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ohbother2 · 3 months

Note

I read your Lucifer headcanons and OH BOY I'M IN LOVE!! You write him excellently!!

Could I request some more Lulu pieces? :') Maybe a reader who's sad and melancholic by nature being drawn to Lucifer's absolute banger of a personality because he's so showy and fun (while also like. he Gets it, he gets sad too)?

Hi! Aahh thank you!! That's so nice of you to say!

I'm not sure if you meant you wanted this as a head cannon or a fic so I wrote it as a fic? Hope you enjoy! (if it's not what you want you can always request again and I'll be MORE than happy to do another one :) srsly)

Word Count: 6.5K

Lucifer x melancholic reader

You had been in hell for quite a few years, carving out a small life of your own through the decades that had passed, and after many years of working any job you could find, taking up any extra shifts that presented themselves, and spending and living cautiously, you had managed to rent a nice flat for yourself in a rather affluent sector of the Pride ring. That accomplishment, however, did not last long. Good things never did in Hell.

The last extermination had been particularly cruel, and your street had been targeted particularly hard. Thankfully you had been away at a friends place at the time (a little tradition the two of you had formed over the years) but when you returned the next morning the street you used to call home was no more. Barely any citizens of the accompanying streets had survived, and all of the buildings and businesses had been forced to collapse in on themselves as a final fuck you from Heaven.

Life in Hell was hard, and every year the weight across your shoulders and pressing down against your heart seemed to grow. It was endless, and by the time you had managed to scramble the remnants of your life back together the next extermination happened, or the next Overlord turf war, or god-knows what else happened down here. You were not a particularly optimistic person, and this recent upheaval of your life had placed you in a rather dire situation. It had been a steady declination over the years: you barely smiled, the gnawing worry of something about to go wrong always sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach, you couldn't really remember the last time you had felt truly, inexcusably, happy.

That had been three months ago now, and in that time you found yourself a steady job working at Hell's newest establishment: the Hazbin Hotel. The owner, Charlie, was a sweet girl and always bound over ecstatically to tell you about her ideas for the 'redemption of sinners' (you had a hard time believing in her dreams yourself, but you admired her unwavering optimism). She always tried her damnest to drag you into the 'group-activities' the residents of the hotel partook in, and you often found yourself being wilfully dragged along by the wrist, muttering lame excuses about needing to clean, before plopping next to someone and joining in on the fruitless fun.

Charlie's father was an illusive figure, and in the three months you had been here you hadn't seen him, but you often heard Charlie muttering about him to Vaggie. Despite his physical absence, the head honcho of hell himself seemed a rather doting father, constantly ringing Charlie and a gift-basket arriving at the front door whenever she lamented about a particularly bad week.

You had accepted this new style of life, dutifully completing your chores, keeping your head down to avoid trouble in the form of the Radio Demon, and spending your nights drinking at the bar with the other residents. You were secluded, quiet, but a pleasant presence that the others around you slowly grew to appreciate. Everything had finally settled, and after three months, you had mistakenly believed nothing would change until the next extermination came along.

How wrong you were.

You had been abruptly awoken one morning by Niffty of all creatures, picking your lock with the knife Alastor had gifted her and clambering onto your bed, bouncing on her heels excitedly and yanking the quilt from your shoulders.

"Niffty? It's 6- go back to bed." You motion away laconically, trying to burrow into your comfy sheets. You didn't have to be awake for another hour.

"He's coming! He's coming!" She chirps excitedly, brandishing her knife dangerously as she jumps about. "Up! Charlie wants the place spotless before he arrives!"

"We have another guest?" You stifle a yawn as you sit up, one hand rubbing at your eyes as Niffty attempts to drag you by your fingers to your dresser. You let her struggle, not budging and watching tiredly. "Arriving this early?"

"Yes! He'll be here in two hours and we need to clean!"

"Two hours?" You sigh heavily, making a show of laying back down as Niffty squeals at you to get up. The little woman is persistent, and you can feel her shadow looming over you even from behind closed eyelids. "Is he that important? He better be fucking royalty if Charlie expects us to clean for two hours."

"He is!" One eye cracks open, and you stare at Niffty incredulously. "Lucifer is coming! WE-" She grabs a firm hold of your top and yanks. "NEED-" tug "TO-" tug "CLEAN."

"Lucifer?!" You bolt upright, Niffty falling off the bed to the floor with a yelp. You peer over your side-table to look at her. "The Lucifer? Charlie's Dad Lucifer? The King of Hell Lucifer?"

"What other Lucifer would it be?" Niffty sasses, dusting herself down as she springs to her feet. "The baddest bad boy." She grins at you, and you suddenly feel incredibly uncomfortable. "We need to make a good impression! I need to make a good impression! You know he's single?" She bounce on her feet as you clamber from your bed, hurriedly sifting through your drawers. Two hours to sort this mess of a hotel out? You'd have more chance of suddenly coming back to life. "I love bad boys- Sir Pentious was such a let down but Lucifer? Oh My Go-"

"Yes, we all like a bad boy." You nod along, Niffty's eyes brightening as you agree. "Don't tell Sir Pentious that, he considers himself quite a bad boy, you'll hurt his feelings."

"Oh, he already knows." Niffty shrugs nonchalantly, hopping restlessly from foot to foot. "Now come! We have work to do!" and with that, the small woman goes speeding from your room, leaving you standing, disheveled, with a cluster of clothes in your arms. You blink slowly, rolling your shoulders, this was going to be a long day.

---

Two hours had gone by in a blink, and now you stood, slightly out of breath, lined up with the rest of the staff near the bar as Charlie paced in front of the entrance to the Hotel. You hadn't stopped moving all morning and your back and shoulders ached, having to hoist Niffty above your head to reach the hard-to-reach places you usually wouldn't bother cleaning. You were wedged between Angel Dust and Husk.

The door opens with a slam, ricocheting into the wall as a man bundles the princess of hell into a tight embrace with a gleeful yell. "Charlie!" The short-statured man lifts the blonde from the floor, swinging her around as he continues to chirp happily. "It's so good to see you! Have you grown? You feel taller!"

"It's good to see you too Dad!" Charlie tries to respond, and you stifle a chuckle into your hand as she gasps around the vice-like grip Lucifer has around her torso.

"Dad-!" Charlie finally tugs free, and you elbow Angel Dust as he snickers. "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. These are our residents, this is-" Charlie begins to introduce everyone, but Keekee takes that moment to appear between Lucifer's legs.

"Keekee!" He all but squeals, and your eyes widen in shock at the pitch his voice takes as he squats down to fuss the happy cat. You share a pointed look with Angel Dust. Lucifer is distracted, again, as Razzle and Dazzle fly into his vision, and he immediately reaches for them with a joyous laugh.

He fusses them even more so than the cat, laughing to himself and twirling his cane between his fingers as he beams at the creatures. Charlie looks embarrassed, you notice with a sly smirk, rubbing her arms and trying to guide her Dad's attention away from the animals fluttering about his head.

You can't help but find this version of Lucifer rather jarring. You had been expecting a rather serious, intimidating, and otherwise authoritative man to come stalking into the Hotel. This version? This white-suited, rosy-cheeked, tall-hatted man with an ear-splitting grin was anything but the image you had been conjuring in your head ever since you had stepped foot in Hell. The brim of his hat flops as his head finally snaps towards your direction, and he straightens it with unfaltering confidence as he swaggers over.

You can't help but notice how much warmer his grin is compared to Alastor's, whose grin seemed to hide a threat behind it in most situations.

"Oh!" He stops short as Niffty barrels through Angel Dust's legs brandishing a pan of freshly baked cookies, with copious dollops of red icing splattered across their surface. A welcoming gift no one had asked for, but she had taken it upon herself to provide them anyway.

"Ah! What kind staff!" Lucifer entertains the woman, bending at the waist and looking at the cookies with raised eyebrows. "Thank you! But I will have to decline my dear, as young and dashing as I look" he wiggles his brows mockingly. "I must be careful with what I eat! When you reach 10,000 you'll understand."

He skilfully breezes past the tray with a bow of his head and a wave of his staff, distracted once again on his journey to greet Sir Pentious.

"Oh my-" He taps his cane against the carpeted floor as he spins, soaking up the main foyer. You had to admit, it didn't look much better from the state it was in before you had woken up. You pick at your sleeve nervously.

"Oh well, would you look at-" He makes a series of sounds as he surveys the inside of the hotel, brows furrowed contemplatively as he nods to himself, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Well- it certainly has character Char-Char!" He turns to his daughter, still beaming, completely unaware of Charlie's growing regret at having invited him over in the first place.

"Now! Time to introduce me to your friends. Who are these fine ladies and gentlemen?"

Charlie is quick to pull Vaggie to her side, holding her hand as she nervously introduces her girlfriend.

Lucifer practically vibrates at the news. "You like girls! Oh- so do I! Look at that, we have so much in common!" He motions between them excitedly, immediately extending a hand out to Vaggie, and yanking her into an equally as crushing hug as he tells her to 'put it there'. You watch as Vaggie struggles to breath over the man's shoulder, the man finally releasing her with an airy laugh and a comment about how pretty she was and how lucky Charlie is.

You smile despite yourself. You rather liked this version of Lucifer.

He finally turns to Sir Pentious, who withers in his skin and salutes, half out of respect, half out of terror.

"Your Majesty." Pentious doesn't move as Lucifer watches him, grin faltering slightly at the snake's lack of movement. He swiftly moves on with a 'thank you' grin brightening as he extends a hand to Angel Dust.

"Look at you! What I wouldn't do for those legs-" Husk splutters from beside you and you have to bring a hand up to hide the way you bit your lip to refrain from laughing. Lucifer only reached halfway up Angel Dusts' torso, and didn't shy away from emphasising the height difference by craning his neck at a near 90 degree angle to look at the others face. "Oh not like that! Forgive me. Though, you do have very nice legs, I meant your height. You could make a man jealous."

Angel Dust takes the opportunity, Lucifer spluttering over his apology, to bend down in some semblance of a bow, sultry smirk permanently etched onto his cheeks. "Heya, short King." For good measure, he places a kiss on the back of Lucifer's hand.

"My, my-" You have to commend him for not yanking his hand out of the spiders grip immediately, and watch tensely as he takes a minimal step back, straightening the lapels of his jacket: you were next. "what charming guests! I see why you insist on staying here Char-Char."

He stops before you, both hands resting atop his cane as he grins widely, a soft energetic thing that you can't help but replicate. "And who might this lovely lady/gentleman be?"

"And this," Charlie rushes to your side, evidently aware of your nerves. "is an incredibly valued member of our staff. Y/N. They've been working here for around 3 months and the place would've fallen to disrepair without them and Niffty."

You smile softly, bowing your head in respect as Lucifer finally stands before you.

"No need for that my dear, a friend of Charlie's is a friend of mine." He extends a hand which you tentatively take, shaking your hand firmly and watching you from beneath the brim of his hat. He was nothing short of charismatic, a perfect image of gentlemanly friendliness and cocksure confidence. Despite this, you couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated, he was the King of Hell after-all. "To say this place is still standing after all these years is nothing short of a miracle! You must truly have a golden touch." He waggles his fingers at you to emphasise his point, tilting his head inquisitively as you lightly blush at the compliment, averting your gaze for a moment. The man before you was truly some sort of magician, a purveyor of witchcraft of some sort: his presence was so large, so demanding, so absolutely enchanting you didn't have the capacity to think about any of your normal worries, nor the way your shoulders and back ached. In that moment, it was just him, and his silly little antics, and that was all.

