Tumgik
#negative attention fucking hurts
toytulini · 1 year
Text
If you get the urge to say shit on this post, consider: dont. not looking to engage in a dialogue about this, i will block you
i know this isnt whats gonna happen but god id love to learn nothing about that new hp show. i dont want to hear shit. not even about how bad it is. tmi. dont curse me with that info. why do you know how bad it is. why are you telling me. go look up a weird bug on wikipedia. or dont. dont tell me about it. dont put it on my dash.
#toy txt post#i know thats not whats going to happen tho. i know my dash will be flooded with gifs and screencaps and ppl who#maybe they didnt hatewatch it piracy or otherwise. maybe ill be generous. maybe they read an episode synopsis on wikipedia#and theyre telling us about all the new bad dumb shit theyre doing#and then we're all gonna get mad and spread it and talk about it nonstop#to shame everyone into not watching it#but like in order for this info to get out. one of you watched it. whyd you do that. whyd you tell me about it#and i know for my contrarian friends my wording it like this is making you want to watch it out of spite. its making it sound like#tasty fun spicy forbidden knowledge#no its just gonna be the same dumb stupid boring shit. maybe with an added dash of heinous transphobia antisemitism and racism etc#for gods sake go read a goddamn harry potter fanfiction instead#just dont put it on my fucking dash#im so ready for us to be done with this terfy fuck. for her to be irrelevant. i think thats what would hurt her most. she found a way#to thrive on the controversy shes feeding off the negative attention#and im not saying like dont call her out like i get we have to do that like i Get It i Know#that we cant afford to just ignore her bc shes literally using her billions to influence laws in the uk to hurt ppl#like i know#but god just imagine how much it would suck for her to wake up and nobody fucking cares either way#not mad at her anymore just Done. shes irrelevant#drop her. go do literally anything else#imagine how nice it would be if she puts a show out and nobody talks about it good or baf#bad*. and then theyll be less likely to do more. bc they cant count on it being clickbait that ppl are getting heated about#cos i think this is just. shes in her cancelled comedian netflix special era. shes getting specials about being cancelled and shes Only#getting them bc shes 'cancelled' cos if ppl didnt feel strongly about her good OR BAD it wouldnt get clicks it wouldnt get attention#i wish we could afford to do this i wish ppl would just be fucking allies to trans and jewish ppl about this#im so tired#anyway. ill leave reblogs on this for now. if anyone fucks up they get turned off
8 notes · View notes
Text
.
2 notes · View notes
staryarn · 2 years
Text
,
2 notes · View notes
angeltrapz · 1 year
Text
my dad will rlly ask me a question, not wait for my answer, get mad when I start talking bc "I never know when you're done!" and then be shocked when I get upset, huh
1 note · View note
vienssunshine · 6 months
Text
It's Too Much
Tumblr media
pairing: Choso Kamo x fem!reader nsfw: dom!reader, inexperienced!Choso, premature ejaculation word count: 1.5k author's note: this idea took third place in the poll, but I was extra inspired to write this because of a tik tok my friend sent me. description: Choso has been touch-starved for so long, so when you touch him, it can be a lot, maybe even too much for him to handle
Choso has never felt another's body against his own that wasn’t attempting to hurt him. For all 150 years he’s been alive up until he met you, physical contact meant pain. But now, he’s beginning to learn that that isn't completely true.
There are similarities between a touch of pain versus…pleasantness might be the word—he hasn’t sorted it out completely yet—as a feeling lingers after contact. A strike leaves an aching bruise, the afflicted area reminding him of the injury whenever the slightest pressure is applied, but when you place a gentle hand on Choso’s shoulder while speaking to him, it leaves behind something entirely different. 
The best way he can describe the initial feeling is as a warmth, and not just due to the intrinsic heat from where your flesh meets his, but one that swells in his chest and spreads out to the rest of his body. After you leave, your touch doesn’t require a mark on his skin or a painful sting like a bruise needs to be remembered, rather, the outline of where your fingers laid on his shoulder simmers on his skin for the rest of the day. 
You fluster him with your casual touches–placing your hand on his forearm or leaning your head on his shoulder–but it helps him work up the courage to start acting on his own desires to feel you. He appreciates how you let him take his time as he explores the little things, like the feeling of holding your hand, intertwining his roughened fingers with yours. He looks up to your face, making sure what he's doing is okay, and you give him a gentle smile, telling him he's doing great. There is that warmth in his chest again. He realizes he likes the feeling of you praising him—a lot. 
Soon, he starts asking for more: to cup your cheeks, pet your hair. One day, he asks to hold your body against his on the bed, feeling your softness and warmth while working hard to regulate the influx of emotions your proximity inspires. Yet, it gets the better of him and he asks something that’s been on his mind for a while: if he can kiss you.
You accept, of course, and with your lips so soft and sweet, things quickly develop, escalating to the point where you are on top of him, straddling his big legs, and kissing down his bare chest to his waistband. He tries to keep still, but your lips feel so good and his hips betray that, gently thrusting up and into you.
“S-sorry,” Choso says, “I…I can’t control it.”
You look up from his chest. “It’s okay, Choso,” you say as you drag your hands down his abs to his waistband, deepening the pink dusted upon his cheeks, “It seems like you want more.” 
“Mhmm,” Choso whimpers, watching as you tuck your fingertips into his waistband and pull it down, freeing his sensitive erection.
Your hands wrap around his length and his eyes flutter closed in bliss. Being touched there is a new sensation for Choso and it’s stirring up a feeling he hasn’t had much experience with.
He thinks it’s arousal, which is, according to Mahito, what causes humans to “fuck.” But Mahito always spoke about fucking in a negative light, describing it as disgusting, primal thing humans do. That perspective doesn't make sense to Choso anymore because whatever you are igniting in him, if it is that aroused feeling Mahito described, feels so good he thinks he would die if you stopped. 
“Do you like this, Choso?” you ask as you stroke him. Hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips sends a shiver through Choso’s body. 
“I-I do,” he says, moaning when you pay special attention to his pink tip, stimulating the sensitive area with your fingers in a tight circle. He’s been unconsciously bucking his hips up into your fist, chasing more of this unfamiliar sensation that has pressure to build up in his stomach.
“Then, would you like it if I put it inside of me?” 
He hadn’t considered that as a possibility, already so pleasure-drunk from feeling your palm against him, but there’s no way he can refuse your offer. 
“Yes. Yes—fuck—please do that.”
“Alright, Choso,” you say, getting off of him, “You just sit still, okay?” 
His breathy whine tells you that the last thing he wants to do is sit still. You smile, he looks so cute when he’s desperate.
“Just a little bit longer,” you say, intentionally moving slower than necessary just to see how long the poor curse can hold out.
He watches as you pull down your underwear, and the second you remove it, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you back on top of him. Then he’s pressing hot, sloppy kisses to your neck, devouring it like a man starved. His passion and intensity make up for his lack of experience, though you note he’s getting the hang of it.
Choso’s barrage of affection is halted by a surprised gasp when you grip his erection and align yourself with it. The hunger in your eyes reminds him of how out of his element he is, but he doesn’t let it scare him, rather, he lets it feed his desire of making you feel as good as he does. 
You hold the tip to your entrance and Choso’s breath hitches when he feels the wetness and warmth of your hole. Slowly, as to not overwhelm, you sink down on him, and he moans—sweet and unbridled—from the way your walls hug him. 
“I’ve—hah—never…felt something like this,” he says, eyes pressed closed, wrinkling the thin black mark running just underneath them. 
Your hands fall onto his built chest as you make it all the way down on him, driving the entirety of his long, slender dick deep within you. His hands fly to your hips when it happens, but then one grabs for your wrist on his chest, circling his fingers around it, needing you to help him through this new sensation. 
“Feels good?” you ask, your voice breathy.
“Feels s’good,” he says, “Too good.” He shifts around underneath you; the pressure he was feeling earlier when you were touching him is becoming inescapable, sweeping through his stomach like a vicious undercurrent. 
“I’m going to start moving now, 'kay?” you say. 
Choso nods but is woefully unprepared for when you begin to lift your hips up and down, pushing his length through your gummy walls. Your movements on top of the information already flooding his senses–your warm skin, rapid heartbeat, fluttering eyes—it's so overwhelming. His head falls back, and even though you’re going at such a slow pace, it feels like your walls are milking him, intent on making the tightness in his core snap.
Choso knows it’s too much for him, but watching your eyes close in pleasure and your fingers dig into the skin on his chest, it makes him want to keep going, to not cum just yet. But with the sight of you naked on top of him and the way your insides are squeezing him, not cumming is a near impossible task. He wants to do a good job for you, to hear you tell him that, but he's sure he won’t last. 
“Fuck, I’m s-ah-sorry,” Choso whines, “I can’t…if you keep moving, I can’t-“ 
“You’re gonna cum already, Choso?” you ask, a wickedness in your voice, “You feel that good?”
You’re teasing him, despite how you find your view beyond erotic: he’s a squirming mess underneath you, with his eyebrows pressed together, face flushed with warmth, and fingers tight around your wrist as he just fights the urge to cum.
“Yes—ngh—you feel s’good, s’good-I’m sorry,”—you feel his cock twitch inside you—“I can’t, I’m sorry, m’gonna-“
He groans, thrusting his hips up into you with a force that requires you to grab onto him to stay put, and empties his load deep inside you, sweet moans interspersed with apologies.
You’d be more disappointed in him for not lasting long, but with this being his first time in a while, you’re willing to forgive—especially after being treated to his endless, pretty noises.
