffusing the tension, before the conversation moved onto how the new young F1 drivers just didn’t appreciate a good wheel to wheel battle like back in their karting days.

Charles' words stuck with him throughout the week, and one night as you both settled down for bed, he decided it was time to ask. Schatje? he begun, watching you from his position in the bed as you brushed out your damp curls in the mirror, dressed in a cute silk nightie. You hmmed at him, slightly distracted by a tangle in your hair but prompting him to continue. You know, I was, well -whatdoyouthinkaboutgettingpregnant?

You frowned slightly, still distracted by the tangle in your hair. Who, Alex and Charles? I think it's great, they've wanted kids for a while now, right?

Max takes a deep breath, tells himself to stop being a pussy, and walks over to you, taking the comb away as he brushes out the tangle himself. You look at him curiously as he tilts your head up with his large palm, brushing your cheek lovingly as his ice blue eyes meet yours. No, shcat he murmurs gently. I mean us, getting pregnant, having a baby. How do you feel about that?

Your jaw drops open at his words as your brain temporarily stopped working. You feel your face blush from the thought of your husband getting you pregnant. As hot as it sounded, out of all the things, you hadn't expected him to say that. You realise your surprised silence was making Max freak out, the telltale sign of a crinkle between his brows. You scramble to come up with a response, stuttering that Oh, sorry, I hadn't really thought about it, I guess and that we'd both been busy with work for so long it kind of...slipped my mind?

But what do you think, liefje, your husband pressed, hopeful. Do you want to try? You honestly weren't sure, this was all so sudden and you needed a bit more time to process it - but when you told Max this you didn't miss the hurt look that flashes across his face as his insecurities rise up. He asked if the problem was that you didn't want to have kids with him, because how could you possibly not have thought about it, all our friends and family constantly bring it up all the time-

I don't know! you'd responded defensively, arms crossed. We'd been focusing on your racing for so long that I just stopped thinking about stuff like that. The argument had spiralled out of control quickly, Max demanding to know when you were going to stop holding that over him, and when you wanted to think about it then, you two weren't any younger, after all - prompting you to angrily accuse him of always putting his job above yours, because now that he had his fill he was ready to start a family but what about your career?!

You hadn’t been able to stop the tears that dripped down your face as the argument escalated into a full blown fight. Max had sighed seeing that, deflating and saying you should both head to bed for now. You’d lain next to him, feeling so cold without his usual warm bicep pulling you against him, trying to hold back more tears before you drifted into a fitful sleep. Max hadn’t been any better either, only falling asleep in the early hours of the morning and when he woke up, you were already gone. He’d started trying to look for you but then remembered you had a conference in London today you’d had to fly out for - you wouldn’t be back for a week, he reads on the note you’d left on the fridge.

Fuck, it had been a bad night to have such an ugly fight considering you two had left so much unresolved. Later, when he’s visiting his sister’s for dinner and watching her kids with the same burning want in his heart, his mother corners him and demands to know why he had shown up looking like a kicked puppy. Your wife’s been gone one day and you’re already so hopeless? She’d joked, but clearly had a concerned look in her eyes. He couldn’t stop himself then, opening up about the horrible fight. He feels terrible that you had ended up crying, but still can’t help feel that you were being purposely selfish, he explains, after all, we’d be raising the baby together, she can still have her career, no?

His mother had been silent for a while, taking it all in, before she gently reminded Max about how she, too, had been in the peak of her very successful karting career when Jos had gotten her pregnant. Your wife isn’t me, and you certainly are not your father, she said firmly. But she’s scared, Max, it’s not personal. She’s scared she could lose everything she’s spent years building while you get to have it all. It isn’t as easy for a mother to put her career on hold as it is for a father. Even if he’s as loving and caring as you will be, she reassures.

Max looked troubled, then, as your responses last night now started to make sense. God, he was such a terrible husband, how had he not considered that before? Sensing her son’s brain was running at 100 miles a minute, the older woman lays a soothing hand on his shoulder. Just give her some space, Max. Let her come to you. You two will work through this.

So he gives you the space, and 6 days later he’s standing at the arrivals area of the airport, stonily looking out the window at the planes landing but internally fighting a storm of emotions. You two had never had these many days of no contact in your whole marriage, and he’d said some vicious things that night, and what if in the time away you had decided you would be better off without him? His jaw clenched at the idea of losing you. God, maybe he shouldn’t have given you space but spammed your phone, begging for forgiveness. Why was marriage so much more confusing than driving a car at 200kmph?

Suddenly, he hears the click of your familiar YSL heels walking up to him and he turns frantically to see your petite figure come to a stop a few feet away. Your face looks just as troubled as his, but as soon as your eyes meet you can’t control yourself and run forward to jump into his arms. Max welcomes you eagerly, all his tension releasing as he hugs you tightly, broad arms easily lifting you up and pressing his face into your neck to breathe in your perfume. You’re rapidly saying something about how you were so sorry, you had overreacted - You don’t have to apologise for anything, liefje, Max says fiercely, God, I missed you so, so much. I shouldn’t have brought it up so suddenly. Take all the time you need, okay?

You blink back happy tears, heart so full at your understanding husband as you looked up into his blue eyes adoringly before sharing a loving kiss. Passerbys smiled at the sweet scene you two made. Max took you home, one hand carrying your luggage and the other firmly around your waist, as if he was paranoid you were going to disappear. Again, in the car, his hand stayed glued to your thigh, softly stroking it as you told him about your week in London. And then at home, you had to stop him as he got ready to climb into the shower with you, giggling and saying you were starving, baby, did he want to grab some dinner for you two?

He’d pouted, but then perked up excitedly once you promised you two could go for a swim in the pool after dinner instead. Need anything else while I’m out, schat? He asked, grabbing the Ferrari keys. You hesitated, making him turn around, as you blushed a little and said Would you mind grabbing some condoms, Maxie? I forgot to take my pill to London so I haven’t been on anything for a week…

You search his face for any hint that he’s upset you still needed time, but found none, only a gentle expression on his face as he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. Of course, schatje, he says lovingly before heading out. You watch him go, a devious smirk now on your face. A part of you felt bad for the game that you were planning on playing with your husband later that evening - but, oh well, you had to have some fun in a marriage, right? And your sweet, darling, perfect husband had passed the test with flying colours tonight, showing his dedication to putting your needs first.

The truth was, you’d also reflected on your marriage and its future in London. You’d thought and thought until you could think no more about whether or not it was time to have kids, if you should even have kids, not because you didn’t want them but because you were so worried about how it would derail the career you’d worked so hard to build. And then you’d remembered how Max would spend hours quizzing you for your residency exams, while you were on the toilet or in the kitchen, making sure you got every answer right and you’d passed with full marks.

Or how you knew you loved Max for the first time, when he had stood by your side and steadied you as you shakily reported to your boss about a supervisor who’d developed a nasty habit of feeling you up at work and barring you from surgeries if you said no. Max had stood by you through it all, his large, gentle hands holding your own, a contrast to the thunderous expression on his face at anyone who tried to give you a hard time when you came forward - and he didn’t ease up until the creep had been permanently stripped of his medical license. Even now, when you’d sometimes shiver at the memory, he’d pull you into his safe arms, murmuring how proud he was of you, schat, you were so brave for speaking up.

You thought about how warm you’d felt seeing Max gently rock his nephew in his strong arms, or how impressed you had been seeing how he taught the kids how to drive a kart, or how devoted he was to your marriage and your three pets, always being there to provide for you and support you however you needed him to be - mentally, physically, emotionally. Max really was the best husband to you, and he’d be the best father to your kids. And you knew you had your answer.

So now, after eating your favourite dinner of Italian pasta, expensive red wine and tiramisu for dessert, you got changed into your bikini, a skimpy pink number Max always enjoyed, and slipped on a gold choker with matching anklets, all adorned with the letter M - a custom made Cartier set he’d brought for you on his birthday, as a gift to himself. The box of condoms he’d picked up lays on the bedside table. You smirk at them as you pass by - they won’t be needed much longer. Not that your husband had any clue of that - yet, and you couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when he figured out just how you were going to reward his devotion tonight. Picking up a second bottle of wine, you take a good swig and make your way out to the dark backyard where Max is shirtless, the pool’s neon lights reflecting the water droplets that slide down his large, muscular back. Shit, you had to stay extra focused if he was going to be looking so delectable tonight!

He turns as he hears your anklets tinkle, smirking as he takes in your dolled up appearance, all for him. Coming in, schat? He calls huskily, feeling his cock hardening at the sight of you after a whole maddening week away. Just admiring the view, you say cheekily, taking another swig from the wine and slowly stepping into the pool. You can feel your husband’s hungry gaze sliding up your curvy body, and you shiver, feeling rather like a deer caught in a lion’s trap even though you were the one playing games tonight. You come to a stop in front of him, your head barely reaching his upper chest, giving him a generous view as your tits spilled around the tiny bikini. You sultrily gaze right into his darkening blue eyes as you take yet another sip of the wine, your pink tongue darting out to circle the tip of the bottle in quite the slutty manoeuvre. Missed you, Maxie you say coyly. Especially missed having you inside me.

He growls lowly at your teasing, easily taking the bottle off you and downing the rest before discarding it to the side. You whine as he puts a stop to your antics, pouty lips and large doe eyes staring up at him invitingly. Chuckling, he places a large palm across your ass and lifts you up against him. Your thighs wrap themselves around his toned waist and your hands tangle in his soft hair, gently tugging on the strands just the way he likes it. Now face to face, you tease him further, whispering in his ear about how lonely you’d been while away, how normally you’d call him and have him talk you through an orgasm, and how your tiny fingers hadn’t been able to make you cum all week because you needed his thick ones to stretch you open.

Fuckkk, schat, Max breathes, feeling his cock grow impossibly hard, his blue eyes completely darkened by lust. I missed that filthy little mouth of yours so much. He glides his thumb along your pink lips and you part them easily, taking him in and swirling your tongue around him. He can’t hold himself back any longer, pulling you in and replacing his thumb with his tongue. You moan into the dirty kiss, running your hands along his muscular shoulders, addicted to the feeling of his strong, thick biceps caging you against him. Your bikini strings are deftly untied as he practically rips it off of you, breaking the kiss to lean you back and suck on your pretty nipples. You squeal as he gently bites down, murmuring maybe you shouldn’t have been such a cocktease, schat.

You’re now grinding your pussy against his abs, begging him for more, please, Maxie and asking him to take you to bed. He smirks at how easily you fall apart under his tongue, squeezing your ass as he carries you inside, always giving you what you wanted like the devoted husband he is. You two have no regard for the sheets as you drip water all over them, foreplay long forgotten as your bikini bottoms are yanked off, followed by his trunks. You’d honestly forgotten about the damn condoms by this point but Max hadn’t, hurriedly ripping open a packet with his teeth as you whine at him to hurry up, Maxie, I can’t take it- Oh!

You moan blissfully as he buries himself inside you. Feels like coming home everytime, schat, he breathes out as he holds his position for a few beats before he starts thrusting into you. Holy shit, that felt sooo good. You didn’t think you were going to last very long at all - putting a time limit on your plan. You let him get a few more thrusts in you before you start begging again, this time asking Maxie, wait, can-can we please take the condom off?

He looks down at you in surprise, saying you hadn’t been on the pill this week schat, it’ll be risky-

Oh, your darling husband still hadn’t caught on to your suprise, and as you whine that it’s okay, you can just pull out, right Maxie? you almost giggle from the strained expression on his face as he considers that feat of self restraint. But he wasn’t going to say no to you, not when you were below him with your lush dark curls spread around you and looking up at him so adoringly, so he reaches down and pulls the condom off and sinks back inside you.

