#but sometimes there's no reason for her to be involved. someone just asked her for help and she showed up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaicubus · 7 months

Text

Extra Salty | Jennifer C.

₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ───────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ─────────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊

warnings ✩° : 18+ NSFW, yandere!jennifer, implied jealousy, established relationship, cursing, reader knows jennifer is a demon, biting/marking, jennifer getting off on your thigh, dom!jennifer, cursing, dirty talk, jennifer calls reader a slut (affectionately).

pairing ✩° : jennifer check x fem!reader, college au, all characters are of age!

premise ✩° : things take a turn for the worst when jennifer finds out her precious girlfriend has been hanging around someone other than her, which is by far one of the worst mistakes someone can make, but how will she punish you?

word count ✩°: 3.9k

authors note ✩° : this is literally THE fic bc its jennifer, who's a succubus, and my whole thing is basically succubi...like it's perfect. anyways so sorry i've been gone, i'm finding time to write and not lose my sanity but school is so stressful!!

────────────────────────────────────────────

Jennifer Check was always confrontational. She never feared rejection or looking bad since no matter what she did, she looked great all the time. What did she have to hide? Nothing, apparently. Not even with the insecurities she so often felt when it came to her obsession with you, her beloved girlfriend.

When most people say they trust their partner just not anyone else, Jennifer says they don't mean it like she means it. That being said, for the longest time, Jennifer Check remained the most jealous girl you knew, not that you knew any girls, though personally you believed she had no reason to be. It was her who was constantly in the limelight, being admired up close or from afar as she held the status of being the most popular girl wherever she went in middle school, high school, and now in college. Her treatment was the same regardless of her location, and if anyone should be jealous in your relationship, it should be you. That doesn't go to say that you are by any means less than Jennifer, you were well aware of the fact that her beauty was unattainable. Not because she got plastic surgery or botox, but because she wasn't human.

A succubus.

She took in a demon from the darkest pits of hell willingly to inhabit her body which causes her to feed on the blood of virgin men, leaving her hungry—starving in fact—until her next fix. Being a succubus basically meant that no matter what, Jennifer would always be beautiful, just as long as she was able to get her hands on the next, drooling dog so she could feed, or as anyone else would say, the next guy looking at her with goo goo eyes. Thankfully, she never had to wait long, and Jennifer remained beautiful. Her hunger for men never stopped her from devoting herself to you though, since as she sees it, men are toys meant to break and abandon, while you're just untouchable.

In her world, the people behind her were simply that: behind her, under her, or below her. They never mattered like you did, the only thing that did matter was if anyone got involved with you, and that was almost always a situation you never wanted to be in because of how extreme she tended to be.

Despite being everyone's dream girl, Jennifer was cold and bitter towards everyone. She couldn't care less if she ‘accidentally’ gave someone attitude or insulted them to their face or behind their backs, because they just weren't you. In her mind, she had no reason to be nice to anyone who wasn't Y/n L/n. However, you were slightly different than her. In fact quite the opposite. In social settings, you greeted everyone with a smile, asking how their day was, and sometimes giving them a hug—since being friendly just seemed like the right thing to do.

The only problem with your instilled politeness was that Jennifer wasn't the biggest fan. She hated seeing you smile at anyone other than herself, let alone anyone she considered to be as low as scum on earth as she felt it insulting to her beliefs and her heart. She never said, but you knew all too well that she was fed up, knowing that you were at class lectures talking and interacting with other people.

You never had to walk on eggshells with her, because she was very upfront and communicative about how she felt, but at times, even you had to admit she was being a little...possessive.

So, that's why when she found you spending the entire day with someone she didn't know through a carousel post on Instagram with the caption reading, “With the best partner in the world!” there was only one thing on her mind.

After a few hours passed since Jennifer saw the post, she was on your doorstep, staring at you with happily squinted eyes, grinning ear to ear, almost as if she were made of plastic. She doesn't have to knock twice before you notice it's her and open the door for her, revealing her straight, long, inky black hair resting pristinely over her shoulder and a tightly fitted cropped shirt hugging her breasts and an acid washed pair of low rise, bootcut jeans hanging off her hips.

Before you could say anything to greet her, Jennifer shoves past you, holding her head up high with that sort of pep in her step that makes her irresistible. Closing the door behind her, Jennifer continues walking past you and makes her way up the stairs to your bedroom, to where you follow without saying a word.

“So.” Your girlfriend smiles and wraps her arms around your neck once you both are in your room, “I missed you, where have you been all day? I texted you like, 10 fucking times.” She spoke, her voice low and thick with sultry as she tips her chin down to meet your confused gaze through her neatly plucked, thin eyebrows. The last time you checked your phone was when your heart sank staring at the 36 missed calls and 61 unread texts all from her. You were going to respond as soon as you got back to your apartment, but Jennifer beat you to it, as she always does.

“You know, I could’ve fucking died, Y/n. You weren't the least bit worried about me?” With a pout, she leans closer and presses a kiss on your cheek, leaving a dark shaded lipstick stain on your otherwise clean skin. She remains smiling, swishing her hair over her shoulders as she cocks her head to the side enchantingly.

“Nice of you to drop in, Jenny.” Despite your initial surprise, you wrap your arms around her shoulders and let your hands fall past her back and her fitted shirt, “I know you didn't die because one, you're already dead, and two, you kept calling. You knew I was in class.” You remind her subtly, using your fingers to twist the ends of her silky hair around in loops in an attempt to calm her boiling nerves.

Jennifer lets out a sharp exhale and drops her shoulders, “I seriously wouldn't play dumb if I were you, baby. I saw your best friend’s post with you in it. Front and center. Next to some bitch with dry, split ends and eye bags that take up like half of her pustule filled face.” She spits accusingly, only giving a heartless shrug after you shoot her a distasteful sneer, “Really frumpy looking. You know, for someone who’s dating someone like me, you’d think you’d hang out with someone with just a bit more style, you know?” She snorts again, not grasping the weight of her hurtful words and only seeing your annoyed expression.

You push yourself off her slightly, but only manage to turn your neck to face her since her hands are interlocked together in a way it’d be impossible to break free. “She’s a friend of mine, Jenny. You don’t have to get defensive, I met her in my calculus lecture. She’s actually really cool, we were studying at that little cafe on—”

“Snoozefest.” Jennifer says loudly, yawning melodramatically, “No name? Surely she’s gotta have one, or are you keeping her name a secret because you’re scared of what I’ll do if I find out? What, is her code name pineapple or some weird shit like that?”

“No nicknames, not much of anything. But VIVIAN and I are going to be studying for our exam next week, because you know I suck at math.” You shrug. Vivian. What a stupid name, Jennifer thought. Of course, it was clear on her face that she didn’t like it. With a small click of her tongue, she rolls her eyes and catches her elbows with her hands, digging into her own skin for a minute.

“God you are so full of shit. Just tell me you think she’s prettier than me. That’s what you’re thinking, right? That’s why you didn’t answer my calls because you were too busy thinking about how much you want to suck on her face?” She holds up two peace signs and rams them together, insinuating some lewd gesture.

You meet her eyes. They were darker than usual, not entirely a different color, but blackened by the shadow cast down from her furrowed brows that only seemed to sink into her face, making her pristine expression appear more or less evil. Crystal blue eyes shake frantically from side to side, scanning your face for any sort of change or distortion that could tell her you were lying to her, but since you weren’t, she couldn’t find anything.

“Jenny, you know I would never go out with anyone like that if they weren’t you.” You smile reassuringly and guide your hands to hers, capturing her cold blooded palms into yours. You fall back silently and sit on the foot of your bed, looking up at her in full. Her arms dangle but she doesn’t seem that convinced.

"...Are you lying to me?" Jennifer asks with a crazed look in her eyes, suddenly gaining the exposure from the light above in a flash, "What the fuck are you hiding me from me, Y/n? Do you have some side bitch? Something you don't want me to talk to me about?" She continues, pressing on to get a rise out of you. You’re well aware of her tactics and the way her mind works, but she was also aware of the fact you had no control over yourself when you got nervous, or rather when she confronted you and backed you into a corner.

“N-No!” You manage to squeeze out, “Jen, I’m not hiding shit from you, what’s your problem?” Hot pink stiletto nails sink into your shoulders, wandering down your arms and tracing back up, instantly making your entire body shiver. Suddenly, her nails dig deep into your skin causing half crescent moons to form red in your skin. You look up at her in shock and your lips snap open at the sight of your teeth bared girlfriend now looking like she’s about to unhinge her jaw and swallow you whole. Little ‘ow’s’ don't stop Jennifer from squeezing harder and harder. It isn't until she sees tears prick your eyes, forcing you to snap them shut. Only now, Jennifer smiled. "What?” You can hear her giggle, “Did you think I was actually going to hurt you?" You open your eyes and grab your chest, heaving a deep sigh of relief, "God, Y/n, you're so fun to scare. It’s nice knowing I can still get a rise out of you, that’s why I always love doing it. But, personally, I find teasing you much more entertaining. Plus, I'm really fucking bored, and you have something I want. That's why I came here, you know?"

You regain a bit of your composure and lean back, “And what would that be?”

Jennifer drops her shoulders and arches her back. Reluctantly taking her hand from yours, she slowly pushes herself onto your body, lowering herself just a bit and wrapping her thin arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her at the same time. “To punish you for ignoring me all day. Because you really know how to piss me off, baby.” Jennifer’s hands clasp together, locking palms into place just over the waistband of your spandex shorts. Sharing a wide eyed glance, Jennifer lets her cherry pink lips fall open, exposing the tips of her ivory teeth and sharp canines as soon as she starts to smirk.

Your mouth falls open as well, prepping your tongue to say something, anything to question her position, the way her lip tucks under her glistening teeth, or her hand slowly trailing down the front of her chest, peeling back the thin, white fabric of her shirt until the cups of her baby pink bra spring out in front of you. No words come out of your throat, not even a sound can be heard as Jennifer effortlessly lifts herself from your waist, unzipping and jostling her belt buckle from her jeans, revealing a matching pink set of panties hugging tightly around her thin waist.

“All I want is for you to look at me, and see all of this,” Jennifer says, leaning down, cupping her hands around her perfectly rounded tits, “Do you know how many times I touched myself today thinking about you? Thinking about how fucking pissed I was about you hanging out with some needy bitch…while I’m being a needy bitch for you…I’m your bitch, but you're my slut. M’kay?”

You nod obediently, earning a gentle grin from the only person who mattered right now. That nod was all Jennifer needed to carry out the rest of her plan, and before you knew it, the same acid washed bootcut jeans she once wore to greet you a few minutes ago on your doorstep were discarded to the floor, looking like nothing more than a towel next to the rest of your dirty laundry. Now, Jennifer sat comfortably between your closed thighs, straddling your leg as if it were an armchair or a bicycle seat. While you were fully clothed and dressed, Jennifer was not.

The only pieces of clothing covering her were slowly being stripped off her the more she noticed how flush your cheeks seemed to get or how many times you've avoided her gaze. How could you act like it didn't bother you that your girlfriend was on top of you, wearing nothing but a matching set of bra and panties, sitting directly on your leg, with nothing to hide, not even the surging heat or pooling wetness pulsating from between her own legs.