When he comes down, you press a kiss on his cheek, “Too much, Choso?” you ask.
“I’m sorry, you just felt so good,” he says in between pants. His poor body is shaking, his chest is heaving, and a pink flush burns all over his pale skin. 
“It’s okay,” you say, “I enjoyed that.” Only, you wish you had been able to cum, too. Seeing him writhe underneath you has your cunt aching for attention.
He sits up, and you feel his cock move inside you. “Still, I wanted to last for you.”
“Sweet boy,” you say, pushing a few strands of dark hair out of his face, “You did great. I know it’s been a while since you’ve done anything like this.” 
He’s still pouting, but his frown turns into a smile when an idea hits him. He flips you over with ease—sometimes you forget how strong he is—and pulls out of you, keeping your legs open so he can bring his face down to your cunt, wetness mixed with his own cum seeping out of it. 
He presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let me make it up to you, I haven’t gotten to feel you on my tongue yet.” 
3K notes · View notes
Text
Like Bambi on Ice - Max Verstappen
Summary: Some people might mistake Max's protectiveness as something negative but really he just doesn't trust his accident-prone girlfriend to get more than 10 steps on her own without managing even just a minor injury.
Themes: multiple injuries for reader
No part 2 requests please
Tumblr media
There's really no reason for y/n to be so uncoordinated and have such bad depth perception. There's literally not explanation, doctors have tried to figure it out. Max even tried to theorise but to no avail.
Y/n just is clumsy and that clumsiness leaves with some sort of cut, bruise, scrape or sometimes more a severe injury. Usually much to Max's distress and attempt to prevent it.
Sometimes he's successful in rushing to stop he from falling, or walking into things.
You know when you try to swerve a counter and sometimes hit your ribs? Y/n managed to crack a rib doing that just last month. That made Max freak out since it happened while he was away for a race weekend and she had stayed at home.
It's healed since with plenty of rest and continuous efforts from Max to make sure she doesn't do anything to risk further injury.
Right now they're just in the hotel room, getting ready for a Sprint Saturday.
"I-ah." Y/n gasps words cut off followed by the sound of skin hitting the floor. "Ow."
Max jogs into the bathroom already knowing what's happened since she's just stepped out the shower. He finds her sitting on the floor with her legs out in front of her.
"How do I manage to fail at getting out the shower?" Y/n groans making him laugh a little as he picks her up put his hands up under her armpits. "It's tragic."
"It's not tragic. It's just the way you are." Max smiles then moving behind her and holding her waist till she's off the slippery bathroom floor and onto the much safer and softer to land on carpet of the bedroom. Though does actually keep hold of her till she turns to face him.
Her body slumping in a heavy sigh as he gently tucks her hair behind her ear.
"I love you, injuries and all." Max states earning a hum.
"I love you too, perfectionism and all." Y/n grins then sighing. "Can you help me dry me hair?"
"Of course I can, baby."
-
A mistake on Max's part was letting y/n follow him up the stairs, because as soon as he heard as squeak of the rubber sole of her shoe on the plastic step and her gasp, he managed to turn fast enough to prevent her upper body from hitting the steps but her knee cap smashes straight into the edge of a step.
"Fuck! Ah, ah ah." Y/n panics as Max rushes to pick her up and carry her to a better spot. "Ow, ow. No. It really hurts."
Tears are the first sign of y/n's injury being something that Max needs to worry. She didn't even cry when she cracked her ribs, sure he wasn't there but other people were and she just hissed, rubbed her ribs and it was only when the bruising appeared she went and got them x-rayed for damage.
"I think I'm going to be sick." Y/n gags once she's sat down, tilting her head back as she takes a few deeper breaths while Max tries to access the damage.
"We need to get you to the medical centre, just to be safe. You're bleeding quite a bit." Max sighs since the cut across her knee is pretty nasty but the blood that's dripping down her leg is definitely making it look bad. "Don't look, don't look at it."
"Well it must be pretty bad if you don't want me to look." Y/n laughs with a shaky breath earning a small sigh from the driver as he looks at the few team members around him.
"We'll get you moved." Max states really just wanting her to pick her up and get her seen to as quick as possible. "Don't look though."
"Keep looking at the ceiling. Got it." She nods with a breathy laugh that gives away she's definitely feeling the pain of her injury.
They get her to the medical centre, gaining a fair amount of attention from others in the paddock. They clean her up and find her kneecap is intact and after giving her a clean up and stern-strips to close the wound as best they can, they also give her crutches with instructions to not bend her knee too much otherwise the wound will open again.
"Max, what happened to y/n? There's like stains from her blood on the ground in the paddock. Is she ok? Everyone was so worried seeing you carry her to the medical centre."
"Ah, yeah. She's fine. She tripped going up the steps in the unit and just sliced her knee cap. But once they blood was gone it wasn't so bad. She is ok though, it was just a bit of shock." Max explains since he knew this question was coming.
"That's good, well not good but we're glad she's not managed to injury herself too bad."
-
Despite some assuming y/n's knee injury would stop her from further injury, Max knew better.
In fact her efforts to prevent further injury to her knee only led her managing to sprain her wrist using the crutches. She also managed to get stuck in-between a sliding door which had her hysterical with laughter as Max jumped to push the doors apart again.
"I wonder how many scars I have...or how many scars I've gained since we met. I feel like the paddock is a bit of a source of injury for me." Y/n comments as they sit back in Max's Monaco home.
"You might have a point." Max hums since he can't deny she is accident-prone but for some reason she's never managed to walk through the paddock without tripping, falling or bumping into someone. Sometimes all three at once, or even all three at completely different points in her walk.
It's almost impressive she can manage to injure herself so much given how short the walk to the Red Bull unit is compared to the others but if anyone could achieve so much with injury, it's y/n.
Max sighs tracing his thumb over the pink, fresh scar on her knee as she rests her legs over his lap.
"I love you." Y/n mumbles with a soft smile leaning her head against the back of the sofa.
"I love you too." Max smiles then rubbing her thigh. Oddly the part of her body with the least scaring, not the least injury but the least scaring. Just one slightly white scar of when she was younger, falling down a rocky edge into a river. A few rocks ripped up the back of her thigh pretty bad and the scars look almost like scratches. "I love every inch of you, born that way or not."
"I don't know how I got so lucky to get a man who will literally jump to protect me from myself and my horrendous co-ordination." Y/n grins shifting close enough that she can kiss him a couple times. "You are the best, and not just in F1."
"Now you are just feeding my ego."
1K notes · View notes
strawberryseeded · 2 years
Text
why am i so unfocused and innatentive..like. im being serious. i know im not actually dumb. so what the hell
0 notes
another-lost-mc · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
When They Say "F*ck Lucifer" (& Think MC Takes It Literally) Headcanons | THE DEMON BROTHERS 2.6k words | NSFW | gn!Reader | Crack Treated Seriously Content warnings: Cursing, implied relationships, pet names, jealous/possessive behaviour, misunderstandings and poor communication, demon form mentioned (Satan), suggestive content.
Tumblr media
BELPHEGOR
"Belphie, it's time for dinner!" Lucifer sent you to find him, and when he wasn't napping in your bed, you knew where to check next.
He mumbles something into his pillow and you can't make out the words, but you know he's listening. "It's the third night this week you've skipped eating dinner with the family. Come on, you know how Lucifer is."
Belphie turns his head towards you enough so that you can hear him more clearly. "Oh, fuck Lucifer." He rolls over and starts snoring again, and you stomp back down the attic stairs in frustration.
When you join the others for dinner, you jab your fork into your food with more force than necessary. You're halfway done your meal when Belphie suddenly plops down into the empty chair beside yours. He reaches for your free hand and leans against your shoulder.
"Belphie?" you ask him curiously, but he says nothing. He doesn't eat anything either. He tries to cuddle even closer to you instead, and he shoots glares at his older brother sitting at the head of the table.
It takes you longer to eat than normal with one of your hands firmly tucked in Belphie's grip. As soon as you finish your dinner, he pulls you away from the table and back up to the attic. He curls around you for the rest of the night like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't.
He doesn't skip any more meals for the rest of the week.
BEELZEBUB
You have one hand stretched out in front of you, pressed firmly against Beel's chest. The other is holding a container of sweets behind your back.
"No, you can't have these," you remind Beel for the hundredth time. "They're for tomorrow, remember?"
But Beel's only half-paying attention to you. His focus is latched onto the container in your hand, and if he wasn't worried about hurting you by accident, he'd simply take it from you.
"It's not fair," his low voice rumbles thickly, and there's drool leaking from the corner of his mouth now. "I'm starving!"
You shake your head and look around for something else to tempt Beel with instead. "Lucifer bought these for Diavolo, and we're taking them to the tea party tomorrow."
"Fuck Lucifer," Beel growls, and it's the loudest and angriest he's sounded yet. You both look startled by the outburst; your hand slips away from holding him back, and his jaw drops open when he realizes what he said to you.
You hold the container tightly against your chest. He could easily take it from you now, but he surprises you when he doesn't. His eyes are fixed solely on your face, as if the thing he wanted moments ago is completely irrelevant. He holds his arms out like he's trying to block you from leaving the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'll look for something else to eat, but please, don't go."
ASMODEUS
"Are you sure you should post that?" you ask, glancing over Asmo's shoulder as he types another inflammatory reply on Devilgram.
"Of course!" he exclaims. "You read their comment. ‘Pretentious and gaudy?’ MY clothing line?! No, I won’t stand for it.”