Shit. He swears at the vice grip you have his cock in, one hand automatically going to grasp the headboard to try and maintain some control and ground himself. But you’re begging for more and it feels so good to be back inside you, raw, feeling your slick heat up on his thick cock that his thrusts start getting sloppier. He’s panting above you, both hands now gripping the headboard to hold himself back from the urge to cum inside you.

Your devilish eyes don’t miss this, and you grab his thick wrists to pull them down so his hands rest on your bouncing tits, begging him to play with them, please. Oh, shit, he feels his orgasm quickly approaching from your positively filthy demands tonight. But as he starts to pull back you wrap your legs around him tightly, keeping him in place as you make your final demand - Noo, Maxie, don’t pull out, you can come inside me, it’s ok-

Perplexed, knowing he can break your grip around him in half a second, your husband is now very confused as he points out with gritted teeth that no condom and no pill and no pulling out meant-Yes, yes, I know! You whine impatiently. I want it Maxie, I’m ready now, come inside, I want to get pregnant!

Max pauses above you, this time being the one to have his brain function temporarily suspended as he slowly figures out just what you’re saying. Are you sure, schat-

You roll your eyes, sinking yourself down onto his cock, making him moan, and hoping he gets the message. Oh, I’m definitely sure, dear husband, you say sultrily. Now, are you going to fuck a baby into me or what?

He finally clicks, his confused gaze now morphing into pure joy as he grins down at you, and you can’t help but grin back, the two of you finally ready to progress into the next step of your marriage together. He pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, catching you off guard. You know I love you right, schat? He murmurs, and you nod, confused where he was taking this. Good, cause I’m about to fuck you like I hate you. That was a dirty game you played, yeah? Edging me all night when you were gonna let me fuck you raw all along. Gonna have to punish you real good for that. He growls darkly, his large hand coming to squeeze your throat, making you gasp in delight.

Oh, you loved when Mad Max came out to play. Your legs are tossed over his shoulders and then pressed all the way back against your soft tummy, into a mating press. The unfamiliar position has you screaming in pleasure, your anklets dangling by your face as he thrusts his way back into you. Your husband chuckles wickedly at your reaction, pumping into you deeply and making the headboard bang against the wall each time.

And true to his word, he punishes you thoroughly, not stopping despite your overstimulated pleas as you repeatedly orgasm, instead cumming inside you over and over and over again, leaving you obscenely full with his thick load.

And when you finally pass out into blissful darkness, he meanly fucks you awake again, demanding that you take another round from him like the good little wife you are, aren’t you, so obedient for me, hmm? Gonna fuck you stupid until you’re finally pregnant with my kids, like you always should have been.

Safe to say, you didn’t get much sleep that night, or for many nights after 💖

—————————————————————————

UPDATE: PART TWO out now!!

A/N: damn this is a whole ass essay. I love simp husband max so much tho I couldn’t help it 🥺might make a part 2 about the pregnancy and protective max hehe if people like this! Lmk what you think 🫶🫶

#max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x oc #f1 x reader #fluff #18+ mdni #f1 smut #smut #mv1 #mv33 #formula 1

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nonranghaes · 1 month ago

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heads up: reader wears glasses and can't see SHIT.

joshua prides himself on being a gentleman to you. he's always been respectful of your boundaries, he's careful with his words when he knows you're having a rough time, and he always walks you to your door after every date just to make sure you get inside safely. he's a gentleman, even though you've heard his witty comments and seen how playful he can be... and heard from his friends about the pranks he's pulled on them. a gentleman with a sense of humor, you'll say.

so when he pulls out the chair next to you while you're doing graduate school work, already smiling like he has a plan, you don't know what to expect. you glance up at him over the rims of your glasses, giving him a little smile and a 'hey,' before you go back to your work.

"may i?"

again, you look up, curious of the vague request. he reaches forward, fingers careful as they come to the sides of your glasses. he's just as careful when he slowly pulls them off, mindful to not accidentally poke you in the eye in the process before he turns them around and puts them on. "how do i--"

and then he stops. he squints at you. you fight back a smile as you watch him, eternally thankful that he's sitting close enough that you can see the horror on his face (albeit a little blurry--there's a reason why you have to hold things so close to your face if you misplace your glasses, after all).

"oh my god," his voice is softer now, and he blinks at you a few times, "how do you see anything?"

you close your textbook. you can finish these notes later: you wouldn't have invited him to join you if you couldn't. "well," you rest your head in your hand, "i wear glasses for that."

joshua doesn't take them off yet. he slides them down his nose a little so that he can look at you, and he's a little too cute when he does it. "yeah," he's smiling, a tinge of laughter coloring his voice, "you look cute in them." he licks his lips a little as he quickly debates whether he should go through with the initial plan. "... do i?"

"eh." you don't bother fighting back your smile. "they're not your style."

"what, so i'm not a sexy librarian?" he grins as he leans in, his fingers under your chin to draw you in a little, "or, i don't know--a hot professor? i think i could pull it off."

you just close the distance between the two of you for a quick kiss. "ask me when i can actually see you again."

the mischievous glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely will. but he keeps your glasses for a moment longer, just long enough to take a picture with you. you pretend not to notice when it becomes his new lockscreen later.

#nonranghaes.thoughts #seventeen x reader #nonranghaes.svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen x you #svt imagine #svt x you #joshua hong x reader #joshua x reader #joshua fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #joshua hong x you

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ayyy-pee · 7 months ago

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𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕀𝕥 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Tomioka Giyuu x Female Reader

Summary: Will he survive this war?

Will you be alright without him?

Will you be lonely if he never returns?

And arguably, the most important question – will his line end with him?

The clock is ticking and who knows if he will ever make it back to you.

He’d never given much thought to children, but Giyuu had also never given much thought to marriage before he’d met you.

Giyuu and reader get to work on making a baby.

Story Warning: BREEDING KINK GIYUU, LACTATION KINK GIYUU, Smut, Giyu and reader are secretly married, P in V sex, Profanity like yall should know, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Giyuu is a munch, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Creampies, Mating Press, Freaky ass Giyuu fr

Art by: michi_ia (Twitter)

A/N: This was a request from one of my amazing readers! This one shot takes place in the same universe as Hidden Affairs (Sanemi x Reader fic!) They can both be read as standalones as they involve different readers! Hope you enjoy!

It’s eerily quiet tonight. Just as it’s been for the past several weeks. A storm is brewing, slowly but surely. Giyuu feels it, they all feel it. It’s like a simmer just under the surface, waiting to boil over at any moment. That’s why all of them were called to Ubuyashiki mansion. The plan has been set in motion and Giyuu knows what his role now is.

But will he make it back alive?

That’s the question that plagues his mind at this very second as he approaches his home. He can see the dim candle lighting illuminating the space through the windows and he knows he won’t be alone once he’s inside. No, he’ll be able to see you. And it’s all he’s been looking forward to since he stepped foot on the mansion grounds.

“I’m home,” Giyuu murmurs as he slips out of his haori. He lays it carefully on the table beside the front door.

“Welcome back, my love,” your voice floats through the air like a song, calling him to you. You’re in the bedroom and when Giyuu enters, he sees you’re already snuggled into the futon on the tatami, clearly ready for bed. “How was the meeting?”

Giyuu sighs, crossing the space and falling to his knees at your bedside. He leans forward and kisses you softly, reveling in the way that you, as always, can melt away his worries with just your skin on his. “It’s…” He debates on telling you the truth. That it’s not looking good. That he and the other Hashira, the Master, are all in imminent danger and that it’s likely to come soon. But as he watches you, so sweet and caring, he knows he can’t lie to you. “I’ll have to leave…to be close. He will come soon.”

He, being Muzan. Though Giyuu doesn’t dare speak his name in his home.

“I see…”

You recover quickly, but Giyuu has already seen it. The sadness and concern that flashes across your features. He feels guilty that he’s the cause.

“And the others?” You question, trying to change the subject. You know Giyuu hates talking about matters like this with you. You dislike it as well. Because he can’t be as honest as he wants to be with you. It’s for your safety and honestly to protect your sanity. It’s enough that you’re fully aware of the position he holds as a Hashira, and yet you insist on staying with him. Not that he could ever let you go. Even though he knows it’s selfish for him to have you, he would rather be a selfish man than be without you.

“Same old, same old. Still a little strange without Uzui, but we are managing.” Giyuu kisses you again before standing. Just as you do every night, you’ve got a bath waiting for him, and he’d like to get in and soak so that he can get back to you before sleep takes you for the night.

“That’s good. Everyone is well?”

“Yes.” He purses his lips as he fiddles with the rest of his garments, debating on whether or not to tell you this. But he thinks you may find this amusing. “Shinazugawa looked as though he was seconds away from ripping my head from my shoulders before the Master appeared.”

He hears your soft giggles behind him. “Were you sitting too close to his lady again?” You tease.

Giyuu shrugs, though you can hardly see the movement. “For Hashira, they are very bad at concealing their secrets. They smell of sex every time they arrive.”

“Yes, but it’s very cute to see. I’m happy she continues to keep our secret even though she has no idea we know hers.”

Ah, yes. Shinazugawa believes Giyuu is interested in his beloved, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. See, what the other Hashira (aside from Shinazugawa’s love) doesn’t know is that Giyuu is married - happily, at that. His colleague only found this out after running into you in town, carelessly dressed in Giyuu’s haori as yours were in the wash. And when she confronted you about the very familiar garb you were wearing, you just “felt that you could trust her with their secret”. It’s worked out for you both so far. It’s made you and Giyuu’s fellow Hashira closer, and Giyuu is simply glad you have a friend who you can confide in. He doesn’t even mind playing the messenger between you two, typically passing along stories and jokes from you to his associate when you’re all called together for a Hashira meeting.

But it’s also placed a large target on his back, a certain white haired psychopath surely waiting for the right moment to shove his blade down Giyuu’s throat.

“He believes I have feelings for her, you know? Almost blurted out their secret in a jealous rage in front of us all.”

“What?!” You gasp, scandalized. “You’re kidding.”

“No. He hates me because of it. It’s quite obvious.”

You hum, mind going a million miles a minute as you mull over this information. “Maybe it’s due to you being so unapproachable and distant. You don’t spend much time with the other Hashira. Perhaps it makes you unlikable.”

Giyuu winces, your words touching a sore spot because this isn’t the first time he’s been told he’s not liked among the Hashira. Kocho once said something similar.

“I’m not unlikable…” he grumbles, lips curling at the corners when he hears your laughter again. You tease him too much. “I’m going to take a bath. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

++++++++++

“Shall we try for a child?”

The question leaves Giyuu’s lips before he can talk himself out of it. He debated on saving this question for the morning as he joined you beneath the blankets, but his bath left him to sit in silence with nothing but his thoughts.

Will he survive this war?

Will you be alright without him?

Will you be lonely if he never returns?

And arguably, the most important question – will his line end with him?

The clock is ticking and who knows if he will ever make it back to you.

He’d never given much thought to children, but Giyuu had also never given much thought to marriage before he’d met you.

The prospect of a child never appealed to Giyuu before, but the closer he gets to this inevitable battle, the more it’s on his mind. If anything were to happen to him, he would not want you to be alone. He would want to leave you with something of his, something that you’ll be able to look at and be reminded of him if worse comes to worse.