"What’s wrong, Y/n? Cat got your tongue?” Jennifer starts moving, rendering you speechless, planting her soft panties, slowly accumulating more and more slick from just the sight of you, onto the bare skin of your thigh, "Ah, you know, you look really good from this side,” Jennifer grins and moves her hips to the side, but quickly corrects herself with a sharp seethe, shaking her head, “No, wait, this side.” You bite down on your lip. Jennifer’s teased you before, she takes great pride in that. But never before has it had such an effect on you as it does now. But why?

Jennifer quickly jerks her hips forward, reminding you of her presence and clearly annoyed at the thought you might be slipping away from her.

“You wish you were eating me out right now, don't you?” Like a puppeteer, Jennifer widens her sadistic grin and nods her head, maintaining her agonizingly slow pace of her rutting hips, which causes you to nod your own, “My soaking wet pussy, your hot tongue inside of me…fuck don't get me excited, Y/n. It’s too bad, because after today, I’m not going to let you fucking touch me.”

“Jenny, I didn't do anything, we just studied!” You let out an uncontrolled whimper, “F-Fuck, ngh…”

“You’re going to watch me fuck myself on your thigh, and you're going to savor every bit of it. You won't even remember that pathetic bitch’s name after I'm finished with you. Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, that’s all you're going to be thinking. No more Vivian…no more anyone else. You drove me crazy, but now it’s time I do the same to you.”

You gulp down all the saliva pooled inside your mouth, forgetting all of your humanly binds as the inhuman entity on your leg arches her back and stares down at you with eyes piercing directly into your own. Jennifer knows the hold she has on you, which is why her ego’s always so high; She dangles her body, her lust, in front of you like a rare steak to a starved dog, knowing the consequences. The bit of drool that leaks out of the corner of your rose-wet lips is all she needs to see to reaffirm that idea.

"That's right, baby, don't stop looking at me. Keep looking at how I'm rubbing my wet pussy on your thigh. Doesn't that feel good?" Jennifer edges in a melodic tone, almost siren-like despite being a succubus, "You did this, you know. You made me so fucking horny, thinking about you and what you did today without me, you got me all riled up. I hope you're proud, slut~"

You nod your head eagerly, mouth widened and agape, but not being able to say what you think you want to say. Almost as if she's put a trance on you, you're silenced. Unharmed, but silent.

If it were your fingers, your mouth, or even your own clit rubbing against hers, the story would be much different. Instead this was Jennifer’s way of punishing you, knowing you can't indulge in the sweetness of her juices or warmth of her fluttering cunt directly, or at least the way you want to. Jennifer rocks her hips back and forth, dragging her throbbing clit and equally sopping wet folds against your skin, chewing on her bottom lip to release as much tension as she can while still teasing the living hell out of you.

“Jenny, p-please, I can’t—” You groan and reach for her stomach, overcome with the insatiable need to touch her skin, but she continues to pleasure herself on your leg. Letting out loose moans as she rolls her neck in circles, Jennifer plants her palms onto your waist, humming your name from her pillowy lips.

“Mm, ooh fuck!” She gasps, “Right there, right there is perfect~!” Her eyes open just a slit, “Better than any fucking vibrator or dildo I've ever had. Who knew fucking my girlfriends pretty fucking thigh could get me so fucking wet…and hot, and messy.” You stare as Jennifer’s fingers tap further down her pelvis and reach the side of her underwear, which was practically useless now as it was completely soaked through with slick arousal seeping from the nylon fabric. As she pulls the sticky material from her inner thigh, you can hear a small, lewd ‘shlick’ sound coming from her pussy, now met with the cold air surrounding the two of you.

Jennifer practically purred as she settles back down on your warm flesh, her now exposed pink cunt flattens onto the same spot on your thigh that she's been massaging into, only now you could truly feel all of her. Her eyes flutter shut, and she repeatedly nudges her sweet spot over and over in circles and bold stripes. Normally, Jennifer’s body was pretty insensitive, at least with anyone else she never got to climax. She grew very fond of faking orgasms, and she was pretty good at it. That never crossed her mind with you, though.

“Baby, look at me,” Jennifer catches your chin and leans down, bucking her hips in sharp, fluid motions, “I'm so close, I'm so close to cumming all over your soft, warm thigh, I'm so close to making such a pretty mess all over you.” She slowly hunches towards you, closing the space between you ever so slowly, taking all the time in the world before finally the burning sensation of her lips on yours returns once more. Pressing against your mouth was the first mistake she made, as now you couldn't hold back anything inside of you. You began to feel your chest start to catch flame, your movements were simply not your own anymore.

Hurriedly, your arms link behind Jennifer’s back, and your hands find their place on your girlfriend’s plush ass, scooting her closer so that her exposed chest is right against your shirt. You can hear her let out a surprised, yet intrigued gasp, followed by an even hungrier kiss, smirking directly into your mouth.

“Ooh fuck, Y/n, is it that hard to keep your fucking hands off me? Am I that irresistible to you, my slutty girl?” She says in between breaks of the heated kiss, licking her tongue in circular motions, making loud, noisy slurps and panting breathlessly. Your hands lift up to her back and basically rip off her bra. You remove yourself from her swollen lips to gaze at her perfectly smooth tits, only for her to cut your admiration short with an abrupt grab at your hands from behind her.

“You're my slut, Y/n. My only. Don't ever fucking,” Jennifer gasps, “Think about anyone else. Just me. Only me.”

“F-Fuck, Jennifer.” You can feel your own heat growing with each second.

“Say it.” She commands, bouncing now on your thigh as she brings your hands out in front of her and places them directly on top of her tits, massaging your palms in circles, “Say you're my slut.” Jennifer’s mouth falls open and her movements instantly grow more and more uncontrolled, which was a tell-tale sign she was close to her climax.

Without hesitation, you lurch forward and run your hands over her erect nipples, squeezing them with just the right amount of pressure to send Jennifer’s body limp, “I'm your slut, I'm your only fucking slut, Jennifer. You're so beautiful for me, all I want is for you to cum.” You wine, your desperate voice full of wanton, “Please, please…”

“My slut, my pretty fucking slut, begging for me to c-cum all over her. Mmngh!” She pants, “Fuck!” Her hips jerk forwards suddenly and you can feel her entire body above you start to spasm. Your eyes widen as Jennifer flips her head down and back up, swishing her black hair messily over her fucked out expression, watching as a few strands get caught in the corner of her mouth, but she could care less. The rush surging inside of her was too much to ignore for her to preserve her neatness. “Fuck! I’m going to cum, I’m going to fucking c—hm!”

You can feel the way her legs tensing and relaxing together around your thigh, giving her the leverage she needs to accommodate for the overwhelming, pulsating sensation rippling throughout her pussy. Jennifer screams out in satisfaction, repeatedly mumbling encouraging ‘yes’s’ from the deepest pits of her diaphragm, bucking and rutting her sopping wet cunt back and forth as she rides out her climax. Her pussy doesn't stop twitching when she opens her eyes with a hefty sigh, nor does it stop when her body gives out and flops into yours. The extra weight of Jennifer is enough to push you backwards against the pillow behind you, but she doesn't let up.

Jennifer continues to crawl onto you, as if she wasn't close enough already, just to surround herself with the comfort of her girlfriend, but clearly trying to physically get under your skin. Jennifer hums in satisfaction and lets out a breathy laugh, rising up to your chest to rest the side of her face comfortably against the top of your collarbone. Flushed, red, and wet, Jennifer presses small kisses all against any exposed skin, running her hands all over your jawline and through your hair.

With a firm grip on the roots of your hair, Jennifer grins, “I...I don't want you talking to her anymore. Ok?” She says softly, almost innocently. As her hands start to move up your glistening thigh, just over the fabric hugging your waist, and past your now unbuttoned shorts, you nod, “I won't talk to her ever again.”

“Good.”

#kaicubus #jennifers body #jennifers body fanfiction #smut fanfiction #jennifer check #jennifers body fanfic #wlw fanfic #wlw smut #jennifers body movie #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check x you #jennifer check x y/n #smut #crazy girls #megan fox #megan fox x reader #2000s movies #wlw post

2K notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 days

Note

AITA for asking my gf's son not to call me dad?

I (22M) have been dating my gf (24F) for 4 years now. She has a 7 year old whose dad isn't in the picture anymore - he hasn't been since the kid was born. My gf says he was abusive and I think there are some charges against him but as far as I know, nothing was proven. He has other kids too who he does have a relationship with but he doesn't have custody rights with my gf's son so they hasn't been allowed to have a relationship.

My gf and I live together and are both in college. I am going to be a surgeon and she wants to study science but she hasn't decided what to do with it yet. Because we're both busy with that, her son doesn't live with us full time. He stays with her parents during the week. This means that we have to dedicate our weekends to looking after the kid. I didn't really mind this at first but her parents are really pushing for her to look after him during the week now too, which we don't have time for. I hear how that doesn't sound great but the plan has always been that her parents will take care of the kid until she finishes with school. She has classes for 4+ hours from Mon-Thurs, plus she needs to spend a few hours studying every day, then she has labs on Friday for most of the day. I have classes all week for fewer hours each day but next semester I'll probably be doing an internship so I'll have more work to do. Then we pick up her kid on Friday evenings and spend the whole weekend with him. There's hardly any time for us to spend time alone together. I like her son and he's usually fun to have around but both of us are obviously stressed from having no down time so most weekends my gf and her son get into an argument or something and things escalate. I try not to get involved when that happens. Sometimes my gf and I are the ones who end up arguing and in that case, I usually go to my parents house.

Basically, I'm not super involved with the kid. Her parents want us to spend all of our free time on parenting despite originally agreeing that it was better if my gf focused on school. He has a dad who could probably be more involved but my gf and her family don't want him around. I've suggested that maybe it would be a better solution for her son to live with his dad full time, that way she can focus on school and then her career and still have time for herself and for us. I love her but she doesn't really have maternal instincts and she doesn't actually want kids, she has said a lot that she regrets not giving him up for adoption.

Recently, we were out for dinner with my gf's sister and kid, and the kid called me his dad. He's done this a lot and usually I just kind of ignore it, but no one else corrected him this time and I felt like the kid deserved the truth. I asked him then and there not to call me dad because he has a real dad who probably wouldn't like it. He didn't seem upset by it but my gf's sister lost it. She thinks I don't want the kid around and that I'm the reason my gf doesn't spend more time with him. She also thinks this was the first time my gf's son heard about his bio dad. Total conjecture, but she won't hear my side of it. The kid knows I havent been around since he was born so he obviously knows someone else must be his dad. I told my gf I don't think it's fair to let the kid call me dad when he has a real dad out there and she sort of agrees. She told her son not to call me dad anymore and they had a long talk about it. She still doesn't want the real dad involved but that's a whole other battle.

Here's why I think I might be the asshole: I said this to the kid in a moment of annoyance, which probably wasn't the way to bring it up. Like I said, he didn't seem upset by it but I wasn't there for the longer conversation so I don't know exactly. I think he's old enough to be allowed to know about his real dad in a more serious way. It's kind of messed up that he could run into his dad in the street (we live in a pretty small town) and wouldn't know it. I'm not his dad and for the foreseeable future, I won't be responsible for him as a parent because he still lives with his grandparents. I think it's reasonable to say that he shouldn't call me dad. So, AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole

450 notes · View notes

lunarw0rks · 9 months

Note

Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.