"Thank you, sir. I'd truly be lost without Niffty-"

"Yes, the baker." He nods, cane nestled in the crook of his arm. You both decide to ignore the way Niffty squeals at the fact he remembered her from not even 10 minutes ago. "And no, absolutely not. Do not call me 'sir' under any circumstances." His voice was light and airy, clearly poking fun, not conveying any of the threat of violence that would usually accompany someone of such stature. He tilts his head again, grinning at you, wafting his hands around aimlessly. "Makes me feel old. I certainly am old, but I like to play into this fantasy that I'm not. Help an old man accomplish his dream won't you?"

"Certainly, Lucifer."

"And how have you been finding working at the hotel? I hope my dear Charlie here hasn't been working you too hard - she does sometimes forget not everyone is as energetic as she can be."

"Dad, stop making fun of me in front of my friends." Charlie goes to loop her arm with his and drag him away, but he remains rooted on the spot. Battering her reaching hands back with a laugh and a spin and a tap of his cane.

"I'm not poking fun at all Char-Char!" The grin he adorns, and the upturn of his voice indicate he very much was, and was very much succeeding in embarrassing her. "and you, Y/N? The hotel?"

"Hard work, but I've loved every moment of it." You lie, thinking back on the many times you had been up to your shoulder in some sewage piping, and the stench that had followed you for days. "The people definitely more so than the actual work: the plumbing." Your pinched expression and open disgust has Lucifer laughing, leaning onto his cane as he listens intently. "I don't know how it's all still standing but it is so we must be doing something right."

"That's it!" He hops excitedly on the spot, cane falling into his hand and tapping against the floor. In a surprising turn of events, he grabs your hand and spins you along with him. "That's the spirit! I see why Char-Char hired you."

He releases you surprisingly delicately, leaving you in the same spot he found you, withdrawing his hand from your elbow and returning it atop his cane. With a nod of his head and another grin he moves on to Husk, before being whisked away by Alastor, the man gripping the tip of Lucifer's cane firmly and practically dragging him to another part of the hotel with Charlie and Vaggie in tow. No one dares move until the chattering of the group fades into the distance, and you release a breath you didn't even know you'd been holding. You go to turn to Husk, about to make fun of him for his reaction over Lucifer's comment about Angel's legs, but four arms gripping your shoulders and biceps has you spinning in the other direction. Angel Dust has a firm grip of you, and drags you close, face mere inches from yours. You stare back with wide eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks, almost giddy, shaking you at the shoulders as Husk and Sir Pentious stand either side of him. "You sly little- our little friend has the King of Hell gagging for it!"

"What." You attempt to pull yourself away, but the spider is surprisingly strong. Your eyes flicker between each of the men: Angel Dust is practically gushing on the spot, shaking you excitedly, Sir Pentious looks rather teary-eyed, and Husk has an infuriating smirk that he was doing a poor job at hiding.

"He asked you to entertain his fantasy! That's foreplay!" Angel lifts you from the floor for a moment, dragging you close to stare deeply into your eyes. "And you played along! Ha! Didn't know you had it in you, toots."

"What? Angel- that is not foreplay!" You just accept the shaking, moving your arms with what little freedom they had to try and calm the ecstatic man. "It's small talk! This is a hotel, not a porn set, not everything leads to sex."

"You liked it!" He ignores you completely.

"You did have a rather besssotted look." Sir Pentious unhelpfully adds, clasping his hands in front of his chest and rocking himself side to side. "It was sssweet-"

"I've never seen you smile so much." Husk pipes up, arms crossed in front of his chest and a smug smirk aimed your way.

"He's very charismatic." You argue, and that was true. The man had come barrelling into the hotel with an entertainers flare and had somehow maintained the thousand-mile-a-minute charisma no matter what had been thrown his way. You could admire that. "And that's rich coming from you." You chirp back, finally untangling yourself from two of Angel's four arms. "You nearly choked when he mentioned Angel's legs."

"I was taken by surprised." Husk remains unflappable, but you don't fail to notice the bristling of his wings. "Stop deflecting. For once, I think Angel's right."

"I'm always right!" Angel Dust argues, finally releasing you and swinging an arm over Husk and Sir Pentious' shoulders. "And I say Lucifer's whipped, and you're gagging for it too."

None of you had noticed Niffty, who had been stood behind Angel Dust's legs for the entire conversation. You do notice her, however, when she starts sobbing on the spot, big fat tears streaming down her cheeks. The three men spring apart at the noise, and you all turn to look down at the distraught woman. This was not going to be easy.

---

Lucifer had stayed at the hotel for quite a while, being shown around by Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor whilst the rest of you returned to your normal duties, except on your best behaviour. Niffty had set to work exterminating the bugs around the hotel, throwing herself into work to avoid thinking too hard about how the 'baddest hottest boy' didn't seem all that interested in her or her biscuits, Husk remaining stationed behind the bar and dutifully serving drinks to Angel and Pentious, and you with a broom sweeping the foyer just to give yourself something to do.

One of Alastor's 'friends' had shown up whilst he and Charlie had been showing Lucifer the bar, and now Mimzy was left in Husk and Angel Dust's faithful hands as Alastor continued the tour. You didn't like her very much, and had been pretending to be incredibly busy to avoid having to talk to her.

Vaggie had joined the bar 10 minutes ago, and you had swept closer and closer to hear the discussion, despite the proximity to Mimzy which you'd rather avoid.

"Alastor's dragged him into some pissing contest." She groans, reaching for the drink Husk slid her way. "The Radio freak really doesn't like him, it's non-stop. I've never seen Alastor this close to going full freak-mode, it's worse than when Angel tried to sit on him."

"Maybe he's jealous." Angel grins, gaze turning towards you. You take this as your sign to leave, but he calls your name before you can. "Y/N here captured the Big Bosses attention earlier. You know Alastor, he doesn't like being upstaged."

"Oooh, you captured Lucifer's attention?" Mimzy swivels in your direction. You grip your broom harder, really wishing you had left the room when you had the chance. "You?" She doesn't hide the way she looks you up and down, and suddenly here voice becomes much more snide. "What did you do to impress him? Care to tell a girl a secret?"

"I didn't." You argue, tapping your broom against the floor. "He said hello to all of us, and that's that. He's just very friendly."

Mimzy opens her mouth, but the building suddenly rocks and the font doors bend under the weight of something. A man's voice yells from outside the hotel, and Mimzy suddenly has other worries on her mind. "Oh, shit."

A portal opens in the foyer, and Charlie and Lucifer hop through, Lucifer closing it with a snap of his fingers.

"What's going on?" Vaggie shouts over another loud slam. Mimzy hides behind the bar, much to Husk's dismay. After revealing the debt she was currently under, and the reason the loan sharks outside were particularly angry, you all stand in silence, every glare aimed in the short blonde's direction.

Suddenly, a flaming ball of something crashes through one of the ornate windows on the face of the hotel, and everyone shrieks as they dive for cover.

"My windows!" Niffty shrieks as Angel hauls her out of the way of falling debris. Sir Pentious off-handedly passes you a plate of biscuits as he slithers past, yelling about being under siege. You don't have time to acknowledge the plate in your hands, dropping it abruptly as you dive out of the way of another piece of ceiling. You were too far from the bar to seek shelter, so you begin sprinting in the other direction, aiming for the stairs. Suddenly, a figure crashes into you, strong hands grasping your arms and tugging you along with them. The staircase you were about to charge up explodes in a shower of wood and cement.

Your head snaps to the right and you make eye-contact with your saviour, Lucifer's bright red eyes staring back at you, and releasing your elbow with a smile and a pat of your shoulders. "This is exactly what I was telling Charlie!" He seems satisfied at his correct predictions, but he frowns at the damage as he pulls you further back from the creaking pile of wood. "You can't have nice things in Hell."

You breath deeply, rattled at how close you had come to being crushed, but Lucifer seems completely unaware of everyone's terror, standing back and commentating to himself, and now you.

"I'm afraid all your hard work, and golden fingers, and whatever else is going to waste." He laments, tugging you away from another falling piece of ceiling. "It's a miracle it stayed up this long- hey!" He pulls you towards him again, side-stepping a piece of rubble elegantly as it crashes into the floor where you just stood. One hand still on your waist, he twist his cane with his other hand, frowning at the big lump of brick and cement.

"We just finished fixing the ceiling." You comment, frowning at the chunk of beam along with him. Your arms cross in front of your chest: this would take weeks to clean up. You could feel how sore your body would be afterward.

"I'm sure I could lend a helping hand, my dear." He grins, swinging his cane in an effort to bat a piece of ceiling tile away from his foot. "In fact, I'd love to. There's nothing better for the soul than some good hard physical work!"

As if suddenly realising where his other hand was, he lurches back, eyes widening as he makes a show of fixing his hat, gloved hands sliding along the brim and collecting the dust that had fallen onto it. "Ah, sorry about that. You just, seem to have a knack for standing right under the debris about to crush you. HA ha." That laugh was the first one of the afternoon that lacked genuity, and you didn't fail to notice the way he corralled you close to him as he kept an eye on the ceiling. "Can't have my daughters favourite employee turned into mulch after only meeting you for an hour."

"I'm not her fav-"

"Oh yes, you are." This time, he uses his cane to playfully guide you towards him, hooking it around the crook of your arm and pulling you along, walking backwards as he chats and surprisingly avoiding all debris in his way. "She won't ever say, but I know. And I can see why, you're mine too." He makes an extravagant shushing movement with his free hand, and pushes the tip of his cane into your side to emphasise his point. "Don't tell the others, they'll be jealous and I'm afraid there's simply nothing they can do to take your pedestal from you."

"Well, I-" You nearly fall over your own feet: what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

"But that's our little secret!" The pair of you finally make it back behind the bar, where Angel Dust, Niffty and Husk squatted, covering their heads. Upon seeing you both, Angel Dust makes a grab for Husk's attention, grinning wickedly. "Now you're all safe, I'm needed elsewhere." Lucifer unhooks his cane from your arm, pushing you with the tip of it towards Angel Dust. "Don't let that one go." Lucifer points at Niffty, who was trapped in Angel's arms as she moaned about the state of the hotel. "Or this one." He points at you now. "Abysmal survival skills, I'm telling you." And then he was gone, disappearing through a portal to some other location in the hotel.

You shuffle in closer to Husk, the feline stretching one of his wings above your head in precaution, the other doing the same for Angel Dust and Niffty. You see Angel Dust lean forward, shit-eating grin on his face. You pretend you can't hear his teasing.

---

Lucifer had frequented the hotel much more often after that, and true to his word had assisted in some of the restructuring despite Alastor being able to fix the majority of the damage with his magic. You had found yourself, despite knowing better, growing closer to Lucifer, finding yourself actually looking forward to his visits. He was so energetic, so absolutely unhinged but in the best kind of way, that you couldn't help but look forward to his presence.

He almost always sought you out during his visits, always checking up and asking about how you had been finding the work. He often jabbed, asking if you felt as though you were being redeemed, and you actually entertained his jokes. They weren't at your expense, unlike Angel Dust and Husk, and they weren't targeted at some deep-rooted insecurity, like Alastor's often were. He was like a caricature come to life, and brought just the right amount to excitement to your life. You called your feelings towards him merely friendly, everyone else said otherwise.

Despite this newfound friendship, or 'this absolutely maddening foreplay' as Angel Dust called it, you still had bad days. Today was one of those bad days. The next extermination was closer than the previous one, and you had been feeling the typical stress around such an event. It didn't help that you had grown to care so deeply for the other inhabitants in the hotel - even Alastor to some degree, despite his aloofness - and your worries only seemed to grow the more you realised you didn't want things to change. You were happier here then when you had had your own flat the year prior, and the realisation that it could all be whisked away just as easily was terrifying.