“What brings this on?” You ask, more quiet than normal. “I mean you…you’ve never discussed children before.” You roll onto your side, propping your head up on your elbow. The moon casts almost an ethereal glow over you, your beauty clear even in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

He shrugs. “I suppose I’ve never thought about it.” His blue eyes gaze into yours. There’s something there, something behind your eyes that you’re not saying. If it were a no, you would say so. You’ve never been one to mince words. If it were a yes…well, you’d say that as well.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“Yes.” He sits up, pulling you into his lap. His fingers play with the strings that hold your top together, gently tugging. It loosens, exposing your collarbone to him and he can’t resist placing a gentle kiss there. “Wouldn’t you enjoy it?” His lips ghost your skin lightly, and the sigh that rushes past your lips is music to his ears. “Caring for this small person, a perfect mixture of you and I?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, head tilting to the side to make room for Giyuu as his lips explore your neck, your throat, the swell of your breasts. “Yes,” you whisper. The sleeves of your top slip from your shoulders, a new part of you exposed for Giyuu to now claim, and you let him. You let Giyuu do whatever he wants with you when it comes to this. You’re always so pliable as soon as his arms wrap around you.

“I want it,” you breathe, hands pulling Giyuu from your shoulder and cupping his face. You press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Let's have a child.”

Wide eyes beam at you in the moonlight, a look of appreciation swimming in them. How did Giyuu get so lucky to have a wife like you? His hands guide your top down, revealing your smooth skin to the night air. His lips caress your breasts, breaths ghosting over your slowly hardening nipples. He takes one into his mouth, groaning at how the soft flesh fills his mouth. Your body is beautiful — a face that would bring a god to their knees, curves in all the places Giyuu appreciates, a form that molds perfectly to his, made for him and only him.

Giyuu lets his mind wander while his mouth presses sweet kisses to your chest. What will you be like when you’re pregnant? Will you crave for certain foods? He’s heard that that is common. What will you look like when you’re months into your pregnancy? Will Giyuu be there to witness your belly grow round with his child?

Something clicks in Giyuu’s mind at that moment. And while he’s not usually rough with you, he can’t seem to control himself when a guttural moan bubbles from deep within his chest and he wraps an arm around you, flipping you both over. He settles his hips between your legs, rolling his hips against your core, reveling when your back arches off the futon as you moan. And Giyuu dips down, capturing your mouth with his and swallowing each and every sound you make.

It’s all dry humping and moans, whispered “I love you’s” and peeling each other’s clothes off until you both lay bare. Giyuu listens to the way your breath hitches as he kisses his way down your body. His lips brush over all of your sensitive spots on the way down, only stopping when they reach the most sensitive. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths as Giyuu peers up from between your legs. This is one of his favorite views, particularly at night when the soft glow of the moon illuminates your body in such a way that he can’t help but be painfully erect.

Giyuu is a man of very few words. Everyone knows this. Even with you, he is not particularly talkative, but as Giyuu takes in the sight of you, legs spread wide and the puffy lips of your pussy coated with your arousal shimmering in the moonlight, he must let it be known. “You are so beautiful”. He licks his lips, groaning because he is eager to have you, eager to taste you, feel you, breed you.

“Wider, my love,” Giyuu commands, and you do as you're told, spreading your legs to further expose your aching cunt to him. “Perfect,” he whispers, hands coming up to caress the inside of your thighs where he plants tender kisses along the plush flesh. He leans forward, burying his nose into your core and inhaling deeply.

And this may seem odd to those whose jobs don’t revolve around breathing, but there’s something about your scent that has changed. Giyuu can’t place his finger on it. Maybe your scent smells sweeter? Or perhaps your scent is simply more intoxicating because Giyuu has reached a level of arousal that is new to him. But there is without a doubt something different.

He decides not to dwell on it any longer when a desperate and hushed “please” reaches his ears. He realizes then that your thighs are shaking, eager for him to proceed. So he presses a soft kiss to your glossy lips. You gasp quietly, back arching immediately and Giyuu takes that moment to lick a fat strip through your folds.

The groan he lets out is deep, animalistic almost. It vibrates through your core and the sensation makes you reach down, weaving your fingers through Giyuu’s dark tresses to grab hold.

“O-oh, Giyuu…” You gasp as he presses his tongue to your clit, his eyes roll back when he feels the slick pour from your core and straight into his mouth. He laps it up eagerly.

“You taste divine,” he groans into you and you moan in response, hips rolling up to grind your cunt against Giyuu’s mouth, begging for more. And Giyuu obliges, lips sealing around your clit and sucking, licking, nipping at your swollen bud until you’re practically fucking yourself on his tongue.

“Giyuuuuu,” you keen, back lifting off the futon again. You moan loudly, fingers clutching Giyuu’s hair and pulling him further into your pussy. “Right there–” you pant. “Right there! Please don’t stop–”

Giyuu grunts, wincing because his cock is throbbing painfully against his abdomen. He can feel the moisture beneath him, his tip leaking with his arousal. Surely this will stain the fabrics, but that doesn’t matter at the moment. He brings a hand to your pussy, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing tight circles. You’re thrashing, moaning his name over and over, damn near about to pull his hair out when Giyuu plunges his tongue into your clenching hole, and he has to will himself not to cum when you cry out and your soft walls clamp down on his tongue immediately. Your hips come up to meet his mouth, grinding your soaking cunt against Giyuu’s face. And he loves it.

Giyuu loves the taste of you. He’s not much of a drinker, he’ll admit. Never much cared for the taste of liquor and has never experienced being drunk in his life, but he imagines it feels similar to the way his head is swimming just off the taste of you.

By now, the futon is sticky with his precum, and it doesn’t help that Giyuu has now been mindlessly rutting against the fabric to find some sort of friction. He longs to make you cum on his tongue, but he also longs to bury himself inside you. But you make the decision for him, tugging his hair until Giyuu finally pulls his mouth away from your center. He crawls along your body, the echoing sound of his length separating from the stickiness of the bed filling the room.

He’s face to face with you, his lips and chin glistening with your wetness and it takes him by surprise when you run your tongue from the tip of his chin, all the way to his mouth where you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss. He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you murmur against his lips, “how do you plan on putting a baby in me if you don’t fuck me?”

Giyuu thinks that if Muzan doesn’t end up being the death of him, you will be. He puts a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and whispering, “Forgive me, my love. I got carried away.” He slips his free hand between your bodies, a fiery heat blooming in his cheeks when he feels the way his cock is dripping onto your cunt. This is it. There will be no going back once he goes forward with this.

“When I’m done, you’ll be with child,” he says, seriously, as though it’s a fact. Because in his mind, it is. Giyuu grips his length, stroking himself slowly, rubbing his tip against your clit as he lets his mind wander briefly, and lets your moans fuel his runaway thoughts.

His head is consumed with the image of your breasts, swollen and dripping with milk and he has to halt his strokes to stave off the sudden urge to blow his load. He’s a little surprised, actually. Giyuu has seen and rescued his fair share of pregnant women, and didn’t think twice about it. Forgot about them the moment they weren’t in his direct line of sight. But you…you who consumes his every waking thought…the idea of you with leaking nipples, allowing Giyuu to taste the delicious nectar that your body has produced? It’s a thought so arousing, he has to tuck it away mentally, save it for when he’s alone on his missions so that in the late hours of the night, when he’s wrapping his hand around his cock, the image is still fresh.

He’s not sure when he slipped inside of you, let alone flipped you both over again so that he’s now on his back while you ride him. You take him all the way to the tip, moaning loudly every time you sink onto him. The intense waves of pleasure bring time to a standstill. Your nails are sunken deep into Giyuu’s abdomen, steadying yourself as Giyuu’s hips thrust into you at a bruising pace. On a typical night, Giyuu wouldn’t be so rough with you, so greedy with you. But tonight, while his mind is focused on a single goal – ensuring he leaves you with his offspring growing inside your womb – he feels like a crazed man.

Your cries grow louder, more high pitched and your movements stutter momentarily. When you cry out that you’re going to cum, riding him faster and faster, walls fluttering around him, breasts bouncing beautifully, Giyuu’s mind is back on his prior thoughts – dripping, swollen and full…

And then Giyuu is crying out with you, gritting his teeth as he fucks up into you, emptying his balls to the point that he’s lightheaded. His vision blurs as he keeps pumping into you. He hears the squelching, feels the splashing of his seed dripping from you and onto his abdomen, and Giyuu pulls you down to take his entire length again and again until he finally comes to a halt. His hands grip your hips tight, eyes honed in on where you sit flat against him as your sweet pussy cradles his cock.

“Don’t move,” he growls, surprising himself with the gravelly sound that just left his lips. And you nod, whimpering above him. Within your walls, Giyuu can feel his length still pulsing, spurting pathetic, weak strings of his seed. This orgasm has his chest heaving, hands shaking. He grits his teeth, using his hands to rock your hips back and forth.

“You’re going to be an incredible mother,” he coos, finally releasing his hold on you. His fingers ghost along your skin, from your chest, over your nipples, down to your abdomen where he places his hands flat against your stomach. He focuses on fucking you deeply, burying his cock as far as he can, pushing his seed as deep as possible. “Our child will be so lucky.”

“Yes, my love,” you breathe, eyes closed while you continue to take all of him so well. “And you’ll be an amazing father.”

Your words turn him on, more than he’s ever been. He rolls you both over once more and when you’re on your back, Giyuu takes a moment to pull out and admire his work. His eyes are locked on your core, dripping with evidence of him, pulsing and hungry for more. And he’s still so hard. He wants to give you more, needs to give you more. So Giyuu slips back into your pussy easily, the lubrication from the mixture of both your releases making you both shudder.

He’s so fucking sensitive, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when your greedy cunt is still squeezing down on him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pushing forward until a knee rests on either side of your head. And Giyuu thinks he may black out, because he doesn’t know that he’s ever been this deep inside of you before. He can feel his seed spilling from you, slipping down to your ass where his balls are pressed so hard, it keeps the thick liquid from flowing any further.

“One more…” he grits out, brows knitted together in determination. “Need to make sure it sticks.” Then he’s fucking you again, one palm resting on the back of each thigh, balls smacking loudly against your ass with every rough thrust.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” You gasp, fingers gripping the bed sheets tightly, and Giyuu whimpers in response. Your pussy is tightening around him, a vice grip already greedily trying to pull whatever he has left to offer from him.

“I want your baby,” you murmur into Giyuu’s ear and he groans, voice rough with desire. His thrusts pick up speed, searching for more pleasure.

“Do you?” He moans against your shoulder when he feels himself hit a particularly soft spot within your walls. “I’ll give you one. I swear I will –”

“Yes!” You practically scream. “Right there, Giyuu–”

“Fuck –” His eyes are closed, mouth slack as he pumps wildly into you. You’re so wet, so tight, so soft and as much as he wants to keep fucking you like this, he’s about to cum embarrassingly fast for the second time tonight. He can feel his balls get a little tighter with each sticky thrust. “Shall I b– ah…shall I breed you once more? Fill you up…ngh…until you’re dripping with my seed again?”

“Please–”

You hardly have to finish your words, because Giyuu is grunting loudly, bottoming out just as he spills himself into you, giving you every drop he has to offer. “Stay still,” he tells you, still thrusting into you, even though he can go no further. He pulls back once more, then sinks balls deep inside of you, breathing heavily as he empties himself. “Need you to take it all, my love.”

“I will,” you pant, his perfect little wife.