The Things We Say // 141 Drabble

Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.

Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n

A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.

Price

One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.

Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.

His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?

The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.

He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.

❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.

John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.

But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.

To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.

John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.

—

❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.

❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.

What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.

In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞

—

The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.

His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.

❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.

The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.

His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.

John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞

Simon

Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.

It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.

Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.

❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought.

Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.

He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.

It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.

He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?

❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.

—

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.

Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.

You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.

Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.

Soap

Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.

❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.

He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.

He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.

The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.

❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.

You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.

❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.

Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.

He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.

You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.

❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.

❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.

You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.

Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.

—

It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.

❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.

❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.

Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.

If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.

With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.

The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.

All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.

Gaz

Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.

You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results.

❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.

❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.

He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.

It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc…

But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.

His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.

—

❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.

Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.

—

❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.

What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.

❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.

It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.

Alejandro

Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.

❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.

What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.

❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞

You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.

Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.

❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞

Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.

It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞

—

Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.

You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.

About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.

The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.

The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.

—

The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.

Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.

König

There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him.

You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞

With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞

He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?

❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.

How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.

He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.

Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.

The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.

—

❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.

He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.

He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.

König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.

Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.

If you made it this far - THANK YOU!

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley fluff #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #captain john price #john price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #konig x you #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #task force 141 x y/n

2K notes · View notes

amaya-writes · 7 months

Note

Can I request headcanons with L, Light and Mello with a s/o who's a genius (like them) but acts stupid (like bimbo-ish) just to annoy people?

Notes: I'm SO sorry I took forever to get this out!

Warnings: n/a just fluff

Characters involved: L, Light, Mello

Gender-neutral reader, you/yours

Finds you intriguing.

You're like a puzzle to him. He wants to figure out your motives and understand why anyone would willingly act this way.

It doesn't take him long to understand you're smarter than you let on, however, your reasoning puzzles L a lot.

If you met him during the events of Death Note he immediately decides you're an asset and takes you to his side. You're like the Misa to his Light.

Your job would be to survey Misa, work in the same places as her, join her on any jobs. Since you're good at faking your bimbo personality you easily get along well with her.

At first Light even falls for the guise but with time he realises you're smarter than you look.

Even after Light understands your true personality L still keeps you around to help out. He often takes you with him when he's stalking surveying people and would even ask your opinions on the situation.

At first he used to find you annoying and his opinion of you was very similar to his opinion of Misa. However, with time L starts to find your interactions with others sort of amusing.

He sees your personality as a game, but outside of the Kira case he doesn't really interact with you.

To him, you're just another factor in the case.

Light

Hates it.

Unlike L, Light takes slightly longer to catch on to your personality.

You meet through Misa since you are friends with her. At first, Light presumes you're just like the other girls Misa works with but as time goes on he realises your true potential.

He only gets interested in you once you confess you think he's Kira.

Light's first instinct is to kill you but he refrains from doing so since he thinks he could use you. To him, you're just another pawn he can control to win against L.

L might have some semblance of a bond with you but Light only sees you as an object for his schemes. If he feels that you won't be easily manipulated then he doesn't bother associating with you since you are no use to him.

However, if you are easily swayed his way then Light uses you as an unsuspecting source for information.

With L and the rest of the team constantly hovering over his shoulder Light needed someone on the outside to help him execute his schemes.

Over time he comes to appreciate your wit as it makes it easier to carry out his plans. However, he still expects you to listen to him and hates when you get too creative.

He sometimes wishes you were the one with the Death Note instead of Misa because that would make everything happen so much more smoothly.

He expects you to have your regular personality when interacting with him. If you act like a bimbo when it's just the two of you he gets visibly annoyed.

While you are a genius like him you don't posses the almost inhumane lack of empathy Light is known for, which is why you don't realise the bond you share with him is purely that of a master and his pawn.

Mello

A mixture of the two.

Like L, he finds it weird that you would want to act like a bimbo especially since being a genius is something he always strived for growing up.

To him it's almost like you don't value the skillset his entire life revolves around.

However, he also sees the value in your mannerisms.

Unlike Near, Mello chose to associate himself with the mafia, that meant he needed trustworthy allies who he could rely on to get the work done.

At first he sees you as just another one of the bimbos his men would use as flings and then discard of, but after a few days he realises your true intentions.

You played the role of the innocent girl hopelessly in love with a mafia man yet in reality were using them for your fulfillment. (This can be anything from stealing from the guy you were with to leveraging his connections to complete some personal vendetta.)

Once Mello realises your true persona his first instinct is to get rid of you.

There is only space for one genius in his circle and he can't risk being potentially overthrown.

However, you make him see the value in having you around.

With time, you, Mello, and Matt become a team of sorts. You become a trio known for controlling the mafia groups.

Most people simply presumed you were Mello's bimbo girlfriend he kept around for eye-candy, which made it easy for him to use you to get what he needed.

However, unlike Light, Mello knows the value of having reliable allies (like Matt). He never really places his full trust in you, but with time Mello comes to appreciate you.

1K notes · View notes

appocalipse · 3 months

Text

MAKE IT EASY (part 2) : ̗̀➛ STEVE HARRINGTON

・❥・part 1・part 2・❥・3k words

Summary: steve asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family dinner. the problem is: after all is said and done, he gives you the cold shoulder. have you done something wrong?

Steve has a problem.

No, scratch that. He created a problem for himself, actually, about a week ago. A big, confusing problem that he now has no idea how to solve, so naturally what he's doing is plan B, which is the next best thing: avoiding the problem until it somehow resolves itself.

You are Steve Harrington's problem.

You, with your disarming smile, your gratuitous kindness and your impossible-to-forget laugh. You had made his parents like you, for God's sake. If that's not proof enough that you have some kind of magic working behind your smile, Steve doesn't know what is.

Oh! And of course, there is that damn dress.

Steve lowers his head until his forehead rests on the counter and sighs. Ah, that dress. Steve probably shouldn't think about it, let alone what was beneath it, the warm skin he touched for just a few seconds…no. He shouldn't think about it if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. But apparently, he likes to torture himself.

Steve stays in this awkward position for all of five dramatic seconds until his spine hurts. He straightens up again, with another sigh.

"You should talk to her."

It's Robin (of course) giving her opinion (that no one asked, Steve thinks bitterly) as she walks past him with a stack of tapes in her hands.

"I should never talk to her again. In fact," he argues, speaking a little louder so Robin can hear him from the back of the store, "if you're really my friend, you should make sure that I don't talk to her for the rest of my life."

"Coward."

"Maybe I am."

Even from this distance, Steve is under the impression that he hears Robin sighing.

She walks so fast that he doesn't even register the sound of her footsteps until Robin is in front of him, on the other side of Family Video's front counter, looking at him the way a mother would look at a child throwing a tantrum.

"You are going to talk to her," says Robin, with the certainty of someone who says the sky is blue.

"No."

She smiles. Steve is certain he recognizes that smile. It's the one that scares him, the same that precedes the moment when Dustin or one of the other kids says something like "just trust me, I have an idea", and the idea usually involves a robbery, a murder or interdimensional travel. Sometimes, all three of them.

"Robin-"

She has her backpack on her back.

"End of my shift," Robin hums, suspiciously happy. She takes a step back which, Steve thinks, is quite prudent considering what she says next, "…which means, my dear Steve, that you are obligated to serve our customers. Any customer. Even if you don't want to speak to this specific customer, you'll have to-"

Steve leans over the counter — to do what exactly, he's not sure; strangle her, perhaps — but Robin, as always, is faster. She laughs, and before he can do anything other than practically beg her to stay, Robin is out the front door yelling I'm sorry! over her shoulder, even though Steve knows she's not sorry at all.

Less than ten minutes later, the bell above the door rings again, and Steve wouldn't even have to look to know it's you.

You enter the store and your steps are quick, hurried, a clear goal in your mind.

You stop in front of Steve, almost exactly where Robin had stood a few minutes ago, but the look in your eyes is completely different for more reasons than one.

Steve swallows hard. You had been here two other times this week, and both times Steve managed to somehow force Robin to distract you, acting as if he was too busy to see you. You had clearly decided to talk to her behind his back, because all this had definitely been an elaborate plan between the two of you so that Steve couldn't get away.

You get to the point, crossing your arms. "You are avoiding me."

You're not asking; you're telling him. You know. You noticed.

Well, of course you did. You're smart. Smarter than him for sure.

Steve can only hope you haven't found out about the reason why he's avoiding you these past few days. That would be hard to explain.

He clears his throat. It's like he's trying to breathe with a couple of birds inside his ribcage.

"I'm not avoiding you," he says, but he looks away so quickly he doubts you believe him. "I've just got a lot going on lately…" he trails off, racking his brain for an excuse that would make sense without revealing too much.

It isn't fair — you're the last person he wants to hurt, and yet it took some elaborate plan between you and Robin to get him to stand in front of you again.

Pathetic.

You don't seem impressed. In fact, you laugh before he's even finished speaking, but it's not your usual light, happy laugh; It's a low, wry chuckle that makes Steve feel instantly irritated, even though he knows he probably doesn't even have that right after everything.

He knows he hurt you. He knows. He never wanted that. But you…you have no idea how torturous that night, that dinner had been for him. So yes; he does get a little angry.

"You've got nothing new going on lately!" you retort, growing angry yourself. "You just- I don't know. Have I…done something wrong? Did I make your parents mad that night or something? Because all of a sudden-"

"No!" he snaps, the word coming out harsher than he intended, and definitely louder. His cheeks flush with anger, and then embarrassment, and suddenly Steve desperately wants to crawl into a hole somewhere.

He clears his throat.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong," he repeats, softer this time. "It's just…it's complicated."

"It's complicated?" you ask, and now you're all but yelling too. Great. "That's your excuse for flat out ignoring me for the past week?"

"I'm not ignoring you!" he protests, his voice a bit higher than usual.

The truth is: he has been avoiding you. Every time he sees you, he feels this strange pull towards you - a mix of attraction and annoyance that he can't quite figure out. And every time he talks to you, he worries that maybe he'll say too much, or worse yet, say nothing at all and you, with your annoyingly sharp mind, will read him like a book.

As if that wasn't enough, Steve thinks, tormented, you decide to walk around the counter to literally stand in front of him, nothing else between the two of you besides a couple of steps.

This proximity feels like a trap. Steve takes another step back and his hipbone hits the counter. Dear God.

"Yes, you are!" you argue, crossing your arms and taking a step forward almost without realizing it. "You asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend for one night so that your parents would leave you alone, and I did. I thought it was okay. But then you pretty much ran out of my house afterwards and refused all my attempts to talk to you ever since."

You sigh. You lift your chin and look up at him, and, alarmed, Steve notices that your eyes are a little red, as if you're holding yourself back from crying.

He's making you cry?

Shit. The last thing he wants in the world is to make you cry.

"Tell me what I did wrong," you say, and the sudden softness of your voice catches Steve off-guard. "You owe me at least that, don't you? If seeing me is such a problem for you, just..tell me what I did wrong and I'll leave you alone. I'll go…clearly that's what you want."

"No, that's not what I want," he says quickly, stepping closer to you before his mind can catch up on his intentions. "Look, I'm sorry. I just…I don't know how to handle this."

