#My father is a lot easier to handle

[museenkuss]

sometimes I think about all the meals I could make if I didn’t live with my mother (who doesn’t eat garlic, onions, leek, fish, shrimps, cream, anything that’s “too fatty” or anything that differs too much from food she’s had before) and my father (who doesn’t want me to use more than MAXIMUM two pots at a time and doesn’t consider instant food like canned soups, prepped sauces, frozen pizzas or spice blends worth buying). Also I’m vegetarian so that’s another food group eliminated entirely.

[overworked-bookworm]

.

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

[whokilledsamara]

Homicipher pregnancy hc? Especially Mr. Crawling and Mr. Scarlettella pls they're my fav 😭😭 (SFW/NSFW). Ty for all the food, love youuuu.

HOMICIPHER N/SFW PREGNANCY HC

a list of pregnancy hcs for each of the homicipher boys that are ABLE to get you pregnant.

warnings || afab reader, smut, pregnancy kink, soft sex, cunnilingus, rough sex, boob sucking {breast milk}, mention of children in a NON sexual way/completely unrelated to smut

{an: YESS i have a similar request i will also post, love you too!!}

MR. CRAWLING

SFW

at first, he would have absolutely no idea what that is. a mini you? inside of you? very confusing. after a while of explaining though, he definitely will be over the moon! "Small, Us? Happy!"

his favorite activity would be laying his head on your stomach, while you play with his hair. he definitely wants to listen to the baby noises.

the poor man will have no idea what to do, but he definitely will try his best. just ask him for anything, and he will immediately find it for you.

while he usually is crawling, he makes an exception whenever you need– for instance if you are having trouble walking, he will pick you up and carry you. all that crawling builds upper muscles!

he is more territorial, and will growl at the other residents.

he doesn't want you to leave your shared room, and usually will convince you to stay there while he does what he needs to do.

he's definitely a girl dad. he would be happy either way, but a little girl would probably be easier for him to handle— calmness wise.

he doesn't remember his human years, but he always wanted to be a father.

NSFW

will constantly ask to eat you out. he doesn't need anything in return, he just wants to see you happy and enjoying yourself.

could be in between your legs for hours on end– anything for his love. he will come up every now and then, to pepper kisses on your tummy.

if you wish to have penetrative sex with him, he of course will. it will be soft and sensual as usual, and usually in the spooning position.

would never reject you. ever. no matter what it is you want from him.

is definitely the type to have a breeding kink– and knowing you are pregnant with his offspring makes him really happy.

holds his hand on your stomach while he humps into you, his large hand covering almost all of it.

his face will contort into confusion when milk floods his mouth the moment he sucks your nipple. not because its gross to him– he enjoys it actually, but its confusing because that never happened before.

MR. SCARLETELLA

SFW

honestly, the fact that you even accepted him makes him deathly obsessed with you, but you being pregnant with HIS child makes it all the more.

his body will tremble and his face will be flushed while he holds you, desperately holding on to your smaller frame as if afraid to let you go.

he will carry you if asked, but his preferred method would be teleporting you. he does it slower than normal because if he did it fast like he does without you, it would cause motion sickness.

he loves you– obviously. he constantly reminds you. but even when you sleep, he doesn't stop whispering it to you and your unborn baby.

he doesn't always watch you when you need to sleep, but once he finds out you are pregnant its a constant thing. he has to make sure his beloved is safe, along with your child.

you would think he would know he is creepy, which makes it more funny as he stands behind you glaring daggers at whoever you are talking to. almost like a guard dog.

by now, he stopped asking for your name. it might slip every now and then, but a lot less frequently.

NSFW

much like Mr. Crawling, he is usually on his knees, eating you out. whether you prefer to stand or sit, he holds your thighs open and goes to town on your lower region.

he has nice, long, slender fingers– easily reaching those spots inside of you. he will praise how good you are for him and how much he loves you.

he doesn't have a breeding kink, but he never would pull out– hence your pregnancy.

for penetrating sex, he would have you either in the air or on your back- whatever you prefer.

if he finds out you are insecure, he will pleasure you to the point your brain is numb.

he doesn't understand why you get angry, even when you explain it is just pregnancy hormones, but he does enjoy you taking your anger out on him in any way you prefer. definitely has a pain kink.

no matter how many times you tell him you are too heavy, he wants you to sit on his face. he could care less that you have added weight due to the pregnancy– if anything, it makes it better for him

MR. SILVAIR

SFW

of course he knows what pregnancy is, he is a doctor after all– but he definitely didn't think it was possible with a ghost and a human.

he is astonished, but more importantly extremely curious. he definitely will research every part of you– including the baby once it is born. in a safe way of course.

he would definitely get more touchy. usually, he is not a very touchy man other than experimenting, but once he learns of your pregnancy his touches become way more frequent. you are the parent of his child after all.

doesn't have the correct feelings on being a "dad" but would be exceptionally well at it. just subtract the human things from it and he would be wonderful.

he would be very curious on how the baby would come out. would it be half human half ghost? fully human? fully ghost? definitely something he ponders for the whole 9 months.

the type of guy to inspect your breast milk. most likely examine it very closely– finding it fascinating.

would rarely carry you, but also wouldn't be objective of it.

NSFW

as said previously, he had no idea it would even be possible to impregnate you, therefore he had no problem cumming inside. he saw no reason to pull out since you wouldn't get pregnant– or so he thought.

sex would become more frequent. some of the time because he was actually horny, but mostly due to his natural curiosity.

fingers you more frequently than going down on you, so he can watch your facial expressions as he brings you to the edge.

his position would be you sitting on his operating table while he slides into you, a simple and effective position.

will run and rub his hand on your stomach, breasts, or anywhere really.

will be extra careful with anything sex or other related. doesn't want to hurt you at all– even if that means he can't experiment.

he is slightly more possessive, even if he suppresses it. normally he isn't very controlling and allows you to do as pleased, but when you are pregnant, he finds it almost as marking.

MR. CHOPPED {w/ body}

SFW

from the bat, he is more animalistic when he gets his body. he is still how he used to be, but more aloof.

pregnancy is a wild thing for him. he never expected it– but he definitely is excited.

he cuddles with you non-stop. very much enjoys listening to your heartbeat.

funny enough, he will cut his nails for you. usually they are long and sharp, but he doesn't want to hurt you or the baby.

walks with and follows you everywhere, and is literally a guard dog.

will have his face shoved in your neck and arms around you when you talk with people, as to remind them who you belong to.

NSFW

kisses you while he ruts into you, holds you up as well.

he tries to go soft when he fucks you, but sometimes he gets too hurried. he isn't used to having a body.

will eat you out like a starving animal. all up in there for hours. his hands hold open your thighs until you are whining for him to stop.

he usually keeps you on your back, so you aren't putting weight on the baby.

he will definitely whine a lot, moaning about how happy he is to breed you, etc.

MR. HOOD

SFW

top ten girl dad. he's so cute.

doesn't express love, so that is the only negative. would and has died many times for you and your child though.

he holds you inside of his coat, keeping you close to him as you walk through the halls. will absolutely under no circumstances allow danger near you.

the residents are usually not afraid of him due to his calm and non-hostile nature, but fear slowly creeps into people at his suddenly hostile nature.

he is slightly bummed that he can't kiss you, because he has no face, but he opts to hold you as close as possible.

when the child is born, he carries it inside of his cloak or on his shoulders.

his ghostly hands will run along your stomach and up your arms, sometimes giving you light massages when he can.

NSFW

doesn't have a problem with you being pregnant at all, but it still is surprising for both the fact that he is a ghost and also only has tentacles, not a physical penis.

his main source of pleasure for both of you when you are pregnant is his tentacles, but he also uses his fingers from time to time. he has even let you hump his thigh when you wanted.

he can't have you in the usual position with you on all fours, as to not damage your stomach, so he keeps you sitting while he gets to work.

if you wish, he also will allow you to be on top. your weight wont affect him at all.

sex with him is ALWAYS soft. even without you being pregnant. he is a really calm guy, not aggressive in any way unless absolutely necessary.

carries you in the bridal position often.