He’s typing quickly and you’re not exactly sure what his Devildom insult is supposed to mean, but you imagine it’s not very nice by the way Asmo cackles when he hits Send.
“I don’t want to be that person,” you start nervously while Asmo scrolls through the other comments on his post, “but maybe you should ignore them? All this back and forth is drawing a lot of negative attention to your Devilgram feed.”
Asmo pauses what he's doing and looks at you suspiciously. “Who told you that?”
You bite your lip and look away. “Lucifer asked me to talk to you about it.” When Asmo rolls his eyes, you throw your hands up. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Aren’t you worried this little spat might impact your new launch?”
Asmo jabs his D.D.D. in your direction. “He’s only worried about drama if it involves someone close to Diavolo.” He runs his hand through his hair and looks down at his phone screen again. “Fuck him. If Lucifer cares that much, he can come talk to me himself.”
“Ugh!” You stand up with a huff and head towards the door. You tried to talk to him and it’s obvious he’s not going to listen. You hope Lucifer believes you later when you tell him you tried to get Asmo to see reason.
When you reach for the door handle, you’re surprised when Asmo suddenly blocks your way. Sometimes you forget how fast demons can move.
“I didn’t mean that,” he says seriously. His housecoat falls open slightly when he leans towards you, and his expression isn't angry but dead-serious.
“Didn’t mean what?” you ask confusedly.
“Fucking my brother. Don’t do it.” His hands grasp your shoulders and you can’t help but laugh.
“I wasn’t going to? I was going to go back to my room while you carry on with your…” you trail off, gesturing to his abandoned D.D.D. on the bed, “…little feud.”
He steers you back towards his bed. “If you want to relax, then I insist you stay here instead. My room is much more comfortable than yours. Besides, I just thought of something you can help me with.”
You sit on the edge of the bed and smile up at him. “Like apologizing to that poor demon lord you keep picking fights with?”
Asmo winks at you with a hint of a smirk, and he tugs at the belt holding his housecoat closed. “Maybe we can do that after.”
SATAN
Satan walks around the narrow pathways in his room, avoiding the fragile stacks of books that litter his floor. You sit on his bed and watch him anxiously, giving him the patience and time he needs to tell you what's bothering him. You're careful to give him space when he's in one of these moods; it was one of the stipulations you agreed to before he let you inside earlier.
"So, you were in the garden earlier with some of the stray cats, and Lucifer did...what, exactly?" You've been trying to piece together what happened between Satan and his brother earlier, but it's hard to make sense of his grumbled and disjointed complaints.
"He scared them away," Satan bites out angrily. "I wasn't even feeding them treats. I sprinkled some catnip for them. What's the problem with that?"
You know Lucifer complains about the stray cats that flock to the House of Lamentation if Satan feeds them when he's not supposed to. You know that Lucifer isn't a fan of cats in general. But, you also know that Lucifer wouldn't purposefully hurt any of the cats that make their way into the garden, and he's not usually this petty.
"Is it possible he thought you were feeding them? I don't think he would make such a big fuss if he knew you were only giving them catnip." Satan glances at you and you can tell he's not convinced by your explanation. "What if I go with you to talk to him?"
"Fuck him," Satan snarls as he keeps pacing in front of you, fists clenching open and closed at his sides.
Sigh. Maybe you can talk to Lucifer on your own. Things have been peaceful between them lately, and this is such a silly thing for them to be at odds over.
Satan watches you stand up from his bed with a defeated sigh. When you try to shuffle past him, he wraps his arms around you from behind and pulls you against his chest. There's a wave of warm energy around you, and you feel the familiar feathers of his true form against your back.
"You're not going to leave me to see him, are you?" his rough voice grates against your neck. "You should stay here."
"Tomorrow we're going to sort this out together," you tell him when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.
His hands on your hips tighten. "Fine. But tonight, you're mine."
LEVIATHAN
"I think there's something wrong with your Akuzon account."
Levi asked you to pre-order the Dogi Maji anniversary bundle on his tablet, but the Submit Order button is greyed out every time you try to purchase it for him.
"Huh?" Levi spins around at his desk. He was doing some dungeons with his guild and you've been waiting for him to finish so you could watch anime together.
You tap the screen a few more times and shrug. "I don't know, it won't let me order anything."
Levi opens the Akuzon site on his second monitor and he sputters when he realizes what the problem is. "Lucifer put parental controls on the account again! Why would he do that?"
Of course. You knew Lucifer was upset at Levi for what happened earlier this week, and somehow his threat of punishment completely slipped your mind. "Well, you did summon Lotan on the RAD campus again..." you offer hesitantly.
"That wasn't my fault!" Levi argues loudly. He wilts a bit under your skeptical stare. "Okay, it wasn't completely my fault. Mammon took my rare Ruri-chan capsule figurine and wouldn't give it back."
You rub the back of your neck. You want to be sympathetic, you really do, but you can't necessarily blame Lucifer for his reaction either - an entire floor of the building was unusable due to the flooding.
"You know how Lucifer is, he'll change it back in a few days and we can order the game then."
"But what if it sells out before then?!" he shouts in frustration. "Fuck Lucifer!"
Levi rarely raises his voice like this to you, and he deflates immediately after his little outburst. "Wait–wait–wait!" he stammers quickly, launching himself out of his computer chair and into the empty seat beside you on the sofa. He holds your hands in his and squeezes so tightly that you wince. "I didn't mean that," he says imploringly, and his eyes dart around your face like he's nervous you don't believe him.
You mistakenly assume he's trying to apologize for getting so angry, and you pull him into a hug. "I know," and he nods against your shoulder. "What if I go to Purgatory Hall and order the game using Solomon's account instead?"
Levi sniffles and practically drags you into his lap. "Maybe later," he mumbles against your chest, the game temporarily shoved aside so he can keep you to himself instead. "What do you want to watch first?"
MAMMON
You flick on the light switch in Mammon's room and glare at him in annoyance. You warned him last night not to stay too late at the casino, and here he is, sleeping well past his alarm. At some point he chucked his D.D.D. across the room and promptly went back to sleep.
Great, now you're both going to be late, but for some reason, Lucifer seems to think herding Mammon to class is your responsibility. Lover's perks, you guess sarcastically as you stomp over to where the Avatar of Greed is snoring under a pile of blankets. One of his feet is dangling over the edge of the bed, and if you had more time, maybe slow, torturous tickles would teach him a lesson. For now, you grab the edge of his blankets and rip them off him in one smooth motion.
His eyes are still closed while his hands search blindly for the blankets that are on the floor by your feet. He's only in his boxers so the sudden gust of cool air against his skin makes him shudder. You feel a bit of petty satisfaction as you kick the blankets away for good measure.
"'m tired, goin' back to sleep, babe," he mumbles sleepily.
Well, at least he knows it's you, even if he is half-asleep.
"We're going to be so late for class, and Lucifer's going to kill me. Or you. Or both of us!" You wonder why Lucifer would send you to wake up Mammon, when his own threats of dangling him from the ceiling would probably be more effective. You guess waking Mammon up is meant to be your punishment for choosing to be with him of all demons in the first place.
Mammon groans and rolls over so you can't see him, but you can tell he's half-buried in his pillow when he grumbles, "Fuck 'em."
You throw up your hands and spin on your heel. "Fine, be that way," you snap. Your mood's already sour, and Lucifer's pestering and Mammon being himself isn't helping.
You should have enough time to grab something to eat and make it to class on time if you leave now. What you don't expect is for Mammon to not only get out of bed, but to somehow make it to the doorway before you do.
Damn, he's fast.
He's panting heavily and his eyes are clear now, his razor-sharp focus trained on you. You bump into his bare chest because you don't expect him to block your path. You open your mouth to ask what he's doing, but he leans forward and gives you a sloppy kiss instead. There's something almost desperate in the way his hands cradle your jaw and he drags his lips away from your mouth and dusts your cheeks and brow with feathery-soft kisses too.
"'m sorry," he mumbles, pulling you against him in a tight hug, "Wait for me while I get ready, yeah? Just, don’t–don’t leave. I’ll make it up to ya later, promise.”
LUCIFER
Lucifer pauses outside your bedroom door when he realizes you're speaking to someone on the phone. His brothers are all studying in their rooms - or they should be, same as you. He wonders who could possibly be so interesting that you're ignoring your studies to talk to them instead.
He assumes it's Solomon or Simeon, and he can't decide which of those two options is worse. Not that he cares, of course.
Even through the door, he can hear you clearly. He feels the slightest sense of guilt when he recognizes the tired, sad tone in your voice. Some of his brothers failed the last set of exams, and perhaps he was too strict with you considering your own scores were satisfactory - excellent even, in some classes. He knows that you've been ignoring your extracurriculars and hobbies to focus on studying so you don't disappoint him like his siblings do.
He catches the tail-end of your conversation and decides it's definitely Solomon on the other line if you're being invited to human world outings.
"...yeah, I heard that movie is in theatres now too. I think it looks good, but I'm too busy with–look, maybe once exams are over we can go see it, okay? I think Satan might like to see it too...uh huh...alright, you too. G'night."
Silence follows, and before Lucifer can knock on your door, he hears you sigh and mutter quietly, "Ugh, these stupid exams. Fuck Lucifer."
Well, there's a thought, isn't it? He was going to offer to take you to Madam Scream's to pick up some of those cupcakes you like. He considers it for only a split second and decides he likes your idea even more. His lips curl into a feral smirk, and he knocks once before letting himself inside.