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, and you probably notice the desperation in his tone, because you just stand there, looking at him. Waiting, he realizes. You don't move.

Then you ask, sounding so innocently confused that Steve almost feels like screaming:

"How to handle…what?"

It's not possible, he thinks. There's no way you didn't notice. You would have to be blind, deaf and…well, maybe not even then. Steve had thought things had gotten pretty clear the week before, at your place, when you had asked him to unzip your damn dress and he had gotten so carried away he almost kissed you and…

Well.

"You," he answers immediately, looking you square in the eye with all the genuine honesty he still has the capacity for. "I don't know how to handle the fact that I…" Steve swallows.

"That you..?" you encourage, taking a tentative step closer.

"Do you really want to know?" he asks, not moving an inch.

"Yes."

Steve's heart skips a beat, a beat that could very well be his last. "Look-"

"Tell me."

"I think you already know."

"I don't."

"Oh, come on," Steve says, his voice cracking as he lets out a humourless chuckle. "You can't tell me you didn't notice the way I looked at you last week. I mean, Jesus, I asked you to pretend to be my girlfriend for dinner with my parents, and then I almost…"

He trails off.

And there it is; that funny feeling inside your chest, that warmth you can't even begin to explain.

"You almost what?"

He chuckles again. "Why do you think I left like that?"

"I honestly have no fucking idea, Steve."

"You asked me to unzip your dress."

"And?"

Steve looks at you like you'd just grown an extra limb.

"You can't be serious."

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry I asked you to do that, but I didn't mean to make you, uh…uncomfortable. You could have said no if-"

"That's not it." Steve cuts you off, frustrated because God help him, you don't get it. You still, somehow, don't get it. He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

So what he does instead is turn around, placing his hands on the counter, his back turned to you so that he can think clearly for a moment without being distracted by the way you're looking at him.

But you…oh, you never let things go, do you?

"What is it then, Steve, huh?" you ask, shortening the distance between the two of you by half. You know the answer, or at least a part of you does. But the other part, the part that's stubborn and insecure and tired…wants to hear him say it. Needs to hear him say it. "What is it? Because it feels like you just want to hurt me. You asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend for one night, but it didn't feel like we were…"

Pretending. Is that what you were going to say?

You stop speaking abruptly, eyes wide as if the words had come out of your mouth on their own. Judging by how angry you sounded, Steve thinks that's exactly what happened.

"Then you just…decided to ignore me."

For one moment, the only thing between you two is the silence.

"I didn't do that to hurt you," his voice is a whisper.

"Then what the fuck were you trying to do, Steve?"

"Get over you!"

"I...what?"

It feels like you're taunting him at this point.

"What, not what you expected?" He says, voice tight as he turns around to face you again, a bitter laugh trapped inside his throat. "C'mon, are you that oblivious?"

He's getting closer to you as he speaks now, voice growing more intense, more desperate; but you don't back away, he notices. You don't move, don't push him away. All you do is look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, waiting, searching for something in his expression.

"I-I fucked up, okay? I told you it was just play pretend but the truth is…I didn't have to pretend one bit," he confesses, eyes finding yours, and immediately that anger — or whatever it was — dissipates, his tone softening as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I should have known that having you for one night, even if it was just pretend, would just make it that much worse. That's why I tried to avoid you. To get over you…and clearly that didn't work."

There's so much you want to say that you feel like you're choking on your own words. "I don't- you, I mean-"

"No, it's alright, just…" He looks down at the ground, then steps back again with a small, empty chuckle. "Go ahead and reject me. Make it easy for me."

"I-what? Reject you?" If a demogorgon suddenly showed up and swallowed your left leg whole, you're pretty sure you would have been less taken aback.

"I know it's not what you want to hear. It's not how I wanted things to go either. But I'm trying to be honest here," he says, taking another step back, feeling more and more exposed with every stupid word that comes out of his mouth. "I care about you. And I know that if I don't get over this, it's going to ruin everything. So, please, just-"

"Oh my God, you are so stupid!"

Your tone of voice changed completely. Steve lifts his head to look at you, and to his complete and utter confusion, you're laughing.

Laughing.

For a terrible moment, the thought that you're laughing at him crosses his mind, but then…

You hug him. You hug him so tightly, in fact, that Steve is pushed back a step or two, and suddenly he's pressed up against the counter once again.

“You didn’t kiss me,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your cheek pressed against his chest.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair and feeling the soft cotton of your shirt under his fingers. He can feel the warmth of your body against his. It's almost painful, how good it feels to be this close to you.

He wonders if he heard it wrong.

No — he certainly heard it wrong. He's hallucinating. Must be.

"Wait, I…what?"

You don't move an inch, but Steve feels as you take a deep breath against his shirt. He wishes he could see your face.

"That night," you explain, finally looking up at him. You look more flustered than he's ever seen you. Closing one of your hands into a fist, you hit Steve's chest without any real force. "I thought you were going to kiss me, but then you just ran off without saying anything. How was I supposed to guess that you actually liked me, Steve Harrington?"

He almost chuckles. Steve feels like his heart is in his throat, he can't believe what he's hearing. You like him? You, the girl he's been crushing on for what feels like forever, actually like him?

It's too much to process. He tries to form a response, but all that comes out is a strangled sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

So instead of trying to use any stupid words, he reaches out and cups your face in his hands, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. He leans down slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, and finally, finally, when you don't move away…he brushes his lips against yours.

It's just a soft, tentative touch, but it's enough to make him forget about everything else.

Steve pulls back then, waiting for you to pull away, to tell him no…but you don't. You close your eyes and lean into him, opening your mouth a little more against his, inviting him in. He takes the invitation, pressing his lips against yours again, more firmly this time, feeling your soft, warm tongue slide against his. He presses harder, deepening the kiss, feeling your hands curl into his shirt as he pulls you even closer.

You feel dizzy, light-headed, and utterly, perfectly lost in this moment.

Your hands cling to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles there as you, too, attempt to pull him closer, as close as possible…and then, the bell above the front door rings, announcing that someone just entered the store.

Fuck.

Steve groans as you pull back immediately.

It's just a customer, an older man with a newspaper under his arm, looking around curiously. Steve knows it's not his fault, but he doesn't think he's ever hated anyone quite so strongly.

He looks down at you and it's a mistake; you look so beautiful with your cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the kiss, a soft, embarrassed smile on your mouth. Steve doesn't know what to say, he's not even sure he knows how to find his voice right now, so one of his hands finds its way up to cup your cheek again, fingers curling gently while the man walks around the store looking for God knows what.

Steve feels like he's on cloud nine. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in you again, and to hell with Family Video's customers. But you, on the other hand…

You grin. "You should probably-"

"Don't go anywhere," Steve tells you with a grin of his own. "I'll be right back."

Apparently, he wasn't aware that he wouldn't be able to get rid of you if he tried.

tags (i hope i haven't forgotten anyone, sorry!): @siriuslysmoking @sebastiansstanswhore @sorchateas @boomitsallie1 @vivzzi @mel119g @skrzydlak

my masterlist | buy me a coffee

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

841 notes · View notes

callmemaeverick · 1 year

Text

Dangerous Games [Sherlock Holmes x fem!Reader]

A/N: This little oneshot has been playing in my head since the release and I had to get to get it out. Forewarning, this is unbeta’d AND non-period accurate. I am not a Brit, nor am I from that era, though I like to pretend. I just like Henry as Sherlock and I like whump, so when he was shot, well, this came out of it.

Summary: You are Mrs Hudson’s niece and you were at your aunt’s for your monthly visit, when you heard her favourite tenant stumble through the door

You knew of him, of course. How could you not? He had commanded attention and admiration wherever he went. And that case Basilweather case a few months ago made him even more popular. But you knew him not as the brilliant detective. No. You knew him as your aunt’s reclusive tenant.

Sherlock Holmes.

He was definitely a character, you decided. Sharp as a tack and not a bad violinist. But he was also blunt and straightforward, sometimes to the point of rudeness. You could recall a time or two where his unsolicited remarks and astute observations made you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at him.

And then there’s the constant revolving door of guests, wanted and unwanted, going up and down the stairs to his flat cum office cum lab cum whatever else. It was very irritating for one looking for a peaceful afternoon with one’s reading.

Your aunt loves him though. Dotes on him as if he was her own. You knew he had helped her with something serious, but no matter how many times you asked, she wouldn’t tell you what. It sometimes drives you mad, but deep down you were grateful he was there to help.

So, despite his apparent lack of empathy, you knew he was a good man. Which was the only reason you put up with him.

xxxx

“You’re an idiot, Sherlock Holmes,” You hissed as you pulled the thread stitching his skin back together.

Judging by the quirk of his eyebrow, you knew it was not something he hears often. In fact, most of the time, it was probably the exact opposite. But you were undeterred, especially since he almost gave you a heart attack, walking through the front door limping and covered in blood.

“Do I want to know the reason you decided to forego a hospital and the attention of a real doctor?”

Sherlock grunted at a particular sharp tug of the suture but did not pull away from your hand. "And miss out on your charming company? Never."

Rolling your eyes at his snark, you returned your focus to the gunshot wound. "Don’t be glib with me, you know it doesn’t work. And it’s not like you couldn’t afford the hospital, so tell me what’s going on?”

When your question was left unanswered, you finished off the last suture and looked up, just to find that his attention was no longer on you but on his map over your shoulder, still cluttered with notes. Frowning, you shifted to block his line of sight. “Sherlock?”

“I had to know.” There was no trace of jest in his voice anymore.

“Know what?”

“I had to know how deep the corruption goes. Her web. I need to know what she’s involved in.”

“She? Enola?” You referred to his young sister, someone you had just met a few days ago helping the man before you up the stairs. She endeared herself to you quite quickly, you realized, as you felt your concern for the Holmes’ siblings grow.

“No. Mira Troy. Moriarty.”

You scoffed at the clever wordplay and turned to look at the map behind you. The name was written clearly on one of the cards.

“She could have died… Enola.” He clarified before you asked. “Had the knife been real, she could've…”

You didn’t know what had truly happened and you suspect you might never will. But you knew it had shaken him quite seriously.

“Sherlock, hey, look at me,” You called, turning back to him. You waited until he pulled his eyes to yours, until you could see the slight discoloration in his left iris. “She is safe, hm? She is sleeping, right in there.” You motioned to his bedroom. "You need not worry."

His gaze moved to his closed door as if he could see right through the wood.

“I just got her.”

“And you’re scared you’re going to lose her.”

“Yes.”

You smiled at the sentiment in his soft voice. He wasn’t as unfeeling as he would like people to think him to be. “You’ve changed, Sherlock Holmes.”

He hummed, coming to the same conclusion. “Perhaps.”

“Give her some credit, Sherlock. She’s tougher than she looks.”

He was silent as he contemplated your words and you didn’t know what he was seeing as he turned to look at you but you refused to break under his stare.

“Like you?"

Heat tinged your cheeks at the sincere mirth dancing in his eyes. It hadn't escaped your begrudging notice that Sherlock Holmes is an attractive man, all wide, strong shoulders and deep voice. It also didn’t help that he was indeed one of the most intelligent man you’ve met.