You stay like this for some time, Giyuu plugging your pussy until his cock softens inside you. Then he pulls out slowly when he has no other choice. You sigh in relief when you’re able to finally put your legs down as Giyuu lies beside you. He scoops you into his arms, kissing you all over your face, silent apologies for being so aggressive with you. You’re both catching your breath while Giyuu softly runs his hand up and down your spine.

“I wonder if we’ll be successful.” Giyuu mutters when the silence is too much and his thoughts become so unbearable he has to share them with you.

You wiggle out of his hold, sitting up to look down at him. You’re smiling, a cute and goofy smile that Giyuu only sees when you’re up to something. Or when you have a secret that you’re finding impossible to keep from him. So Giyuu sits up as well, brow raised in curiosity.

“What is it?” He asks suspiciously. His eyes narrow when your smile widens.

“It was successful…” You take Giyuu’s hand and press it to your stomach. “about two months ago.”

Giyuu is confused. His eyes are stuck to where you have his hand. Two months ago? Successful?

You can see the confusion clear as day, even in the darkness. “My love,” Your hand cups his cheek and like instinct, Giyuu leans into the touch. He still hasn’t torn his gaze from your joined hands. “Giyuu…look at me.”

And he does, back rigid as he stares at you with wide eyes. The cogs are turning, finally. He thinks he may have figured it out. But there’s a teasing smirk sitting on your lips, and Giyuu doesn’t know if he should believe you or not.

“A-” He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Are you…?”

You pull Giyuu towards you to place a sweet kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been with child for some time. I just wanted to wait to be certain. I planned on surprising you today, but your meeting ran so late and…” Your hand covers your mouth, hiding the small giggles threatening to bubble up from your chest. “Well, it’s just so cute when you get all serious and focused like that.”

You fall back onto the bed, your pretty laughter filling the room, and Giyuu can’t help it. He laughs, too. Your laughter is so infectious he can’t resist.

It’s a strange mixture of elation, fear, maybe relief. He’d accomplished his goal before he even knew it. But with him leaving to go to the mansion tomorrow, knowing what is planned, he’s now got a new sense of dread seeping into his bones.

But it also gives him a new sense of purpose, outside of returning to you.

Giyuu must defeat Muzan.

Giyuu must survive.

Giyuu must get back to his wife, to his child, to his family.

No matter what.

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bunni-v1 · 2 months ago

Note

Eating up your Harumasa content about him and cockwarming, May I request more of that pls🙏🏻Maybe some (consensual) somno as well👉🏻👈🏻

🍓I kept this in the drafts until baby girl came out! Happy Haru release day my loves <3 I hope you all enjoy him as much as I do!!! I fleshed out the original post into a full piece, so I hope you don't mind too much my love. Didn't do the somno unfortunately, just couldn't fit it in naturally.

Minors DNI!!

TW: NSFW; Grammar errors; Written pre-story quest so inaccuracies are bound to appear <3

Info: Harumasa x Reader; Fem bodied reader; They/them pronouns/ you/yours

Harumasa had a long day. You can hear it from the kitchen, the way his feet drag against the floor and the grunts he lets out as he fights off his shoes. You hear him cuss them out after they thump against the hardwood of your shared entrance. Then his feet drag their way all the way to you, finally slumping over your shoulder with the most relieved sigh.

The way he acts, it seems like he just came back from an unending war. That wasn't the case, of course, it was more likely that Yanagi asked him to do his portion of paperwork and he just didn't want to do it. (Then he would proceed to do not only his but also finish Yanagi's and Miyabi's if he saw fit.) His arms wrap around your waist, and he hums happily. It's cute enough that you set down the knife you were using to run your fingers through his pretty silky black hair, turning and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Hello, my love," you coo, "How was work."

It takes him a moment to respond as if he was soaking in the words fully before yellow eyes peered up at you, "Mmm, long... and hard."

You're too late to catch the innuendo, and his hands have already slid up from your stomach to give your chest a squeeze. Simultaneously, he pulls you back into him, and you feel that he is in fact long and hard. It draws a gasp from your lips, which satisfies him into sighing against your skin.

"Harumasa," you deadpan, pulling at his hands which won't budge for anything, as always.

He doesn't humor you with a response, pressing heated kisses up and down your neck. It's a tactic he loves to use, buttering you up just so he can get what he wants. It was infuriatingly effective. Still, you were in the middle of making dinner for him. Certainly, he could let you finish doing that.

You manage to push his head away from your neck, which has him whining like a child, but you don't relent and he finally pulls back enough so you can look at him. "We need to eat, Haru."

"I was getting to it," he quips back, smirking that annoyingly cute smirk.

"We need to eat food," You insist, gesturing to the half-made meal on the countertop.

He pouts at it like it was personally offending him just by existing. Then you see him go over the ingredients, and his face lights up just a little. You were making his favorite, figuring it would be a nice treat after a long week at work. Spoiling him was one of your favorite pastimes, after all.

Conflict arises in his pretty yellow eyes, and you watch him debate whether he'd prefer eating you out or eating your homemade cooking more. He comes to his decision by pulling away from you, a deceptively innocent smile on his face.

"Alright, I'll let you finish up," he hums, leaning against the countertop next to you.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him, "But...?"

"Mmm," he taps his chin, feigning consideration and you already know what he's going to ask, "You have to cockwarm me while we watch a movie!"

Of course. It was his favorite thing in the world, especially after a long workday and a good meal. Most weeks ended like this, but it didn't bother you too much. It wasn't a bad deal for you, as annoying as he was about it.

You don't give him a direct answer, simply sighing and turning back to working on the food, "What movie did you have in mind...?"

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

Dinner isn't as relaxed as you wanted, not with Harumasa practically squirming in excitement across from you. You do your best to pretend it's not happening, eating the food you prepared and mentally preparing yourself for the night you have ahead of you. He practically bounds to the living room when you finish, and you know once you finish cleaning up he won't have the patience to wait any longer.

It was childish, but you couldn't help but find it cute. He rarely allowed himself to be this carefree, so indulging him was the least you could do. So you set the last of the dishes in the sink and make your way to the living room, sighing at the sight of him already palming his hard-on through his work pants.

When he notices you there he gives you a lopsided grin, patting his thigh with his free hand. He works his belt and pants open, and it gives you the idea that maybe you should mess around with him too. It was supposed to be fun for both of you after all, right?

He pouts at you when you don't immediately swing your legs over his lap like an obedient dog, jerking his neglected member in his hands a few times for emphasis. You snort at the sight, patting his thigh reassuringly before turning around to face the TV. You hear him let out an annoyed grunt that catches in his throat when you slowly slide your pants over your hips, around the fat of your ass, and finally down the meat of your thighs until it hits the floor.

He grabs at one of the cheeks, humming appreciatively to himself as the digits sink into the fat, "Maybe we should cut the movie altogether..."

You tut at him, swatting his hands away to give him the same show with your underwear. He inhales deeply at the sight of your glistening pussy, exactly the reaction you wanted. With a playful smirk, you turn and slide your legs on either side of him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"You're being a brat~" He sings in your ear, lining himself up with your entrance.

You pout innocently, "You didn't like the show?"

He doesn't humor you with an answer, instead guiding your hips down until you are fully seated on his dick. It stung a little not being properly prepped, but you had all the time in the world to adjust. Harumasa loved taking his time with things like these, after all.

He leans over to grab the remote to the DVD player and starts the movie. It's some stupid family film from over a decade ago about mutant rodents saving the world or something like that. You were never too interested in stuff like that, but Harumasa always brought those kinds of films home for cockwarming. Why, you had no clue, but they were delightful distractions.

The beginning is always the easiest for you. It's all nice and pleasant as you adjust to the stretch. You're able to rest your head on his chest and peer over your shoulder at the movie. He's surprisingly cold, which soothes the raging heat that builds in your core. His hands rest against your sides patiently, lying in wait for whenever he decides he's grown bored of the movie.

Perhaps that's why it's so easy because the start is mostly skinship. Harumasa may be a tease, but he does love having you close like this. It's almost innocent if only his cock wasn't buried inside you as deep as it would go.

It starts getting hard when his hands start moving around, which is where you're at right now. They slide from their place on your waist down to your ass, rubbing and squeezing the skin like a stress ball. Then they'll find their way to your thighs, dancing along the meat of them and running his thumbs over the tops before falling back to your ass and repeating the process.

You shiver, stiffening up in his lap as he repeats the motion for the millionth time. An unexpected sharp pain erupts from your ass, and it takes your brain a second to process that he has smacked you. You pull back to glare at him, and he returns the look with an innocent smile, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"I can't pay attention to the movie with you squirming like that," he scolds lightly, pressing you back into his shoulder.

You fight the urge to grumble back a 'neither can I', and instead try not to focus on the ever-increasing heat in your groin. It's much easier said than done, as each little twitch from either of you gives you a painful reminder that he's balls deep inside you and you can't do anything about it. He laughs at something in the movie and it travels from his chest right through his dick and into your weeping cunt.

You give up on paying attention to the movie at that point, deciding trembling into his shoulder was a better alternative than pretending you were fine. You nose the column of his throat with shaky breaths, burrowing yourself into his shoulder with a pathetic sigh.

He coos at you, running his fingers through your hair in what's meant to be comfort. You know he's just doing it to annoy you, though. Your spine tingles as his fingers tug a little at the hair, your pussy clenching around him in favor. He groans, pulling a little harder to get you to look at him.

Again, you see something like contemplation behind his eyes, then he smiles at you. His hand comes down from your hair to press your neck forward, and he locks lips with you. You sigh happily into the kiss, not realizing how desperately you'd wanted the attention until now. It seems he knows that, with the way he smirks into the kiss before gliding his tongue across your lip.

You happily give him the access he craves, humming as his tongue slips in and pressing against yours. He tastes bitter, like the medicine he takes every day, but the taste is welcome from your neglected body. You graze your fingers against his collarbone and he finally reacts, pressing his hips up into yours before correcting himself.

As if knowing you'd try it, his hands firmly pressed you to him, not allowing you to move. You whine into his mouth, and he pulls away to smile at you, head leaning against the back of the couch. His face is red, but he looks so satisfied which almost makes the torture worth it.

Deciding you can't handle how pretty he is, you lean down to litter warm kisses against his neck. He sighs, lulling his head to the side to give you better access. You suck at the pretty skin, nibbling on whatever your lips can find. You feel the effect it has on him, dick twitching inside you with each new mark you leave. He continues to run his fingers through your hair, humming contentedly as you service him.

It's when you get to his collarbones that he pauses you, pulling your face up to his. He presses a sweet little kiss to your nose, causing you to giggle. He tilts his head to the side, running a finger along your cheek, "How was your day, baby?"

You respond softly to his musing, answering all his questions about your day. Then, in the middle of telling him about what your boss made you do that day, you feel it. His hands very slowly ease your hips into a short, circular movement. You choke on the words, shuddering at the sensation. It felt... so good, you forgot how to think for a moment as your neglected pussy throbs at the attention.

Harumasa tilts his head at you, though he's smirking, "What was that?"

You stutter out the rest of your response, hardly coherent, but it satisfies him nonetheless. He continues to work you against him at the same slow and easy pace, a master of making things long and drawn out.

Those fingers that had been steadily controlling the pace, slide under your shirt to rake against your ribs. Bunching the fabric up along with your bra and tugging it off your body. Your skin pebbles in the cold air of your apartment, and his hands are quick to glide over it to heat it up. He lets out a low whistle at the sight of your tits, hands immediately cupping them like they belonged there.