"Huh? Oh, hi, Lucifer. I'm just going to..." but your voice tapers off. Whatever you were going to say dies in your throat when he leans against your door and slides the lock into place.
"I missed you," he murmurs, a surprisingly honest (and to you, completely random) confession that causes your cheeks to darken slightly. You swallow thickly and stare when he brings his hand to his mouth and pulls his glove off with his fucking teeth. "I think you deserve a little reward for all your hard work, hm?"
3K notes · View notes
sprout-fics · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Whumptober Day One: "How many fingers am I holding up?"
(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')
(Whumptober Masterlist TBA)
Rating: Gen Wordcount: 1.6k Tags: Blood/Injury, Whump, Head Injuries, Fainting, Worried Simon, Banter Warnings: Vomit mention
Tumblr media
Asshole got the drop on you. 
You were checking your corners this time, talking calmly into your radio as you slowly swept the perimeter of the warehouse you and Ghost had been sent to investigate. There had been fair resistance, one that had been thinned by your sniper fire as Ghost moved interior. It had only been once he’d sounded the all clear that you clambered down from your perch on the hill and had moved to rendezvous with your LT. 
A noise catches your attention, a rolling bottle that clattered against the concrete. You pivot sharply, weapon raised and moving silently towards the source of the sound. Too late do you realize it’s a distraction, and before you can spin on your heel to face the presence that makes the hairs on your neck rise, the world cracks with color and you’re sent spinning to the ground. 
It takes a moment for you to orient yourself, and the first thing you recognize is the splitting pain just above your right ear, so fierce it nearly blinds you. Yet the enemy behind you doesn’t seem to care, towering over you and reaching for your form with darkly clad hands. Body operating on pure instinct, you reach for the knife on your vest, slash across his calf so he stumbles. It doesn’t take much after that, as you swiftly stand and fire once from your side arm, the man slumping to the ground limply. 
“Fix, how copy?” Ghost suddenly barks into your radio, having heard the commotion, and the noise screeches in your ears. Too loud, too loud. It hurts, the place where the AQ agent hit you with the butt of his rifle, likely out of ammo. The pain unfurls across your skull, has you scrunching your eyes shut with a groan of blooming pain that feels bitter on your tongue. 
“Fix.” Ghost tries again, and you shudder an exhale as you try to breathe through the pain, eyes closed as you blindly fumble for your radio. 
“Copy. I’m injured. Moving to your position.”
There’s a pause, and you try vainly to right yourself, checking your gear and toeing the edge of the body at your feet so you can navigate around it with your eyes closed as much as possible. 
“Negative. Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.”
You wince at that, not out of pain, but at the griping irritation in Ghost’s voice at your injury. You’ll probably hear about it later, but for now you focus on trying to find somewhere to sit down so Ghost can find you. The world wobbles dangerously around you, and the first turn of your head summons a low, stifled groan at the pulsing gunshot of pain that flares behind your eyelids. 
“All stations- I’ve got one wounded. Standby.”
Way to advertise, Ghost. You think with a little frown, glad that now every operator on this mission knows you have a fucking headache. You press a hand to the center of the pain and instantly draw the touch away with a hiss, feeling the skin react to your fingers. They feel wet. It’s agonizing, the pain, it feels like someone has decided to try and fracture you open to look inside, forgetting how to close you back up. It feels like the only thing you can think of, your world consumed by a tilting dizziness and growing nausea that sits heavy and sour in your stomach.
It doesn’t take long for Ghost to find you, and when he does there’s little fanfare as he immediately moves to assess you. 
“Eyes up.” He demands, and despite the curtness it’s a touch gentle, encouraging as a gloved hand tilts your chin up and then to the side so he can examine the growing welt on the side of your skull. 
“How’s your head?” He asks blandly, trying to part the hair from your temple to see the injury.
“No complaints yet, LT. At least not from you.” You try, voice wobbling a little but trying to see if you can get a reaction from him.
Ghost takes a moment to catch what you’ve said, pauses, sighs. You snicker.
He elects to ignore you, which is a little disappointing, and admittedly a little worrying too. If he’s not up for jokes, whatever injury he’s looking at must be serious. You wonder if it’s worse than you think it is, which is to say it might be pretty fucking bad.
Headache, light sensitivity, nausea, bleeding…You grimace, years of medic training efficiently narrowing down the probable causes to a short and frankly worrying list of possible causes. The thought is short circuited to nothing as Ghost turns you slightly, making the world shift violently under you and something terrible roll in your stomach at the horrific wash of pain it summons. 
“Fix. Look at me.” Ghost tells you, and you force your eyes open to see the black void of his war paint mere inches from your own. He blinks underneath his mask at whatever he finds in your eyes scrunched with pain, brow scrunching in sudden concentration.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Ghost asks you abruptly, and despite the steadiness of his voice his hand is gripping your shoulder with a sudden severity that does little to anchor you from the spinning room.
You try to focus on his skeletal fingers with little success.
“...Two? Three?” You cut yourself off with a groan, pressing a hand to your head to try and dull the pain. It’s no use. It blooms blindingly behind your eyelids, carving deep into your skull with unrelenting mercy. You feel wetness trickle over the heel of your palm, warm and red.
“Ghost…” You try, unsure of what you're pleading for. Mercy? Help? A bullet between the eyes to make it stop?
"Fix." Ghost tries again, and his shadow falls over you, dwarfing you with his size. His voice has taken on an urgent growl that misfires in the back of your thoughts because it sounds like fear. 
"How many fingers?"
You try to focus on them, the digits wavering in front of your face. You squint your eyes, but it summons a sudden, violent wave of nausea that turns your stomach upwards.
"I-I think I'm going to be sick." You manage, and double over to the side, just in time for the bile in your stomach to avoid hitting Ghost's boots.
You hear him curse, bark over the comms for med-evac, and when you try to straighten you overcorrect, fall straight off the crate and into his arms.
"Fix!"
“S-shit. Sorry.” You fumble, but do nothing to try and raise yourself up, too consumed by the red pulsing pain behind your eyelids. “Fuck. Fuck it hurts.”
You don’t like to complain. As the medic your whining only serves as a poor example. Now, however, you grant yourself the reprieve of your quickly slurring words trailing into a broken string of curses you use to distract yourself. 
“Hush.” Ghost tells you, and there’s a flash of recognition as you try and place the waver in his voice. Anger? Fear? You can’t tell. His arm cradles you against his chest, a knee braced at your back to keep you sitting upright. “Breathe through it, stay with me.”
Stay with you? You think dumbly. You’re right here, you can’t move. Where the hell are you supposed to go?
“Simon-” You try, confused, spinning, a hand grasping at the strap of his vest. It takes effort to raise your hand, and you realize with a flash of alarm that your body isn’t nearly as responsive as you think it is. “W-wait, Simon. It’s-”
You can’t find the words, but Ghost seems to understand, because he suddenly goes rigid and begins yelling into his radio with a sudden volume that makes you whimper. Whatever you try to say next is swallowed by his arms suddenly closing around you, lifting you up as the world moves around you. 
“Fix. Pet, I need you to stay awake for me.” He tells you, voice taking on a new tenderness that betrays his sincere worry. You try and nod, but even that feels like too much, so you try and stay still, try to breathe like he’s told you, even when bile boils in your stomach at the dizzying turn of the earth under you both. 
“S-sick-” You try, trying to smack at his vest to warn him, but Ghost doesn’t stop moving. You end up trying to twist away with little success, a little dribble of sickness trickling down the front of your vest. 
“You’re alrigh’.” He tells you through gritted teeth, and somehow you don’t believe him. “Stay awake, Fix. Just a little longer.”
How much longer? You think desperately, stomach rolling with the pain splitting your skull. The movement doesn’t help, merely exacerbates your violent agony that forces you into limp stillness to just try and breathe through it. 
“Si-imon…” You whimper again in a bid for mercy. 
When Simon responds with your name, you know it’s bad. 
He shakes you a little as you go pliant in his arms, growling a reminder to stay awake that you can’t seem to heed. You try to apologize, but the words feel useless on your tongue. Darkness beckons with a sweet promise of painless unconsciousness you desperately want to cave to. 
“Don’t you fucking sleep on me.” Simon growls at you, suddenly desperate, and you try to lift a hand to his face, to reassure him it’s only a little nap. All you succeed in is loosening your grip from his vest. Your hand falls limply against you. 
“Don’t hate me for this, Si.” You think weakly as your head falls forward into your chest, and you succumb to nothingness.
1K notes · View notes
thebibliosphere · 1 year
Text
While my inability to harness and direct my focus is certainly one of the more annoying and hindering aspects of my ADHD, I think the worst part for me is the emotional dysregulation and the way negative emotions can effectively become a lightning rod for my wandering attention.
Like right now. I'm pissed off at something going on behind the scenes, and I literally cannot think of anything else. Can I distract myself? Yeah, sure, for about ten minutes. But can I do anything meaningful? No. Because I'm expending all my energy and attention on not thinking about the thing that's hurting me. And then something reminds me of the fuckery going on, and the rage comes back full force like a blunt force blow to my chest, and I'm left gasping in the wake of the intensity to both escape the situation and to turn around and inflict the exact same damage back.
The impulsive part of my brain knows the latter would be quicker. It's easier to lash out than do the work required to move on. It's more rewarding because I'd get the immediate emotional catharsis my dysfunctional, dopamine-deprived brain is craving.
In the barest of terms, the anger is stimulating. And that's dangerous.