You needed a day to yourself to sort your mind out, but you didn't want to pressure Charlie with your worries, so here you were, sweeping, hiding a frown and trying not to think about too hard about anything in particular. No one had seemed to pick up on your downtrodden mood in the last few days, but Lucifer always had a way of shaking things up.

Lucifer arrived around midday, greeting everyone with typical pleasantries and whisking Charlie away to discuss something about her meeting with Heaven. You were secretly glad he actually had something to do during this visit, you didn't want to ruin the relationship you had by raining on his parade.

You busied yourself, taking control of the tasks outside of the communal areas in the hopes you wouldn't bump into the blonde man. You would just catch up with him next time he visited. Lucifer however, had began searching for you as soon as he had finished discussing what he needed to with Charlie - he hadn't seen you in nearly a month, having been too busy to stay the last few times he had visited, and he was beginning to miss you.

He had had to school his behaviour massively after the first month of knowing you, finding himself thinking about you a little too often, modelling his ducks with features similar to yours, and just being a rather sappy mess. Charlie had mentioned this newfound behaviour to him, noticing the uplift to his mood around you, and the way he always just so happened to find himself in the same room as you in the hotel. He had denied the allegations at first, and had tried his hardest to remain nothing but friendly. But that had absolutely wrecked his mood, and the amount of space you took up in his mind only grew the more he tried to stay away. He had admitted to Charlie his growing feelings towards you, feeling his daughter had a right to know. Charlie had been ecstatic, and had been his biggest wing-woman.

He had even stopped wearing his wedding ring, and it now sat in the first drawer of his desk wrapped in silk. Charlie had cried when she noticed, hugging him tight and telling him how happy she was that he was finding someone for himself. He had cried too.

He still had yet to tell you, but baby steps.

He eventually found you on the hotel roof. He had searched everywhere, and was about to give up his efforts before he remembered helping you bring some furniture to the ceiling, smiling at your comments about enjoying the peace and quiet and the cool fresh air. He found you where he expected; sat on battered sofa he had helped you carry up here, a book in your lap and head turned towards the skyline.

"Y/N, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you." He closes the door to the roof behind him, walking over with leisurely steps, tapping a soft rhythm with his cane as he approaches. "My what a beautiful sight! Lugging that god-awful sofa up all those steps was definitely worth it!"

You jolt in your seat, and he frowns as your furiously wipe at something on your face. You think better of turning towards him, bowing your head down as you curse internally. You had thought he had left, fuck.

"Lucifer!" You still don't turn towards him, head held low and trying your best to remain composed. His frown deepens at the shake and crack to your voice. "I- I didn't realise you were still here."

Lucifer hesitates in his steps, approaching much more slowly. "I wouldn't leave without at least saying hello, how rude of me that would be." He comments softly, coming to stand behind the sofa. "My dear, is everything all right?"

You breathe deeply, wishing you would disappear on the spot as he rounds the side of the sofa, hand sliding along the fabric as he does.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong?" He questions, crouching next to you and trying to catch a glimpse of your face. His voice was so soft, so utterly and completely different to anything you had ever heard come from him. You almost sob when you glance at his big round eyes, filled with nothing but concern. You didn't want this, you didn't want him to see you like this.

"I'm sorry." You stutter out, pressing your palms into you eye sockets and leaning on your knees. "I just-" What? You were sad? For reasons completely out of anyone's control? What would be the point in telling him? "I don't know- it was a bad day."

Usually his cane tapped against you to gain your attention, but this time you felt two warm hands - he had taken off his gloves, when had he done that? - grasping delicately at your wrists. He tugs lightly, coaxing them down into your lap and holding them there, a thumb running over your knuckles as he waits, patiently.

Realising you weren't going to say anything else, he takes a deep breath.

"You know, everyone has bad days. But I don't think sitting all by your lonesome will help." He hesitates, and your bloodshot eyes lock with his. For the first time you've seen, a frown tugs at his lips, and his eyes look sad. "I would know."

He slowly sits next to you on the sofa, placing his hat on the floor with one hand still holding one of yours in your lap. "You know, I have a fair few bad days - more than I'd care to admit." He speaks slowly, gently, careful with his words but honest, genuine. "When I fell from Heaven, hell, even once Lilith left- well, I didn't know what to do with myself. I'm man enough to admit."

You huff out a laugh, and he smiles sadly at you. "And sometimes, sometimes people are sad for no particular reason because being here is hard. Life was hard, never mind death." You laugh again at the accuracy of what he was saying. A hand comes to gently rest against the underside of your chin and jaw, gently lifting your face to his. You follow his movements, and your lip quivers at the look of complete concern he sends your way.

"But you're- you're you." You stress, and he laughs at the absurdity of it. "You're amazing, and so good at cheering others up, and you make the people you're around so happy." You sigh deeply, completely unaware of the way his heart flutters a the compliment - he made you happy? A watery smile makes its way to his face. "And I- I don't. I'm just-"

"You make me so happy." He interrupts abruptly, not caring for his dearest secret that he was letting slip. "and the others in the hotel, even Alastor, who you know I despise, and it infuriates me that he gets to spend so much time with you, because he is so lucky." His hand falls from your chin, playing absentmindedly with a strand of your hair. "So lucky that they get to spend so much time with you. And they know, Alastor wouldn't stop bragging about you when we first me, it drove me nuts. And Angel Dust? He practically never stops talking about you."

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you feel your chest swell with something, not pride, not confidence, but something far more fond.

"But, that doesn't always fix our problems. You can be sad regardless of all that. Sometimes there is nothing you can do, but it always helps, and I mean always, when you talk to someone." He scoots minimally closer on the sofa, knee pressed against your own. "You don't even have to say what's wrong, but company is so much better than one's own thoughts."

He sends a pointed look towards the book you were attempting to read, and now lay against the floor. "And for one I think I'm much better company than some book."

You laugh properly this time, wiping at your puffy eyes. "Thank you."

Lucifer seems to gain some confidence back at hearing your laugh, and he puffs his chest in pride. "Having said all that, I hate seeing you cry. Can I please stay?"

You smile, agreeing.

"I have just the remedy for days like this." He grins, his usual cheerfully personality returning. "Now, come here." He extends his arms, beckoning joyfully. You stare, uncertain. "I may be the Big Boss but I don't bite, all the time." He winks, and he pulls you towards him without further question, dragging you in close to his chest as he rests back against the plush armrest. You freeze for a moment, unsure where to place your hands, where to rest your head, and he seems to pick up on your dilemma. A hand comes to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in close to rest your cheek against his chest, right above his heart, and he tucks you tightly under his chin, arms snaking their way tightly around your waist.

You sigh, relaxing into his warm embrace, and your heart rate picks up as you feel warm lips press against your temple, a soft murmur of "There, much better." breathed against your skin in a low voice.

He rests his chin back over the top of your hair, watching the skyline and trying his best not to combust on the spot. He hopes you can't feel his heartbeat through his jacket, but he would much rather you be pressed against him than not at all.

"Fuck that book, next time something happens, or there's a bad day, you come and find me. Yes?" A hand runs up your bicep absentmindedly, and you can feel the rumble of his chest beneath you.

Your worries were not gone completely, and that familiar sadness still clung to the pit of your stomach, but you could get used to this. This was definitely better than some book.

Perhaps Angel Dust was right, for once - perhaps you did feel a little more than friendship for Lucifer, if the thrumming of your heart and the fluttering of your stomach was anything to go by.

"Of course, Lucifer. And the same if you have 'one of those days'. Deal?"

He grins. "Deal."

Charlie screams when Lucifer tells her about what he did, and Angel Dust screams even louder when she lets him know.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbinhotel niffty #niffty #husk #charlie morningstar #Lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel Lucifer x reader #Lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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after-witch · 26 days

Text

Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You're on your period, and your captor sits you down for a very special talk.

Word count: 1500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader has their period, misogyny, lots of period talk, L being a weirdo

It’s rare that you let your kidnapper see you squirm. Mostly because he’s admitting to enjoying the sight of you fidgeting on the couch or bed; apparently, all of your little body tics in such stressful moments are just absolutely fascinating.

So, whenever possible, you make your body sit (almost) perfectly still. You keep your face neutral. You bite back responses, swallow insults, and wait until you’re alone in the bathroom to cry. (Though you have speculated he may have a camera in there, despite the lack of proof, and his cagey denial.)

It works, most of the time.

Except for now--for several reasons.

One being, you’re on your period.

It’s not something you looked forward to pre-kidnapping, and it’s something that you dread intensely, post-kidnapping. Sitting in front of your captor while you bleed into one of the standard-issue pads you found in the bathroom--the thin, generic kind that are often stocked at public bathrooms--is certainly not the highlight of your day.

Two, and two is the primary reason for the way your body is currently shifting on the chair: L, your kidnapper, the person you hate most in the world, has presented you with a tray of assorted period products. Pads, of several sizes and materials. Tampons, the same. Period underwear. And a silicone menstrual cup, fresh out of a plastic wrapper.

Behind this tray, he sits on his own chair, knees pulled up, a small smile on his face.

He gnaws on the end of his thumb and looks at you with something akin to gleeful hope, and you’d like nothing more than to punch him in the face.

“Well?” He asks, voice lilting. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put these here?”

You’d like to ask him where he gets the nerve. But that would only feed his ego, you think. So you breathe in and out through your nose, slowly, carefully. You flex your fingertips and press your hands together on your lap.

“Why,” you say, slowly, carefully neutral, “do you have a tray full of period products in front of me?”

L beams. “Glad you asked!” He gestures across the tray, like you haven’t been staring at it for what feels like five full minutes. “I’ve been monitoring your last seven menstrual cycles--your menstrual bleeding cycles, in particular--and I have come to the conclusion…”

He leans forward, eyes wide, eager. “… that you are not adequately handling your period every month.”

You have put up with a lot of things during your months of captivity. The loss of freedom, of course. The lack of autonomy. L’s incessant, creepy staring. His tendency towards over-analyzing you. His love for mental games that leave you wanting to tear your hair out.

But this?

This is too much. Too far.

Especially right now, with the awkward feeling of blood pressing between yourself and the pad, and a dull ache of cramps sitting low in your belly.

The snort that comes out of your nose would be fire, if it reflected how angry you’re getting.

“And how, exactly, am I not--handling my period adequately every month?” Even though you know he’ll get some special entertainment from your mockery, you can’t bite it back.

L grins again. “I’m happy to tell you my conclusions.” He reaches over to a side table, and retrieves a stack of papers. Your eyes go wide. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t--

He did.

He taps the stack of papers on the tray in front of him.

“I’ve calculated that during your active menstrual bleeding, you are 57% more irritable than on days without bleeding. Although there are many ways to reduce your stress hormones during these days, you refuse to do anything except mope around.”

Your mouth opens, lips sticking to your teeth, but he puts up a hand before you can tell him that being fucking kidnapped is the reason you’re “moping around.”

“And yes, I have taken into account your… unhappiness with your current situation. While that should account for certain levels of your stress hormones, it doesn’t account for all of them, nor does it negate the distinct rise in your stress levels on these specific days.”

Your eye twitches. It actually twitches.

“What else,” you bite out, teeth grinding, “have you calculated in that report of yours?”

He tilts his head, still smiling. He might look cute, if you didn’t want to knock his teeth out.

“Would you really like to know more? I don’t want to bore you. Ah, but if you insist…” He flips through the pages, until he lands on something he’d apparently love to share. “I’ve also discovered that your current pad use is simply inadequate for the flow and consistency of your menstrual bleeding.”

He can’t be serious. Nope. He can’t be. You must be dreaming.