Your hips stutter at the new sensation, earning you a look from him that makes you return to the previously set rhythm. Without breaking eye contact, he leans forward to kiss over your chest. Even at the awkward angle, he manages to rub every sensitive spot deep inside you, all while sucking pretty red marks into your hot flesh.

He keeps that up for a long while, ensuring that neither of you can cum until he wants you to. It's sweet sweet torture. The pleasure curls up in your gut, unable to release but somehow forever building up.

All at once his head lulls back and his oh-so-steady rhythm suddenly becomes unreliable. His hips stutter against his beat, but he keeps up that slow pace as best as he can. His hand comes down to roll your clit under his thumb, and you finally feel yourself building to your orgasm. He's close too.

"Baby," he whines, gripping your hip tightly, "lemme stuff you, please? I'll getcha plan b in the morning, jus' lemme this once."

He always says that. Not that you're coherent enough to remind him of that fact. All you can think of is how badly you wanna cum, and how you'll say yes to anything to reach that high. So you awkwardly bob your head in a 'yes' motion.

His eyes roll back and he groans, picking up his pace finally. Your hips rut into his with a fervor you didn't know you were capable of. You slump forward, moaning into his shoulder unabashedly. The coil in your stomach twists and twists until it finally snaps.

At the same time, you feel his warm hot cum flood your insides. His cock twitches with each release, and your walls tighten around it almost encouraging the action. His chest rises and falls in succession with yours, fingers curling in your hair soothing both of you.

Your eyes slowly drift closed at the gentle sensation, sighing happily into his shoulder. He presses kisses to your temple, but you know he's just as spent as you are. Neither of you would be leaving the couch, not that it was a problem when he tugged one of your throw blankets across your back, pulling you down into a much more comfortable sideways position.

You drift off with his dick still inside you, the warm sensation of his cum inside you calling you to rest. You always sleep well on nights like these, wrapped up in one another.

#bunni's treats 🧁#zzz x reader #zenless zone zero #zzz #zzz harumasa #asaba harumasa #harumasa x reader #asaba harumasa x reader #asaba x reader #x reader

663 notes · View notes

kiemiu · 19 days ago

Text

' 𝓒𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝓨𝐨𝐮 ,

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 4.2k

synopsis your girlfriend comes home from work feeling a bit more clingier than usual, resulting in clips of her going viral for being handsy on stream.

genre pure fluff | requested by anon. | masterlist

Kang Sae-byeok had a way of entering a room like a quiet storm, carrying an energy that was both calming and commanding. You didn't need to look up to know it was her. The familiar chime of your home security as the front door opened, the muffled shuffle of her sneakers against the hardwood floor, and the almost imperceptible sigh she let out as if shedding the brunt of her day off once she stepped into the apartment were enough to signal her return. It was late—her long shifts often stretched into the night—but even exhaustion couldn't dull the magnetic presence she brought with her.

You were mid-stream, headphones snug over your ears as the glow of your screen illuminated the darkened room. The chat was buzzing with activity, viewers throwing suggestions and jokes your way as you tried your hardest to focus on the decision-based games storyline.

Then from the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of her feet padding towards your streaming room until the door slowly creaked open. her head slowly peeking in to try and not disrupt you. A glimpse of dark hair, tired eyes, and the faintest smile that tugged at her lips as she peeked into the room, the smallest smile tugging at her lips as she gazed at your relaxed figure. She stood there for a moment, her fingers curling around the edge of the door frame as if debating whether to disturb you. But then, as always, her desire to be near you won out. Fighting against her hesitance, she stepped inside with the quiet grace you adored, her presence like a soothing balm.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice as soft and understated as her footsteps.

You glanced at her, your heart doing a little flip at the sight of her. “Hold on, guys,” you said quickly, ignoring the flurry of comments in the chat as you muted your mic. The viewers could wait—Sae-byeok never could, The influx of comments going unnoticed by the both of you as you stared up at her adoringly.

etrnalsunshine omg is that sae-byeok?

saiki.png OH! so you weren't lying about having a girlfriend

tharealmiumiu WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAACK? WHO THAT IN THE BACK, WHO THAT IN THE BACK, WHO THAT-

catdog1967 i know that ain't who i think it is…

"You look tired," you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I am," she replied, her tone understated but warm. "But I needed to see you."

Without another word, she dipped down and kissed you. It wasn't a rushed kiss, but slow and full of emotion, her lips brushing against yours as though she were savoring the moment. One of her hands left her pocket to cradle your cheek, her thumb grazing your skin in a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. She broke away for a brief moment only to kiss you again, this time lingering longer, her lips warm and soft, molding perfectly against yours.

“How’s it going?” she murmured quietly, barely breaking away from your lips as her voice carried the weight of her rough work day but still dripping with affection.

“It’s going,” you whisper slightly dazed. “You?” you quietly add on, tilting your head in question.

She lazily shrugged her shoulders before she closed the gap between you once again, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was grounding.

Her fingers lightly grazed your cheek, her thumb tracing an invisible pattern along your jawline as she kissed you again—this one lingering, her lips soft and warm against yours as if she were a starved woman, seeking out your touch.

“What game are you playing?” she asked between soft pecks, her voice tinged with curiosity and a faint rasp from a long day as she held your chin in place to continue her flurry of soft pecks.

“Just—something for…for the stream,” you mumbled, unable to focus with her so close. You didn’t want to pull away, and judging by the way her thumb continued to gently stroke your chin, neither did she.

Finally, she smiled softly, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Don’t miss me too much,” she teased, her words playful but her tone gentle. She pinched your cheek lightly before stepping away, her hand slipping from your face at the last moment as though reluctant to fully let go.

Her absence left a hollow ache in the air, but you pushed it aside. It was impossible to get your mind to focus entirely when the thought of her lingered in your mind-the softness of her lips, the warmth of her touch, the way her presence seemed to fill every corner of the apartment.

rilakkumagrl KISS, KISS, FALL IN LOVE ❤ (ɔˆз(ˆ⌣ˆc)

067.ksb WAIT OMGGG YALL ARE SO CUTE

xx.aerii.xx WHEN IS IT GONNA BE MY TURNNN (｡╯︵╰｡)

venus_sserena just called me single in 52 gestures and 38 languages

You turned back to your stream. Confusion etched on your face as the speed of the chat doubled seemingly out of nowhere, until the slow realization came to you that your camera was still on and your fans saw everything.

Your face instantly flushed, the feeling of warmth creeped up your neck slowly as you unmuted your mic. You cleared your throat softly before continuing on with game as if nothing happened, refusing to look at the chat as you typed away on your keyboard, adding in your own soft quips and lines of commentary but your voice was slightly weaker from before, still feeling the trace of Sae-Byeok on your lips.

It wasn’t long before she returned, interrupting your stream once again. This time, her hair was damp, framing her face in soft waves that clung to her cheeks. She wore an oversized sweater that hung loosely off one shoulder, paired with black shorts that revealed her long, toned legs. Her bare feet padded quietly across the floor as she approached, her movements unhurried, almost cat-like.

She leaned over the back of your chair, her arms draping around your shoulders as she rested her head lightly against yours. Her damp hair tickled your temple, and her scent—clean, earthy, and undeniably hers—enveloped you.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, her voice soft yet casual as she scrolled through a food delivery app on her phone. Her fingers moved with an absentminded grace, the light from the screen reflecting off her delicate features.

You muted your mic again, ignoring the flurry of comments in the chat. “Yeah, what are you in the mood for?” you asked, your tone playful.

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she scrolled. “Anything’s fine, as long as it’s with you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her body remained pressed against yours, her warmth grounding you in a way nothing else could even after she put the order in for your food.

You glanced up at her, your lips twitching into a smile. “Why are you still here?” you teased, reaching up to gently touch her arm.

She blinked, her eyes widening slightly as though just realizing how long she’d been standing there. With a soft chuckle, she straightened up, the hand holding her phone brushing against your shoulder briefly. “Right. You’re streaming. Sorry,” she murmured, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks as she reluctantly stepped away.

saccharinesulli need more content of sae-byeok and y/n on my desk by monday, 10pm sharp. preferably with audio

isafromcali not she came back for seconds 😛

onyyxx I NEED A LIP READER, WHERE ARE ALL OF THE LIP READERSSS

kittyuuuuhh this is the most we’ve ever seen of sae-byeok AND IM NOT COMPLAINING

Glancing at the chat you said nothing again, hiding the smile that fought its way onto your face with one of your sweater paws as you switched over to a video to watch instead. “You guys are having way too much fun,” you quietly murmur.

Once the food arrived, Sae-byeok reappeared, balancing two plates of takeout in her hands. She hesitated in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as her gaze darted between you and your computer screen.

“Can I stay here?” she asked softly, her voice laced with hesitation. You watched as she continued to nervously shift from one to the other, her hands clutching the plates as though it might anchor her.

Without caring to mute yourself to your audience again, you simply nodded and beckoned her over. “Of course.”

She exhaled quietly, relief evident in the way her shoulders relaxed. Sinking to the floor beside you out of camera view, she crosses her legs and rests her head against your dangling leg. Her free arm wrapped loosely around it, anchoring herself to you in a way that felt natural and familiar, while her other hand busied itself on feeding her.

“You sure you don’t want to sit on the couch?” you asked, glancing down at her. “You’d be more comfortable.”

She shook her head, her cheek brushing against your leg as she continued eating. “I’m fine here,” she replied, her voice muffled but content. Her chewing was gentle, the faint vibrations of her jaw against your leg making you giggle softly. She glanced up at you, her lips curving into a small, amused smile before she returned to her food.

Even as you resumed your stream, her presence grounded you. Occasionally, you felt her gaze on you, quiet and thoughtful, but she never said a word. She simply stayed there, her head resting against you as though she belonged there.

After finishing your meals together, she gently tapped your leg, signaling her intention to get up. She collected the plates with practiced ease, her fingers brushing yours briefly as she took yours. Just before turning to leave, she leaned down, her lips brushing softly against your temple in a fleeting, tender kiss. “I’ll take care of these,” she said softly, her voice like a melody, the warmth of her kiss lingering on your skin as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Her absence was brief, only a minute or so, before she reappeared in the doorway. She stood there for a moment, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway light, holding a small bowl of mochi ice cream in her hands. Her fingers curled delicately around the edge of the bowl as if she were cradling something fragile. “Do you want dessert?” she asked, her voice quiet and tinged with a tentative hopefulness that tugged at your heart.

You turned toward her, your smile widening at the sight. “Absolutely,” you said, nodding eagerly, the excitement in your voice making her lips twitch upward in the faintest of smiles. She stepped forward with her usual grace, placing the bowl gently into your hands, her fingertips grazing yours for a moment longer than necessary.

Instead of retreating, as you half-expected, Sae-byeok surprised you by lowering herself onto the floor beside your chair once again. She tucked her legs beneath her, her movements slow and deliberate, as she hooked her arm loosely around your dangling leg once again. Her body seemed to relax as she rested her head lightly against your knee, the familiar warmth of her touch grounded you in an instant.

She picked up her own share of mochi ice cream and began eating quietly, her gaze occasionally flitting toward you. Every now and then, you caught her watching you, her dark, expressive eyes filled with a quiet affection that made your heart tighten in your chest. The soft curve of her lips, the way her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks, and the tender way she lingered so close—it was as though she was trying to soak in every moment with you.