If you're not careful, that's how you burn not just bridges but yourself as well. (Not to mention the people around you.) And right now, the entire inside of my head is a tinderbox of petty fuckery that won't accomplish anything if I act on it, but fuck me if the temptation to drop the match just isn't there all the time.
Anyway, I'm filling out an ADHD worksheet for a workshop I'm supposed to be doing, and I'm annoyed that all the questions are about productivity, with zero mention of literally anything else. And, like, granted, I knew there would be an emphasis on productivity going into this because there always is. But it'd just be nice to see mention of the other things and their importance rather than just treating them like a footnote.
I'm more than my inability to focus. I'm an entire array of dysfunctional fuckery that needs to be wrangled on an hourly basis, and it'd be nice to have it acknowledged how much energy that takes. That's all.
5K notes · View notes
plushish · 19 days
Note
Adam with a reader who’s very witty and quick with comebacks?
just some silly pre-conference banter! | Adam x Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
headcanon/drabble — how would Adam be like with a reader who is sharp-witted?
content & warnings — NSFW, fem reader, fem pronouns, fingering & cunnilingus, sexual act happening in a public place (workplace).
a/n — this takes place in some sort of office-setting, i dont know what goes on up there in heaven but i like to think its similar to what we've seen so far in hell, so i'm sure conferences aren't unheard of. i wasn't sure what format this idea should take, so it begins like a headcanon list but finishes up with a drabble. it's also rushed and i struggled with it a lot but. we ball!!!!!!
Tumblr media
Adam considers himself to be a pretty funny guy, always dishing out 'sick burns' on others, but his pride gets hurt really easily. When it comes to a reader who can keep up with him in comebacks; he's definitely impressed by it, thinks it's hot as fuck, but he'd never openly admit it because it also a ignites a strong sense of competition in him.  
The tension between the two of you is uncomfortably palpable, how you twist him through every conversation and leave him to stammer like a fool just when he thinks he's bested you. Watching him seethe is endlessly entertaining to you, it brings you satisfaction, finding your own sense of pride in seeing that bad boy persona crack little by little.
The two of you will be going back-and-forth every time Sera calls for a conference, taking up half of the allotted time with your back-and-forths, and everyone graced with the luck to have been summoned there just wishes the two of you would fuck already so they didn't have to keep sitting through this.
But he secretly likes it, your flippancy towards his status and identity as First Man, how you're always so quick to shut down his sleazy remarks with an air of arrogance, going toe-to-toe with his own. Cute. 
Until one day, you finally give into him– He somehow manages to get you to fuck him, and for days after, his bragging around the office is incessant: "[Name] cries when she cums!", "Her orgasm face is just the cutest fuckin' thing, I mean could you imagine? Wait, actually don't, don't picture it–"
You start to get fed up, not only annoyed at his oversharing and his ceaseless bragging about things that simply weren't true, but because you hadn't even gotten to cum from the experience. Instead of confronting him, you had a plan in place that would get you what you wanted, so you instead opted to ignore the hushed whisperings around you all day.
...Until a little later, when you're in an empty conference room together, and he's sitting across the table from you. Licking the lid of his yogurt container with a smug look. Mimicking the disappointingly tepid treatment he'd given to you the night before.
"Should we... address what happened, [Name]?" He asks smugly, like it was a topic of business, leaning forward onto the table with his hands clasped together.
"No, I'm good." 
"Noooo?" Adam's voice is as sugary as the extra pumps of syrup he'd overloaded his coffee with this morning in the breakroom. You'd seen that diabetes-inducing horror as it happened. "Why not? I feel like it's something we should talk about."
"Why?" You ask simply. "It happened, and that's it."
That gets him a little annoyed. Confused, too; why weren't you playing along?
"Didn't mean a thing to you, then?"
"Nah."
"Oh please, [Name]," he scoffs. He’s getting offended at the thought now, his wings giving a small flap in indignance. He’s supposed to be the aloof one! You should be begging for it to happen again.
"Don't fuckin' play. My dick gave you the best fuck you've ever had and now you don’t know how to feel."
“The best? At putting me to sleep, maybe. I did get a good nap out of it afterward, so.”
To Adam, the only thing better than your negative attention is your positive attention, and the only thing worse than that is your indifference. He hates feeling desperate, but you bring him to that shameful peak.
“You were on my dick like you had a fuckin' crush,” Adam continues to ramble on, trying to find a weak spot. “Fucking me probably meant a lot to you, huh?” 
"I hump my pillow before bed and it means as much." 
"Your pillow can't plow you like I do."
"No, but at least it actually gets me to cum."
Adam’s dick twitches in his pants. You know exactly what you're doing. Those words, delivered with that cruel flippancy he loves and hates so much, are precisely tailored-- All to drive him over the edge. 
“Then maybe that was just a trial run,” He says after a long, fervent pause. "Maybe you need another taste."
You smirk a little, but only offer more disdain.
"No thanks, I've had enough to decide I'm no longer interested."
"Oh come on," He finally says. He's desperate at another chance now, he needs the validation of making you cum for his pride to be restored.
"Just give me one more shot?"
And so there you are, bottoms down, legs spread, Adam's fingers inside you, sitting on the edge of the table where a meeting is supposed to happen in about 25 minutes.
You're sopping wet. He drags a finger over your cunt before spreading it. "You're so cute, all blushing and shit. Makes me crazy hard."
"Your vocabulary is fucking terrible. Stop talking."
"You like it, though." He grins, teasingly lifting his fingers away from your aching cunt to show you your own wetness. You let out a small whine at the absence. "You sure you want me to stop?"
"Shut up, I said," You grab him by his hair and shove his mouth where you want it, aggressive and impatient. "-and start eating."
Normally Adam is not one to take demands like that. But in this position-- looking up at your stern face from between your legs--he obeys. He kisses at your cunt over and over, sweet little pecks like a first crush. The sensation makes your core tighten around nothing. Adam was not one to take his time; he was teasing you like this on purpose. You weren't having it.
And so pettily, you decide to say: "You can do better than that."
So naively, he does, he takes your dare and you're practically gushing all over the conference table by the time he gets in there and starts eating for real. Desperately suckling your clit between those smirking lips, that mouth that never fucking shuts up.
You cum with a satisfied sigh, as if you'd just had a good stretch rather than an orgasm on his face. He looks up at you expectantly, lips glistening with your aftertaste. Eyes wide and eager, waiting for the praise that is to come, only for you to lean in and whisper:
"Look who has a crush now."
Tumblr media
a/n — pls forgive me for taking so long to answer this! i don't think it's exactly what you're looking for but i tried. it's more of an "adam with a reader who he has a sexually-charged, competitive work relationship with" type of deal. you just like to play with him and you know exactly how to make him desperate
461 notes · View notes
scoobysnakz · 2 months
Text
1940’s hubby miguel who decides to make dinner that night. he tells you to go have a bath, pour in those bath salts he’s spent so much money on, and relax. he’s got this sorted.
he makes your favourite and even decorates the table all nice and pretty for you. there’s a candle in the middle with the fancy white doilies you got as a wedding gift from some cousin however many times removed on his side. he even uses the china that is specially reserved for when either of your parents come over.
1940’s hubby miguel who plants a soft kiss to your neck as he pulls the chair out for you. “can’t let you get your freshly manicured hands dirty now, can we, doll?” he teases playfully.
you push him off, grinning, because you know full well he cleaned the house before you got home.
1940’s hubby miguel who spends the whole of dinner showering you with compliments and praise. at first you’re suspicious but his soft, dimpled smile calms your nerves.
you’re having an amazing time, just him and you with no negative emotions to get in the way of what will surely be be a great evening.
1940’s hubby miguel who eventually realises tonight can’t be all flirting and smiles because he has to be honest with you.
miguel clears his throat, drawing your attention away from your food and back up to him with your wide, admiring eyes. “we need to talk, doll.”
bile rises in your throat and your head feels heavy. he sounds so serious, anxious even, you’ve never seen him this way before. what is it he has to tell you? is he, fuck, is he cheating? is that why he’s been so nice, to let you down slowly?
“it sounds ridiculous, unbelievable, and i won’t be surprised if you slap me and tell me to grow up,” he starts, a slight edge to his voice, “but i’m spiderman.”
1940’s hubby miguel who can’t hide the hurt in his eyes when you burst out laughing. it’s nice, to see you smiling and giggling right after staring at him with such wide, intense eyes. but it still stings that you find this funny.
“dios mio, what’s so funny, amor?” he questions, trying to soften his tone.
it takes you a moment to catch your breath, tears threatening to spill as you clutch your chest. “what am i meant to say to that?” you just about manage, “is this some new roleplay you want to try out?”
he hadn’t thought of that, actually.
“no, no, doll, i’m being deadly serious right now,” he allows an air of urgency to enter his voice, hoping it conveys the amount of vulnerability he’s showing.
“no way,” you declare, arms folded across your chest, “i’ve met him and he’s a slimy pompous ass, who thinks just because he’s saved a few thousand lives he can just pick up some random married woman.”
he smiles sheepishly at you, pearly whites and ever sharp canines poking over his lips. “ouch.”
you shake your head, still refusing to believe him. “if this is true, how haven’t i figured it out yet?”
“i’m a little hurt that you haven’t. you spent so long oggling over him on the news that i was sure you already knew.”
1940’s hubby who, after much back and forth, slowly convinces you.
“show me your webs.”
“muñeca, i can’t.”
“i know you can, migs.”
he pauses for a moment, glaring down at you with your determined frown, his expression mirroring yours. “how?” he finally sighs, a smile creeping up on him.