The feel of his soft touch on the back of your hand stole your attention and your breath stuttered in your lungs when you saw that your hand were clasped overtop his. You didn’t know when you had reached out to him, but what shocked you more was that you felt comfortable enough that the action did not even register to you.

You could only watch as he leaned a little bit closer, grunting with the effort. His head dipped to where his thumb was tracing your knuckles. “My sister believes I’m alone here. In need of a companion."

"Is that," Your voice had dropped to a whisper, as if you were sharing a secret, so you cleared your throat to return it back to normal. "your way of asking me to be your friend?"

Sherlock looked up at you and you froze at the look in his eyes. Heart beating wildly in your chest, you followed his gaze as it dropped to your lips. "Not a friend." He said.

You opened your mouth to respond.

"Sherlock?"

The call of his name might as well be a clap of thunder with the way you both jumped apart at the sound of it. And in that instance, the moment was gone. Blood rushing to your face in embarrassment, the both of you awkwardly stood to face Enola, coming out of the room.

"Are you two alright?" She asked taking in the sight of you, wide eyed and flushed, and Sherlock, shirtless and bloodied. "I heard-"

"Y-yes. I was just... leaving." You sidestepped the man before you and headed for the door, highly aware said man following closely behind.

He called your name, exasperation in his tone, but you ignored it.

"Keep the wound and stiches dry and you'd be right as rain in a few days." Over his shoulder, you smiled at his sister. "You take care of yourself, Enola. If you still feel dizzy and nauseous, have your brother take you to the hospital, alright?" Finally meeting his eyes, you tried to convey what your lips hadn't had the chance to.

"Goodnight, Mr Holmes."

His lips twitched at the game you had initiated. He inclined his head in reply.

The game is on.

Part II

#sherlock holmes #henry cavill #enola holmes #enola holmes 2 #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #enola holmes 2 spoilers #dangerous games #mav's posts

3K notes · View notes

kvtie444 · 4 months

Text

✭.・✫ IT ALMOST WORKED

A/N: supa sad but I luv this song

Summary: reader and chris try to make things work, but his commitment issues are in the way

Warnings: angst, swearing,kissing, drunk people idk

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Saturday night, and I had opted for a quiet night in, away from the bustling atmosphere of a party my friends were all at. Parties weren't really my scene. As I stared out of my window at passing cars in the light rain, my thoughts were interrupted by a buzz. I glanced at my phone.

Chris

y/nnn im fuckedj

can I caomr stay at urs pls baby

A sigh escaped me; he was at the party. Chris and I shared this complicated situationship, almost like a relationship without the label or public acknowledgment. Strangely enough, despite my reserved nature and his outgoing personality, we fit together well. Sometimes, he could be overwhelming, but I helped ground him. However, the non-exclusive nature of our connection stung. I knew he was still involved with other girls, but he always claimed I was his favourite.

I sighed before replying.

Y/n

yeah, just get here safe and call me when you’re here

I hit send and got up to tidy up a bit. After freshening up, I settled back in my bed, scrolling through my phone. Tapping through snap, I landed on my friend Nate's story - it was Chris doing a body shot off another girl. Of course, she was perfect. It irked me, seeing him so intimately involved with someone else – Her hands all over him, his lips against hers with only a lime between them. I sighed, shutting my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. Could he change or commit to me? I cared too much.

Fiddling with the sleeves of Chris's hoodie that I was wearing; I heard my phone vibrating. It was Chris calling, and I answered, letting him speak first. "I'm here," he slurred. "Coming," I mumbled before hanging up. I got out of bed and walked towards my front door, opening it to find Chris quite literally grabbing the wall for stability. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he shot me a toothy grin. "Hiii," he chimed, pulling me into a tight embrace. I couldn't help but giggle. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he murmured against my hair, "I missed you, baby," before peppering kisses on my forehead, nose, cheek, and finally, my lips. It was a short, sweet kiss, and I pulled away, smiling. Taking his hand, I led him to my room. He quickly sat on the edge of my bed. I grabbed a water bottle and gave it to him, standing between his legs. He sipped some and threw it aside. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me against him. He nestled his head against my stomach as I ran my fingers through his hair, he mumbled a string of drunken words. I sighed, feeling a sense of comfort with him, which I hated right now - I had just seen him all over some other girl, and now I was letting him use me?

Grabbing his face slightly, I pulled him back, looking at him. I decided to give him the chance to be honest. "Anything happen at the party?" I asked, looking down into his hooded eyes. He licked his lips, running his hands up and down my exposed thighs. "Don’t remember much," he shrugged. My eyes scanned his face, and I couldn't help but notice a bruise on his neck. You're kidding me. I sighed and gently pushed him off me, stepping back. "Well, you got with someone clearly," I said, brows furrowed. He dramatically fell back against the bed, groaning, his hands running over his face. "C’mon ma, it didn’t mean anything. They’ll never be you," he mumbled. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

I knew Chris had commitment issues; he had opened up to me about how his fear of relationships began. Yet another reason why I was so mad about him getting with other girls - we had seen each other in our most vulnerable states. "Chris, sit up," I scowled. He just hummed a little "mm." "Chris," I said a bit louder, going over to him and having to sit him up. His hand reached for mine, but I pulled them away, his face furrowing in confusion.

I needed to stop entertaining this; it wasn’t healthy. "Be honest right now, Chris. Do you see yourself in a relationship with me anytime soon?" I braced myself for the worst, subconsciously holding my breath. He sighed and looked down, then up into my eyes. "I really like you, y/n," he said. "That’s not what I asked, Chris," I replied, feeling tears begin to brim at my eyes. I knew what this meant. He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "You know the answer to that, y/n," he said quietly. The room fell silent, the only noise being cars passing by and the soft sound of crickets in the night. I sighed, pull yourself together, y/n, don’t let him see you cry, don’t let him know he has the power to hurt you.

"I think you should go," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper as I stared at the floor. He exhaled deeply, the creak of him standing up from my bed, and he just walked past. Eventually, I heard my front door shut, my eyes still glued to the ground, back to being alone.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list !!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @s1urnioloslvr @mattsbratt @mangoposts @christinarowie332 @recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333 @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess @poopydroopt @byechristopher @solarsturniolo @m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444 @mangosrar @ilovetoomanymen @thankyounextt @glossyfx @bellasturniolo @justurniolos @cl0esblogg @strumbolisworld @plasticferal

#chris sturniolo #angst #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #fluff #imagine #matt sturniolo #smut #sturniolo triplets #Spotify

331 notes · View notes

kittenintheden · 2 months

Note

Since I adore the way you write I was thinking this might be up your alley:

Tav/named Tav or Ori (years after the Netherbrain or some such) challenging Astarion that they can make him cum with kisses alone. He's blindfolded and he cannot touch himself 👀

And maaaayyybee just to make it harder: pointy ears are off limits.

Well. How could I say no?

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion x AFAB F!Tav (3rd person) Word Count: 1.7k Content: 18+, established relationship, sexy kissing, sexually explicit talk, teasing, orgasm delay, analingus

***

They love to kiss.

A few years have passed, the greatest of their heroics nowhere near forgotten but just a bit distant. They've been together through it all and beyond. They've more adventures under their belts, more friends than they know what to do with, and memories enough to bring more joy than sorrow most days.

As they recline in one of their favorite armchairs, her draped across his lap crosswise with her arms wrapped around his neck, Astarion doesn't kiss her like the first time. That was stilted, acted, hollow. No, he kisses her like the first time he realized this was... something.

He remembers that kiss well. Softer, opening. The loosening of lip and tongue to let someone in. She meets him instantly, as she always has. Always up for anything if it involves him. It has the same effect on him now that it did then.

Astarion groans as he breaks their kiss, rolling his forehead against hers. "Gods, Tav, how do you do it? Sometimes, I think I could come from your kisses alone."

Her grin goes wide against his lips. "Is that a challenge?"

His eyelids feel heavy as he blinks them open to look at her. With effort, he raises an eyebrow. "Would love to see you try."

"Oh, you..." She leans in close and curls out her tongue to just barely touch his bottom lip before she sits back again. "... asked for it."

"Literally did, yes," he says. She pushes up to standing and gives him a gentle shove so he takes her place draped across the chair, legs hanging over one side and his head cushioned on the other. He folds his hands across his torso and smirks at her.

Tav matches his smarmy look as she reaches to her hips to untie the sash she has tied across them. She takes the cloth and begins folding it over itself before she says, "I don't think you're going to see me try, though." She winks and comes closer.

"Cheeky," he teases as she places the cloth over his eyes and moves around to tie it behind his head. "Fine. I get to lay ground rules, as well."

"Go ahead," she says as she gets the blindfold in place, amusement in her voice.

Astarion raises a finger in the air. "No ears. My ears are off limits."

She drops her hands with a huff. "What for?"

"You know exactly what for, you cheat," he says, mockingly shaking his raised finger as if scolding her. "This is kisses only. Kisses from your mouth."

He hears her tutting above him. "Tongue? Teeth?" she asks.

"Only as much as would reasonably be expected during an intimate but not... aggressive moment," he says. "No sucking."

"Hm," she hums. "I'll work with it. Now, my rules: no touching."

"What?" he huffs through his laugh.

She boops his nose. "No touching me, and no touching yourself. I'm steering, not you. Dear."

"Feisty tonight," he purrs. "I'll allow it. Because it's hot, mostly."

She chuckles as she pushes off the chair and takes a step back from the sound of it. "Challenge accepted. Clothes off."

He turns his head in her direction. "Why don't you do it?"

There's a pause, then she clears her throat and says "uh-uh" and he realizes she must have shook her head and then realized he can't see her. He huffs a laugh.

"I'm only allowed to kiss," she says. "You know I'm skilled, but undoing buttons and hooks via kiss is beyond even me."

"Oh, all right," he lilts through his grin as he begins to undo his buttons. "If you insist."

"This as much as you'll get to touch yourself for a bit, so enjoy it while you can," she says. She's closer now. Kneeling near his head by the sound of it.

He enjoys it. He enjoys it very much, teasing her mercilessly by plucking each button with intentional slowness, sliding his clothing off his skin bit by bit. Though he can't see her, he can hear her pulse quicken, smell the stirrings of her arousal. It's giving her a head start, he knows, but he can't help his body reacting to it.

She notices. "I haven't even touched you yet and you're already half-hard. The odds look to be in my favor."

"Long way to go before you can gl-" he starts, but he's cut off as he feels the weight of her hands on the arm of the chair by either side of his head and her mouth is on his. His last words melt into a pleased hum.

It's a sweet kiss. Tender, loving. Exactly the way she kisses him when she wants him to know he's precious to her, safe with her. It's a lover's sigh swirling down the length of his spine and he blooms instantly, just like she certainly knew he would. He tilts his chin up toward her, trying to get closer. More.

Tav lets him take comfort of her. Take love, take care. When he cracks open from it, when his lips fall open and pliant, she teases them open further with gentle laps from the tip of her tongue. They meet, warm and wet, tasting of one another.

He nearly catches her about to suck one of his lips but she stops herself, her mouth flickering into a quick smile before she gives him a light nip instead. It sends a shiver straight down the line between his abdominals and he feels his cock go fully hard and aching.