Sae-byeok wasn’t normally like this. She was always so cautious, so careful about avoiding the cameras and giving you space while you worked. She’d rarely even step foot in your streaming room, her natural shyness and private nature keeping her at a distance. But tonight felt different. Tonight, her usual restraint seemed to melt away, replaced by an uncharacteristic clinginess that was both endearing and heart-achingly sweet. Her need to be close to you outweighed her usual hesitations, and you couldn’t help but smile as the butterflies thrashed around in your stomach.

Once you finished your share of mochi ice cream, you absentmindedly rested your hand on your knee. Before you could even blink, Sae-byeok reached for it, her fingers wrapping gently around yours as she guided your hand to her head. The silky, yet damp strands of her hair slipped through your fingers as you began to massage her scalp, your movements soft and tender. She released a quiet, contented sigh, her entire body relaxing further into you. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her long lashes brushing delicately against her cheeks, but then they opened again, gazing up at you with a vulnerable, unspoken longing that made your heart ache.

Her gaze immediately drew your attention back down to her, forgetting about the mic still being on as you leaned closer, your voice gentle and full of concern. “What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, your words as soft as a whisper meant only for her.

Sae-byeok hesitated, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but instead, she buried her face into the fabric of your pants. Her breath was warm against your leg, and her hands fidgeted with the hem of your pant leg, her movements small, and nervous. Finally, she murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear her, “Can we cuddle?”

Your heart melted on the spot, a soft laugh escaping your lips. She was always so composed, so guarded, but moments like these—when she let her vulnerability peek through—left you utterly captivated. Before you could reassure her, she quickly added, her voice rushing out in a soft flurry, “You don’t have to end the stream. I just want you to sit on my lap.”

Your breath hitched at her shy but bold request, glancing over to your chat who unmistakably heard what she asked. Ignoring the flurry of messages coming in, you nodded immediately, unable to deny her anything. Sae-byeok stood with a fluid grace, her movements purposeful but quiet as she disappeared into the bedroom. Once she returned, she was holding a soft, familiar blanket in her hands. She motioned for you to stand, her fingers brushing lightly against your sides as she gently guided you out of your chair.

Once she was seated, she patted her lap, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she looked at you expectantly. Sae-byeok’s arms tightened around your waist, her body a grounding warmth beneath you as you settled into her lap. Her head rested against your shoulder, and her fingers absently traced small, soothing circles along your hip under the blanket. She nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, her breath feather-light against your skin as she inhaled deeply, as though she was trying to commit your presence to memory.

The stream continued in the background, the faint sound of your chat bubbling with comments about the unexpected scene unfolding before them.

Despite her usual shyness around the camera, Sae-byeok seemed perfectly content, nestled close to you as if the world outside the two of you didn’t exist. You had almost forgotten about the viewers entirely until a particularly enthusiastic comment caught your attention.

yoondiaries she's hot omg

You laughed softly, unable to resist glancing at the chat. “They’re talking about you, baby,” you teased, turning your head slightly to meet Sae-byeok’s gaze.

Her reaction was immediate. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink as her eyes widened in surprise. “They can see me?” she whispered, her voice hushed but filled with quiet panic.

You nodded your head gently, resting a reassuring hand over hers. “Yes, they can see you.”

Her blush deepened as she buried her face into the curve of your neck, her warm breath tickling your skin. “I shouldn’t have stayed,” she murmured, her voice muffled against you.

“You’re fine,” you gently reassured, your free hand coming up to stroke her hair. The silky strands slipped easily through your fingers as you murmured, “They’re just excited to see you. Don’t let them get to you.”

She huffed softly, the sound halfway between amusement and exasperation, and burrowed deeper into your neck to hide her embarrassment. Her arms squeeze you tighter, her grip firm yet gentle, and the warmth of her shy affection makes your heart ache in the best way.

“I’m never doing this again,” she mumbled, though the way her lips brushed against your skin betrayed her growing comfort.

“Sure you won’t,” you teased, pressing a light kiss to her temple. “But if you happen to change your mind, I’ll make sure the chat behaves next time.”

Sae-byeok sighed, a small laugh escaping her as her tension melted away. “Fine,” she relented, her voice softer now. “But only for you.”

As the comments continued to roll in, filled with adoration for Sae-Byeok’s sudden appearance, Her hold on you tightened slightly, her arms drawing you closer as if she feared you might slip away. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice so soft and reverent that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice just as tender as you leaned back into her embrace. Her warmth enveloped you completely, and the world beyond the two of you faded into insignificance. The stream, the comments, the video—they all dissolved into the background. In that moment, it was just you and Sae-byeok, your hearts beating in perfect sync as you held each other in a cocoon of quiet, unspoken love.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next morning, you woke to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains and the faint sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand. You groaned, shifting slightly, only to feel Sae-byeok’s arm tighten around your waist. Her face was pressed into your shoulder, her messy hair tickling your neck as she mumbled something incoherent and burrowed closer.

Your phone buzzed again—louder this time—and you reluctantly reached for it, careful not to disturb her too much. As you unlocked the screen, a flurry of notifications greeted you, more than usual: texts, tags, and countless mentions on social media. Your stomach twisted in curiosity as you opened one of the links, and your heart nearly stopped when you saw the title of the viral clip:

"@y/nstreamss and her girlfriend need to be protected at all costs 🥺”

“Oh no…” you muttered under your breath, scrolling through the endless comments and reposts. Clips of last night’s stream were everywhere—each one capturing Sae-byeok’s shy gestures, the way she clung to you, and her adorable attempt to hide her face from the chat. The internet was in love.

“Babe,” you whispered, turning to glance at Sae-byeok. She was still half-asleep, her breathing slow and steady, completely unaware of her newfound fame.

Deciding to let her rest a bit longer, you scrolled through the trending hashtags:

• #THEYRESOCUTE

• #Saebyeok

• #Y/NANDSAEBYEOK

The replies and tweets were even more dramatic than the hashtags:

oliviahyeee i don’t even know them, but i’d die for them.

sullisicecream the way they look at each other? GODD I LOVE WOMEN

y2katseye need a 12 episode reality show of them ASAP.

wonderofwinter wait, this is really fucking cute :((

One video in particular caught your attention. It had racked up millions of views overnight, featuring the exact moment Sae-byeok had buried her face into your neck after seeing the comments. Someone had edited the clip with soft music and sparkles, and the top comment read: “This is the purest thing I’ve ever seen. Protect her at all costs.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, shaking your head. “They’re obsessed with you, Sae,” you murmured, glancing down at her sleeping form.

As if on cue, she stirred, her brows furrowing as she opened one eye groggily. “What time is it?” she mumbled, her voice raspy from sleep.

“10:15,” you replied softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Also, you went viral overnight.”

Her eyes opened fully at that, a look of confusion crossing her face. “What?”

You handed her your phone, showing her one of the clips. She blinked at it, still trying to wake up, but as the video played, her expression shifted from confusion to wide-eyed disbelief.

“Why… why are they all talking about me?” she asked, sitting up slightly.

“Because you’re cute,” you teased, grinning. “Apparently, the internet agrees.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she handed the phone back to you after scrolling through a few comments. “This is your fault,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

“Mine? You’re the one who wanted to cuddle during the stream!”

She groaned, flopping back onto the bed and pulling the blanket over her head. “I didn’t think anyone would really notice or care…”

You laughed, tugging the blanket down just enough to reveal her eyes. “It’s not so bad. They all love you.”

Sae-byeok sighed, her lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile. “It’s still embarrassing.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Maybe, but you’re an internet sensation now.”

Sae-byeok groaned, burying her face in your shoulder. "You're impossible."

"And you love me for it," you quipped, pressing another playful kiss to her cheek this time.

She sighed dramatically but couldn't hide the quiet laugh that escaped her. "I do," she admitted, her voice soft as she tucked herself into your embrace.

Sae-byeok’s initial embarrassment began to fade, replaced by quiet amusement. And though she might never admit it, you could tell she secretly enjoyed the attention—especially when it came from being with you.

The two of you lifted yourselves up to sit cross-legged on your shared bed, your phone propped up between you as you scrolled through the never-ending flood of comments and clips. Sae-byeok rested her chin on your shoulder, her hair lightly brushing your cheek, trying to stay composed despite the way her ears were turning red.

“Look at this one,” you said, biting back a laugh as you pointed to a tweet:

hwrts4isa im not even mad the stream paused like 10 times. if my gf was THIS clingy and cute, i wouldn’t care about gaming either.

Sae-byeok groaned, burying her face into the crook of your neck. “Why do they keep calling me clingy?” she mumbled, though the way her arms wrapped tightly around your waist said she wasn’t exactly denying it.

“Because you are, babe,” you teased, turning to kiss the top of her head.

She lightly nudged you but didn’t let go, her eyes peeking out from behind her bangs. “Keep scrolling,” she said quietly, trying to sound unaffected, though her curiosity was clear.

You did as she asked, stopping on another comment, this one attached to a short clip of her kissing your cheek while the stream chat exploded in real time.

sugarina when she kissed her and then just stayed there like that??? EEEEEEEKK somebody find me a sae-byeok. o(≧▽≦)o

“See? You’re making people jealous of me now,” you teased, nudging her playfully.

Her lips twitched into a small smile despite herself. “Good. They should be,” she replied, her tone softer than her words.

Another clip caught your attention, showing the moment she hid her face in your neck after reading the comments live. The caption read:

pinkchae sae-byeok is the cutest fairy gumdrop princess kitten gummy bear ever. we need to protect her at all costs.

Sae-byeok let out a small huff, her face turning crimson as she pulled the blanket up to cover her head. “What the hell are t—Why are they calling me that?” she muttered, her voice muffled.

You burst out laughing, pulling the blanket down so you could see her flushed face. “Because you’re adorable, obviously,” you said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

She pouted, crossing her arms but not moving away from you. “Your fans are exhausting,” she said, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a small smile.

You kept scrolling, landing on a particularly bold comment under another clip:

fleurgrl if i can’t have this kind of love, i don’t want it at all. also, when is the wedding and can i come?

At that, Sae-byeok let out a surprised laugh, her eyes widening. “Wedding?!” she exclaimed, her voice cracking slightly.

You smirked, leaning closer. “Well, what do you think? Should I put a ring on it?”

She shoved you gently, though her blush deepened. “Stop teasing,” she murmured, but the shy smile on her lips said she didn’t entirely mind.

As you continued reading through the comments together, Sae-byeok’s initial embarrassment began to fade. Though she still hid her face every now and then, she couldn’t help but laugh at the way people adored her.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” she finally admitted, resting her head on your shoulder. “But I’m still never showing up on stream again.”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around her. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say… until you get clingy again.”

Her groan of protest was muffled against your shoulder, but the way she tightened her hold on you spoke louder than any words ever could.

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 19 days ago

Note

Hi Rae!! Congrats so much on the 1.5k!! Been a longtime fan of this blog and I'm always blown away by your works.

For the event can I ask for domestic life/married life headcannons? Or just hear you yap on how Jason and Arkham Knight Jason act in those situations? I personally think Jason would act as a doting, head over heels almost worshipping his darling spouse. Whereas Ak! Jason would kinda be the dark romance almost mafia archetype instead, but on the more quiet obsessive devotion and acts of service galore side with a dash of occasional bordering on if not yandere-ism because of his paranoia and being very overprotective but his spouse has a general idea of what their husband does.

Once again, congratulations and you deserve every follow and reblog and like.

- Rosa🧸🤎

Domestic Headcanons

Hi, thank you so much! Hope you enjoy!