“i have a few ideas…”
since u asked for a tag
@laysmt
prev < > next
896 notes · View notes
lunarw0rks · 8 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
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.
⋘ » ☆ « ⋙
AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.
Tumblr media
Price
Tumblr media
One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.
Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.
His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?
The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.
He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.
❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.
John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.
But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.
To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.
John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.
❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.
❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.
What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.
In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞
The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.
His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.
❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.
The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.
His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.
John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞ 
Simon
Tumblr media
Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.
It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.
❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.
Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.
❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought. 
Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.
He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.
It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.
He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?
❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.
Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.
Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.
You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.
Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.
Soap
Tumblr media
Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.
❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.
He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.
He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.
The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.
❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.
You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.
❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.
Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.
He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.
You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.
❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.
❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.
You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.
Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.
It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.
❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.
❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.
Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.
If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.
With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.
The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.
All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.
Gaz
Tumblr media
Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.
You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results. 
❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.
❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.
He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.
It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc… 
But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.
His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.
❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.
Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.
Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.
❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.
What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.
❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.
It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.
Alejandro
Tumblr media
Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.
❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.
What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.
❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞
You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.
Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.
❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞
Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.
It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞
Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.
You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.
About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.
The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.
The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.
The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.
Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.
Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.
König
Tumblr media
There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him. 
You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞
With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞
He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?
❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.
How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.
➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶
König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.
He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.
Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.
The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.
❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.
He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.
He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.
König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.
Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.
If you made it this far - THANK YOU!
2K notes · View notes
luveline · 3 months
Note
hi love. if you’re taking any requests could i request rockstar!sirius, or sirius in general, like the start of the relationship when everything is cute funny but they're still not a Couple
rockstar!sirius takes you on a date ♡ fem, 1.2k
“If you're here to antagonise me, you can just go home, Sirius,” you warn. 
Sirius Black gives you a dastardly grin, sliding into the seat across from you in a cloud of expensive cologne and hairspray. You're ashamed to say he smells nice, if a little sharp. 
“Hair explosion?” you ask. 
“You're very, very cruel to me, angel. I shouldn't call you that.” The toe of his converse hits yours. He leans forward, covering the pages of your novel with a hand adorned in silver jewellery. “It's no longer accurate.” 
“So mean,” you sigh, imbuing it with as much gutted patheticness as possible.
“Hey, I'm kidding.” He pushed his foot between yours. “How long have you been here? Did you wait long?” 
You close your book, put it flat out of reach, and fix him with a genuine smile. “No, not long.” 
Sirius leans over to kiss your cheek. You'll feel it for the next half an hour, a tingling, crescent moon of contact. “Well, good. Should we go and order? Know what you want?” He shakes his head. “I know what you want. Stay here.” 
He pops up and away as quick as he'd arrived. You panic. Cool and collected you may have seemed, but internally you're a storm of nerves, hands shaking ever so slightly as you take the compact mirror from your pocket and check over your features. You're worried you look like you've tried as hard as you have, all your complicated skincare and makeup, sheer shimmers and invisible concealer.  
Sirius met you without a lick of makeup and he still acted like you were the best thing since sliced bread. You remember it all in vivid detail, the way he'd looked at you, the double-take, the subsequent flirting. Sirius doesn't neg, but it was hard at first to know if he was being real with you. And what, he'd drawled, unblinking, dark lashes and kohl rings emphasised by his stillness, is a thing like you doing in a place like this? 
Thing? you'd asked softly, confused and intimidated by his attention. You'd recognised him immediately. 
Girl, he'd corrected himself. Then, with a strange smile, Angel. You're an angel, huh? Must be.
It wasn't some world-bending line but it didn't need to be, his demeanour did the hard work for him. And his appearance didn't hurt. 
Even now as he walks back towards you, your heart skips a quick beat. He looks more casual than he has the last few times he's seen you, a leather jacket swapped for ragged black denim, and tight pants replaced with jeans that hug his thighs. You can't believe a thing like him would ever be interested in you, but he most assuredly is. 
“Here,” he says, putting a drink down in front of you, and again leaning down to kiss your other cheek. “You look so pretty.” He says it like it’s nothing, doesn't cost him a thing, not a shred of doubt nor bravery. Then he adds, “You're fucking perfect. Can't believe you walk around like this for free.” 
“Stop it,” you say with a laugh, pushing him away. You can't bring yourself to be mean about it. Sirius hasn't ever been mean to you, not once, despite the things people have told you since you met. Be careful with that one. Guys like him want one thing. 
After three dates and two evenings spent watching films together on his ragtag sofa (and enjoying the laziest, softest kisses a girl may ever have been given), you've yet to find out what he wants. To adore you, apparently. 
He runs his pinky down your cheek and under your chin. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. 
You lift your chin invitingly. 
Sirius laughs into your lips, suddenly kissing you, close and heavy-handed. You rise off of your seat to meet him, only an inch or so but enough to pull a deep sound from the back of his throat. You've never been kissed like this; his hand is steady on your cheek, reluctant to let you go, and he presses down hard with his lips. Nearly too much, never quite there. He rounds it out with a softer one and pulls back to gaze at you fondly. 
“I missed you,” he says, sneaking back in to kiss the slight curve of your laugh line. “Not cool, this whole sleeping at your own flat business.” 
He isn't your boyfriend, yet. Hasn't asked. So he isn't staying at yours nor you at his. But he has to ask soon, right? Who kisses people like that without intentions of some sort of commitment? 
Rockstars, your brain supplies cruelly. Infamous players. 
“Well, where else would I be staying?” you ask as he sits back in his seat. 
“Good question, beautiful.” He ignores it, anyhow. “I've ordered a few too many things. Don't be mad.” 
“I won't be.” You take your purse from your coat. “So long as it doesn't cost more than sixty two pounds and eight p, that is.” 
“Shut up, as if you're paying. You're fucking childish–” 
“You're childish, I'm trying to keep things fair and you won't let me!” 
“Quite right. Look at the state of you,” he says, eyes roving across your face pleasantly, “you think you deserve to pay for dinner? No. I asked you, and I've ordered, and it'll cost a bit more than what you have anyways.” He drops the act just enough to see a sliver of doubt. “Please, let me take care of it. I want to buy you dinner, sweetheart. It's the least I want to do for you.” 
You look at him through your lashes, face angled down at the ebony wooden table. “Yeah, alright. I don't mind.” 
“Good, because you didn't really have a choice. How can I expect you to say yes if I don't pay for dinner first?” 
“Say yes to what?” you ask, frowning gently. He's confused you. 
Sirius offers both hands across the table. You place yours softly in his, letting him brush the pads of his thumbs against your knuckles. 
“To being official,” he says, a hopeful smile playing on his lovely mouth. “What do you think? Is it too soon to ask?” 
You shake your head minutely. 
He drops his head a little, meeting your eyes. “Do you want to be together?” 
“I'll be your girlfriend?” you confirm. 
“Do you want to be?” His lips part but he doesn't add anything more, though he might want to. You understand that vulnerability won't be instantaneous between you both. You can wait. If this is even a hint of the man he is, you want to be together more than anything. 
You nod, forcing your smile into a line that soon wobbles. 
He leans across the table for another kiss. This one chaste. Perfect. 
“Thank you,” he says. When he sits back, he's practically glowing with smugness. “Fuck. I thought that would be harder.” 
“I can make it worse for you if you want to ask me again."
“Would you? Let's take it from the top, angel. I didn't suffer half as much as I should've.” 
641 notes · View notes
Text
Name me a Reason
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader f.t Soap
Code named ‘Salem’ by your teammates, you found yourself in a rather difficult situation with Ghost and Soap. Somehow you had to find a building, regroup with the guys and find a safe house. Easy, right? No because you get shot.
Tumblr media
“Salem.” Soap whispered into the radio. You held the button for the radio, eyes wide in fear he was in trouble. None of you knew where the other was, not even Ghosts direction skills could lead either of you to him. There were people everywhere, civilians or what not, soldiers carrying guns, and you had to avoid everyone. You gave him the go ahead to speak, pausing all of your movements to look for any sign of Soap running away from gunfire. “You know your name means ‘peace’ in the Bible?”
You signed, returning your eye back into the scopes glass to look for any sign of Ghosts location nearby.
“Since when does Johnny read the Bible?” Ghosts low voice came through the radio next just as you stood up, grabbed your gun and started running from rooftop to rooftop trying to get closer to the centre land. “Thought you out of everyone wouldn’t believe in shit like that.”
“I don’t. My midder had me go church ever’ Sunday.”
“Huh. I thought Salem meant undamaged in Islam-” Ghost started.
“I’m going to damage both of you if you don’t shut up…and it means none of those.”
You scanned your surroundings as you finally made it on ground, a small hope of the right direction only motivating you to push more, even though you had a bullet stuck in your shoulder and your left arm was basically useless.
You pressed the radio button again, your back pressed up against a wall as you looked around for any targets. When you saw none, you swiftly moved forwards through empty alleyways. You figured if you were going to get made, you’d do it when there was a group of Tangos. So, you needed to stay quiet.
“If we’re talking about names let’s talk about Soap.”
You heard him audibly groan followed by a hum from Ghost. You’d bet Simon already knew since their very clear ‘bromance’ was strong, but wanted him to say it again. When Johnny didn’t answer, Ghost spoke up.
“He can clean houses quickly.”
“What?”
“Expert speed and accuracy he told me.”