Astarion presses his hips deeper into the chair and arches his chest up, a low noise in his throat. He makes his hands into fists and his sides and feels Tav reach for the hand nearest her. She sits up and he lets her lift his hand to her face, gently loosening it until she can press her lips to the pad of one of his fingers. It's a relatively innocent gesture, which makes his soft moan sound all the more debauched in the quiet of the room. He bites his lip and turns his face away from her, desperate to pretend she's not having the effect she is as she presses kisses to each of his fingers, then his palm, then the inside of his wrist.

Then her tongue is warm and gentle against the thin skin of his wrist and his cock twitches hard. There's the smallest bit of tightening and he feels cool air more prominently against his skin. He realizes it's because he's leaking, the head of him going slightly damp.

"Ah ha, ha," he laughs breathily. "That's... made your point, I think."

She giggles and puts his hand back down. He feels her body heat as she leans over him. "I don't think it has, love."

"Oh, oh.... kay..." he manages before her lips land beside his windpipe and he instinctively bares his whole throat to her, head tilted back over the arm of the chair.

Tav giggles against his skin as she kisses down the length of his neck and back up again, paying special attention to the place where his pulse point would be if he had a pulse. He nearly gets it together enough to scold her for straying so close to his ear when she kisses down once more and continues over his collarbones, then between his pectorals.

Her mouth presses and lifts down, down, following the line of his abdomen all the way. She's always careful to keep her arms on either side of him, dutifully not touching in any way that could be considered cheating. Speaking of cheating, she's getting dangerously close to...

But she veers to the side, instead placing another open-mouthed kiss over his hip bone. Astarion rolls into it with a sigh, his neglected cock seeking stimulation of any kind. He's so achingly hard and sensitive that he's nearly to the point of mindlessly attempting to rut whatever's closest.

Tav's laughter ghosts her hot breath over the crease of his thighs. Her mouth leaves him and he bites down hard on the whine that tries to escape him. He can hear her breathing hard around her words.

"Lift up a bit more for me?" she says.

With a groan, he does so, lifting himself so his hips are angled better for her. He's at the point of doing whatever she asks because she's a balm, she's soothing relief and rolling pleasure. Just barely, he manages to say, "Kisses only."

"Yes, dear," she says as she uses the softest possible nudge to get him in place.

Her mouth is back at the crease of his thigh, then the other side, gentle kisses up and down, and it is so sweet but he's losing his mind, he needs more, always more.

Tav's parted lips are soft against the root of his cock and his balls pull in tighter to him. Close, but not quite there. Not yet.

"Darling, I... I can't take... please," he breathes. "I'm so close, please."

She kisses the base once more and moves up higher, just a breath, and he preemptively smiles, waiting for her to take him in her mouth, give him his final end, relieve the ache. But she doesn't keep going up.

Tav goes down.

Just as Astarion realizes what she's about to do, she does it. A warm, teasing, slow open-mouthed kiss to his arsehole, followed by circle, and circle, and circle, and-

The blackness behind his blindfold whites out as his body rolls through its orgasm, his spend spilling from him in bursts as he shivers through it. His groan stutters out of him in pieces.

When he can move his arms again, he raises a heavy hand to pull the blindfold off his head and glares down the length of his mussed body at his partner, who leans on one hand and grins up at him from between his legs.

"That was definitely cheating," he pants.

She shrugs. "You said ears were off limits. You didn't say anything about arse."

"You're... going to get it... later." He flops back onto the chair and goes boneless. "Once my limbs are answering requests from my brain again."

#astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion bg3 #bg3 smut #kitten writes #ask box #davenswitcher #that one didn't go where I expected it to but I'm not mad

236 notes · View notes

monimccoythings · 14 days

Text

Alastor x Daughter!Reader: Runaway I (Platonic)

So, what would it happen if Y/N after a lot of time at the hotel, decides to run off and explore the human world? Just like it happened in Helluva Boss I think. This is lighter than the others, but I really wanted to write this one. This could be interpreted as some AU of the Au or even set in the same series after a lot of time has passed.

I know the Grimoire doesn't really look like that and is in the ownership of someone else, but I was thinking that since Lucifer is the King of Hell, he should have at least a copy.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason.

Tw: Controlling behavior, possessive behavior, Alastor being a very controlling dad.

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog, @kiraisastay

Things have gotten much better for you since you first arrived. It had finally gotten inside your thick skull that this experience was for real. As crazed as Charlie's dream seemed to be, you couldn't help but believe in her and her goals, given her optimism and enthusiasm. You could say this place was safer than anywhere else you had been crashing for the last ninety years.

But the safety of a place didn't always come hand in hand with feeling safe. And there was only one person to blame for that: Alastor.

If he had been overprotective as a human, as a demon he was much worse. He didn't give a fuck about subtlety anymore. He knew the kind of people that were out there; in fact, he was one of them! Time had proved over and over again you wouldn't make it out there without his protection! He just wanted what was best for you and he also casually happened to know what it was! He was that smart, hahahaha!

As a minor, there was little you could do in Hell, you couldn't drink, you couldn't smoke, you couldn't have sex. So that just nuked three of the most popular hobbies there. Not that you cared much, but it just really left you with a feeling that you didn't belong among the guests and staff friend group due to your youth. The emotional age gap was quite something. And there were times where you felt like the tag-along-kid more than a part of the team.

It was really embarrassing to pull yourself up to one of Husk's stools, ask for the strongest he had, and get served some pineapple juice. He may get a few laughs out of your antics, but you just wanted to fit in.

Sometimes you played with Nifty, since she seemed to be the closest to you in age. Unfortunately, Nifty didn't seem to know any game that didn't involve cleaning or roach mutilation. (how was she even able to find a murderous point of view to Parchis???)

Charlie and Vaggie were too busy managing the hotel and attracting new customers, but you got a feeling they still wouldn't manage to fill that void you seemed to have.

Angel was like the big brother you wished you had had back when you were alive. He loved to gossip with you and Cherri; even when you didn't understand half of what they were saying, it felt nice having some kind of normal teenage stuff around. He also liked to nudge you towards some potential boyfriends, saying that you were in 'in the age' *wink* *wink*. Your dad did not appreciate that.

Alastor wouldn't consider himself a boyfriend blocking dad, Heaven's, no! Just a humble boyfriend murdering dad. So whatever idea of dating or just hanging out with other people your age was out of the question. As soon as you started talking to someone that was in the same age range as you, his shadowy form started to appear behind you and his eyes changed into dials, that was enough for anyone to start running in the opposite direction (he had scared away so many pontential guests it was unreal)

You couldn't even own a phone. Your dad insisted that 'his hotel, his rules'. Any technology that surpassed the 50s was out of the question. (they still didn't have a working phone). If he caught you with one in your hands, specially a VOXTECH phone, even if it was not yours, the battery suddenly started to heat to unbearable levels and you just had to drop it before it exploded in green flames.

Where was the fun loving dad you grew up with? The one that at least had the decency to be a bit more discreet? 'Dead at the prospect of raising a teenage girl!' He liked to say with a laugh.

You talked to Rosie about it, hoping she would talk some sense into him, and he had the nerve to act all innocent and oblivious! Like you were the one being unreasonable!

Somehow, this safe haven had started to become like a prison. You found yourself feeling suffocated and alienated from the others. When you were out there on your own you had lived in fear and trauma, which you hated with all what remained of your heart; but now that you were in a relatively safe place, you felt isolated and trapped. There was no common ground. You needed to breath, to live (or unlive), to enjoy life! You were not a little girl anymore! (҉Y҉e҉s҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉w҉e҉r҉e҉!҉)҉

So, one day, while helping Nifty clean and hiding from the Radio Demon That Sees It All, you casually stumbled into something very interesting at Lucifer's workshop. It looked like an ancient book, unlike those at the library which you had read and reread over and over again (One could read one too many times Mr. Waddles Goes to Church before it started to get old).

Something in that book drew you towards it, you knew you shouldn't look. It was probably full of ancient demonic knowledge, but maybe a teensy weensy peek wouldn't hurt, right?

Your face lighted up when you opened the book, (and not only because the light was coming from it). There were no words to describe what you found inside. You could see everything inside of it, it was like it was filled with everyone's dreams and hopes, you wondered how something as beautiful as that had ended up in Hell.

Without thinking, you touched the pages which felt warm to the touch. In response to your delicate caress, the pages started shining even brighter. You were so mesmerized by it that you didn't notice how the room was starting to fill with small orbs of light that started moving around you at impossible speeds, like a tornado.

Crafting materials, toy ducks and gizmos were sent around the room due to the force of the movement. But you didn't pay them any attention. There was something truly magical about the orbs' dance. It was enrapturing.

The door shot wide open, revealing Lucifer, Charlie and Vaggie with an horrified look in their faces. They were shouting something at you, but you could barely hear them, too lost in the orbs and their hypnotic dance. So distracted that you didn't feel the chilling presence that joined them until he spoke.

"Y/N, my dear? ." You felt a shiver run down your spine and your heart filled with the fear of a child who knows they have been caught doing something they shouldn't. You could perfectly hear his radio filtered voice, clear as a day, quiet as the calm before the storm. "Step away from that book, cherie. You could get hurt, and we don't want that, do we? ." He spoke with the kind of condescending tone one would use with a little kid.

A new sudden emotion emerged within you, something you had never felt before and never had any need for it. Anger. Who was he to stop you? Why did he always treat you like you were one of his puppets? Like you were another toy he could dress up and command as he pleased? Why couldn't he let you live?.

Feeling braver, probably due to the book's influence, you looked at his red eyes defiantly, once again touching the pages. Despite his permanent smile, you could tell he was getting angrier by the second.

"Y҉/҉N҉" His body was morphing, growing, eyes already changing to those red radio dials that gave you the chills. "I҉ ҉F҉O҉R҉B҉I҉D҉ ҉Y҉O҉U҉-҉"

"No!" You found yourself surprised at your own voice."I lost my life for you, I got sent here because I tried to protect you, I wasted my life because of you!" That last part came a bit more demonic sounding than intended. "Now. I WANT TO LIVE."

And with that, you were enveloped in a bright light and dissapeared.

For a couple of seconds, nobody dared to make a move. After what felt like hours, reality seemed to kick in and everyone sprung into action; Lucifer desperately searching through the pages of a suddenly very uncooperative book, just in case you had been sucked in, Vaggie was already establishing a perimeter around the hotel and search parties, and Charlie, poor sweet Charlie was franctically looking through every single room on that floor.

The only one who hadn't moved yet was Alastor. Already shrunk back to normal size, he seemed completely relaxed and chill in what could be considered an extremely catastrophic situation to any parent.

"Ah, must be those teenage hormones kicking in." His voice sounded as cheery and joyful as always. Almost like he didn't care. Lucifer shot him a venomous look, silently urging him to show a little care for his MISSING DAUGHTER. But Alastor had already retreated back into the shadows and returned to his radio tower.

If only they knew.

The truth was that Alastor cared. Way too much. He sunk his claws into the table while he fought against the deeply buried instinct in him to let himself loose and destroy everything in his path. The chains in his neck, glowed menacingly, a bitter reminder that he wasn't at full power.

He had lost you. Again.

He had you there, close enough to reach and you had vanished before he was able to do something. You had run away.