MR. GAP

SFW

originally when you told him, he didn't say anything. he just stared at you before disappearing. what you thought was anger, was actually him just going to Mr. Silvair to ask what that meant.

even with his questions answered, he was relatively nonchalant about it. not much else he could do honestly.

you did notice slight changes in his demeanor though. small things like hissing at people through the cracks in the walls, or not allowing you to leave his location.

tied to that, he often kept you near him at all times. usually you would be stuck to his side or under his arm, but it didn't matter to him.

he was always sassy, but tended to be much calmer while you were pregnant. he even stayed when you would cry from pain/hormones.

he became gentler with you, not tossing or snatching you like he would previously.

you would be given many little gifts he would find, either without you knowing or just blatantly giving it to you.

he would do many experimental touches, both confused and curious. he liked your breasts though, of course.

NSFW

wall sex. constantly. almost every opportunity he had, he would bend you against the wall and rail you.

very rarely would he be soft, but if you asked him to he would slow down.

his hand never left your stomach, sometimes having both on it in your bent over position.

he finds your pregnancy hot. he likes how your stomach grows, breasts enlarge, and hips grow wider. big turn on for him.

he also enjoys eating your cunt from behind, also in the bent over position. if you are up for it, he will eat your ass too. likes the view of your pregnant stomach and breasts hanging slightly.

fingering would be just as rough as usual with him. still very very good though, he hits all the right places.

he's weird, he would absolutely squeeze your breast hard and watch milk squirt from it. even when you tell him its gross, he laughs and does it again.

kisses also become more frequent, both lips and stomach.

MR. MACHETE

SFW

dude does not care at all, just shrugs and walks away.

when you catch up to him again and explain it to him, he smirks and goes "More, Fight?" meaning he wants to fight the kid too.

you would have to slap his arm and tell him no, only for him to shrug again. "Disappointed."

when realization hits him, it definitely makes him groan. he doesn't want to have to take care of a kid, but he still wont leave you. he isn't THAT bad.

eventually he would warm up to it, going softer on you and not attempting to fight you as often.

will begrudgingly carry you around, even though you didn't ask him to. he will try to tell you its not because he cares, but you know better.

the type of guy to throw his machete at someone for looking at you wrong.

he does enjoy wrapping you in his arms, like a small toy.

much like Mr. Hood, when the baby is born and grows to an actual child, he will carry it on his shoulders and be genuinely friendly.

NSFW

you're gonna be sore for days. pregnant or not, he doesn't change his pace. he keeps you on top of him while he is sitting, and bounces you up and down like a doll.

easily manhandles you, the extra weight doing absolutely nothing for him.

will also hold your stomach up while he pounds you from behind.

will tease you by saying things like "Going to, Make, Two" just to piss you off.

he doesn't go down on you often. not because he doesn't want to, but because of his sharp teeth. it doesn't affect him either way though.

he has rough and calloused fingers, perfect for fingering you, rough as always even during your pregnancy.

again, doesn't care that you are pregnant and will still mark you.

also the kind of guy to get off on squeezing breast milk out of you. even when you slap his hands away.

very much enjoys a boob job with your enlarged chest, and will cum all over your face from it.

thank u for reading, ily all 🥺

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥

Sukuna

Pairing: Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Sukuna's twins are miniature versions of himself which can only mean one thing: they're two little demons.

Warnings: MDNI, family content, fluff(?), dad!Sukuna, smut, oral sex (m. receiving), titjob, nipple play

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Sukuna had to change a lot of things in his life when his twins came along. The man that never imagined he’d become a father, was lucky enough to knock up his girlfriend. Or wife, whatever he gets to call you now. One very unlucky lucky night he decided that protection was a stupid idea, but the universe got back at him to teach him a life lesson, and you ended up pregnant with two– Not one, but two babies. 

Sure, Sukuna loves his babies and all that shit which made it easier for him to change into a better person. He’s not a stellar parent or anything, and during the first year of their life he was struggling to figure it out but the job has gotten easier. He’d argue that the job is fun too, seeing the little shits form their own personalities or whatever is interesting. 

Though one could say that it’s only fun for Sukuna since the kids are turning out just like their father. For you, on the other hand, it is stressful. Having two children screaming just like their father isn’t exactly fun, not when you have to correct them. It was hilarious to watch Sukuna teach his nephew cuss words for the little guy to run around, yelling the atrocities (nearly giving his father a heart attack); it’s not fun when you’re in the mother’s shoes. 

“Fuck you-” “We don’t say that around here!” “Daddy says it!”

“Motherfucker!” “Watch your mouth!” “Daddy told me I can say it!”

It’s a never-ending correction in your home, and it doesn’t help that your husband doesn’t help you out. Sukuna kind of does his part by watching his mouth around the pair, but that’s not enough anymore. They’re almost six, it’s too late for them to unlearn certain words… or other behaviors. 

“Stop arguing you two!” You yell from the kitchen, hearing them bicker about something. They’re always arguing because one is mean to the other. Sukuna’s genes are too strong. Luckily for you, you were blessed with a girl and a boy so you don’t have to try again for another baby. You won’t have to repeat this.

“Ugly bastard!” Akane, your baby girl, yells. And you wish it was a moment where you got to think if you heard wrong because your baby girl would never say that, but she would. This one says it nearly daily.

“Akane, if I hear one more word out of you, girl! I swear–” You’re cut off by your husband, startling you as he hugs you from behind. He’s not listening, or well, he is and he doesn’t want you to correct the girl.

“Aren’t you just so proud of her?” He sounds elated, knowing his daughter sounds just like him. If only you could share that sentiment. You push him away and focus on finishing lunch for the little rascals. 

“My girl friends invited me out, and guess what? You’re taking over tonight.” You tell him, and Sukuna’s eyes widen. You’ve never made that threat before– Usually when you go out, you take them along or drop them off at someone else’s place because you doubt Sukuna can handle them. The longest they’ve been alone has been an hour.

“Someone will end up getting stabbed.” Is his answer, hoping that it’s enough to scare you into staying. Sukuna loves his babies, but he knows he can’t handle them. He made a grave mistake by molding them into mini versions of himself. Sukuna can’t control himself, how is he able to control two small Sukunas?

“And it’s probably going to be you if you don’t play your cards right. Good luck.” You answer, making it clear that you’re not staying home no matter what. You don’t acknowledge Sukuna as he begins to tell you the horrific sights that you might come home to. Sure, your kids are rowdy and a lot like their father but they won’t burn the house down… if you hide the matches.

“Akira! Akane! Come here!” You ignore him, calling your kids for their lunch. Sukuna sighs, rolling his eyes. 

They can’t be too bad…

“Hold his legs!” Akane yells to her brother while she pulls Sukuna’s hair. He doesn’t know what happened, he just fell asleep on the couch and woke up to his arms being restrained while one twin wipes something on his face. 

“What the fuck are you two doing?!” Sukuna raises his voice, rightfully so considering the position he’s in right now. He was warned, yet chose not to listen. Sukuna could kick the little shit that’s trying to tie him together but he won’t in fear that he might be too harsh and send the kid to the hospital. Oh, he hates them so much right now but any other time he’s willing to give up his life for them.

“We’re just playing.” Akira answers, and Sukuna could strangle one of the twins right at this moment– Too bad his hands are tied. How is this playing? Are they simulating a kidnapping or what?

“Untie me, now!” He orders, but his words go in one ear and out the other. He’s not mommy, he’s not uptight and lets them do whatever so this must be a joke.

“Quick, grab mommy’s makeup!” Akane yells, and Sukuna clenches his jaw. He’s trying to free himself, but they got him good. He needs to check what the kids are watching from now on because this is worrying for him.

“Akane, let me go before I get angry.” Sukuna threatens, but what can he possibly do when he’s tied up? 

“I got it!” Her twin comes into the living room with your makeup bag. Sukuna is squirming, trying his best to break free from his confinement but he can’t. Did they catch him while he was tying you up or what? No… He remembers locking the door. 

“If you two don’t let me free in this instant, I’ll make you pay!” Sukuna sounds intimidating, clearly angry at this little stunt. Unfortunately for him, they don’t take him seriously. They fear no one.

“You sound funny.” Akane laughs before pulling on his hair, which makes a cry escape his lips. Oh, he’d love this father thing if they were like you. This whole thing is getting annoying, but not only for him; the pair is getting tired of hearing their father cry and scream. “Akira, grab the tape, daddy is getting annoying.”