“Stop,” you mutter, cheeks blazing hot, chest almost equally so. “Just--”

“I think this is important,” he says, blinking innocently at you. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stained your clothing--undergarments included--several times, and when Watari had the sheets laundered, we spotted some--”

Nope. You’re not doing this.

You stand up, body shaking, skin hot and flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you say, voice stilted, teeth grinding on the inside of your cheek to keep you from screaming. “This is weird. You are weird.” Your hand points at him, vaguely, accusingly, but you drop it without fanfare.

His smile tilts into the smallest of pout.

“It’s not weird to be concerned with your inadequate usage of menstrual products. That’s why I’ve arranged some samples for you,” he says simply enough. “So you can see which menstrual product is best suited to your size and flow. Personally,” he adds, looking down at the tray with mild fascination, “I’m interested to see if the overnight pads are really more absorbent than the daytime heavy flow. Shall we conduct an experiment to compare?”

“No!” The words come out practically shrieked, and you grab one of the cushions from the sofa and hug it close. Calm yourself, you think. Calm down. Don’t let him see you get mad. It’s what he wants. It’s probably the entire reason for all this---well, this.

“I don’t need you to tell me what products to use. Or how to manage my stress. Or--whatever else it is you have in there.”

L pulls out another sheet of paper. “Well, I have also considered the effectiveness of your using microwaved towels versus a proper heating pad--which you could ask me for, but haven’t--and--”

It’s your turn to raise your hand and, to your surprise, he stops talking.

“I’ve had my period every month since I was 11.” The inside of your cheek hurts--there will be a blister, and blood, soon enough. “You really, really think I don’t know how to handle my own period?”

Maybe this is your attempt at giving him an out--a chance to apologize for being so unbelievably awful.To admit he’s wrong, in some small measure. Your hands tighten around the pillow, in hope--in anticipation?

His eyebrow raises; there’s a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“That’s the strangest thing about all this. I calculated that you’ve had…” And the bastard actually recites the estimated number of periods you’ve had since you started puberty. “… in your life.” He taps the paper in front of him with one short, gnawed-on fingernail. “You really should have had a more logical plan for this by now.”

The cushion bonks off the side of his head with unsatisfying softness, and you stalk away, intent on going into the only room in the house where you get any semblance of privacy--the bathroom.

“I forgive you,” he calls out, even as you walk away. “I know you’re only overreacting with this level of aggression due to the elevated level of hormones in your bloodstream!”

You can hear the smile in his voice as you slam the bathroom door. The mirror rattles. Your breath comes out in awful huffs, and angry tears prick at your eyes. Stupid asshole. Smarmy bastard. It’s like there’s no part of your life he won’t dissect, won’t turn impossibly irritating, and he’s just--

Your eyes land on the box of pads you’d found on the day of your first period here. It was a larger, plain brown box with a bar-code in it--he probably got it from some bulk place, hence the low quality.

Only now…

The box is empty. There are no more pads, thin, shitty as they were. And you know you’re about to be finished with the current pad resting in your underwear from the feel of it.

There’s a soft, playful knock on the door. He knew--he must have known the whole time it was empty. Probably knew you’d wind up storming off in here, too.

“Did you decide which of these you liked best?” Even with his voice muffled by the door, the sticky self-assurance rings loud and clear. “I’m guessing you’ll need them sooner rather than later…”

Before you start looking for any object you might throw in his direction if he opens the door, he calls out again--

"If you've chosen the menstrual cup and you're worried about the insertion process, I watched the tutorial video and it's really very--"

You don't hear what he says in the end over your own muffled shriek into the nearest towel.

#yandere #yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #afterwitch writes #yes this is named after the king of the hill episode

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endlessthxxghts · 6 months

Text

Animals

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈2.5k

Summary: Joel randomly calls you and tells you to meet him outside. Your parents are home though, and you can't necessarily tell them that Joel, your father's best friend, is asking you to go with him somewhere. Do you give a little white lie and leave, or do you wait until it's safer?

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified, but legal). Reader still lives with parents but she is an adult. Nosy and controlling ass parents to their child who's a grown ass adult. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Inappropriate car activities while driving. Handjob. Blowjob. Pulling into a parking lot in broad daylight to do some stuff... P in V unprotected. ✨Save a horse, ride a cowboy (in a parking lot)✨ Reader has bit of a size kink. Cum swallowing... Is there a term for kissing with semen in both y'all's mouths??? (Don't look at me...). Possessive kink. Spanking (just once though). Getting caught... Exhibitionism...😵‍💫 I think that’s as much as I can say without spoiling anything, so! After you read it, let me know if there’s anything that I should put in here that I missed out on!

A/N: One of my all-time favorite songs is Animals by Nickelback. As of lately, though, with all my Joel brain rot, I can't NOT think DBF!Joel every time I play it... so... here we are... I recommend listening before or when you read, just to really add to the experience hehehe.😈 @javierpena-inatacvest I hope you’re hungry!😋 Enjoy, y’all!!!

MASTERLIST

You’re beside me on the seat,

Got your hand between my knees,

And you control how fast we go by just how hard you wanna squeeze.

“Two minutes, get your ass outside.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. You blindly brought your phone up to your ear with your parents in the room with you, not taking the time to check the caller ID.

“I-” you start as you head to the bathroom, not wanting your parents to overhear anything. “I can’t just leave right now, and especially not with you.” He scoffs over the phone. “I was at the dining table with my parents, jackass.”

“But you’re not anymore, right?”

“No.”

“And they didn’t question you?”

“Didn’t give them the chance to.”

“Just get out here. I’ll drive off quick, no one will see,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Joel,” you say, your tone betraying your logical responses.

“Now,” he says before ending the call.

Your heart racing, you peer at yourself in the mirror, making sure you look semi-presentable even though you know Joel’s intentions are going to ruin your appearance anyway. You leave the bathroom, heading for the front door as fast as possible.

“Who called ya?” your dad asked.

“Going somewhere?” your mother followed.

“Just a friend. And I’m gonna step out real quick, I’ll be back in a bit,” you say nonchalantly, not trying to raise any suspicion. Your mother raises her brow at you.

“I really hope you both find the value in respecting people’s privacy,” you say, stepping out the front door as you speak, erasing the chances of any further commentary. That may have come across more harsh than you would have liked, but even into adulthood, the three of you have gotten into huge fights for your whereabouts. It’s not like you left them in the dark all the time or kept them up late waiting for you to get home. You were living under their roof, so you still respected their time. Yet, it was never enough. And you were too wound up thinking about Joel to bite your tongue.

He parked a house away, and you’re practically running at the speed of light to get into the passenger side so he can pull away before your parents decide to make it to the window to gain any more information they can.

As soon as you get into the passenger seat, though, Joel has different plans as he immediately puts one hand around your waist and the other on the thigh closest to him. You’re barely able to shut the door before he pulls you into the middle of the bench seat of his truck, your body flushed against his. You squeak out at his quickness, his strength. He smirks at it.

He lets his hand on your thigh drag up your body and situate itself on your jaw, turning your face to his and kissing you deeply, all tongue and teeth and thickened spit due to how fucking turned on both of you are.

You pull away, breathless, “Baby, you need to drive off, now.”

“Shit, sorry,” he says, releasing his hold on you. “Stop distractin’ me,” he playfully scolds, a smile full of trouble across his face as he pulls out of the neighborhood.

You scoff at him now, perplexed at his audacity to tell you that you’re distracting him. It makes an idea pop in your head. You’ll show him a distraction.

You shift your body to face him. Your hand lands on his thigh, running up and down lightly, getting closer to his hardened bulge that’s been begging for your attention since he dialed your number.

His grip on the wheel tightens, his jaw twitching, “Darlin’,” he grits. “What are you doin’?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say as you lean in closer, licking a stripe up his neck, your mouth at his ear. “Just,” you cup his erection, “being a distraction.”

His hips push up into your hand. He is painfully hard right now, his entire neck and face a bright red from your ministrations. You unzip his jeans, pulling it and his underwear down to let his cock free. You moan at the sight.

“I’m warnin’ you, girl.”

“Want me to stop?”

Silence.

He moves his arm closest to you to sprawl along the back of the bench seat, giving you complete access to him as he attempts to drive you two to God knows where.

You scoot closer in, and let out a content giggle. You place a wet kiss at his pulse point, whispering in his ear, “Thought so, baby.”

You bring your hand up to your mouth and let your spit pool in your hand, bringing it back down to his length, spreading it all over before you wrap your fingers around him.

“Joel, baby, fuck-” you moan in his ear as you slowly begin pumping him, “look how fucking big you are in my hands,” you whine. “Can barely wrap my hand around you,” you say as you nip at his neck again.

Joel begs his eyes to stay on the road, knowing that if he were to look down right now, he’d lose every ounce of his control — on both his self restraint and his damn truck. But, God damn, the slapping sound of your hand on his spit-soaked cock as you whine and writhe at his side has him desperate. He glances down for barely a millisecond, and he can’t help the groan that leaves his throat, his head threatening to throw itself back in utter pleasure.

“Am I doing good, baby?” You ask him. “A good distraction?” You add, your lips ghosting his jaw with each syllable.

“F-fuckin H-hell, baby,” he stutters, hips softly meeting every push and pull of your hand. “G-gonna make me c-crash this f-fuckin’ car.”

With his admission, your grip gets a little tighter, pumps get a little faster, and you're giving extra attention to the head of his cock. He’s pulsing beneath you, breathing erratic, and you can’t stop the urge to lean down and take him into your mouth.

On instinct, Joel’s foot falls a little heavier on the gas, causing him to drive a little roughly over a bump on the road. His dick pushes deeper into your mouth, causing the tip to hit at the back of your throat.

The spit that forms from your gag reflex gives you an easier ability to devour him just as he likes—warm, wet, and sloppy. Your head begins to bob faster, your hand still supporting the base of him as you periodically cup him below, and he’s an absolute mess.

You pull away for one moment in a choked breath, your hand now jacking him off, and you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I know you’re close, baby, I feel it,” you gasp out as your hand squeezes a little more, at the pressure you know makes him break. “Need you to cum, baby, need you to fill my fucking throat,” and with that, your mouth is back on him.

“Oh, f-fu-…” Joel nearly growls out, immediately pulling into some random parking lot, thankful the nearest slot was empty. The second the car is in park, he’s shooting his load down your throat, his hand flying to the back of your head to keep you stuffed full of him.

The way that you’re so turned on right now just by giving him the sloppiest head he has ever experienced has you absolutely dripping—an absolute moaning mess, vibrating him into overstimulation. He pulls you off, and you can’t help the blissed out smirk that forms on your face as you swallow almost everything he gave you, residue dripping down your chin.

He brings your face to his, and his tongue collects up his own spend, feeding it back to you in a desperate, sloppy kiss—if you can even call it that.

As your lips tangle in a nasty embrace, he’s quick to rip your bottoms off as he settles you on his lap. The feel on your pussy of his spent cock slowly getting erect again has you moaning into his mouth, your hips grinding down onto him, arousal coating him, urging him back to his full, hard length.

“Sh-shit,” falls from your mouth as his trails further down, leaving kisses down your throat. Joel brings his hand down to pump himself a few more times, ensuring he’s at full attention. Your hips lift up on instinct, Joel notching his tip at your soaking entrance.

You lower yourself onto him, going in with ease with how wet both you and him are, the stretch of him still providing that delicious burn. No matter how prepared or lubed up either of you are, that burn will never go away. You never want it to. It flips a certain switch of lust within you—an animalistic need—knowing just how fucking big he is, knowing that it’s all for you.

Usually when you’re on top, he’s extra sensitive, and you wait for him to give the signal for you to move. That need is there, though, and you can’t wait. As soon as your hips are flushed with his, you’re immediately lifting back up and dropping down on him again, maintaining a brutal pace that has you both uttering incoherent filth.