The mere thought made his hands shake with anger, antlers already growing twice their normal size. How could you? After everything he did for your sake, for your safety, y҉o҉u҉ ҉d҉i҉s҉o҉b҉e҉y҉ ҉h҉i҉m҉??? His smile looked more like a grimace and his eyes were pools of red hot rage. Oh, you were so grounded when he got you back.

Now you were out there, who knows where. All on your own. Defenseless, at the mercy of his many enemies without anyone, HIM, to protect you.

He sent his shadows into the city, he would leave no stone unturned no crackden untouched until he found you. He didn't care who he had to kill, maul or destroy. You would be coming back with him. Only HE could keep you safe, whetever you wanted it or not.

His desperation only grew when his shadows came back empty handed, the crazed look in his eyes combined with the slasher smile only made him look like the deranged psychopath he actually was.

You weren't in the Pride ring. He was even starting to doubt you were in Hell at all. What was the last thing you had said?

His non beating heart gave a painful twist when your parting words echoed in his mind. The bitterness and resentment in your voice hurt his tainted soul in ways no other person could have. His claws dug even deeper in the wood.

No.

All he wanted was to keep you safe back at the hotel, to ensure no one in this hellish landscape ever laid a finger in your delicate skin. He was just being a good father. You may not understand it, and probably never would. That's irrelevant.

He had found you again after nearly ninety years since that fatidic night when he lost it all, he was not going to allow anybody to take you away from him.

A theory started forming in his twisted mind. You had said that you wanted to live. Alastor was no fool, he knew what the Grimoire could do, in fact he had been dying to take a peek himself. Whatever you had wished, would have probably come true. His grin turned sour.

You had gone where he couldn't follow.

The mortal plane.

Who knew the kind of horrors you were facing up there? The kind of fools that would dare to disrespect the child of one of Hell's most powerful overlords?

He couldn't go there, at least not physically. If he could synchronize his radio frequency with the ones on Earth, he may be able to locate you before some fuckwad up there decided to have their way with you.

"We're on air"

#hazbin hotel #alastor #x reader #reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: controlling behavior #tw: possessive behavior

187 notes · View notes

atrueneutral · 1 month

Note

Imagine if Raphael was on the Material Plane in human form when he happens to cross paths with his little mouse (who he is infatuated with) and then, for one reason or another, someone mistakenly assumes that Tav is his spouse and refers to Tav as such ("Oh, apologizes, sir! I didn't realize your spouse would be joining you!"). How do you think he'd react? Do you think he'd go deer in headlights for a second? Would he just roll with it? Would he clear up the confusion?

Okay, I kiiiiind of tweaked this a smidge…

—

“That particular piece of armor will run you six-thousand gold.”

Tav balked at the price, and she over-dramatically cleaned out her ear with the tip of her pinky finger. “Sorry - I want to make sure I heard you correctly. You did say six hundred-”

“I said six thousand gold, yes. That’s exactly what I said,'' the dwarven armorsmith staunchly affirmed. His bushy mustache that she originally found fun suddenly became stupid, as did the squat face that hadn’t once smiled since her arrival into his stupid shop. “You can’t pull a fast one on me, lass.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, saer!” She performed offense with a hand to her chest and a face of aghastness. “How dare you accuse me of trying to trick you into giving me a fair deal on a piece of armor!”

“It’ll be the full price or nothing,” he gruffly replied.

The bell posted above the shop door jingled, and Tav could hear bootsteps sauntering up behind her as her brain worked to think of a way to attain the breastplate she wanted. She needed a plan that didn’t involve stealing, murder, or, more importantly, spending six-thousand of her hard-found and hard-earned (and sometimes-but-rarely hard-pilfered) gold...

She wanted this new breastplate, and–

The dwarf looked past her to the only other customer in the shop, and his eyebrows raised. “Lord Raphael! What an honor! How may I be of service?”

Lord Raphael?

Tav frowned and turned to see if it was who she thought (hoped) it was…

Her face lit up.

It was!

Her solution - her knight in patterned doublet - was here! Her walking, handsome, charming bag of six-thousand gold!

Raphael seemed a tad befuddled by her enthusiastic reaction to his entrance, but that didn’t stop him from smirking at her. “Korrilla said she saw you nearby, and I thought I would see how-”

“-your wife was doing?” Tav finished. She pretended to be deeply touched as she strode up to him. “Oh, husband!”

His nose scrunched with more befuddlement. “Hus-”

Tav placed her hand against the side of his face and silenced him with a kiss. It was their first kiss, but because it needed to be between a husband and wife who were ardently and so-very-passionately in love with one another, Tav’s tongue ended up gliding over his lips in invitation after a handful of seconds. Surprisingly, Raphael accepted with a hum. His tongue entered her mouth and his tongue swirled around hers as he grabbed her hip.

As it turned out, Tav quite liked kissing him. So much so that she almost forgot she was standing in a shop and was well on her way of forgetting that she was only kissing Raphael because she wanted him to be her devilish coin purse.

Tav woozily broke the kiss, feeling weak in the knees.

“This is your wife, Lord Raphael?” the shop-owner asked with astonishment.

Tav, still against Raphael with her hip captured by his hand, stared at her ‘spouse’ with an expression that said: please say yes.

Looking past the lust in his eyes, the cambion stared back at her. His expression said: you’re up to something.

“I’ll pay you back,” Tav sang, grazing her thumb across his cheek with a smile. “After all, I did give you that wonderful… hat. The one that looks so nice and so perfect on your head. The hat that is better than alllllll the other hats in existence…”

“Did you not get something in return, Little Mouse?”

Tav twisted to give the shop-owner a heartened look. “Don’t you adore the pet name?”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed.

“What is it that you want, wife?” Raphael asked with a tilt of his head. “A new deal will need to be struck.”

There were oftentimes instances where Tav’s mouth ran before logic and reason had the chance to catch up.

This was one such instance.

“I will clean the House, husband,” she replied, giving just as much bite to the fake title as he did to hers. “Naked.”

The offer threw kindling onto the fire in his brown eyes.

“For eight hours!” her logic and reason was quick to add. Tav tossed another glance behind her to the dwarf. “I’m so sorry you have to hear all of this. We like to have fun, my husband and I.”

Raphael’s hand squeezed her hip to draw her attention back to him.

“And what are you asking for in return?”

“Nothing, really…” She personified innocence and combed through his hair as if to put a stray lock back behind his ear. “Just a measly piece of armor… that I won’t be wearing… when I’m naked...”

She could tell Raphael was thinking of her naked.

And she could tell he liked what he was seeing.

“Very well, wife.” The grip at her hip jostled her, and he pulled her closer. His mouth lowered to her ear and his voice lowered in a way that melted her insides. “But you will be coming ‘home’ with me after this purchase, and I expect you naked once we’re in the door.”

She didn’t mean to moan, but it happened at the same moment her brain malfunctioned. Tav forgot she was standing in a shop, and she forgot about the breastplate; she was too busy imagining herself standing in a certain House with Raphael’s eyes on her naked body.

“Ahem,” announced the dwarf, bringing her back to reality. “My lord, with all due respect…”

Raphael breezed around her and landed at the shorter than average counter - leaving Tav gaping like a goldfish in the background.

“My wife requests the ‘measly piece of armor’,” Raphael said sarcastically.

Tav came back to earth.

“The breastplate,” she corrected, her back to them.

“Yes, the measly breastplate,” Raphael additionally corrected.

“Of course, my lord. The cost comes to four-thousand gold.”

At that, Tav spun around - indignant.

“Hey! You said six-thousand, ‘take it or leave it’!”

The dwarf did not pay her any mind, and neither did Raphael.

“Four-thousand is an agreeable sum… yet I would like to offer you more,” the cambion said smoothly. “How about I pay you one-thousand now, and, say in three day’s time you come to Sharess’ Caress to see if we can’t work out a better deal?”

Tav was livid to see the shop-owner considering the offer.

“I accept, Lord Raphael. One-thousand gold for now.”

Tav returned to being a goldfish - sputtering nonsensically, enraged as Raphael snapped his fingers and handed over a pouch full of coin.

“For your wife,” the dwarf said, handing her new measly breastplate over to her ‘husband’.

“Ha! He’s not my husband!” Tav declared, needing to spread the foolishness she felt onto the shop-owner.

Raphael chuckled as he strolled over to her with the armor in hand.

Tav glowered at him. “Smooth-talking bastard…”

He stopped before her, snapped again, and the breastplate disappeared. “The breastplate is yours - once the House is clean and tidied, dearest wife.”

He held out his hand to her.

“I regret giving you your hat,” she said, taking his offered palm.

“We’ll see if you feel the same - after your eight hours.”

Raphael smiled as heat swam in her core, and he teleported them to his House of Hope with a burst.

In the ‘door’ where they stood, his smile became exceedingly devilish.

“Now, my little mouse of a wife… strip.”

[Part ll]

#thanks for the prompt!#bg3 #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 #answered #drabble #my writing #bg3 fanfiction #Prompt

204 notes · View notes

webslingingslasher · 4 months

Note

Instead of trouble waking Peter up for sex, Peter waking trouble up for sex

it's a wonderful dream, actually. you're laughing at something peter said while he pours you champagne, you're not sure what you're celebrating, but it's a private moment.

you shy away from his hold when he wraps himself behind you, tiny kisses trail down your neck, it's not sexual, it's sensual. he's showing you that he loves you so much, he can't keep his hands away.

'hmph, peter...' it's lazy, you hear his words cupped around your ear. 'trouble…' you lean into him, it's cold. he's gone, you spin, he's in front of you and rubbing your shoulder. 'hey, trouble?'

your eyes blink open, your heart speeds up at your boyfriend's face two inches from yours. an involuntary scream creeps up, peter latched a hand over your mouth before it could come out. 'sorry, sorry, sorry. it's just me, sorry.'

you tug his hand down and hold your own over your chest, 'you scared me.' a sheepish grin, 'sorry.' you ease your breathing, then glance at peter, he's unmoving and locked in. this is a turn of events, suddenly you feel like there's a reason to be up.

'what? what's wrong?' you look around the room, you don't see or hear anything out of place. 'nothing. can't i just wake up my beautiful, lovely girlfriend because i want to talk to her?'

you sit up and press a hand to his forehead, he doesn't seem sick but he also doesn't look like he's been sleeping. 'this isn't like you, is everything okay?' you can understand where peter's grumpiness comes from, not that you're grumpy, but it's a whirlwind to go from sleeping to someone talking in your face.

'yes. wanna cuddle?' it must've been a bad dream, maybe you were involved, maybe he just needed to make sure everything was okay. otherwise, why would he wake you up to do something he could've easily done?

'okay,' you fight a yawn and pat the space next to you. peter pushes your shoulder down, 'no, no. i'm big spoon.' your eyebrows furrow, again, no issue, just odd he woke you up to ask. 'you sure you're alright, petey?'

'yes, now flip over.' a warming buzz, your back tucked into peter's front. a knee hooked between your thighs, his left hand splays over your waist. you hum, he's your personal space heater and you have no complaint.

you feel yourself dropping back off, a tug at your shirt, peter's warm palm washes over your stomach. a light kiss at your neck, 'you're so soft.' you nod, a silent 'thank you.' peter takes a deep breath, his words on your skin make you lean back further, it tickles. 'and you smell so good.'