“What the fuck are you going to do?! I am your father, you two have to listen to me!” Sukuna is trying his best to break free before the twins tape his mouth and end up killing him. And by some miracle, just as they get their hands on the tape, the front door opens.

He prays that it’s you, ready to save him from the twins’ evil plan. It’s not you, but the next best thing. Sukuna doesn’t waste a second before yelling, “Jin! Stop them before they kill me!”

“What’s happening here?” His brother looks around confused. What did he just walk in on? He got a text from you to check in on his brother since Sukuna would be alone with the twins… and this happens. He sees his beloved nephew walk back with a roll of tape, and Jin picks him up from the ground. “What are you two doing to your dad?”

“They’re trying to kill me!” Sukuna yells, which the twins argue,

“We’re just playing!” Which makes a chuckle come from Jin. It isn’t funny– Well, maybe just a bit. It’s hilarious to see Sukuna get a taste of his own medicine.

“Now, you two, let your dad go.” Jin says, and at that moment they huff and puff. But they listen. He’s watching Sukuna’s expressions, and he stops the twins before they completely free him. “Stop. Go to your rooms.”

“What?! Don’t–” Before Sukuna can finish yelling, they’ve run away. They aren’t going to listen to him. Once they’re out of sight, Jin frees Sukuna and holds the man down, not trusting him enough to let him go.

“You’re not going to do anything to them, right?” Jin sounds as if he were Sukuna’s dad, which only pisses the man off more.

“The fuck am I going to do to them? I didn’t kick the little shit when he was tying my legs because I didn’t want to hurt him.” Sukuna makes a great point, but Jin wasn’t there to witness it. Right now he sees an angry man, and he wants to make sure Sukuna calms down before anything. “Why the hell are you here anyway?”

“Your wife called me to check up on you, and I came just in time.” Jin answers, sitting down beside Sukuna once he knows that his brother is calm enough. Sukuna wants to be mad at you for not trusting him enough to watch his own kids, but he also wants to thank you for saving him tonight. 

“Don’t tell her what you saw.” Sukuna quickly says. It’s more of a warning than a request. Sukuna takes a deep breath. He should be asking what the kids were going to do to him– It wasn’t going to be anything too bad, probably just put on some makeup on him or some other stupid trick. They knew he was going to say no if he asked, so they chose to tie him up. The thought isn’t too far fetched considering who their father is. What he’s thinking right now is,

“Why would they listen to you and not me?” Sukuna wonders, and Jin has an idea as to why. “I mean I’m terrifying, but you? You look like you catch jellyfish with a net and work at the Krusty Krab.”

“Ah, they’re into Spongebob now.” Jin can’t help but laugh. He won’t take the insults to heart since this has always been Sukuna. “I feel like they do find you scary, they just don’t think that you’ll do anything to them if they torment you.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Sukuna isn’t in the mood for this. He can’t just wrap his head around this whole situation.

“You let them get away with a lot when it comes to you. You don’t let them get away with anything when it comes to their mother or other family.” Jin explains, which is valid reasoning but Sukuna rolls his eyes. That isn’t the answer he’s looking for, therefore he won’t accept it.

“Whatever you say. I’m going to check up on them before they flood the house.” Sukuna stands up from his seat, leaving his brother behind. The twins can’t be trusted for too long. 

Lo and behold, they found the matches. 

“You two came into my life as karma, huh?” Sukuna asks, before taking the matches from their grimy hands. “Akane, go annoy your uncle. Akira, you’re getting a bath and that’s final.”

“I thought you said I could bathe only once a week.” Akira points out the agreement they’ve had, but Sukuna has changed his mind. 

“I changed my mind when you and your sister did a kidnapping simulation with me. Plus, your mother says you stink and she doesn’t like you anymore so go to the tub.” Sukuna is not scared of making a little white lie to hurt his son’s feelings. It’s the least he could do.

“Mommy doesn’t what?” Akira’s eyes become watery, his bottom lip quivering at the thought of his mother not loving him anymore. Sukuna would feel a twinge of remorse any other night. 

“He’s lying, bubba.” Akane goes to his brother’s side to comfort him. She might be a little devil, but she has her soft spot. She hugs him tightly and Sukuna has to tear his eyes away from the sickly sweet scene. They won’t get to him. “You do stink but mommy loves you. She told us she loved us before leaving.”

“A lie she told you since she’s not coming back because you stink.” Sukuna isn’t going to stop, even when he hears his son cry. The boy pushes his sister away and runs to the bathroom to wash himself to make his mother come back. Hearing his own son cry is tough, but he’ll pat himself on the back later. 

“You’re next. Now go to your uncle, ask about Yuji or some shit.” Sukuna looks at his daughter, who is more resilient than her brother. She’s only five though, so he can find a way to get through to her with no issue. “Your birthday is coming up soon, huh? Guess I’ll–”

“I’m going!” She yells before Sukuna can finish his sentence, making a smirk come to his face. Smart girl.

He can handle them for the rest of the night, especially with Jin here.

When you come home, your little demons are sound asleep in their bedroom. You tuck them in, and admire the sight that you never see during the day. They almost look like they were sent straight from heaven. It’s a nice sight to come home too.

Your opinion changes when you enter your bedroom and find your husband throwing his clothes into a suitcase. You’ve noticed that over the past years he’s become increasingly dramatic. You let your presence be known as a chuckle escapes your lips, standing in the doorway.

“Is it because they tied you up?” You question, and a frown comes to his lips.

“I told Jin to not tell you. But yes.” He answers, and you step into the room. You shut the door behind you, locking the door just in case things escalate. “They don’t take me seriously, and I told you things wouldn’t go well if you left me alone with them but there you go, going out with your friends.”

“I can’t stay locked up forever taking care of them.” You respond, and he rolls his eyes.

“Leave them with Jin. They take him seriously.” Sukuna says, and you chuckle.

“Unpack your stuff, baby. Stop being so dramatic.” You tell him, heading over to the bathroom to get ready for bed. That’s not enough for him right now though. 

“I’m leaving and never coming back.” Sukuna sounds like a child, which is hilarious. Only those two can get that side out of him. He’ll continue no matter what you say, so you do the next best thing. You lift up your shirt, and his eyes widen for a moment before he tears them away.

“Your boobs aren’t going to work this time.” He claims, and you fix your shirt. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth before sighing, “But they do help.”

“Come here, baby.” You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him. Sukuna hugs you back, and he could sob (just for the dramatics).

“They’re so mean.” Sukuna’s head rests on your shoulder, as his hand travels under your shirt to squeeze your boob. “Can you make me feel better?”

“Can you–” You begin but before you can even finish, Sukuna pulls away and throws the suitcase on the ground. He’ll unpack later. You open your mouth to speak again but he grabs the back of your head and pulls you into a rough kiss. 

His tongue wanders around your mouth, his free hand going under your shirt once again. It’s an old trick, but every time you show him your breasts, he forgets anything and everything. You don’t do it when the matter is a serious issue, but you really can’t do much about the fact that your twins are straight from hell.

Sukuna sits down on the bed, lifting up your shirt, prompting you to take it off. Once it’s out of the way, his tongue licks up your body before giving your tits attention. He rolls his tongue around your nipple while his hand plays with the other one, pinching your nipple and squeezing your boob. You really get him, knowing the exact way to get him to calm down. He pulls away, and kisses between your breasts until he gets to the other tit. He switches to your other tit and entertains himself once again.

He’s having so much fun, his mouth preoccupied with you but there’s an uncomfortable sensation between his pants. He unlatches, looking up at you with lustful eyes. Your gaze falls on the tent in his pants, making you bite down your lip.

“Help me out.” He says, and you help him unbuckle out. You pull down his pants, freeing his cock from its confinement. You kneel down in front of him, a smirk on your lips. This is a great way to apologize.

You spit on his cock before your hand wraps around the base. You lower your head, tongue circling around the tip as your hand strokes his dick. You start off so painfully slow, too painful for Sukuna. You lower your head, taking as much of his dick as you can.

You slowly bob your head, hands wrapping around the park of his cock that is outside and stroking it for him. It’s like heaven for him, though he just wants to push your head down and force you to take all of his cock. You can take it like a good girl, right? He won’t take any risks tonight.