You place your hands on either side of his head, gripping the back of his seat to give you better momentum as you bounce on him. His hands are gripping at the globes of your ass, guiding your movements, fingertip-shaped bruises threatening to form. “Fuck, sweet girl,” he lets out, “just like that, baby.” His face is nuzzled in between your breasts, nipping and licking at them with every bounce of your thrusts.

His words cause your pussy to flutter, a possessive feeling gliding down your spine. Your one hand releases the chair and grasps at the curls on the base of his neck. “T-tell me,” you stutter, “t-tell me who my p-pussy belongs to,” you get out, licking into his mouth before you let him answer.

His hips begin to meet your movements, his pubic bone providing the cherry on top to unravel you. His lips are against yours, breaths intertwining into the thick air, windows beginning to fog. “Mine,” Joel growls. Your hips speed up, the truck shaking and squeaking with every movement. “This pussy is mine. You,” he breathes, “are fuckin’ mine,” a stinging pain fills your senses before your brain registers the slap to your ass.

Your thighs begin to shake and your body goes rigid, your climax teetering against the edge.

“Joel,” you cry out.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, let go for me,” he coos. And just as he’s about to hold you down to fuck up into you, a car parks right next to you, door immediately slamming as the person gets out and urgently peers into the driver’s side window.

Both of you are too close to stop your movements, the person’s face outside the car falling into pure horror and shock at what’s going on inside.

“Oh!” you scream out, both of you using all your strength to stop but unable to.

“That’s my dad outside the car!”

Oh please, the keys, they’re not in the ignition,

Must have wound up on the floor while we were switching our positions.

Before you know it, you’re pulsing around his cock as he fills up another one of your holes with thick, hot ropes of his cum.

Neither of you realize just when your father scrambled back into his car and drove away, but the idea of getting caught turned both of you on more than you’d ever admit.

You don’t get off of him just yet, both of you sitting in each other’s sweaty embrace as you let your breathing and heart rates return to normal.

“So…” he says, rubbing circles on the small of your back.

You look up at him, chin perched on his chest. “So,” you giggle.

“What the fuck do we do?” he asks, wordlessly referring to the mishap with your father.

Not as worried, you mess with him before giving a serious answer. “Mmm,” you say as you place a light kiss to his chest, “I was thinking you give me your boxers since you ripped the only bottoms I have on me, and you deal with the jeans chafing your balls until you get back home.”

His eyes go wide, completely forgetting that he did that, and silently cursing himself for doing something so stupid. Luckily he decided to actually wear underwear today.

“Oh, fuck, baby, I’m so sorry, I just-” he pauses for a moment. “You fuckin’ distracted me!” he says before he completely busts out in laughter, a deep howl filling the car. You smack his chest, your laughter following suit.

“You motherfucker,” you say, sitting up a little straighter, pulling him in for a chaste kiss.

He smiles at you, pure warmth and adoration in his eyes. He clears his throat, his face a little more serious. “I, uh, I was actually talkin’ about your old man, though.”

“I know,” you say, completely unbothered.

“Are you not worried?”

You shrug your shoulders. “No.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna try and wring my neck out?”

“Baby,” you laugh, “no, he’s not gonna wring your neck out. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

“Oh, gee. Thanks,” he deadpans.

“I promise you, I’ve got it taken care of.”

His fingers grasp your chin, pulling you in for another kiss, a little longer than the last. “I trust you.”

As soon as you enter the front door, you see both your parents at the dining table again. Though, this time around, instead of controlling and angry, they look pale and embarrassed.

You stroll to the dining table, not caring to sit down, and you get straight to the point. They can’t even look you in the eye.

“So? Did we learn our lesson about-”

“Yes,” your parents say in unison, “please just,” your mother continues as your dad starts to retreat anywhere else but here. “Let’s not talk about it.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles in your chest.

“You’re a grown woman,” your mother says, rigidly. “It’s really not our business what you do anymore.” You peer at your father. He throws a thumbs up at your mother’s words, eyes still trained on everything else but you.

“Glad ya guys came to your senses,” you say, offering a smug smile. You can’t help it. If catching you having the steamiest sex in an older man’s car is what causes them to stop breathing down your neck, then so be it. You’d have intentionally done something like this ages ago if that’s what it took.

You start heading to your room when your dad finally speaks. Still unable to look you in the eyes. “Tell Joel I don’t give a fuck what he does—what y’all do—just,” he pauses to take a breath. “Tell him not to address any of this with me. Ever.”

“Deal.”

No, no matter where we go,

‘Cause everybody knows,

We’re just a couple animals.

End Note: Well. That killed me. The amount of laps I took writing this...🥴 Thank you all so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, etc, — all your support means the absolute world to me. I wouldn’t be able to do this without all of you. Thank you so so so much. There are genuinely not enough words to express my gratitude. As always feedback for my stories (at a technical sense) is also super super helpful whether it is constructive or positive! Anything helps me to be the best writer that I can be. All my love! Xo

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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fallingdownhell · 3 months

Note

How do you think the Sumeru boys would react to their s/o getting shrunk?

An interesting scenario... 👀 Characters Included: Tighnari; Cyno; Alhaitham; Kaveh (+Wanderer) Content: gender neutral reader; established relationship; idk if this classifies as crack??; bit of comedy; bits of fluff Word count: 910 words Have fun<3

Tighnari

I personally see this going one of two ways

first, when realizing what has happened, he'd drop everything, all his work and responsibilities, and try to figure out how this happened and how to turn you back to normal again

or, he would want to do that, but he just can't because something really important is happening today... then, as shitty as this sounds, he'd just take you along with him, like in a backpack or pocket or something. Because he does not trust that nothing won't happen to you while he's out and about

whichever it is, he'd be very gentle with your tiny form and take very good care of you

when first noticing your current predicament, Tighnari would be shocked, maybe laugh a little bit, but he'd soon focus on helping you figure things out

he's not too keen on you staying this way for a longer period of time, or even forever, so he'd work hard on finding a solution

overall okay reaction, very helpful and polite about it, though he does put out an occaisonal comment here and there. But it's all in good fun, so don't worry

Cyno

oh boy

you best prepare to be the butt of every of his jokes for the foreseeable future from now on

even if you manage to turn you back to normal, he will not let you forget about this incident, ever

would probably laugh at you, questioning you how you even managed that in the first place

but all jokes aside, he IS worried about you, so he does the only thing he can think about

he grabs you very carefully and carries you to Tighnari, hoping that his friend and Forest Ranger might know or can help to come up with a solution to the problem

he'll stay there with you until you're back to normal, that means that his work will be put on hold, no matter what anyone has to say about it

will turn restless and worried if there's no easy or quick solution available, but will do his best to support you, even though he will still make jokes about you

Alhaitham

shock and surprise is his first initial reaction

like, frozen on his spot, kinda shocked

does not know how to react appropriately or what to say, at all. One of the few times in his life where he's actually speechless

once he's recovered from the shock, he's asking you a whole lot of question. If you remember how this happened, how you feel, if you noticed anything unusual, if you maybe know how to revert back, etc

just, literally any question that comes to his mind, really

he views this entire situation very neutral, like some sort of experiment that he wants to figure out

and since you're the only one affected and involved, it's only obvious that he asks you all these questions

plus, by answering them, he might be able to figure out what's going on and how to revert you back to normal

if he can't come up with a solution on his own, he'd go into the House of Daena, searching for every book available that is loosely connected to the issue at hand

should that still not deliver results, he'll help you consult doctors and other specialists in order to help you get better again

Kaveh

full on panic mode activated

he sees what has happened to you, and freaks out over it

almost impossible to calm him down again. And since your voice is a lot quieter in your tiny form, you have to almost shout out your lungs in order to get his attention again

out of the two of you, you're definitely the calmer and more levelheaded one in this situation

he's helping you with whatever you need. When you ask him to take you to the doctors, he does so, no questions asked

though you have to constantly remind him to not squeeze you so hard in his hands

cut him some slack, will you? He's not used to something like this, he has to constantly remind himself to treat you carefully and gently

will freak out again if no one can figure out what is wrong with you or how to treat you

he may not have much money, but you best believe he's putting every single Mora he has into trying to figure this out and get you back to your normal self

Wanderer

shocked at first, but will soon start to tease you about it relentlessly

he'll lovingly call you names like "shorty", "shortcake", and other stuff, now that you're so much tinier than him

he's having his fun teasing you for some time, but in the end, he does worry about you and wants you back to your usual self

since he doesn't trust you to be by yourself while like this, he carefully picks you up when he goes to pay Nahida a visit, thinking that she might know something about what has happened to you

together, the three of you would put your heads together, trying to figure something out

would feel annoyed if you're still in this state by the end of the day, but tries not to show it. It's not your fault after all, and you can't really do anything about it, so he doesn't want to let it out on you

but you best believe that it's his top priority from now on to get to the bottom of this. And should he find out that someone else is responsible for this, then they best prepare , because he won't go easy on them should he ever come across them...

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alrtyhoney · 8 months

Text

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper.

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time.

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers.

“Is your papa coming, bebita?”

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up.

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time.

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut.

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.”

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.”

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?”

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case.

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school.

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why.

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.”

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else.

“No reason.”

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame.

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out.

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes.

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you.

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.”

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies.

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.”

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead.

“Of course.”

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you.

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?”

“Not hungry.”

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting.

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi.

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–”

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another.

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this?

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!”

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!”

“I have work, baby, you know this.”

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them.

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots.

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet.

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that.

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.”

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara atsv #father!miguel o'hara x daughter!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #father figure miguel o'hara #atsv angst #atsv #spiderman #across the spider verse angst

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elliesdoll · 1 month

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pt.2 to my angsty loser!ellie drabble 𝜗𝜚

nsfw! ellie gets caught and that’s literally it. i hate this so bad but it’s whateva

(part 3 will have lesbian gay lesbian boob vagina butt sex i promise. no more ellie masturbating)

find pt.1 here! & pt.3 here :3

daily click! don’t buy tlou free palestine

after ellie’s pathetic masturbation sesh, she vowed to herself to fucking pull it together.

she wasn’t gonna let herself mope over you, because she knew you had an active sex life. she forced herself to be fine with it. to be fine with the people you decided to bring to your bed. she wanted to be near you without feeling this suffocating feeling of yearning and lust filling her insides.

and if that meant tucking her feelings to the deepest pits of hell, then so fucking be it.

a few weeks had passed since that little moment you and ellie had. the one where she had showed up to your house in the middle of you hooking up with someone.

the morning after, she has awoken to a string of texts from you, all apologizing for that awkward moment.

11:34pm

ellie i’m so sorry you had to see me like that. i didn’t mean to come off rude.

i wanted to go after you but i couldn’t really leave her alone in my house lol

els?

i’m really sorry. i hope u don’t think you can’t come to my house ever again ☹️ i actually thought it was sweet you showed up like that.

2:12am

goodnight ellie. i hope things aren’t awkward between us.

god, you made her feel awful. you were too fucking sweet to her. the way you never missed a single night when telling her goodnight, even after something like that. she rubbed her swollen face, mainly from crying, and typed a short message to you.

9:47am

hey, sorry for rushing away like that. idk why i did that lmfao

and things aren’t awkward at all, i shouldn’t have just showed up unnanounced

no els seriously! you should do that more often. tbh i wanted to hang out with you more than that girl… but yk i couldn’t 💔💔

she smiled at your kind text, glad that you two could just put it behind yourselves. her moment of relief was quickly replaced by disgust, when she saw the state of herself and her bed. her inner thighs sticky with dried cum, and her sheets below her still damp with all the extra release.