'you're being nice,' you lightly gasp when you're thrusted against, his need to wake you up extremely clear. 'oh, peter.' it doesn't sound good in his ears, no, it sounds like you're about to produce a big, fat, no.

peter answers for you and eases his hold, you clamp your hand over his to keep him steady. 'are you sure? we're not home.' you're not saying no, you're just trying to think for the both of you. and for his aunt in her bedroom across the hallway.

'i am home, you're just visiting,' you hold your breath when fingertips kiss at the waist of your pajama pants. 'i know i am,' you roll back into him when wet marks litter up and down your neck. 'i just don't want your aunt to wake up.'

'she won't,' you go pliant in his hold, there's only so much you could do when he's playing with your chest. 'peter,' you love him, but sometimes he's a typical man who only thinks with his dick.

'please, trouble? i love you.' you scoff, 'don't coerce me with your love.' peter sits up and you roll to your back, lightly groaning when he lays over you, resting a little too much lazy weight on you.

'i'm not, promise. i'm just saying that i love you and i wouldn't embarrass you like that.' you raise your neck for a kiss, peter makes it go a lot further than you meant it to be, it's clear that he's more needy than he's willing to admit out loud.

'missionary only, okay?' you felt a smile against your lips followed by a polite headnod, 'okay.'

#frat!peter drabbles

305 notes · View notes

livwritesstuff · 2 months

Text

inspired by a reply @gregre369 left on yesterday’s post. this is why i love this site so much bc i had this idea floating aimlessly around my brain for such a long time and then someone says something that just connects all the dots for me so - much thanks <3

tw: brief reference to domestic violence

One of parenthood’s biggest surprises (in Eddie’s opinion, anyway) was how easy talking to his and Steve’s daughters about why his parents aren’t in his life was.

He’d figured it’d be hard to figure out exactly how to explain that his mother's death was due to domestic violence caused by his father, who had died in prison twenty years later – but…that about covers it, honestly. Sure, the exact rendition of the story the girls hear varies as they get older, but…it’s pretty straightforward, actually.

Explaining Steve’s situation turned out to be way more complicated for…well, for a lot of reasons, and the fact that his parents are still alive and breathing and choosing to not be around didn't help things at all.

It also didn't help that the girls totally saw Jim and Joyce as Steve’s parents, but it did lead to a conversation that Eddie doesn't think he'll ever forget:

It happened when he was passing through the kitchen to see that Steve was cooking with Moe.

"What're we up to in here?" he asked.

At four years old (she’s actually almost five), Moe has yet to outgrow a phase of picky eating that had started out right around her second birthday. Steve is trying out a new method where he involves Moe in the cooking process in the hopes that she then actually wants to eat the product of her hard work when it’s done. He's seeing varying levels of success.

“We're making burgers,” Moe said, “Poppy’s recipe.”

Eddie looked at Steve skeptically, “Poppy Jim or Poppy Joyce?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m telling Joyce you said that.”

And then he added, “Jim.”

Satisfied, Eddie continued on his way.

“How come you call your dad Jim?” Moe asked.

And that had Eddie pausing in the hallway just out of their line of sight.

“Well, Poppy’s not my dad, sweet pea,” Steve replied.

“Did you not have a dad?”

“I did have a dad – I do. He lives in Indiana with my mom. We don't really talk to each other anymore though."

"Why?"

"When I was younger, I decided that they didn’t take care of me like I needed them too, and Jim and Joyce stepped in to be like my parents instead."

It's not completely accurate, Eddie knows (and he doesn't love the way Steve is shifting culpability away from his parents because that shit was fully on them, but whatever; it's his story and he can tell it however he want), but just like how they don't have a completely accurate picture of what happened to Eddie's mom either, they know what they need to know for now and they'll hear more down the line.

“But what did your mom and dad do?” Moe asked.

"Well, you know how Daddy and I read to you and play with you and put you to bed and make food for you – it was a little different because I was older and I needed different stuff than that, but…”

Eddie watched Steve look back at their oldest daughter, watched him see the look of confusion in her big brown eyes.

“They didn’t do that?” Moe asked, sounding perplexed.

Steve shook his head, and Moe continued to look at him as if he might suddenly tell her he was joking.

“That’s crazy,” Moe finally said, and Steve let out a laugh.

“It is kinda crazy, isn’t it?” he agreed, “That’s why I love being your dad so much, because it’s actually so easy to want to take care of you. Even though you sometimes like to make it hard on purpose, right?”

“Yeah,” she grinned proudly, “Like when I make you snuggle me more at bedtime and you fall asleep by accident and then the kitchen is messy in the morning."

"Uh-huh," Steve said, poking her in the side so she giggled, "Exactly like that."

"You're a good dad," Moe told him.

"You think?" Steve asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"The best dad."

“The best?” he repeated, “Can’t let Daddy hear that.”

“He can hear it.”

#cue moe yelling for eddie so she can say it to his face #she later affirms it's actually a tie #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: domestic violence

261 notes · View notes

stabortega · 8 months

Text

SAM CARPENTER HCS — DATING HER

Summary: What it would be like to date Sam Carpenter.

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: SFW & NSFW. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. MDNI.

Author's note: Not much to say, look at those arms tho. 🤤

MASTERLIST.

SFW:

You've met Sam through her job (one of them).

She's a waitress at one of your favorite diners, but after seeing her face, you had one more reason to go eat there everyday.

Sam had issues and that was obivous.

You didn't knew what had happened, and Sam didn't knew if that was a good or a bad thing.

You knew something was off when you looked at her, while she was serving your morning coffee, and she would just look away.

Like if she wanted to look, but she couldn't.

One day, the diner was about to close and she was cleaning everything up, while you finished your last mug of coffee.

So, you handed her your phone number written on that 10 dollar bil that Sam swore she wouldn't keep it.

And of course, she did. She rather have 10 dollars out of her paycheck than to miss the opportunity of having your number.

Sam was scared.

Everyone who came into her life got involved into her mess, one way or another. She didn't wanted that for you.

And although she didn't even knew a single thing about you (despite the fact that you liked your coffee black), she cared deeply about you.

But after you guys started exchanging texts, she realized that all she wanted was to be herself with you.

Behind all of that protectiveness, Sam was just insecure. She just didn't felt safe anymore.

And she hated not having control of things.

Which is why you guys' first date made her anxious as fuck.

She didn't knew what do to, or what to say. She was scared to drive you away with all of her baggage.

But you, and thank god for that, took the matters into your own hands.

Being the extroverted girl you always were, you talked about pretty much everything all night. All of your favorite movies, your favorite music.

You even explained to Sam why purple was the superior color for a good amount of time.

And all of the anxiety she felt before, suddenly was gone.

Needless to say she kissed you goodnight after that amazing date.

Sam proved herself to be an amazing girlfriend, actually.

You would visit her at the diner everyday, sometimes you guys would even walk home together.

But for a very especific reason, Sam would never let you go upstairs to her place.

And you didn't knew why; she never told you.

You thought it could be her sister who didn't liked you, her friends who thought you might be weird; maybe she was a secret hoarder.

But all of the questioning came to an end when she drove you to college one day, and your friends saw her face for the first time.

"Holy shit, is that the Woodsboro girl?" One of your friends said after she left.

"Who?" You asked, confused.

"You don't know what she did? Dude, she's a murderer."

That night, you and Sam had a heated argument.

You were sad that after 6 months of dating, she couldn't even be real with you. It's like she didn't even trusted you enough.

"How would I tell this to you, (Y/N)?? No one teaches you to tell your girlfriend that you had to kill someone, god damnit." You took a deep breath, and looked at her.

"Look at me, baby. I don't care what you did, what you had to do, or what happened back in that town. I believe in you. I trust you." And that was what Sam needed to hear. From anybody. From you.

After that argument, you guys rarely fought anymore. You gave her time, and space. You understood her issues, you took care of her.

Eventually, you got to meet her friends, her roommates,and especially her sister, Tara.

And you guys hit it off right away, which made Sam so happy and relieved.

"You really like her, don't you?" Tara said, while Sam and her were together in the kitchen. Sam looked at you and Chad playing some Mario Kart together, laughing and making fun of each other while Mindy and all of the gang were laughing as well.

"Yeah, I do."

Sam is the kind of girlfriend who pretty much always wants to break up with you because her mind tells her to do so.

She's just too scared to hurt you, to bring you into her life.

But she's also very caring, being the most incredibly sweet girl you've ever met.

When she's home from work, tired, all she wants do to is cuddle you and feel your fingers onto her her.

She's just a huge softie sometimes.

NSFW:

Everything about Sam being a softie doesn't apply here.

It took you guys a certain amount of time to finally have sex.

Mainly because Sam was just insecure.

But when you finally did, you've asked yourself how the fuck could she be so insecure?

She was just that good.

Sam is a dom most of the times, like I've said; she feels safer when she's in control.

And she's a good dom, lemme tell you that.

She's the kind of dom who wants to overstimulate you so bad until you use your safe word.

She wants to make you feel the better you've ever felt.

Her favorite position is the missionary (especially with the strap).

There's something about looking at your face while she fucks you raw that just gets her going.

One of her biggest kinks is also mommy daddy kink.

And she kinda found out by accident.

You were supposed to call her mommy, just like she'd asked you.

Somehow, daddy came out instead.

And now she won't stop railing you untill you call her that again. And again.

And again.

She's VERY into dirty talking.

She could easily make you cum just by whispering all of the things she wanna do with you.

"Fuck, you like that? Look at your fucking face, you wished I was fucking your mouth too. God, you're such a slut. Your pussy is made for me to fuck."

And at that point she was fucking you so good that all you could do was nod and whimper.

Sam also prefers to fuck at your place, mainly because she's terrified that Tara finds out she has a sex life.

And let's never forget about the day Mindy has caught you two.

"Oh, my god! I am so, so sorry- Wait, is that a butt plug?"

So now Sam's traumatized enough.

And also, she has a huge toy collection that she absolutely adores using on you.

Like I've said, overstimulation is a big thing for her, and she wants to fuck you in every way possible.

And at the same time.

"Fuck, look at you... So fucking tight yet so ready for me, huh?" She whispered while she was fucking your ass with one of the plugs. "Bet daddy can make you cum just by fucking your ass, don't you think?"

But when Sam bottoms, though.

Seeing her so vulnerable, so submissive, gets you going like crazy.

Sam didn't allowed herself to be in that position for a very long time, it's safe to say she's insecure about that too. But you respected her time, her space.

And now she's a whore in bed with you.

Sam loves when you fuck her in all fours, it makes her feel like she's a dog in heat and that makes her crazy.

When you pull her hair, slap her ass, god.

She has a big mirror in her room, and something about watching you fuck her gets her so turned on.

And you knew that.

"Look up, baby. Look at your face while I'm fucking that tight pussy of yours."

Also, she has zero gag reflex. You do whatever you want with that information.

Being completely honest here, Sam doesn't really knew much about aftercare.

Mainly because all of the people she's been with never really cared enough to do it, so she was unaware.

But, of course, you taught her. And you took care of her.

And everytime you guys were done, she would look at you and ask if you were okay, if she hurt you too much.

She loved you too much to hurt you, at that point.

#scream #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #melissa barrera #sam carpenter smut #melissa barrera smut #scream 2022 #scream vi #scream movies

794 notes · View notes