“You can take it all.” You lift your head, and Sukuna whines. You were barely even doing anything, why did you feel the need to stop? A spark appears on his eyes, a smirk coming to his face as you cup your tits. He judged too soon.

You put his cock between your chest, squeezing your cleavage together before moving it up and down his dick. Sukuna’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your tits squeezing around him. He grabs the back of your head, pulling back and telling you, “Open your fucking mouth.”

And without missing a beat, you obey, sticking your tongue out. He spits in your mouth, and you swallow immediately. This is the reason why you ended up with twins– You just do shit that makes him feel every inch of your body raw, a need. You’re so obedient and generous with him.

Your soft flesh between his cock is too much for him, and such a nice sight as he watches them jiggle. You should do this more often is all that he can think as your hands pick up speed. He’s rolling his hips, lightly moaning as his breath gets heavy. 

“Good job.” You hear, which tells you all that you need to know. He barely praises you unless he’s close.

“Cum for me, baby. Do it all over my tits.” You tell him, and he bites down his lips to not sound pathetic. Oh, he has to control himself tonight because you might end up with another child. He can’t have that. 

His hands grip the bed sheets as he finishes all over you. His cum covers your chest, all the way up to your neck. Your fingers swipes it, bringing it up to your lips simply for his entertainment, but he’s looking for something else in the nightstand.

He could die right now.

“Ran out of condoms, and I’m not risking anything.” He’s in so much pain as the words leave his lips, and you furrow your brows. Since when has this been an issue?

“You can pull out.” You remind him, but that isn’t cutting it for Sukuna.

“I said I’m not risking anything.” He couldn’t make it any clearer. Tonight was certainly… An experience to say the least.

“Can you at least eat me out?” You ask him, standing up from the ground. There’s no way you’re going unrewarded tonight.

“You have a vibrator, work it out.” He shrugs, and you glare at him. He’s pissed off with you again, leaving him with the twins was a horrible mistake on your part.

“You’re such a jerk.” You roll your eyes at him, and hearing him chuckle makes you want to hit him. You manage to restrain yourself, managing to mutter out a simple, “Fuck you.”

“Aw, they get it from you. How cute.” He says, which makes your palm lightly slap his forehead. “Hey! Maybe next time don’t leave me alone–”

“The vibrator is going to do a better job than you anyway.” You cut him off, going to the bathroom to clean yourself up… Getting all dirty and for what? 

“If you really want another pair, I’ll give them to you.” Sukuna stands up, following behind you to annoy you.

“Get a fucking vasectomy.” You respond, and you feel his arms wrap around you, stopping you from going any further. Of course he can’t leave you alone. “Sukuna, I’m going to shower.”

“I’ll help you.” 

[cherry-pop-elf]

New Chapter

Anya x Reader

Can be read as platonic because we all want the best for her

SUM: Anya gets an abortion so you and the rest of the crew wait for her. You were the first one, however, to see her after surgery. Also because fuck you, abortion rights

Warnings: Abortion, sexual assault, jimmy, medical situations, abortion rights, domestic happy family

“How long is it gonna take?” Daisuke asked, as he was worried but also excited. Excited for Anya to feel better. Worried for well….Not like he’s had the best reactions to medical situations. Example A being Curly in the wheelchair next to him.

Curly was doing so much better now that he was actually on the planet again. The doctors were still jaw dropped that Anya was able to keep him alive with so little. Was not only a testimony to how she refused for him to die, but him refusing to leave his crew behind as well. It’s still a long journey ahead, but he was in clean bandages and clothes at least. Was even able to talk again. Sorta. Rather raspy but he will get there.

Jeez where to start on how you all got here to begin with.

“She’s going to be fine. Abortion is way less invasive than you think. It really depends on how far along, but luckily she isn’t too far for it to be to extreme. Not sure what type she went for, but whatever she chose she chooses. Just grateful we were able to return home before she reached to far along.” You would admit, as you would check up on Curly’s IV bag for him. Taking over Anya’s roll until she could return.

“Ya know….My wife had an abortion.” Swansea said, and it made all of you look over to him in pure surprise.

“What’s the funny look for? Ya think I’m a freak that would refuse my wife that? She needed it! The kid just….It ain’t my place, but the kid just wasn’t gonna survive. Either she carried it to term and die with em, or she just skips the heart ache. Not like it was her fault. We got two healthy girls at the end of the day. We got em because she got rid of that fucked up one.” He explained, as Daisuke seemed wide eyed in respect.

Explains why he snapped more clearly.

Anya had explained to Swansea what had happened, and before you pre Daisuke knew it Jimmy’s head was sliced off and rolling across the kitchen floor. Poor Suke threw up all over you from the sight, and shock. Then threw up again when he learned why he did such a thing. Lots of puking and crying. Fitting.

“Glad that damn company is dead. Whose wise idea was it to have a single woman surrounded by men. No offense you two-“ Curly would wheeze, before you would help him take his medication. Sure is easier to take pills when you actually give him water and take it slow. No choking or crying.

“Thats a can of worms I don’t want us to talk about.” Swansea would scoff. As a father to two girls he had a lot of things to say. Daisuke would be willing to listen, sure, but honestly you all had enough emotional fatigue to last multiple life times.

Thank god Curly was so high up on the food chain at the company. They knew they would get into more hot water if their, once, top captain suddenly vanished. Wouldn’t make their bankruptcy any smoother. For once they did the right thing and sent Simeon to save them.

Funny. A capitalist corporate organization took responsibility for their actions. For the right reasons? No. But they still took it. Strange. Isn’t it?

“Is she done yet?” Daisuke would whine, as you laughed at his childish nature. As if waiting on a sister to get out of the dentists office. You found it rather endearing honestly. That despite it all he was still having a heart full of love and excitement.

“Go play on your toy.” Swansea would grumble, as Suke whined. Regardless he would pull out his game boy. A nice excuse to play video games with out any guilt on wasting his time. Enjoying life shouldn’t be a burden.

“Need anything, Curly?” You would ask him, since you planned on going to the bathroom. Yeah Swansea and Daisuke could handle him, but you still wanted to be polite. Maybe you could grab him something from the vending machines. Maybe a soda. Some sugar in his system would do him good. Anya said that sugary bubble water of some kind, like sprite, can help quite a lot with indigestion.

“I should be fine. Thank you for asking though. Sorry you have to…” He would admit, as he looked himself over. His missing limbs now properly covered up with fabric to keep them clean, and allow him some kind of independence. The fabric on the stumps were padded. With enough practice and effort he would certainly be able to roll himself around.

Then again this was a world of space travel. He was going to get cyborged eventually, but you need to be healed first before such an intense operation. Can’t rush something like this.

“Hey. I do it because I can. Not because I have to. You are our captain. Let me be a good solider.” You teased him, and even in his broken face you could see a smile.

Swansea have you a head nod to indicate he would ‘take care of the boys’ and you were off to use the restroom.

Once done with that you would grab a soda from the vending machine for Curly, a bag of candy for Daisuke, and some pretzels for Swansea. As you were making your way back a nurse would motion you over.

“Miss Anya was asking for you. She has finished her operation, and wanted you to see her.”

You were surprised at that. You expected Curly to be her first guest. Did something go wrong? Oh you couldn’t help but freak out.

You followed after the nurse quickly, and all you were shown was Anya resting in her hospital bed. Tired, but relieved. Mostly. You saw that familiar stress in her eyes. That same stress she had when asking you if she made the right choice in asking Jimmy for help with medicating Curly.

That worry of if I did the right thing.

The nurse would leave you to alone, and you would quickly set the snacks aside. Now you were sitting next to her, in a chair, and holding her hand. Ready to be the shoulder she needed.

“Hey there Doc. How you doing?” You asked her, as you carefully stroked the back of her hand. Made sure to be mindful of all the tubes and wires.

“Well….It went far smoother than I expected. It was just so quick. They didn’t even need to put me under. The IV is more so for the issues I already had because of being stranded on the ship for so long. It was just so quick. So painless. Was just like pulling a thorn out of an arm. It was….Simple.” She would try and explain to you. Needing to make sure to stop herself before using doctor jargon.

“Too easy?” You puzzled.

“Yes. It was just….I expected pain. Pain and anxiety and horror. Suppose even a nurse can come to learn a thing or two…..”