“gross..” she mumbled to herself, getting up and immediately throwing on some boxers and a tshirt, feeling way too vulnerable being naked like that. she went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, then threw her sheets in the wash.

since then, you two have been fine. you do your weekly hangout sessions, where you grab food and talk about anything for hours on end. it’s almost as if nothing happened.

until one of your sleepovers.

you always convinced ellie to spend the night at your house, at least every other week. whenever it’d get dark outside and ellie would start to get up, you’d give her that irresistible pout and “ughhh, c’mon els.. just spend the night. it’s too dark out for you to go home.”

and every damn time, she agreed. how could she ever say no to you?

one night, you and ellie are high out of your minds, talking about god knows what. all giggly and soft, you two exchange jokes and stories that really make no sense. but, to you two, it’s the funniest thing in the world. after a laughing fit between the two of you, you wipe your tears and sigh.

“god, i love you.”

you say, still catching your breath from that tummy tensing laugh. the words were just an expression of admiration for her. but to ellie, they were so much more.

“i love you too.”

she says, looking you in the eyes. she’s high, so she’s not thinking too hard about how sincere she sounds. but she really should’ve, because that soft tone of her voice and the glint in her eyes make it sound way too fucking real.

“woah,” you let out a nervous, breathy chuckle. “that was a bit theatrical.”

“wh..what do you mean?”

ellie asks, getting a bit nervous. she’s not her usual, stuttery self though. she keeps it together. thanks to the weed.

“just the way you said i love you. it felt like… deep.”

you move your hands as you talk, and ellie just shrugs. but she knows she’s fucked. before she could stop her feelings from resurfacing, she gets that familiar tingle in her belly and pounding of her heart.

“shut up,” she rolls her eyes, trying to play it off.“you’re dramatic.”

her voice wavered with those last words. fuck, her voice wavered. why did she feel like she was gonna have a breakdown any second now? she had to get the hell away from you.

“gotta piss. be back in a bit.”

ellie says quickly, so quick you don’t even have time to retort to her calling you dramatic. you just sit there, confused. you could’ve sworn you heard some uncertainty in her voice, but you let her go.

meanwhile, ellie made a beeline for your bathroom. she shut the door and leaned her head against the wood. she let out a deep sigh, trying to calm herself. the fact that she felt the most intense feeling that she couldn’t even describe over a mere “i love you” had her cringing.

she just couldn’t get over you. the entire night, she tried her best not to think about how good your tits looked in your pajama top, or how badly she wanted to just shove her face into your ass in those little shorts.

her thinking over these details led to the predicament that she’s in right now. sweatpants around her knees, legs slightly spread as she rubs one out while leaned up against your bathroom sink. her eyes are shut and her head is thrown back, letting out the quietist grunts she could muster.

she knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she promised herself that she would stop. but god, you made it hard. she was so wet, it made her cheeks flush red. the simple thought of you had her literally dripping around her own fingers.

you were still in your room, biting your thumbnail as you wait for ellie. you start to get worried, thinking you made her upset by commenting on how she said ‘i love you’. so, you being the thoughtful friend you are, go to check on her.

you quietly walk to the bathroom, putting your ear against the door. you were going to knock and mutter a little “els? are you okay?”, but the sounds you heard made you lose all the words in your mouth.

soft, sharp inhales and tiny sticky noises is all you can hear through the door. it’s a bit hard to listen to, since the soft buzz of the yellow light in there overpowers it. what the hell is she doing in there?

you knew this was wrong. an invasion of privacy to the max. but your curiosity was getting the better of you, and you were worried. you put your hand on the doorknob and slightly twisted it, not expecting it to open. but it did.

did ellie forget to lock the door?

ellie doesn’t hear the soft click of the door opening, too lost in her own pleasure as she practically humps her own hand. it had been too fucking long since she could touch herself to the thought of you. her only guilty pleasure.

her head was still thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rubbed her clit at a shockingly fast pace. and you saw it all. you had opening the door just enough for half of your face to see through the opened crack. your whole body froze at the sight in front of you.

she was so captivating. her face looking all fucked out, her pale thighs that were so tensed up, the shininess of her slick that smeared on the heel of her palm. even the quick glimpses of her gorgeous auburn bush that you could see if her hoodie rode up enough.

your tummy felt weird. first, you felt guilty for eavesdropping on your best friend. second, you were confused why the fuck ellie decided now would be the best time to masturbate. third, you were turned on. disgustingly turned on, at that.

a few seconds of watching ellie made your panties get all sticky and wet, and that burning hot feeling in your lower belly. you couldn’t look away.

“ohh, fuck— please,”

your brain short circuited hearing ellie say that. god, she was so lost in her own pleasure. so lost that she accidentally knocked over your toothbrush and hand soap on the sink, causing her to jolt and snap her eyes open.

she looks down at the bottle of soap and toothbrush that landed in front of the bathroom door. the door that’s cracked. her eyes shoot up, and there’s where she sees a glimpse of you running away. a quick flash, but she knew it was you.

she is so fucked.

I HATE RHISNSO BAD RRRR😡

btw i finished this literally like 3 days ago and didn’t wanna post it hut i did anyway ☺️☺️

#dolly’s stuff 𝜗𝜚 #ellie williams #tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #lesbian #tlou part 2 #abby smut #abby anderson smut #the last of us #i don’t like this #rushed lol

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emmyrosee · 9 months

Text

You’ve been… needy, today.

Normally, Kiyoomi is immune to it, if anything, he embraces your clingiest of affections and he takes them with ease, but today, for some reason, you’re nuzzling and nudging at him with every little thing, your eyes curved into a sad pout every time he looks down at you.

It seems like you’re insatiable, you’re on a craving for a fix you can’t seem to get, and he’s fairly certain you’ve almost cried at him a few times for that little bit of affection you can’t seem to get enough of, and normally Kiyoomi can read you like a novel, front to back.

Today, it’s almost like you’re a different person- no longer able to voice their needs, but plead for him to figure it out. Someone who doesn't seem to trust him, but still eggs for assurance and validation.

And he doesn't know why, but he can't pinpoint it this time.

He's exhausted every avenue, he's does everything he can think of, every question he could ask has either given him no answer or another needy little choke in your answer. He doesn't know, okay, he's trying, but he doesn't want to just ask you point blank because there's a part of him that feels like he should know.

There's also a glimmer in your eyes that tells him that he should figure it out.

Finally, for whatever reason, you stop.

Now, you're creating distance, and he hates this even more than you trying to crawl into his skin.

At least then, you still wanted him.

"I'm going to shower."

Your voice cuts him out of his detecting, snapping him from his thoughts as he nods encouraging at you. If he didn't feel like it would end in a fight, he'd cheesily ask if you wanted him to join you, but the question dies when you spin on your heel to leave him in the bedroom, alone.

He needs to know. He has to figure it out.

There's a buzzing of his phone that snaps him out of his pity party, and enthusiastic text from Hinata about the new jersey designs. Something about how they need sizing and promo pictures, and they should all get together to plan.

At this point, Hinata couldv'e texted him about anything on the planet and he would've gone. In his head, he weighs his options of staying here and leaving the jersey talk for tomorrow.

Or leaving, and letting you both have some time apart to sort out your feelings.

He's barely able to think on it before his feet force him to get up and make his way to the bathroom, popping open the door to call to you.

He just hopes this works.

"Baby, I'll be back!" He calls, voice above the rushing water.

"Wait- what?" You call back.

"Hinata needs to steal me for a while to talk about our new jerseys, I should be back in a few hours."

"Kiyoomi-"

"I love you!" He says, interrupting you before closing the door and making his way out of the house. He hopes that some distance may calm whatever it is inside of you,

By the time he comes home, he's surprised to see the lights turned on.

Typically Kiyoomi can come home at any hour and find you in bed, asleep, clinging to his pillow, but tonight, it seems you either forgot to shut everything down, or you're still awake.

Maybe if you're awake, you'll be able to sort out whatever happened today before going to bed.

When he walks in, the house is quiet. Scarily quiet.

"Nice of you to show up."

Yeah. You're up. And you sound bored.

The house is still active, but rather than make a dash for him to leap into his arms for affection, you're instead on the couch, eyes heavy and face sad.

After a whole day of trying to cling to him and his every move, now you're willing to be sedate?

He sighs and walks to meet you in the living room, and whatever angry look you try to pull gets demolished by the wobbling of your lip. “What’re you still doing awake?”

You turn to look up at him sadly, tears swollen in your waterline as you blink at him expectantly. “I missed you.”

He smiles at your words before shrugging off his jacket and folding it over in his arms, “I missed you too, baby. How was your night?”

“Quiet.” Your lips twitch as if you want to say more, but no other words fall from your lips. He gives you a small chuckle and scratched the back of his head.

“That’s… exciting,” he offers. You shrug. The tenseness in the room makes him want to throw up, he’s not used to this coldness from you- typically, you’re throwing yourself at him, especially with how you were acting earlier, but now you seem like you couldn’t care less about him. "Did you do anything?"

"Nope."

"Oh..."

"Where did you go?"

He shrugs, "Hinata and Bokuto wanted to talk about the new jerseys and the plan for practice tomorrow; then we got dinner and had some drinks."

"And you didn't think to text me? Not once?"

Chills run up his spine as your question comes with an emotioned voice crack, "I... I guess it slipped my mind... I'm sorry."

"Mm."

He swallows thickly, but his pounding head desperately wants to call it a night. “Why don’t we go to bed, baby?”

“You go ahead, im gonna get some water.”

He smiles and nods as he makes haste to the bedroom, happy facade dropping once his back is towards you. All he wants right now is to curl up next to you and knock the rest if the day away, praying that you're in a similar headspace.

He all but tears off the clothes on his back, dressing into far more comfortable wear as he goes to wash his face. Usually, you're right next to him, butting your head against him, nudging him to the side so you can join him, or youre sitting on the closed toilet seat just to watch him.

You seemingly have no interest in doing that tonight.

By the time Kiyoomi's done, his stomach churns as you're still not in bed, surely it hasn't taken you more than two minutes to get some water, and with an exhausted, and almost annoyed groan, he shuffles back down the hall to see you.

You... you haven't moved.

“Hey,” he mumbles, rubbing his eye. “How come you’re out here? I thought we were going to bed?”

“You didn’t kiss me today.”

He didn’t?

“What do you mean?” He asks, stalking over to the couch. You shuffle over to make room for him, but your eyes never meet his. “I kissed you so many times today, baby.”

“No,” you snip. “You didn’t. I know, because I’m so used to you giving me kisses.”

“I’m... I'm sorry, I guess I just-“

“And you barely hugged me, either,” you sniffle. His brows furrow and instinctively, he tosses an arm around your shoulder to try and calm you down. “Any time I’d reach for you, you’d look at me like I was some nuisance, and make me feel bad for needing the affection.”

“Of course you’re not a nuisance!” He says, rocking you both. “God, fuck baby, I’m sorry, I thought you just needed some more attention than usual and I just-“

“I’m not done.”

A wave of nervousness shudders down his spine, but he pulls back slightly to give you your room to piece together your thoughts. Had he really been that neglectful today?

“You didn’t even eat dinner with me; you went out with the boys. I was in the shower, I didn’t even get a kiss goodbye- you called out a quick ‘love you!’ and went off doing whatever it was you did tonight. You didn’t call, and you didn’t text, and I was home alone, thinking that I did something wrong.”

"No wonder you’re upset- I’m sorry, baby. Whatever I did today wasn’t a reflection of how much I love you; I just got a little busy, and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

You completely deflate. God, what has he done?

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he says sweetly, planting a kiss to your temple. “I never, ever wanted to hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry I did.”