Honestly, I could ramble about whether or not I think AK would ever get married, but it's not about that rn ~700 words

Jason

His favorite thing in the world is waking up next to you. Really, he doesn't think anything beats opening his eyes and seeing the morning sun glint off the metal bands around his and your ring finger. He'll ignore the growling in his stomach and the alarms about to go off for as long as he can, just for another moment to hold you in his arms, warm and tucked away from the world

Speaking of wedding rings, Jason is constantly twisting or fiddling with yours. It's mostly because he's just in awe that it's there, real and cool, and glittering on your finger. He likes to take the opportunity to tease you about buying a bigger rock, even if you tell him anything bigger would look ridiculous and just get you mugged. (He can handle a mugger– or five– so he doesn't think that should be an issue)

Nothing feels like a chore when he's doing it with you. Folding laundry to your favorite tv show, washing dishes while talking about everything and anything, making meals while your music fills the kitchen– he loves it all. Just being in your space, lingering in the mundane, day to day tasks feels special when he gets to see you smile and laugh at whatever joke he's made

You share the same blanket when you're sitting on the couch, always. He made a point of buying the largest, softest one he could find in your favorite color, more or less for the excuse to have you close. Neither of you mind cuddling together, of course, but it's still an unspoken rule that if either of you comes to sit next to the other, you lift the blanket for them, even when you fight

Matching Fuzzy Socks for every occasion. Neither of you necessarily wear them out of the house, but when you're home and Gotham is cold, there are, in fact, heated debates and competitions over who gets to pick what set you're both going to wear that day. (Yes, his favorite pair are the Red Hood ones, and no, he doesn't think that says anything about his ego. They're just the fluffiest and therefore, the best)

AK!Jason

The Arkham Knight comes from a crueler version of Gotham, but he is by no means cruel to you. There are nights where he's sharper, tensing at every noise and bump that sounds too close to your windows and doors, but it only serves to make him hold you closer, ever watchful for danger that could cause you harm– threats that would take you from him

He doesn't go out with you often, but he tries to make up for it in his own way. Public dates are rare, if they happen at all, but he doesn't hesitate to try and make you feel special when you do go out. Entire theaters are rented out in your name, museums and galleries are closed just so you can walk arm and arm through marbled halls without anyone else around

When you're both together, he's always in your space, always finding an excuse to touch you. He only ever softens under your gaze, only ever feels at home when your hands hold his. He'll fixate on the ring you wear often. He likes pressing a kiss to the cold jewel that catches light so perfectly on your finger. It always feels so big, knowing you said yes, knowing you willingly tied yourself to him for eternity

He constantly comes home with gifts– whether it be flowers, food, jewels, clothes, or trinkets– he rarely comes back empty handed. It's less out of a love language, but more out of a desire to show you he's worth being with. The Arkham Knight– before, during, and after he held the name– always has something to prove. But that doesn't mean the thanks you give, the kisses to his cheek and the smiles you offer, are any less special to him (or that his actions mean any less)

He finds comfort in the long moments of silence. Don't get it wrong, he loves to listen to you talk, but there's something about just being in each other's presence without the need for words that soothes something fragmented deep in his soul. He likes to listen to you breathe, feel the rise and fall of your chest against him while he reads whatever book you're flipping through over your shoulder. Those are the only times he ever really feels peace anymore

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #headcanons #arkham knight x reader

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notlongtolove · 2 months ago

Text

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for.

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+.

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.”

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.”

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.”

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside.

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking.

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide.

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that… that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side.

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you.

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences.

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.”

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable.

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty.

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that."

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature.

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again.

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much.

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’.

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course.

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him.

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out.

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.”

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh.

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.”

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.”

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much.

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers.

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A.

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you.

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him.

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader comfort

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heavyhitterheaux · 3 months ago

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Black, Purple, and Blue

AN: fluffy goodness 😘💕

Synopsis: The amount of times your husband gets hit during the Ravens game quickly has you concerned, but he tries to reassure you that there is nothing to worry about

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a beautiful anon 😍

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Hit after hit after hit

You watched your husband get pummeled to the ground multiple times against the Ravens from the comfort of your bed at your home in Cincinnati and it seemed as if there was no end in sight. Multiple people had asked if you wanted to watch the game with them, but you quickly decided against it. You would rather be at home by yourself and not be at some random bar hearing people drunk off their asses talking about your husband if he were to lose.

A fight almost ensued between you and another fan during Joe’s second season with the Bengals and from that point on, you knew it wasn’t even worth your time. You knew Joe was an amazing quarterback and his stats proved it despite what people may say about him.

The game was not moving in the direction that you originally thought, but despite this you still held onto hope since the score was so close.

Joe had confessed to you earlier in the week how anxious and nervous he was for this game and it was to be expected. They were playing in Baltimore on their turf, but seeing how the Ravens caused them an upset at home, it would only be right if the Bengals did the same thing.

Joe was always focused during the season, but it went to a different level when he was playing any team within the same division as the Bengals were.

When the Ravens had gotten the ball back, the camera suddenly cut to the Bengals sideline and you could see Joe wincing in pain as he was holding the left side of his body, Silently cursing to yourself before letting out a sigh, the wheels in your head began to turn and immediately thought the worst.

This time last year as he was playing the Ravens, he sustained his wrist injury that put him out for the rest of the season and the last thing you wanted was for him to go through that all over again. You saw the way it bothered him deep down, even though he thought he was being good at putting up a front for you.

Being married for a total of four years, you could see right through his bullshit and could immediately tell when something was off with him.

You took a sip of your strawberry flavored Truly as you saw Joe throw to Ja’Marr and end up with a touchdown and quickly placed it back down on the table in order to celebrate.

But now, it was time for your nerves to be turned up to another level because you saw them wanting to go for a two point conversion.

“You cannot be fucking serious right now.” You quietly said out loud, even though there was no one in the room but you.

During the play, someone on the Ravens defense had pulled Joe’s face mask and you were yelling at the television seeing as how they never even called it.

Suddenly, your phone rang next to you and you debated on whether you should answer it until you saw that it was your cousin Yalisa. Clicking accept, the first thing you heard was her yelling.

“Y/N! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON IN THIS GAME?! DO YOU SEE HOW MANY CALLS THEY MISSED?! And not them beating your husband like he stole something.”

“I’m so over this, I don’t even know anymore. It seems like they are personally working against them. Did you see him grab Joe’s face mask?”

“Yes! And that’s why I called you! Are the refs blind?!”

“Um, the only names I’ve heard all night are Joe and Ja’marr. It doesn’t seem like anyone else showed up to play today.”

“See? That’s why Joe is as ripped as he is now because he’s carrying this team on his fucking back!”

“And he keeps wincing, so I’m concerned because he has yet to seek medical attention. He just keeps going back in and I can tell that something is wrong with him.” You quietly said and tried to take a deep breath to help ground you from the uneasy feeling that was creeping in.

“I guess he sees it as he has to go back in because who the fuck else is going to? They are seriously pissing me off. Is this the week that Zac gets fired?” She asked and you immediately stifled a laugh.

“As much as I would like that to become a reality, a lot more things need to change beside that one.”

It was one in the morning when your phone rang alerting you that you had a facetime call from your husband and you immediately answered.

The two of you stared at each other as you noticed Joe was laying down. In order to get more comfortable, he adjusted himself and you once again saw him wince. But before you could say anything about it, you heard his voice.

“I didn’t wake you up did I?” He asked and you simply shook your head no.

“No, and you know I always wait for you to call me before I go to sleep. I have to hear your voice one way or another.”

“And hearing your voice has to be my favorite thing in the world. I just can’t wait until tomorrow when I actually get to hold you.”

“I can’t wait for that either and I am going to fix all your favorite comfort foods and we’ll eat ourselves into a food coma to get through this.” You replied as you brought the comforter higher up your body since you were getting cold.

“While watching rom coms of course.”

“A man that knows a way to my heart.” You told him and he gave you a small smile.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then you spoke up again.

“Baby?”

“Yes?”

“I saw you wincing during the game. I don’t like when you wince.”

“I’m okay, really. It’s not a big deal.”

“Joey, don’t give me that. You got hit multiple times. If something happened then…”

“I promise that I’m okay, just a little sore. I already took the motrin that you slipped in my bag for me earlier.”

“Well someone has to do it seeing as you always forget.”

“True, and I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Stop! Stop being so cute when you’re so far away and I can’t kiss you until you get back, it’s not fair.” You whined and Joe let out a small laugh.

“You can have all the kisses you want once you see me. Promise.”

“Joey? How are you and do not under any circumstances bullshit me right now because I will be on the first flight to Baltimore if you do.”

The deep sigh he let out before giving you a verbal answer was telling.

“Frustrated.”

“Go on.”

“It seems like there is a disconnect somewhere and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Cough your coach Zac Taylor cough.”

“Well, that and there is something else. Just haven’t quite figured it out yet.”

“Can I be honest? You are amazing in your own right and even though I know that you already know this, Joey the last thing I ever want to happen is for you to in lack of better words waste your career for an organization that doesn’t quite seem like they value or care about you. Like, my husband is the shit and I’m not being biased. You are one of the best, if not the best, okay now I’m being biased. But, you’re amazing and I just want so much better for you. Do you know how much it hurts to see you so upset every week that you lose knowing that you show up every time for your team and give 100% while others don’t?”

—

Hearing the front door open from you and Joe’s shared office as you were working on your laptop, you immediately hopped up and ran to the foyer to greet him.

As soon as he spotted you, his bag was thrown to the side as he opened up his arms to embrace you as he placed several kisses on your lips.

When you did bring him in for a hug, once again you saw him wince.

“Joseph….”

“No, stop. I’m fine.”

“Hmm, pull up your shirt.”

“Damn, you want me to fuck you already? I was thinking…” Joe started to say, but you cut him off.

“No! Well yes, but not yet! Lift it.”

“But…”

“NOW.”

Once he did, you saw a black, purple, and blue bruise in the area where his ribs were on the left side and immediately gasped.

“BABY!”

“I’m fine, just a little bruised. I don’t want you to worry yourself.” He told you as he put his shirt back down and grabbed your hand as he kissed the back of it.

“A LITTLE bruise? It literally takes up a very good portion of your torso. And how can I not worry? My husband is a professional football player. Worrying is ingrained in my brain now. It got ingrained when I met you at LSU so stop.”

“Would it make you feel better that I got checked out before we got on our flight to come back home because it was bothering me when I woke up?”

“Yes. Kind of. But still!"

“And I’m fine. I promise like I said, and you're so cute when you worry about me."

"Not cute, I get flustered and pray nothing bad happens to you."

Crossing your arms, you nodded your head as Joe uncrossed them and leaned down to kiss you.

"Nothing is going to happen, and I'm going to need you to relax for me. Now that we got that out of the way, I’m also going to need my wife to lose her clothes.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fanfiction #nfl imagine

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 4 months ago

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They Accidentally Bring Up an Insecurity| Chan

Gah finally trying to finish this set of fics!!

Bangchan x Gn!Reader

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The studio was a second home by now. The soft hum of equipment, the flickering lights of the soundboard, and the distant rumble of music playing through Chan’s headphones. You had been here countless times before, but tonight felt different- heavier. Chan’s sighs, the way his fingers tapped nervously on the keyboard, all of it told you that something was off.

You watched him from the couch, phone forgotten in your hands. He hadn’t said much since you arrived, and his silence was unsettling. You could imagine the look he had on his face. His brows furrowed, his lips pouting but also somehow in a straight line at the same time and also pursed.