She was hiding something, and you had an educated guess on what.

“You expected Jimmy to break down the door. Weren’t you?”

There was silence, but it told you everything.

“Scoot over. Move it sister-“ You were now crawling into the medical bed with her, moving the wires around, and soon snuggled into her side. Hugging her close, and especially with your arm over her stomach.

“You did the right thing. It’s your body at the end of it all. You took responsibility of taking care of yourself. You wouldn’t have been able to live a proper life. You went to med school. You don’t need me to tell you the horrors of pregnancy and birth. That alone is terrifying. But also you simply not wanting to be pregnant is enough. Ain’t no Jimmy’s gonna storm in and say otherwise.” You huffed, as she smiled. Her head leaning into yours.

“Yeah….No more Jimmy’s. Pretty sure Swansea will make sure of that.” She did her best to joke, and you were proud of her for it. This whole ordeal was hell. Hell none of you will ever truly walk away from. But that’s ok. You all had each other to lean on.

“I think I’m ready for everyone now.” Anya would whisper, as you gave her hand a squeeze. You were so proud of her. This was all such a nightmare, but she’s taking it in stride.

“Hell yeah.” You agreed, before climbing out of the bed. You made sure to grab the snacks, and exited the hospital room.

“Come on guys-! Anya is waiting on you-!” You shameless shouted outside of the room. She couldn’t help her face palm. Daisuke sure was an influence on you.

“I wanna push Curly!”

“Like hell you are-!”

They would bicker away, before Curly said ‘fuck it’ and did his best to roll himself over. He sure was a stubborn one. Made it half way before you figured that was enough work out for one person.

“Pretty far! Getting better at it-!” You encouraged, as the two men realized how far Curly rolled off on before finally following you two into Anya’s room.

“HAPPY NO BIRTH-DAY!” Daisuke would cheer, as Anya shook her head at such a joke.

“God dammit kid-“ Swansea side, before he came over to Anya. Giving her head a kiss. Just comforting her much like a father would.

“How many of us need to be in medical beds?” Curly would give a raspy snort, as Anya reached her hand out. He would lean his head over, and she would give it a stroke. As if all his hair never burned off. A means of holding his hand, in a way, compared to just grasping a limb.

She didn’t need children.

She had all of you.

What else could a woman want?

Since you were willing to read through this story to the end, and get a nice in depth look on the importance of such why not donate to some organizations? : D

Planned Parenthood

Nation Network For Abortion Funds

National Abortion Federation

The Bridge Alliance

The Satanic Temple

ActBlue

No worry on donating. Spreading awareness and signing petitions still help! The more people learn and understand the better! Could also like reblog with other organizations or petitions!

Abortion is healthcare!

[therobotmonster]

The Fae Thought He Had Her, but She's Had Lots of Practice

Actual Title: "On Foreign Soil."

The fae was having a grand old time with his latest toy. Mortals were easily befuddled with the magic of contract-and-courtesy. He'd taken pretty much all he could from the family: several names, the mother's attention, the son's concept of friendship... Even the life of the father.

He'd taken that one taking just the right moment of his time, the one where he moved just out of the oncoming car's path. That also took out the youngest daughter and making a new neverwas to lurk in the pockets of lost time around the home.

The tricks made him strong. The sense of betrayal and regret humans had when they realized how screwed they truly were was like honey: rich, sweet, and immune to spoilage. If anything, in the last sixty-some-odd years he'd been home the humans had gotten more petulant and even easier to trick.

It was a veritable buffet.

So when the eldest daughter returned home from college, he expected her to be easy pickings. The young were always foolish and prideful, and very often rude. They gave him so many opportunities.

So when she threw open the door, and stared at him with cold green eyes, he immediately laughed in delight. His face took on a distinctively 'David Bowiesq' aspect, a trick he found worked well the last time he'd been to the mortal lands.

"Oh, hello. May I have your name, lass?" He cooed in a cocky-yet-soothing voice.

"My name is Alex, and no." She said.

He raised a brow. She was canny, or at least half-canny. She knew enough to object to him taking it. Still, she had answered, and by the laws of the fae, the latter objection did not override the former offer.

So why wasn't he Alex now?

It was odd, but sometimes mortals were a little resistant to magic. He worried for a moment she was a skeptic, but she couldn't be. Her response meant she knew, or at least suspected, what he was. Moreover, he didn't feel the painful chill and sluggishness empiressence caused, nor the crushing weight of the explicable upon his bird-hollow bones.

No, she was just lucky, or was carrying an iron horseshoe, nothing he couldn't handle in his, or someone else's sleep.

"And what the fuck are you calling yourself, asshole?"

He blinked.

The impudence hit him like a slap. She'd just given him the opening to do anything he wanted, but the raw temerity of the insult, it's artless crudeness, it's utter lack of respect stunned him too much to enjoy it. His rage and petulance rushed into the hole left by his shock, and he sputtered.

"You rude little beast, you have no idea what you've brought upon yourself!"

He raised one pale hand, the flesh fading from it to leave nothing but blackened bone, and he pointed the index finger at her in a silent gesture. He let fly his curse. Not just any curse, but his, the one he had made for just such an occasion.

Alex stared at him. Arms crossed. Her hair was the color of the fae's own rage.

"What's the matter, cat got your brain?"

The fae's confidence wavered and the flesh returned to his hand.

"Where are the spiders?" He said. "There... there ought to be spiders! There should be spiders!"

She rolled her eyes.

"You broke the laws of courtesy and decorum! I can do as I please as a wronged noble! You should be spiders!"

"Whose laws?" It was Alex's turn to smile.

"Why, the only ones that matter, the laws of Faerie, as laid down by Oberon and Tita-"

"And Titsforbrains, yeah. I was five once and I can read. I know your dumb politics. Slight problem. Where are you now?"

"The mortal realm?"

"More specifically?"

"The Earth. The United States."

"Exactly." Alex smiled. "And while you might come the land of the platonic ideal of inbred nepobabies, in the United States of America, no law says I can't call a fuckface a fuckface. Fuckface."

The fae tried a different curse, yet Alex was not being twisted into any sort of goat, ironic or otherwise. "But, that doesn't matter! We're a higher form of being, our laws override yours."

"No they don't." Alex said with a confidence reserved for honey badgers and humans of age three. "Now undo all your bullshit and get out of my house."

"Nuh-uh!" The Fae's cocky smirk returned. With a flourish, he pulled out a deed. "It's my house, I got it off your mother, fair-and-square. She traded it for the heart your little brother so foolishly traded me. So you should get out of MY house."

"Contracts signed under duress are non-enforceable." She said in a bored, dismissive tone.

The Fae started to object, but the contract was already crumbling into dried daffodil petals in his hand. He tried to pretend this wasn't terrifying. Inexplicable happenings were supposed to be caused by him, not happen to him. "Are you a wizard?"

"Don't be stupid. I just know my rights." She said. "I'm betting you didn't disclose the full terms of the contracts either?"

The Fae shook his head, more from fear than as a response to the question. Of course he hadn't. If the mortals didn't do their due diligence and couldn't read Linear-B, that wasn't his fau-

The thirty years he stole from the youngest boy ripped themselves out of his body. A half dozen other deals began popping at the seams.

"How are you doing this?" He gasped.

"I'm not doing it. You are. You're idiot who runs on rules and laws who decided to come scam innocent people for your own profit and amusement."

"But it always worked before-" The Fae ran his mind through all his previous romps. Every single human had whined and begged about how unfair things were. Why was this one different?

He ran through those memories again. They were among his favorites so it was easy for him to see every detail. An old man trying to argue Fae law with him. A shepherd girl trying to use her own word games to trap him. A hippie saying almost the exact same words about non-enforceable contracts.

Almost.

He ran through the memories again and again. Always impressed or terrified or blinded by greed, the mortals always argued on his terms, always went back to his wording of the deal or contract, always appealed to the laws of his people and his own noble position.

None of them had ever argued jurisdiction. Once one of them had, it applied, not just now, not just to these toys, but retroactively, and, from how it felt, with interest.

"Oh." Was all the Fae could say.

"Yes. 'Oh.'" Alex smiled like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. "Children can't sign contracts, either, you know."

Everything the Fae had done to the boy snapped back at once. It felt like every seventh tendon in his body had been snipped simultaneously with tiny scissors.