You’re quiet. There’s a strange feeling of dread in the air. The longer you pause, the more he feels the anxiety settling in the pit of his soul.

"You really don't know why I'm mad...?"

He chokes on his own breath, "I... I didn't know you were mad..."

You hiccup in sadness, and he feels like he can't breathe.

The clock on the tv changes to 23:59, and you sigh sadly.

“Happy anniversary.”

You stand up without a word, letting Kiyoomi’s head fall forward along with his jaw. He looks at you in absolute terror, all while you face away from him, hugging yourself in an attempt to comfort yourself.

Oh, God.

The room is shrouded in suffocating silence, smothering anything Kiyoomi could say before he could even think of the words. Dark eyes dart over your frame. He feels sick, he could throw up on this rug right now, if he had anything to even puke up. Your shoulders heave, and he’d rather chew on broken glass covered alcohol before ever wanting him and his neglect to be the reason for your distress.

“I forgot,” he blurts.

No shit.

“I know you did.”

“How… could I forget?”

“You tell me.”

“I-I-I-I set so many reminders, how did I…”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snip, turning on your heel to stalk back down the hallway to your bedroom. “You forgot. And the day is over. It doesn’t matter.”

It does, he wants to argue. It matters, because you matter to him, and he abandoned you on a night that is so sacred to him, the day you crashed into his life and made him realize that whatever he was doing that put you on the road to him, was exactly where he wants to be.

He looks down at the clock on his iPhone, as it creeps over the 45 second mark, and he darts down the hallway. He runs like he’s being chased, like he’s on fire, and you can’t hide your noise of surprise when he bursts into your bedroom and tosses gangly arms around you and plants kisses all over your face.

He holds you so tight you could pop, and he sponges all the kisses he can over your neck and cheeks, and he hears you trying to fight back a giggle, and it only eggs him on to continue.

“I love you,” he pants. “I love you, I love you so much, every day I’m grateful for whatever being is watching us for putting me on the road to you. I don’t know who I worshipped right to be here, but I’ll be damned if I let my own stupidity sabotage that.”

“Kiyoomi,” you say, voice delicate and trying to stop itself from breaking. “You forgot. I just wanted... I wanted you to show up. You couldn't even give me that."

Now it's his turn for his lip to wobble.

You sniff sharply, "just forget about everything, I don’t care anymore.”

“But I care-“

“Clearly, you don’t,” you snap, trying to squeeze out of his grip. “I don’t have the energy for this right now. Let’s just go to bed.

“I’m not about to let this go.”

“Neither am I, but my demons need to rest.” Your eyes dart at his alarm clock, “yours too, apparently. Tomorrow you’re getting sized for jerseys- hopefully you didn’t forget that other important thing.”

Your words sting him sharply, even if he deserves every single one of them. He reels back slightly, gnawing at his lip as he tries to think of ways to fix this, fix the way you’re looking at him and feeling, fix the clear hole he’s singed into your heart.

You curl up into your side of the bed, pulling the blankets high, and he doesn’t know how long he does it, but he just stares at you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to scream at him, or cry, or do something that he should feel even more shitty for.

But it doesn’t happen.

You sniffle a few times, shuffle once or twice, and he doesn’t know just how long he’s been standing there until your breathing turns rhythmic and peaceful for the first time today. Your shoulders rise and fall, back facing away from him and god, he feels like such a loser about to lose the greatest thing that's ever happened to him.

Probably because he is.

You're going to leave him. You're going to see just how much he takes you for granted, how much more you're worthy of and how much more love anyone can give you- even if you still wanted to stay in the jackals, and he wouldn't blame you for shifting your love to someone like Hinata or Meian for a second.

A cold breeze smacks Kiyoomi in the face as, at some point in his spiraling, he ends up outside, keys jingling in hands and hoodie pulled messily on top of his head. His legs seem to know where he's going, even if he doesnt.

His legs take him everywhere that could possibly be open right now, there's no store with a three mile radius that he hasn't bought out between candy, chocolates, a few stuffed bears you'll adore, and three or four types of pizzas and sushi dishes each.

He doesn't care about the strange looks the cashiers and other patrons give him. He cares about trying to remember if you prefer sour or normal gummy bears. He cares about remembering if you like plain pizza or toppings.

He also cares about the way this pillow won't sit the hell up.

He cares immensely about the way the chairs from the island in the kitchen have no grip to them, and refuse to keep the blankets strewn across them up.

And fuck the knitted blanket draped over the lamp and top of the couch, because it refuses to stay the hell up and he's had to make at least four mad dashes to catch the falling object.

The fifth, naturally, crashes to the floor, and he can only sigh in defeat as he continues to fix the fort for the nth time.

"I'm armed," your voice yells from down the hall.

He chuckles, "no you're not."

You groan in annoyance before padding down the hall, and he turns his head to acknowledge your exhausted arrival.

“What’re you doing, Kiyoomi?” You ask, knuckling your eye. “It’s one in the morning.”

“It’s 12:23 pm on the east coast in America.”

You cock a brow, and he blinks simply before turning back to his blanket fort. He feels your eyes boring into his skull, but he ignores it. He’s busy.

“Uhm… thank you for the fun fact?”

“It’s 1:23 yesterday.”

“…and?”

“Komori is on the east coast,” he says easily, tongue poking out in focus. “Somewhere, I don’t really know where, I don’t know American geography. Which basically means a part of me is on the United States east coast. So, by the transitive property-“ he stands up and presents the messily made fort. “We still get to celebrate our anniversary.”

You smile sadly at his efforts but your bottom lip wobbles all the same, “kiyoomi, you forgot. Just drop it, okay?”

“No.”

“Kiyoomi, I’m tired-“

“I bought us some pizza,” he interrupts, lifting the reusable bags positively stuffed to the brim with other treats. “And i got those sour candies you like for some reason, but I picked aside all the ones you hate so you can just eat them in confidence-“

Your eyes glimmer in slight excitement.

“And-And-And I’ve got our favorite movies queued up, ready to go, but there’s a new playlist filled with love songs that I found-“

“Kiyoomi-“

“And god we haven’t danced around in months, do you remember the last time we danced? It was like… well, months.”

You giggle, and he brightens at the sound. He takes a soft sigh to calm down, “and I just… I know how bad I am at showing it.” He stands up and makes his way towards you, and when he cups your cheek in his hand and you mewl at him, he could cry from that alone. “But you are the only thing that matters. My only exception to any rule I could make. And I couldn’t give you the bare minimum, on the second most important day to do it.”

“Second?”

“If I forget your birthday, I need you to leave me,” he chuckles nervously. You slowly walk up to him as if timid and unsure, and when he opens an arm to ease you into a hug, he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he squeezes you close. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I know,” you assure. There’s a comforting silence between you both, your cheek nuzzled into the dip of his sternum before you hum.

“Can I go with you to size jerseys tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get my jersey sized tomorrow,” he says without missing a beat. You tense up in his arms, and before you can protest, he shushes you and cups the back of your head to keep you close. “They will live for one day without me. It takes four minutes tops. They will get over it.”

“But-“

“No buts,” he says, pulling back and looking down at you.

“But-“

“No.” He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss to shut you up, soft and familiar but just enough to keep you calm for him. You purr into the kiss and let your hands wander around his torso, fingers fisting the fabric of his night shirt tightly.

The fingers on your head gently fists the hair at the nape of your neck to keep you grounded for him, and the whimper you pant against him has him in euphoria.

“Thank you,” you sigh against his teeth. He shakes his head before pulling back slightly.

“Don’t thank me… not when I made you feel anything less than the love of my life.”

You chuckle and gently tug the waistband of his sweats. “I know you’re trying to make up for it, now.”

“You do?”

“How many men are gonna stay up, figure out the time zones in America and pick sour grape from my bag of candy just to try and fix a forgotten anniversary?”

He laughs and pulls you in for another hug, one tight and secure and as close as he can get you to snap any broken pieces together.

“I really am trying… I promise.”

“I know you are.”

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retroellie · 1 month

Text

Dating Spencer Reid

Summary: What dating spencer Reid is like

A/N: I wrote this super-fast because I know I haven't really been active... so I wanted to write something quick for y'all! I miss y'all and I hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: Some NSFW moments

Word count: 1.5K

-Spencer grew up on Victorian romance novels and old valentines' poems, so he was quite the hopeless romantic

-When Spencer wasn't solving theories and getting PHDs, he was dreaming of a beautiful romance. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that he isn't the most confident boyfriend, but he makes up for it in his own way!

-Y'alls first date was something straight out of a movie! I mean it was a bouquet of flowers, an expensive dinner followed by a movie theater that played only old 50's films.

-It was the kind of date that had you falling in love with him first thing, knowing that this boy was the person you see yourself coming home to every night.

-After the date, Spencer offered you his jacket and walked you home. It was a chilly night, the streets lit up from the moonlight. He rambled on and on about the movie, but you couldn't even focus on what he was saying because you were too distracted by him.

-What you fell more in love with was the fact he didn't expect you to even kiss him!

-He was more than okay to say your "goodbyes" and "see you later" than leave.... but you gave him a soft peck before heading into your apartment. Even throughout the darkness you could see his blush.

-Anyways, that date led to a beautiful love story between y'all

-Spencer was a romantic even in the littlest of ways, like sending flowers to your work randomly or leaving you small poems in your fridge before he leaves so it feels as though he never really leaves.

-Spencer would always make sure to call you every night when he was away for work... I mean EVERY night.

-"Spencer honey it's 3am here..."

-"I know! But I just wanted to call you, should I call back in the morning?"

-"No, I'm already up and well I miss hearing your voice anyways." You laughed softly.

-The start of your relationship was so innocent, there was no sex or jealousy... it was just so simple and romantic

-There was lots of making out though, something that surprisingly Spencer was the one to initiate every time.

-There were just lots of times when you two would be discussing a book that Spencer probably recommended to you, then all of a sudden, his tongue would be down your throat.

-He was getting used to hugs and the touching, but kissing was something that felt so natural when he did it with you.

-Speaking of books! He had a list of books he recommended to you, like books that you never thought you'd read but you're glad you did yk?

-You would finish a book in one sitting and call him immediately to talk about it

-In turn though, you would bring him into the modern era and show him newer movies and music. Most of the stuff he did not like, but he pretended to like it to be nice.

-The first couple of months of your relationship, the team had no idea you existed. They started to notice spencer being in a lot better mood, but nothing too alarming.

-However, Derek Morgan is a lady killer... so he caught on a lot faster than the others.

-Like one time, the whole team was going out for drinks and Spencer said he had plans... Derek caught him in a lie real fast

-"So, who's the lucky lady?"

-"What?"

-"Pretty boy...I don't need to be a profiler to figure out why your suddenly so "busy.""

-Because of Morgan prying, Spencer decided to invite you out with the team one night.

-The team was all pretty nice, but very confused on why someone like you would want someone like spencer?? You two were completely different from each other... like night and day damn near

-Besides your differences, the team fell in love with you probably harder than Spencer did. I mean Penelope basically adopted you by the end of the night... she did however do her background checking before meeting you, but we don't gotta talk about that.

-The meeting of the team made the relationship real, like now you had become a part of their small family, and they trusted you enough to take care of spencer

-Spencer also felt this was a huge step, like now that his family accepted you, he was going to spend the rest of his life with you

-Spencer would always bring you up when he got the chance now, putting a framed picture of you and him on his desk just so people would ask about you.

-"Oh, who's this?" Someone would ask.

-"That's my girlfriend, Y/N. We've been dating for 11 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days. She's a (profession) and she smells like lavender."

-Like girl, all they asked was who you were... not every detail of your existence.