Finally, after what felt like hours of him brooding in front of the screen, hands hovering without touching a single key, you spoke up. “Chris, is everything okay?”

He didn’t turn to look at you right away. His fingers twitched above the keyboard, hands still hovering just above the keys as if he was debating whether to say anything at all. A long sigh escaped him before he slumped back in his chair, his eyes staring blankly at the monitor. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Just…feels like I’m not doing enough.”

The words hit you harder than they should have, but you kept your face neutral. You had heard Chan talk like this before, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a constant storm cloud. But tonight, it felt more personal, like his doubts were cutting into something deeper.

“You always work so hard, though,” you said softly, trying to find the right words to ease his worries. “Everyone sees it. The members, the fans, everyone.”

Chan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he swiveled his chair to you. “That’s the thing. I don’t think I’m enough. I feel like I’m always faking it, just doing what I can to stay afloat. One day, people are going to see right through me. They're going to be disappointed.”

You frowned, your heart aching at how harsh he was being on himself. “That’s not true. You do more than enough. You-” But your words faltered as something shifted inside you, a familiar knot tightening in your chest. "You won't disappoint anyone Chris. You haven't and you won't."

Chan’s self-criticism, the way he doubted his worth, resonated too closely with the insecurities you kept buried. If someone like him-talented, hardworking, and loved by so many- could feel this way, then what did that say about you?

If Chan didn’t feel like he was enough, how could you ever feel like you were doing enough to support him?

You swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away. This was about Chan, not you. He needed reassurance right now. But the insecurity had already latched on, creeping into the back of your mind.

“I’m serious, Chan,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re amazing, and you’re doing more than anyone could ever ask of you.”

He sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face. “I wish I could believe that.”

You wanted to say more, to keep comforting him like you always did, but doubt tugged at you, making your chest feel tight. Maybe your words weren’t enough. Maybe you weren’t doing enough to show him how much you cared.

Chan stood abruptly, pulling off his headphones. “I need a break. Let’s get out of here.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift, but nodded. “Yeah, sure. Where do you want to go?”

He shrugged, grabbing his jacket. “Anywhere but here.”

You stood and followed him out of the studio, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as you walked side by side through the darkened halls.

His doubts had stirred something in you, and now, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t showing your love well enough. Maybe that was why he felt like this- like he wasn’t enough.

The night air was cool as you walked together, the city buzzing quietly around you. Chan hadn’t said much since you left the studio, and you didn’t push him. Sometimes, he needed space to sort through his thoughts, and you respected that.

But the silence only made your mind race.

You ended up at a small diner a few blocks away. It was nearly empty, the late hour ensuring you’d have some privacy. The bell above the door jingled as you entered, and Chan slid into a booth, his shoulders still tense, his eyes distant.

You sat across from him, fiddling with the edge of the menu but not really reading it. The weight of unspoken words hung between you both, heavier than ever. You swallowed the knot stuck in your throat.

“I don’t get it,” Chan muttered after a long pause, breaking the silence. He was staring at the table now, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the surface. “I should be happy. I should feel grateful for everything I have, but I just… don’t, sometimes. I feel like I don't deserve any of this.”

Your heart clenched at his words, the knot in your stomach tightening painfully. The doubt in his voice mirrored the doubt that had been growing in you since the studio. You bit your lip, trying to find something- anything -to say that would make him see his worth.

But then his next words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Maybe I don’t deserve the love people give me,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Maybe I’m not doing enough to earn it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and suddenly, everything he’d said before fell into place. His doubts weren’t just about his work- they were about him. And the worst part was, those same doubts had already crept into your own heart.

Was that why he didn’t feel loved? Because you weren’t showing him enough?

You stayed silent for a moment too long, lost in your thoughts, and Chan looked up, frowning slightly. “You okay?” he asked, his tone softer now, more concerned.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, quickly glancing down at the menu. “Just…thinking.”

Chan studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, but thankfully, he didn’t push. He sighed, leaning back against the booth, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just tired, I guess.”

You nodded, though the heaviness in your chest made it hard to focus on his words. The conversation from earlier kept replaying in your mind, each sentence twisting the knife of insecurity a little deeper.

The waitress came by to take your orders, and you mumbled something about getting fries and a drink. Chan ordered without much thought, clearly still lost in his own world.

As you waited for the food, you found yourself staring out the window, watching cars pass by on the quiet street. Your thoughts were louder than the hum of the diner, the doubts louder than anything Chan could say to reassure you.

Maybe you weren’t enough. Maybe you hadn’t been showing him enough love, enough care, enough support. If Chan—someone who was adored by millions -felt like he didn’t deserve love, then what did that mean for you? What if you were part of the problem?

Chan was rambling on about something, but you barely registered his words. His voice faded into the background as your mind spiraled. How many times had you thought you were doing enough? How many times had you comforted him, thinking your words were making a difference? And yet, here he was, doubting everything, including whether he deserved to be loved.

You must have spaced out because suddenly, Chan was waving his hand in front of your face. “Hey, baby, everything good? You’re really out of it tonight.”

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m just…tired, I guess.”

Chan frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure, love? You’ve been kind of quiet since the studio.”

You nodded quickly, trying to push away the insecurity gnawing at you. This wasn’t about you- it was about him. You needed to be strong, to be the one who could lift him up.

But before you could say anything, Chan leaned forward, his expression softening as he grabbed your hands. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…processing.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go, turning his attention back to the table. The food arrived shortly after, and the conversation turned light again, though there was an undercurrent of something unspoken between you.

Hours had passed since you both left the studio. Chan’s apartment was usually a safe space, where the weight of the outside world faded into the background, but tonight, the air was thick with unspoken tension. You were both physically exhausted, but it felt like there was more lingering beneath the surface.

Chan sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers idly playing with the fabric of your shirt. The TV flickered in the dimly lit room, but neither of you was paying attention to whatever show was playing in the background. Your thoughts were miles away, circling back to the conversation in the studio and the strange, uncomfortable tightness that had settled in your chest since.

You had been silent for too long. Normally, the quiet between you and Chan was comforting, but tonight it felt suffocating. He had been distracted, the way his fingers twitched against your shoulder, but you could feel his concern. You could tell he was debating whether or not to ask you once more what was up. He knew something was off with you, even if he hadn’t yet figured it out.

But you couldn’t keep it in any longer. Your unshed tears burning your eyes like acid.

“Do you think I’m doing enough to show you that I love you?”

The question came out before you could stop yourself, your voice soft but weighed down by the emotions you’d been pushing down all night.

You felt Chan stiffen beside you, his arm freezing mid-motion as the weight of your words sank in. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you, brows furrowing as confusion flickered across his face.

“What?” His voice was quiet his thick accent laced with surprise, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.

You bit your lip, heart racing, unsure if you should continue. But the knot in your chest was too tight now, too heavy to ignore.

“It’s just… earlier, in the studio, you said you don’t feel like you deserve love,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I started thinking… what if I’m not showing you enough? What if I’m not loving you the way you need me to?” You swallowed.

Chan blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but no words came out at first. He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes wide with shock and something else- something softer, more worried. His arm tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer, as though trying to shield you from your own thoughts.

“Where is this coming from?” he finally asked, his voice gentle but filled with concern. “Why would you even think that?”

You lowered your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. “Because you feel like you’re not enough,” you admitted quietly. “And if someone like you-who works so hard, who gives so much- feels that way, then maybe I’m not doing enough to help you see how much you mean to me. Maybe that’s why you feel like you don’t deserve love.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the soft hum of the TV in the background. Chan’s expression shifted from confusion to realization, the weight of your words settling over him like a heavy blanket. He shifted his body to face you fully now, one hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“That’s not-” He stopped himself, his brows knitting together as if he was searching for the right words, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a soothing motion. “That’s not why I feel that way. It’s not because of you. Please don’t ever think that.”

You swallowed, your chest tightening even more. “But Chan, if you’re still doubting yourself, if you still feel like you’re not enough, then how can I not wonder if it’s something I’m not doing? If it’s something I’m not saying?” You pressed your palm to your eye as to not let the tears fall.

His thumb stilled against your skin, and for a moment, Chan just stared at you, a deep frown pulling at his lips. He looked pained, like the idea of you doubting your love for him was something he couldn’t quite comprehend nor deal with.“ No, no…” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s not like that. Not at all baby. Not at all.”

“Then why?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of the question. “Why do you feel like you don’t deserve love? I love you...”

Chan exhaled deeply, his hand slipping from your cheek to rest in his lap, his eyes dropping as he wrestled with his thoughts. For the first time since the conversation began, he looked vulnerable- completely stripped of the confident persona he so often carried around you. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’ve felt like this for a long time. Even before you.”

He paused, glancing up at you briefly before looking away again, as if it hurt him to admit this. “Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I give, it’s never enough. I think it’s more about me being stuck in my own head. It’s not about you. You’ve been more than enough for me. You've eased a lot of my insecurities love. I promise. I swear.”

“But how can you say that when you still feel like this?” you asked, your voice rising with frustration. You hadn’t meant to sound upset, but the insecurity you had been burying for hours was clawing its way to the surface, pushing you to confront the painful thoughts you hadn’t wanted to voice. “How can I believe that when you still doubt your worth?” Your lips were trembling.

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at the intensity of your words, but he didn’t flinch away. Instead, he sat up straighter, leaning closer to you, his expression softening in a way that made your heart ache.

“You’ve always shown me love,” he said quietly, his eyes locking with yours. “More than I ever thought I’d deserve.”

His words made your chest tighten in an entirely different way now, a mixture of relief and lingering doubt swirling in your heart.

“But I don’t know if I’m doing enough,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m showing you the love you need. Why can't I fix your doubts...” You looked at him sadly. "Why can't my love fix that?"

Chan’s gaze softened further, and he reached for your hand, his fingers lacing with yours. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You show me love every day, in more ways than you realize. The little things, like how you’re always there for me, how you listen when I’m having a hard time, how you never let me feel like I’m alone.”

You blinked, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes as his words washed over you.

Chan squeezed your hand gently, his eyes filled with sincerity. “You don’t have to fix everything for me,” he said softly. “Just being here with me, just caring- that’s enough. More than enough.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way that made it hard to hold onto the doubt. “But what if it’s not?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if you still feel like this tomorrow? Or the next day? What if I can never make it better?”

Chan’s expression softened even more, and he reached up with his free hand to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I don’t expect you to make everything better,” he said quietly. “You’re not responsible for fixing me, and I don’t want you to think that. I’m working on it, I promise. And one day I won't think about those things anymore. But you-” He paused, his thumb brushing over your cheek once more. “You’re more than enough. You’ve always been.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time that night, the knot in your chest began to loosen, the weight of your insecurities lifting slightly. You could still feel them there, lingering at the edges of your thoughts, but Chan’s presence- his warmth, his reassurance -made them feel more manageable. Less suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “I didn’t mean to doubt you…or myself.”

Chan pulled you into his arms then, wrapping you up in his warmth, his chin resting gently on top of your head. “You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured against your hair. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like that, baby. I never want you to think you’re not enough for me. You’ve given me more than I could ever ask for.”

You closed your eyes, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over you. His heartbeat was steady against your ear, grounding you in the moment, reminding you that you were here, together. That you didn’t have to carry the weight of your insecurities alone.

The doubts might still be there, but with Chan by your side, they didn’t seem so overwhelming anymore.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Chan pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I love you,” he whispered back, his voice filled with quiet sincerity.

And for the first time that night, those doubts were finally quiet.

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