"Nor can someone sign away the right to kill them to someone else, or sell themselves or others into slavery."

Alex's father reappeared in the living room, looking dazed. In his lap was Alex's youngest sister, now remembered by all present as a person that existed. The return of the father's moment was a minor loss, but there was one less neverwas in the Castle of Paradox, and the Baron would blame him for its unmaking.

"Also, names aren't transferable between people, nor are they the whole and sum of a person's identity in this country. The closest thing we have to that is a social security number. And if you steal one of those, well, identity theft is a crime here."

Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Baxter, Julie and Sam's lights all turned on at once, though they were still groggy and half-asleep and would be for hours to come.

A fortune in names, first, middle, last, with nicknames and pet-names and all between, all vanished from the Fae's purse. He could feel its lightness in his pocket.

The Fae turned on his heels. "I fear I must take my leave, so sorry for the inconvenience!"

He was halfway to the door. The impact on the back of his skull knocked him forward off his feet, sending him slamming into the polished wood floor. The projectile that laid him out bounced and landed by his head.

He'd been right about her having an iron horseshoe.

"You don't get to walk away." She said. He felt her steel-toed boot, soles made of entirely synthetic rubber and cleats of cold steel, press against the base of his spine. His hollow, bird-bone spine. "You don't get to fuck with people, say 'my bad' when you get caught, and run."

"Y-your law!" He gasped. He felt his bones cracking. He wanted to turn into something else but he couldn't focus. She was pressing down harder now, because she was half-kneeling. Her hand picked up the fallen horseshoe. "You have to let me go, or arrest me, turn me over to your police, right? You can't just murder me!"

"What are you?"

"I- I'm a Faerie of Arcadia, a sub-Prince of the House of-"

"So not a human. And not an animal." She kept him pinned.

"No!" He growled. Blood the color of an oil slick on the highway began to fill his mouth. The pain made him forget his fear for a moment, and he bared his true face, something between a bug, a wax store mannequin, and a pug-dog. "We-we're a higher form of life! Far beyond anything this miserable pile of dung you call a planet has to offer! You will pay for this impertinence the moment you break the law that holds me!"

"You're a lot of things. A bully, a pest, a liar. But you're not human. And you're not an animal. In fact, as far as the laws of this land are concerned, you aren't real."

Alex lifted her boot to kick him onto his back, then pinned him again.

"Th-then you can't kill me!" He laughs. "You can't kill something that's not real! You've trapped yourself! You'll have to let me go!"

"You haven't been to our 'pile of dung' in some time have you?" Alex asked. She nodded to a strange white book-shaped object that sat unopened, upright, next to the television, next to a pair of white and black crescent-moon shaped objects studded with small white and black buttons.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

--

Six hours later, a notification popped up on Alex's dorm room computer.

[purple-haired-faerie]

Family pt 1

Azriel x reader

Future fic, Family fic, established relationship

Word Count: 800

You had thought this time would be easier. You were only given birth to one Illyrian babe this time, rather than two. However your daughter seemed to have other plans. According to Madja, the babe had was at an angle they shouldn’t be at, and a wing had gotten caught. Madja was confident that you’d be fine, as long as she was carful and got the babe out soon. Azriel had been in such a state when Madja had initially broken the news, that it had taken both Rhysand and Cassian to drag him out the room, realising he wasn’t actually helping the situation. They had taken him to look after your teenage sons, saying that they needed their father whilst their mother was bringing their baby sister into the world. Feyre had promised to stay with you and assist Madja.

I have no idea how long my labour lasted after that point, or entirely what happened after Azriel left. I knew pain, I had fought in the war against Hybern, and had delivered twin Illyrian babes before but having a babes wing rip me from the inside out was on another level, and I was loosing a lot of blood. But then a cry broke out, a cry that wasn’t mine. It was a babies cry and Feyre was placing my daughter in my arms. Madja checked me over, and gave me some medicine to help with the injuries, and Feyre cleaned me up before quietly, Madja following her out, supplies all packed up. They were replaced with Azriel, and our sons where hot on his heels. Axel and Elias immediately came over, cooing over their baby sister.

As soon as Azriel and I had told them I was pregnant, they had become even more protective of me, taking after their father in that regards. It was sweet, but having three overbearing Illyrian males playing mother hen could get a lot at times. I shouldn’t complain, it wasn’t a guarantee that teenage males would want to spend time with their Mum but Axel and Elias had proven that notion wrong. They had gotten worse when they had found out I was having a girl, becoming even more protective of me and telling me how they were going to protect their baby sister. I’d spent a lot of time with Feyre, who understood all too well what it was like to be a boy mum and pregnant. She’d has Selene five years ago and had to content with a seventeen year old Nyx and Rhys following her around all over the place.

“I’m sorry I freaked. You were the one in labour and yet I was the one who couldn’t handle it. If anything happened to you…” Azriel’s babbling brought me out of my thoughts. It wasn’t often the Shadowsinger of the Night caught babbled, but when he got spooked in regards to his family, the babbling started. I gave him a reassuring smile saying “you were exactly where I needed you, with the boys. And anyway it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rhys lost his cool when Feyre had Selene and need I remind you what Cassian was like when Nesta had Clarissa? I’m okay Az. And so is our little Esther”. We’d decided on the name Esther as it meant star, and I had found out I was pregnant on Starfall. I could tell Azriel wasn’t convinced but decided that now wasn’t the time to have that conversation. Instead, he asked “so who wants to be the first to hold their baby sister?” which only caused squabbling between the two brothers.

Despite being twins, the boys were non-identical. Admittedly they had inherited all the Illyrian features from their father, but there were differences. Axel had more green in his eyes and had a slight height advantage over his bother (they were still 6 foot tall at fifteen and still growing) and had inherited Azriel’s shadowsinging abilities. Unlike his father, he was an extrovert and had the ability to make friends with everyone. Elias had inherited my healing abilities, and was more introverted. He had a slight stammer and hated talking to people he didn’t know, terrified they would bully him, mocking him for his ‘inability to speak properly’. Azriel and I had always told him it was nothing to be ashamed of, and Axel pointed out that he and Nyx would always sort out anyone who was mean to him.

Somehow they came to an agreement and Axel was cuddling Esther, and Azriel had me cuddled into his side. I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face. After all the pain and trauma we had all been through, the reward of being married to my mate, and having three beautiful, healthy children whilst living in Velaris.

Tags; @romantasyreader28 @suppppp97

[thesilmarillionblog]

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

THE BOYS: Christmas Special 🎄

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Along with other team members and their infants, Soldier Boy and you decide to spend Christmas at Butcher's house with your three children. He has to act nice.

Warnings: discussion of divorce, bittersweet, fluff, angst with sweet ending. everyone has children, Ben sings "Rapture".

Word Count: 4044

A/N: English is not my first language. Divider: @strangergraphics ❤️

When your oldest child, a three-year-old son, told you he had to pee, you screamed out Ben's name while you were packing your babies' luggage.

Since he had been working on mending his car since the morning and you were here trying to care for all three of your babies at once, you practically yelled out his name, “Ben!” once more in an attempt to obtain some of his help. Actually, since your first child was only three, you had no intention of having any more. Ben was the reason you became pregnant so quickly for the second time. It was almost amusing how certain he was that he hadn't come inside you that night and pulled back just in time. Almost.

Tonight, you were going to spend the Christmas with others and their babies at Butcher's house. Your son enjoyed spending time with Ryan, and you thought it would be a warm and lovely Christmas to hear all of your kids screaming and having a good time together. Additionally, you wanted Ben to interact with his grandson. It wasn't the sweetest time for them years ago. Ryan was a kind and lovely kid.

You apologized by kissing both of your babies on the forehead after they both jumped in fright at how you spoke. “Sorry, sweet little pies.”

You said, “You hold on a little more, sweetheart,” as Ben eventually entered the house and shut the door.

He asked, “What now?” as though he couldn't see how much you were struggling, which made you somewhat irate, but you were keeping your cool so as not to scare the kids. You will discuss this with him at another time. You took a deep breath to help you relax. If not, you will quickly lose your shit. But Ben's recent actions were really getting on your nerves.

Your son, who was moving constantly to avoid the obvious, exclaimed, “Daddy, pee,” as if he were going to cry.