-But now that you guys are now officially dating, and everyone knows it... there's some newfound jealousy

-Spencer knew that you were attractive, but sometimes he forgets that you are also attractive to others as well

-Sometimes when you come into the FBI office, he sees other men staring you down... probably wondering how a nerdy boy like him could get someone like you.

-Spencer getting jealous is quiet and polite. He doesn't get angry or upset, we all know he does not do good with emotions. So, he'll just keep his distance from you, accepting the fact that you could leave him at any moment and not wanting to feel the effects of it.

-He will go silent for days if you didn't ask him about it, not even sure what he was feeling but knew he didn't like it.

-"Just didn't like how he was looking at you... made me feel weird."

-"You're jealous?"

-"I guess... I don't know."

-You just laughed it off, telling him how you would never choose anyone over him even if there was a gun to your head.

-Spencer also remembers everything about everything so... he picks up on your favorite things and your little quirks, plus he never forgets an anniversary!

-Derek bullies the shit out of him, like omfg

-he'll always call you his mommy and make kissing sounds when you call him, loud enough for the entire office to hear.

-"Muah muah muah... Oh Y/N!!" Derek yells, making sure you heard him.

-"So let me guess... Dereks with you?"

-"How'd you know?"

-He actually doesn't use too many pet names, but you definitely do lmao. His name is literally "Spenice poo <3" on your phone.

-Eventually, Spencer asks you to move in with him and omfg!!! You are so excited, like jumping up and down excitedly.

-I feel like spencer would be so domestic too omfg

-He would play music while cleaning the house, but it would all be like Mozart and classical music. You would always grab him by the waist and start dancing with him, you both looked so stupid but at least it was together.

-He would ramble to you all the time and you were probably the only person in the world that would let him, honestly you enjoyed it too.

-Like you had just gotten out of the shower, Spencer barged in and started talking about a case. He sat on the toilet seat while you did your skin care, just rambling on and on about how sick this person was.

-Yours and Spencer's different aesthetics clashed a lot in the house, like Spencer's apartment was slowly being taken over by you and your stuff... but he didn't mind.

-Since you guys have decided to take your relationship to another big step... Spencer decided he wanted you to pop his cherry.

-Spencer wasn't too experienced and he's never really had sex before. He's done stuff with someone, but never the actual act of it.

-He wanted to do it way before, but he thought it would complicate everything and honestly, he wasn't completely ready for it yet.

-You made sure it was the perfect night, you had it planned out. You took him on a picnic, watching the sunset as you loosened him up a little bit, making sure he was comfortable before setting yourself down on his lap.

-You were so soft with him; I mean you were afraid you might break him. He had to beg for you at one point because you weren't going fast enough.

-The next morning, he had to go into work, something about him was different... his confidence boosted a bit. Derek could sense it from a mile away, making sure Spencer knew that he knew.

-The popping of his cherry had created something inside spencer, he found his favorite thing to do, and he wanted it at all times

-You obviously were glad to give him whatever his little heart desired, so you let him fuck you anytime he wanted. Sometimes it even got a little filthy... something you would have never guessed about spencer.

-My bad I got sidetracked... but spencer was also way touchier with you

-Spencer was never really touchy in public, but now it's all he ever did. If you were in the room with him, then his attention would be completely on you.

-He really just felt so safe with you, knowing that you gave him not only your body but also your mind... he just wanted you, period.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fandom #spence reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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paper-mario-wiki · 1 month

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I'm sending you an ask even though I'm not sure I should. I envy you, I think. You seem so happy and confident after transition and I really like to see it, but it also stirs a kind of grief in me that I don't really know how to handle. I'm six foot six and as wide across the shoulders as some people are tall and I have absolutely no hope of looking like anything other than a masculine linebacker. I'm trying to learn how to like it, going for a bear look, but some part of me sees a happiness in you that I don't think I can ever really have. none of this is your fault and though i know it's weird I hope you can still read this as a compliment because I do like seeing that even if it's not something I can do, sometimes people can end up happy with their gender. I think you're a beautiful person and I like seeing your online presence.

sorry for the big ramble wall I'm just going through it tonight. I guess I just wanted to say thanks for being visible.

i am 6 foot 1, and throughout my life people told me i'd make a good football player.

here are the lifestyle things i did (that dont really have anything to do with gender and were just healthy changes and experiments) that let me stumble into getting over this feeling easier:

eliminate soda entirely. no more soda at all. not with fast food, not out of a can from the fridge, none. drink water. its sooooooo fucking yummy.

walk around plenty every day. in circles if you have to. put on headphones, or a speaker if you're inside. listen to music or some books or talk to your dog or your plants or yourself or record a podcast or something, but just make sure you're walking around. the form this comes in for me is walking around outside with my dog for 40 minutes, 3 to 5 times a day depending on how shes feeling.

put on some eyeliner. you dont have to shave or put on a full face of makeup or nothin. just go to the supermarket's generic makeup aisle and get any old 8-dollar eyeliner. nobody's gonna see, you're just trying somethin out in the privacy of your bathroom.

learn to make your hair look nice. it's an often neglected but very important part of your overall silhouette.

pay attention to how you're dressing. are you putting on clothing that you actively enjoy wearing, or do you throw on comfortable pants and baggy tshirt with a design you like? an easy start for this is jackets. theres SO many dope vintage jackets on ebay and in thrift stores, that's how i started experimenting with making something i'd consider a "wardrobe" and not just "clothes".

give this some time and see how you feel. pay attention to how your body feels. if you feel lighter, or like walking around becomes less of a burden, try shaving your beard, and then try on the eyeliner again.

even a bear can become dainty, if they actively seek it out.

#anon

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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dr3c0mix · 3 months

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What if i want to bite them (all characters), like. Its love bites <3 like not hard enough to bleed hut enough to leave a mark for a while. Like i love them so much i just cant help it! I would kiss the bite marks after in hopes to make them not hurt as much <3

-🩷

Darling Gives Them Love Bites <333

My OCs x GN! Reader

Heres a short post from an old request as a little snack before the yan gang!!

CW: biting ofc, nsfw jumpscares sprinkled in, tooth decaying fluff

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Adrian is a bit confused and weirded out at first, like why are you biting thats gross youre gross wait why are you stopping you have to bite his other shoulder or else its not symmetrical and itll feel weird come back !!

he needs to get used to it gradually, but once it gets to the point you leave marks on his skin, he's asking for a lil bite every time you two say goodbye so he can have a memento of you

he cums in his pants if you lick the bite oh my god please do it again he begs of you

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Brandon thinks it's a game and bites you back, picking you up and throwing you up in the air. You activated some kind of trigger in him that made him go full excited golden retriever.

He bites you back, kissing the area over and over again as revenge

He probably bites more than you to be honest, he's always wanted to bite but held back in case you were uncomfy with it, but now that he knows you're cool with it he's going ham.

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Valeth is cooing over you, little duckling bites!! so cute!!!

He praises your bite marks, pointing out the parts that hurt saying things like "If you tried, you could definitely break skin! Good job my duckling!"

Thinks your little teeth are cute, especially your canines, he loves comparing it to his tusks.

He allows, no, encourages to let you nibble on his hand or arm

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The horde doesnt let you, kisses are ok, but biting ? no no no

not because they dont like it, they just dont want you putting your mouth on their literally rotten skin

plus they associate biting with eat so thats a bit of a problem

but my oh my they love kisses, give them a bit and maybe just maybe theyd let you nibble a little bit.

dont let them do it back to you especially ribs, they have super sharp teeth that can break bone if they wanted

but like you might be into that so idk man

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Wolfie thinks youre being aggressive before you assure him its how you express love, then he starts to do it back or lick you.

It's more of him casually putting a part of your body in his mouth protectively, he doesnt wanna hurt his mate ;-;

he still prefers licks and cuddles tho, anything that involves cuddles are ok for him!!

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Doriks cummin buckets im sorry

are you marking him as yours ? please do it some more please! maybe on his ear? arm? dick? chest?

hes all yours !!!

he offers to bite you back, itll eventually turn into very intense sex that ends with the both of you covered head to toe in bite marks

he wants round 2

use it as a reward and hes doing whatever you ask with the speed of a sports car

appears right next to you, neck exposed, waiting eagerly for another bite

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kalva is confused but laughs and bites you back, its a little painful because of the beak but he tries his best to be gentle.

he sees it as you trying to preen him and swoons over your 'attempt'

he preens you in order to teach how its really done! its mostly just an excuse to love on you <3

hes very ticklish so expect a flurry of giddly hoots and chirps from him whenever you nibble on him

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jasper is crying sobbing rolling on the floor rn

BITE HIM ON THE BECK PLEASE BITE HIM ON THE N-

he wants to roleplay with you being a vampire and him being your mortal soulmate

lil guy a bit freaky like that <3

moans so loud when you bite him, he has to apologize

euheheh eghghhh hes so crazy for you and your love bites

doesn't wanna bite back because skin on teeth is not a good sensation for him, but he'll cover your face in kisses to return the favor

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The vampires are cooing, swooning, absolutely simping for you

our little mortal is biting us so cute soc ute!!!!

get ready for never ending teasing and kissing

they point out the marks you leave and talk about how much better it would be if you were a vampire like them!

they fake terror over your bites, oh nooo a cute little human is biting me !! so so spooky !!

please let them bite you back

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Baron is short circuiting

ohmy oh oh my oh yomhyo-

thank you.

he has to process what just happened for a bit

tries to forget about it but he cant help but want another one when he gets a glimpse of your teeth when you talk or smile at him

stays up and imagines your mouth all over his skin leaving teeth marks everywhere

stayed up that night pumping his cock when he remembers you biting your lip that one time

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Caspian makes a big deal out of it

hes literally morticia in the addams family movie

last night you were unhinged, you were like some desperate howling demon, you frightened me

do it again

no please were are you going do it again!!!

"misbehaves" so you can bite him again as punishment

oops! i splashed you with water! you might have to bite me again~

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Hallow is yanking his fabric back and scolds you, what if you choked? he'd be worried sick!

gets you a chew fidget instead

doesnt quite understand love bites

please explain to him why eating him means you love him

maybe its because you think hes delicious? awwee thank you! youre delicious too i suppose !

coos over you as he holds you close, thank you for the bite honeypie!!

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Ashvan is squealing over how cute it was!!

blushes whenever you do, like very very flustered, his eyes might be covered by soft fur but you can almost see the redness on his face

his ears flatten as he tries to calm his frantically wagging tail

he gets much shyer whenever you smile at him or when you bite into your food during meals

he has to timidly ask for another bite with his index fingers touching together

please give him more biteys!!

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Axel tells you to bite harder

try it! hes tough! lets see how strong that jaw of yours is!

*frantically hiding his growing erection*

calls you little kitten or..rat

teases you by poking at your mouth with his finger to get you to bite

he loves it, he thinks its the cutest thing whenever you do it, especially when youre just subconsciously nibbling on him as if he was a chew toy

he makes sure his hands are always washed for you, no more touching dirty stuff carelessly, he gotta take care of himself for you!!

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King Alistair is pushing you away and coldly telling you no, but once you two are alone in your shared chambers, away from prying eyes, he softly tells you to continue

of course he loves you, he wants you to be free to express yourself, but please dont do it when people are watching

he has a reputation to uphold! not because he's shy and insecure about showing pda in public or anything...

bites back, definitely bites back!! out of all the ocs i think he bites the most next to Brandon

loves playing predator and prey whenever you two are fooling around together, if he ever leaves marks, hes kissing them softly to let you know he means no harm, he just got a bit carried away because youre just so sweet~!

if you leave marks, hes covering it up in his clothes, but occasionally he heads to he mirror, pulls away the fabric covering your lovebite, and smiles

argaragrgagrggrgargagrg

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