Soap groaned and quickly shut down the conversation, a new welcomed silence falling between you three. The building Ghost was in was one with a green door apparently, and you saw one just as such quite close to you. You made sure it was the right one before heading that way, leaving Soap to argue with the two of you that he wasn’t even close to that direction.
You don’t really know what happened next, but when the pain in your shoulder increased dramatically it took you by surprise. You fell to the floor and found cover behind a car, quickly reloading your gun before pointing it in the direction you were being shot at. As if one bullet wasn’t enough, now you had 3, and what sucked is you didn’t know if it was a clean shot. Taking three bullets out would fucking hurt.
You rolled underneath the car, your stomach flat in the ground as you pointed your gun at the targets legs. It wouldn’t kill them but it would disadvantage them, which was good enough for now. It took a bit but eventually you got the upper hand, only being left with two more Tangos.
There was conversation in the radio that you didn’t care pay attention to until your last target was dead. You were still under the car, now shooting down the last man. Checking around you to make sure you were safe before you decided to listen in.
“The mask…take it off.”
“Show my face?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Negative.”
“Are you ugly?”
“Quite the opposite.”
“Cocky bastard.” You whispered, knowing full well both he and soap heard you clearly. You grunted as you crawled from under the car, dusting yourself off before quickly rushing towards your designated building.
“Y/N? Can you confirm?” Soaps smirk could be heard even from the other side of town. You were trying not to get shot, while they talking about how hot Simon was.
There was a long pause and you took a deep breath in, eventually reaching up to press the radio button on your chest. You didn’t wanna over boost his ego, but who were you to lie when you knew damn well about Simons gorgeous face.
“Affirmative.”
“Damn right.”
“No fair, she’s biased.” Soap sighed.
“Shut up and get to that house. Simon, I’m coming in don’t shoot.��
“Copy.”
You pushed open the door with your hand tightly gripping your shoulder, blood seeping between the crack of your fingers as if to mock your attempt to stop the bleeding. You hadn’t radio’d in your injuries, which soon proved stupid.
“You’re bleeding?.” He was by your side at an instant, applying pressure with his own two hands and pushing yours away. To say that hurt was an understatement, but he led you to the nearest worn out chair and sat you on it. “How many?”
“Three. Did they go through?” You winced as he looked for any exit wounds, releasing your shoulder momentarily.
“Only two. We’ll have to get to the safe house first, there’s no meds here.” Ghost clicked the radio button; “Soap we need to move out, Salem’s shot.”
“Go. I’ll find the safe house. Send the location when you’re there. Signal should be better.”
It took you around an hour to find a car, drive to the supposed safe house and then even find the bloody building. Safe to say it was an hour you needed in order not to bleed out. Simon managed to patch it up enough but it was a temporary fix, and so the blood slowly started escaping the cracks of your fingers again.
You felt quite drowsy, head spinning as you tried to blink the white cloud in your eyes away. You’d lost so much blood and there was a bullet still lodged in your body, that itself was going to be a hard procedure.
Simon laid you on the floor, quickly getting to patching you up better. He talked and talked trying to get you to stay awake, but eventually everything did go black and your body went limp.
The lightheadedness turned to heavyheaded the second you woke up. Eyelids so heavy, the light just too bright, your left arm and shoulder bruised. Groaning, you reached up to hold you head, the annoying pounding carried on the more you moved. With that, you tried to slowly sit up, breathing uneven as your body was put under pressure.
“Don’t do that, your shoulders just been fixed.” His voice was too rough for your liking, the pounding only getting worse in your temples. Still, you listened to his orders and laid back down with a huff. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” You now managed to open your eyes enough to see him, his heavy duty gear on the floor while he kept his gun close. Your blood covered the sleeves of his shirt, but his hands were clean as if he hadn’t been digging into someone’s body looking for bullets.
There was a silence that followed, not a pleasant one at that. You could tell he wanted to say something just by the way he sat on the couch you were laid out on, but he didn’t. Soap wasn’t anywhere near either, and you didn’t have to look around to know that since he doesn’t shut up.
“Where’s Soa-”
“What we’re you thinking?”
“What?”
“Have you not been through basic training, (Y/N)?” He only now looked at you, turning his head sideways to make eye contact. His mask was still on, something you were expecting to see as you were in an unfamiliar place. “You call in injuries for fuck sake. I was right outside.”
“No. The first one I could handle but they ambushed me, there wasn’t even time for me to process it, Simon. I was so close to where you were there was no point. They were dead before I even noticed I got shot.”
He scoffed, shaking his head as he stood up walking wherever there was space.
“I could of helped. That’s the whole point of a team!”
“Did you not listen to a thing I just said?” You say up straight, swinging your legs off the edge of the couch so they could rest on the floor. “There was no time! I would of if it mattered. I was right outside the goddamn door-”
“Why didn’t you call it in the first time then?!”
You had no excuse for that to be honest, you just thought you could handle it and there was no point worrying the guys. You wouldn’t tell him that though, he’d try and contradict you.
“Stop screaming, my head hurts.” You looked down, your good arms scratching at your side as you tried to think of something to say.
“I just sat there for 2 hours trying to save your life. I wouldn’t of needed to if you would of just followed protocol.”
“Sorry I inconvenienced you. Next time just leave me to die.” You didn’t mean that obviously, in fact you didn’t even expect that to come out your mouth nor did he apparently because he paused for a second, staring at you.
“The whole point of this is for you to live. I cannot fucking lose you, (Y/N).” His voice was low but just above a whisper. He was vulnerable, something so rare you barely saw in him. But the second your head shot up at his comment his eyes went dark again. “And I’d appreciate it if you make that a little easier.”
“I’m sorry.” You whispered, looking down in whatever you were feeling right now. You didn’t know if it was shame or embarrassment, or even maybe hurt. He meant the world to you too, and if the roles were switched you’d have reacted the same. “You’re right I should of called it in.”
You looked up at him from your seat, both of you staring at each other silently before he moved to sit beside you. Your head fell onto his shoulder almost immediately, eyes closing as his scent, with a tinge of blood, filled your nose.
“Don’t do that again.”
You nodded against his shoulder, cuddling as close to him as your body would go. Now the silence was bearable, a comfortable blanket of safety until he spoke up again.
“What does Salem mean, then?”
You shrugged; “Nothing, I thought it sounded cool to be honest.”
His shoulders vibrates in a chuckle. You both knew Soap wouldn’t believe you, but it was what it was.
“Rest for a bit. Soap will be here soon and air-evac tomorrow. The rain is too heavy for it to come now.”
You body was in a state of exhaustion already, so it took mere minutes for you to doze off again. Ghost just sat there, listening to you breathe silently and waited for Johnny to return. You took a mental note to apologise to Soap for leaving him alone because of your stupidity. But that was later, because righty now you just wanted to sleep, and where would you feel safer other than Simons arms?
Tumblr media
THE END
THE SUCKS MY BAD BUT THIS MAN >>
He is bbygrl
4K notes · View notes
tarjapearce · 4 months
Text
Grandma's Visit.
Warnings: Drama, mild angst, Strained Relationships. Comfort towards the end. No proofread
Summary: Conchata wants to meet Benji.
A/N: There might not be updates, but have this little piece as an offer :')
Tumblr media
Hey
Gabriel's leg bounced as the main door was closed, a bit of a slam on it. His hands immediately fetched his phone.
Migue
Busy right now.
Drop that shit and listen
?? ¿Qué pasó?  (What's wrong?)
Mamá va para allá, cabrón.
The fuck you mean she's on her way? Did you tell her where do I live?
Miguel, it's mom we're talking about.
The eldest O'Hara sighed and raked a hand over his hair. He was definitely not prepared for what laid ahead.
She wants to meet Benjamin.
Miguel's body tensed as his muscles flexed so tightly, one would think he'd break. And it wasn't far from the truth.
Conchata. Or Connie for her friends, was the ever annoying stone on his shoes. Miguel had refused to have her in his wedding. Not out of spite, rather for the  notion he had of his beloved progenitor. He knew that trouble followed her everywhere and if it wasn't following her like an overly attached stalker, is cause she was the problem itself.
Conchata was anything but easy to be around. And things had gone even more acrid after the wedding. Miguel never told you about the fourty five minute call she made him just to say how much of a bad son he was for not inviting her over.
But Miguel knew better, if he'd had her, she'd either complain about everything, ruining the mood for everyone. Or she'd start making snide comments on you and he'd get pissed, some drama would ensue causing an even bigger and jagged rift between them and his wedding would be ruined.
"Hey"
Your gentle and soft touch grounded him, anchored his mind back to his body, as his attention snapped back at you.
"You ok?"
His eyes felt tired and heavy. Unable to meet your gaze completely.
"I'll be."
You cradled him in your arms and kissed the top of his forehead. The touch alone melted him. His own arms embracing your shorter form, that somehow did the perfect work of comforting him and ease his thoughts. But when it came to his mother, little good things came out from it.
"My... eh-" He cleared his throat, "My mother is coming for a visit"
Oh...
"What she could possibly want after so many years?"
"Meet Benjamin."
Even though his words seemed simple, the clenching of his fists until his knuckles turned white, only dictated it was far from being that. Miguel didn't fear his mother, but feared and hated the words that could possibly escape her mouth when things weren't her way.
His wellbeing would be the sacrifice for the visit, cause he'd do anything possible to avoid you or his children get hurt.
"I swear, if she says or does something stupid-"
"Mi reina, let me handle her, ok?"
Your lips pursed and your brows deepened in a soft furrow.
"I won't hesitate-"
"I know. But please. Just, let me, ok?"