Ben said, “Fu-, come here,” as he swiftly lifted your son, Jared, and ran to the bathroom. At last. You chuckled at Ben's encouraging remarks about how your son was doing well and had strong self-control as you saw him run to the bathroom with Jared in his arms.

“You come back!” you exclaimed in a panic as you noticed that your one-year-old daughter, Jeanna, had truly begun to run and crawl on the carpet when you removed her pants to change her diaper. She climbed down the couch, but you couldn't even see it.

She made a joyful noise when she heard your voice and paused to study your face, which made her to giggle even harder. After you stood up to grab her before she carried on crawling. You were glad she was only a half-Supe and not yet displaying any of her abilities because she crawled so swiftly. Her strength would be impossible to handle otherwise. However, you can think about getting her ready for the Super Olympics in the future.

She screamed delightfully as you took her in your arms and put her back on the couch. For her, it was just another game.

Diana, your other daughter, remained composed despite watching her twin crawl with perplexed eyes and then attentively examining her own feet. She clearly got your coolness and persuasiveness in particular. But Ben never agreed with that. When it came to expressing and reflecting her feelings, Jeanna was a lot like her father. She was emotional and found it difficult to accept rejection when Ben or you refused to give her what she demanded. Just as your son and Ben returned, you gave Ben a look that conveyed your own rage. Jared proceeded to play with his sister's cheeks, expressing his affection for them.

Ben wasn't making your day any easier, even though you wanted to make this Christmas lovely and your kids happy by spending the holiday with your friends and their kids as if you were a big family. As you struggled to care for all of your children alone, like a single mother, you felt alone lately as you watched Ben become engrossed in his job in Vought and his new car. You were on the verge of a breakdown, but you managed to hold back your coolness by concentrating on your twins.

Ben swiftly sat next to you after seeing a change in your mood and moved your face toward him, kissing you firmly as though it would make everything better.

You wanted to playfully threaten to divorce him to get on his nerves, but you kept your tongue shut since you knew Jared would feel awful and might have assumed he was acting improperly. Children did, after all, have fragile sensitivity and were vulnerable. Ben made things really hard at times, but you were being overly cautious.

You simply replied to Ben's kiss and smiled, but he sensed that something wasn't quite right. You said, “Can you help me with these, please?” before he spoke.

While you changed your girls' clothes, you ordered him to hold both of them straight. As you tried to control the tremendous emotions Ben caused, you couldn't stop kissing your twins one by one since they were so adorable in their matching little red outfits.

Ben whispered, “Look at that dress and little shiny socks,” and kissed each of them on the forehead for a few seconds while closely examining you to make sure everything was okay. Both of your daughters were bothered by his beard and pushed Ben's face away.

“All clean and nice now,” you whispered, kissing their cheeks briefly. You never stopped showing Jared the same affection and attention since you were so tuned in to his emotions. You even gave him additional kisses to let him know that he wasn't being replaced or anything.

You could already see both of your daughters playing with their toys on the carpet. Jared continued to demonstrate his limited strength by carrying Diana on the carpet and offering her his favorite toy in an attempt to entice her to play with it. Having an older super brother to keep them safe was an excellent thing.

“Hey, what's wrong?” Ben inquired as you shifted your face toward him and he drew your body closer to his. His green eyes grew anxious as he saw your practically teary ones. He immediately cleared his throat in guilt and attempted to explain himself. “The car is a little difficult these days, you know. In order to keep us from being late, I had to handle it.”

“It's not about that, Ben,” you interrupted him before he could say anything more.

“What is it about then?” He now seemed somewhat harsh, and you immediately began weeping when you saw how indifferent he was toward you despite the fact that you were giving him and your kids all of your energy. It was simply too much for you. You weren't even a Supe.

You gave him a brief glance before getting up to go to the kitchen so that neither you nor he could raise their voices and frighten Jared as he played with his sisters in such an excited manner and was enjoying himself. You didn't want to talk at this moment and ruin the day.

Ben immediately followed you into the kitchen as you began cleaning things to relieve yourself of your miserable state of mind. To your astonishment, he turned your body toward him after taking the dishes from your hand and gently setting them aside. “Come on. I didn't mean to sound that way. Let's talk it out. Why did you become upset so quickly? Don't shut me out.”

You were nearly soothed by his kind tone and the way he held you in place while massaging your back with his fingertips. You gave up trying to get rid of him and laid your arms across his wide chest instead. Recalling your divorce-related ideas, you stated sourly, “You're going to make me a widow soon.”

Ben initially got confused by what you were saying, but he quickly offered you a huge grin, confirming that he lacked the intelligence to understand what you were talking about. “Well, I'm not planning to die soon, but you may try, love.”

Instead, you remained calm and smiled miserably at him. He needed to understand that you felt alone in this marriage and didn't want to do anything by yourself anymore. “I wasn't thinking about killing you.”

His smug grin abruptly vanished, and he turned to face you in confusion.

“I am talking about divorce.”

You spoke so harshly and definitely that you could swear Ben's face turned pale. Great. He needed to know the consequences of his behavior, but even uttering that term out loud made you shudder with something you never wanted to express. You weren't sure if he truly cared about your situation because he was so preoccupied with his work and his dumb car. You only needed a bit of help.

He eventually said, “Fuck, no,” while hugging you tighter. “I can't believe you just said that word right to my face.”

Now amused by the way his face turned pale and the way his arms tightened around your waist as though you were about to abandon him, you did your best not to smile and continued to gaze at him solemnly without breaking your character. Ben was shocked to hear such things because you hadn't spoken of them before, and he knew how much you loved him. He waited for a response, but you kept quiet to avoid making him lose his mind. It might be a useful lesson.

He had confidence in himself too much.

“You're not serious, right?” he asked, affectionately caressing your neck and hair. Ben swallowed and said sternly, “Why are you bringing up such nonsense when we can discuss it? I told you that I was only taking care of the car so we wouldn't be late.”

“You make me feel lonely in this,” you muttered, observing his unexpected outburst of rage. “There are moments when I think I'm the only one attempting to help them grow up. It was fine when there was just Jared, but now that there are three, things are different.” You took a deep breath to avoid becoming angry and making this into a small fight. “What am I? A single mother?”

His ego had been bruised since he believed he was simply doing okay as a father and a husband, but his eyes instantly became softer. You felt sympathy for him since you knew precisely what he was thinking at the time, yet you put up with his actions to the point where you wounded yourself in order to keep his pride intact. Despite how much you loved each of them, what you were doing was enough for him and your children, but it was consuming your soul and drowning you with a flood of despair.

He calmly remarked, “Of course you're not alone,” and gave you a firm hug after seeing how worn out you were. “You know, I thought I was simply doing okay. But you're right. Considering that they are all newborns and that we have recently become quite crowded, I should have shown more consideration. I know. But from now on, I'll be better for you and our lovely little soldiers, okay?”

His gentle and caring comments made your heart melt. You needed him to spend a little more time with you and your children, not that you want to discourage him. Being a supe, he most likely had no idea how much energy it took to deal with them all at once.

You sighed and gave him a hug in return.

“Yes, caring for all of them at once—breastfeeding, putting them to sleep, dressing them, changing their diaper... can be truly exhausting. Without you keeping an eye on them, I can't even take a nice shower. Ben, I need you to see just how tired I am. I need more, even though I know you're trying your hardest. For me.” You continued to stroke his arms, demonstrating your love and making sure he heard your pleas without coming across as aggressive or harsh this time.

Ben kissed your forehead and continued to softly touch you because he was so moved by your words and how you still did your best to comfort him in spite of his wrongdoings. “I... keep forgetting that they are my babies and half-supes, which is obviously considerably harder to deal with. I know that. Nothing is more important than you.” With your hands between his, he muttered, caressing the top of your head while giving you his most intense and sincere glance. “I love you.”

You gave him a deep kiss and withdrew a bit. “I know.”

When you didn't use the same terms, he was offended. “Who am I? "Princess Leia?” he complained, eagerly awaiting you to say the same thing. It was easy to break his pride today.

You chuckled. “I love you too, Ben.”

“The new house rule is similar to the one you mentioned about ‘not swearing’: You will never use that word again: Divorce. Otherwise, I'll have to punish you, sweetie. Do you think that I wish to punish my children's mom? Absolutely not.” Ben picked you up with ease and put your body on the kitchen sink, which made you giggle. “So let's watch our naughty mouths,” he added in a humorous voice to lighten your mood.