Both of you knew that things weren't going to be easy, his distress was obvious, he knew you'd step in if necessary, but he had to face her, it was more like a closure for him than anything. His baby boy wouldn't suffer the dooming and cursing words she gave him so many years ago. Words he learned to loathe as he grew up.
"Alright."
----
Maybe Gabriel's heads up was a false alarm, because nearly a week had gone by. A week of pent up stress and anxiety from both sides. And you could tell from Miguel's demeanor changing.
Even though being loving and a great father remained on the top list, you knew better than that. He'd been found asleep in his office after dinner, or would shut out himself for some little minutes. You'd give him space, and when he needed you, he'd always know where to find you.
He didn't even required to say 'I need you' cause you knew. His body language over the years had been a great subject of study, specially when it came to anxiety and other negatives that always switched on whenever his mother popped up in a conversation, or when something didn't sit right in his gut.
He'd pace, pick at the skin around his nails hard enough to draw blood, chew at the insides of his cheek, drink alot of more coffee to keep himself awake, grumpier than usual, irritated, short replies for everything outside his beloved family.
With you he'd be clingier than usual, he'd spoil Gabi over to avoid thinking too much. He'd pour himself into being that amazing and loving parent he never had, but at night, he'd just hold you until he fell asleep. He'd clutch onto you so tightly that sometimes you'd have little bruises, barely visible ones, in the places he'd hold.
Your comfort skills poured into his preferred love language. Physical touch. You'd play with his hair until he fell asleep, a little purr coming from him before giving into sleep, you'd caress his back in soothing circles, letting the steady beating of your heart lull him to calm.
You'd kiss his face, showering him in affection, as if with every kiss a bit of his worries would go away.
The knock on the main door however interrupted his train of thoughts. You had gone to the supermarket to get some stuff you had forgotten for dinner. Relief washing over him as you now we're home, or so he innocently had thought. All air was caught in his throat upon seeing none other than Conchata on the front door.
Even for her age, Conchata had some beauty reserved. Her skin tone same as Miguel's, soft curls that lingered above her shoulders, deep brown eyes that if one looked close enough, would see the deep red in them. Tall and seizing him with a look he also learned to master.
A scowl disguised as a smile.
"Miguel. "
"Mamá."
A too common and long pleasantries shared between the both.
She hasn't aged much.
Miguel's mind chanted.
"You're gonna let me in to meet my grandson, or what?"
A bushy brow of his quirked, blasé and bored, but he stepped aside. His whole frame had curbed her for long enough.
Here we go
Her scrutinizing gaze was unstoppable against the nakedness of his home. Her eyes raked in every little detail out of place, loading her verbal ammo with it.
"Where is the baby?"
"Asleep."
Monotone and monosyllabic answers that matched his expression was all she could pry from him. It was ridiculous the amount of pictures you seemed to have about Gabriella. She saw her when she was two, then six. Staying in Miguel’s life wasn't something she actually liked to partake on. Too busy with her own demons and new boyfriends to care.
Why would she? He was already a grown ass man.
A man that refused to have her at his own wedding. A past resentment that has lasted over the years and her own mind had been feeding the fester inside her heart. It didn't help you had one of the wedding pictures scattered around the living room.
The few proofs she  needed to see, to know she wasn't welcome, but knowing her son had his own now, was another excuse to see what kind of man and father Miguel had turned out to be.
His arms crossed on his chest as she sat down in one of the seats in the couch.
"Come."
"I'm fine here, thanks."
"I'm trying to be civil. The least you can do is obey your mother for once."
"Why you came?"
"I told you. I need to see my grandson."
"Whatever for?"
Her eyes hardened at his words, but a sigh escaped her lips.
"God, you're so like your father. Always mistrusting people."
"You need to leave."
Hearing her say such curse, made his heart beat even faster. Hands clenched tightly at his sides. Eyes away from her, like if the mere sight of her brought back so many unpleasantness he had fought hard to work them through.
"I won't leave until your... woman shows up and throws me away."
"She will."
"Of course she will. You're not man enough. Just look at this place. A mess."
"And?"
Miguel knew that paying and baiting into her games, would only hinder so. many years of progress he had done on his own. But would also mean to give her the attention she desperately seeked, even if it meant to do it the wrong way.
"What do you mean, and?! What does she does around all day?" Conchata huffed, " In my times the wife was the one that kept everything in check. I've seen nothing but a mess so far."
"Sorry for that."
Your tired and irked voice echoed from the kitchen's door. Miguel gave you a little smirk.
"Have been busy being a real mother this whole time. Miguel, mi amor can you defrost some vegetables, please?"
"Sure do. Found everything?"
You both were purposely ignoring her. A silent yet powerful statement.
You have no power here.
Conchata's eyes set like stone into you. How dared a tiny flea like yourself to speak to her in such way?. And even worse, how could his son be lenient in allowing you to be disrespectful towards her?
You had entered quietly, the heavy and draining aura could be felt even from outside. You had told Gabi to wait outside and rearrange the groceries in the meantime.
" Oh, I didn't know you had returned."
Your name rolling off her tongue felt wrong.
" It's my house too."
"Ah, of course. You didn't do a pre-nup. Te va a dejar en la calle, Miguel." (She'll leave you bare)
Conchata's gaze never left you, it only turned even more intense as her pupils followed you every step.
"I came here to meet my grandson. Where is Gabriella? "
Said precious child helped you to get the bags from your car, while Conchata opened her arms for Gabi to cuddle her. But everything that came out was her hiding behind you, while looking between you and her, as if asking permission.
"Do you want to greet grandma, baby?"
Gabi only recoiled back, hiding further from you.
"Guess not."
You shrugged and instructed Gabi to go to her room, your eldest baby ignored her grandma.
"Muy chistosa tu mujer, enseñándole a mis nietos a irrespetarme ." (Your woman is so funny by teaching my grandkids to disrespect me.)
Miguel had to roll his eyes and stare at her boringly as he pulled out the vegetables and put them to thaw while you clenched your jaw by the sudden resented babbling that came from your mother in law.
"Where is Benjamin? I came here to see him. And I'm sure you'd love to have me here again."
"He'll be up in a minute. Would you like a a glass of water?"
Miguel offered but Conchata was already set in making you as uncomfortable as possible. And when Benjamin was brought in, rubbing his sleepy and baby face, looking for you, Conchata stood and took Benji from Miguel's arms. Holding him with such disingenuous affection it made Benji to reach for Miguel instantly.
You tensed, and so did Benjamin as Conchata admired him. If it wasn't for the skin tone matching Miguel’s, one would think that Benjamin wasn't his. Benjamin had your curls. And not Miguel's soft waves. Benjamin was the splitting image of you with a bit of Miguel's DNA painted in a few selected places. Like his eyes and height.
"I'm actually surprised you managed to pop out his children. Miguel is... big. Got it from his father."
"Didn't care much about that, ma'am."
"No se parece en nada a ti, Miguel. ¿Estás seguro que es tu hijo?" (He doesn't look like you. Are you sure he's your son?)
You didn't know what infuriated you more. The fact that she hinted that Benjamin wasn't his, a shallow and not so subtle hint at Miguel's past, or the pleased smirk her mouth turned into after spilling out the venom and seeing Miguel's discomfit grow.
Some people couldn't be helped. And Conchata truly couldn't help but love hurting her son. But you weren't having it. Not when Miguel's eyes turned away from her, not in hurt but in such anger that even you knew things wouldn't end up good for neither. And still, he regarded her with uninterested eyes.
His lack of engagement at her taunts, made her even more lashing. Like a little child that refused to have her whims met.
Even worse when Benjamin started to fuss and reach for him with a nervous cry. Even he felt odd and icky around her. You took Benjamin from her, cooing and soothing him, but he wanted Miguel. Who gladly took his precious baby, away from Connie. Inspecting him for any damage to finally kiss the top of his forehead, reassuringly.
You're safe.
"Si ya terminó de incomodarnos, creo que se puede ir, señora." (If you're done making us uncomfortable, you may go, ma'am.)
Her eyes widened at your spanish. It was clear that you had understood everything she had said, but were wise enough to not lose your temper, yet you fought back.
"Remind me to never visit you again, please."
"As if you ever do that. And no, it's not an invitation."
"Escúchame bien, chamaco ingrato-" (Listen to me you ungrateful brat)
"Ma'am."
You weren't one for yelling, but your voice was firm enough to have three pair of eyes set on you, Benjamin's fussing stopped. Conchata's lips turned into a scowl at your words.
"Thanks for your visit."
"You know, you could've settled for something better-"
"Así estoy bien, gracias. Now, if you excuse us, We've got dinner to make. The door is right there." (Im just fine. Thanks)
She left with a slam that had Benjamin cry out of the jumpscare.
Miguel hushed and rubbed his baby's back in little circles to keep him calm before giving his pacifier.
" You ok? "
Your hand squeezed Miguel's for a moment while he kissed your temple gratefully.
" Yeah. She's gone. That's why exactly I didn't invite her to the wedding or meeting you."
"It's alright. God... she's-"
"Annoying. I know. Sorry you had to hear all that."
"Nah. I'm glad you taught me cause, damn... Her face upon hearing me speaking it, was priceless. And just for you to know, I was about to explain how we almost made Benji on the car."
Miguel snorted and nodded, knowing you would. You had each other's back and that wasn't up for discussion.
" Te amo."
You mumbled in his ear before stealing a kiss from his lips.
" También te amo."
435 notes · View notes