“You wouldn't want to punish me,” you said, gradually lowering your hands until they touched his bulge. Ben shoved himself against your palm when he saw that his green eyes were gleaming with anticipation. Ben pushed up your skirt, and a sneer appeared on his lips. He gulped when he pulled back a little and dipped his head to see what you were wearing underneath.

He moaned, “Fuck,” and kneaded your legs firmly. “How the fuck did I not notice you were wearing this all this time?”

But as soon as you straightened your skirt, he gave you a lustful glance. You said, “I really don't want to manipulate you, but—” as you brushed his neck and played with his hair.

“Well, I'd like to be manipulated right now,” he interrupted. “Use me, take advantage of me, and brainwash me. I'm all yours.”

You were chuckling when he toyed with your skirt and gave you happy grins in a playful manner. As Jared kept your daughters occupied, you both glanced in their direction as your daughters screamed with delight in sync. Ben focused on you once again after determining that nothing was wrong. He touched your chin and made you focus on him again and look at his eyes.

“You were saying?”

“Well, don't get angry over nothing and don't cause any trouble tonight. That's all. Very easy. There is nothing that the strongest Supe Daddy cannot handle.”

“You are aware that I am a hot-tempered man? Given that we'll be spending Christmas listening to Hughie and Butcher's crap, what you want from me is pretty difficult.” Ben replied, causing you to extend your legs a bit wider as his fingers lingered on them. “What will I get in return if I behave just like you want?”

You smirked at the fact that he was always prepared even if you had a busy sexual life. However, it had been months since you felt him inside without a plastic barrier, and he was irritated when you told him to use a condom. In actuality, you were driven to discipline him for failing to pull back at the right moment a year ago.

But you loved your daughters. You were happy that they happened. It was only about Ben's confident ass refusing to acknowledge that he hadn't pulled back in time.

You smirked as you noticed him growing eager and ultimately agreed not to ask him to wear those dumb fucking plastic condoms. “Without a condom, while wearing this, all night, just you and I,” you added abruptly. He hadn't felt how you felt in such a long time, and sometimes it was becoming agonizing.

“Wait. You mean it?”

“I mean it. If you-”

“Deal,” he responded immediately, without waiting for you to complete. For a day, it wouldn't be so difficult to be fucking polite. However, he had no intention of behaving like a jerk while he was with you and his children for Christmas already.

Ben jokingly remarked, “You know what you want from me is not even that difficult. Just admit you miss the feeling of my cock, the times I fuck you raw and deep. I could probably knock you up again without even properly filling you with my cum, love.”

You slapped him across the chest and said, “Keep it low!” He kept forgetting about Jared at times. “And... I guess we'll never know.”

You grabbed him by the shirt and gave him passionate kisses till the babies interfered, your heart bursting with delight at how excited he was already and how he began telling you how good he could be.

Ben cursed out loud at Butcher for making you wait at the entrance for a short while while he was carrying all of your children in one hand and clutching the gifts in the other when you arrived at the enormous place he had rented for Christmas. All you were doing was trying to soothe him while you were carrying their luggage. When his father used the F word, Jared looked at you and laughed. He knew you didn't like it when his dad used such words around the kids. 

Ben remarked, “I'm going to break this damn door down now,” and he gave you the impression that he only needed your approval.

“Then you're gonna fix it yourself!”

Ryan opened the door and greeted you like a gentleman just as Ben was going to smash it with his leg. He was such a kind boy.

Ryan used to spend his time with Jared whenever you came to visit because he was now living with Butcher. He was like a brother to Jared.

When Jared saw Ryan standing in front of him, he quickly urged Ben to release him, and Ryan grabbed him. Meanwhile, Ben continued to curse Butcher and the others; they were simply preparing the table. Children were screaming all over the house, and when they spotted your babies and Jared coming, they screamed even more because they knew their new gaming buddies were back home.

“Hey,” you said, setting the bags next to the couch. You then took the gifts Ben was holding and put them beneath the Christmas tree and gave Annie and Kimiko a brief hug.

Ben put your twins on the carpet and said, “I swear I'm gonna break that damn door on your head one day,” as your twins became excited upon seeing other infants and tried to get rid of their father's tight hold.

When he stated, “You all play nicely, alright?” Ben surprised you by lightly touching Hughie's one-year-old daughter's head. You didn't make any remarks about Ben's small, sweet gestures to make him feel shy. He didn't need to try being polite sometimes. He was more sensitive since he became a father. Something had changed in him.

Butcher grinned and remarked, “Are you kissing your babies with that mouth? There were just three of you last Christmas,” as he glanced at your twins. “Look at how crowded you are right now. What are you? A rabbit family in heat?”

Ben, sitting on the couch, laughed at his remark. “What can I do? I shoot my shot well.”

“Yeah? When Hughie's little boy grows up and starts making moves on one of your daughters, I'll see you then. You'll all get along well as relatives, won't you, Annie?”

“Say that shit again?”

Butcher's smile grew when he realized he had hit a sweet spot to get Ben's nerves.

When Ben suddenly became unreasonably frustrated, you sat next to him, and you kicked his leg. While Annie, MM, and Frenchie set the table, you watched Hughie use a milk bottle to feed his son. You were touched by his dedication and his constant smile.

Your head began to throb from the sounds they made as Ryan and MM's daughter assisted Jaden and others in playing games, but it was a pleasurable ache.

It was beautifully snowing outside as the hours went by while you were seated at the table, deep in conversation. Ben was eating turkey like he was starving and was talking about how difficult it was to be a father and how war and fighting superheroes were much easier than anything else because fathering required so much contemplation. You didn't hurt his pride and interrupt, but you and Annie exchanged glances and rolled your eyes when Hughie agreed with him, and they spoke as though they were the ones who gave birth.

Your heads turned back when you heard a guitar sound. While his sisters were destroying the strings together, Jared was playing with it. Jared was behaving like a professional and had a humorous look on his face. Then he stood up and touched his father's legs while carrying the guitar.

“Hey, where did you find this?” Ben asked when Jared instructed him to take it.

“Can you play this?” Without waiting for Ben's response, Frenchie requested and promptly stated the names of the French songs he wanted Ben to sing.

Ben put the guitar and Jared on his lap as he became filled with enthusiasm. “Of course I can.” To feel like he was the one playing, Jared placed his tiny hand on his father's big ones. He looked at you and smiled shyly to see if his mom was proud of him. You blew a kiss to him and smiled.

Ben began singing his well-known song ‘Rapture’, and you had to control your laughter to keep from embarrassing him. You had to think negative stuff to avoid ruining his and Jared's mood because of how serious his face was and how he was acting like a pop star at the time. Jared wasn't any different.

Since everyone was trying their hardest not to crack up when you looked at their faces, Jared and Ben were the only ones on the clouds there.

Butcher was tearing up as Ben said the ‘Rapture’ line because he was unable to contain himself any longer as he laughed out loud.

Ben gave Jared the guitar, instructing him to play like him for his sisters and younger buddies to show how talented he was, and when Jared ran to his sisters and buddies, he stated, “I'm gonna break this on your damn head,” giving Butcher a stern look.

You told him, “Don't be a dick, Butcher,” and rested your chin on Ben's shoulders. “Baby, you did perfectly. I had no idea you were such a good guitarist, you played so well.”

Ben was proud of your compliment and forgot about Butcher. He winked at you and remarked, “I'm good at playing with many things,” as if to remind you of your little arrangement.

“There are already enough babies. Because of these random sperms, I am going to become mute, I’m telling you.”

As she held the baby on her lap, Kimiko gave him the middle finger and made Annie's son do the same gesture with his tiny fingers. When Annie's son made a happy sound, as though she knew what was happening, Kimiko was grinning broadly. Butcher claimed that Kimiko's nasty demeanor would spoil Annie's son, but Frenchie told him to shut the fuck up. Ben was feeling better when he saw everyone opposed to Butcher.

As the night went by, you all talked about wonderful memories while simultaneously handling your babies. The house was filled with your babies' happy screams as the snow poured outside, providing you with the ideal setting for the start of the new year. Your back was pressed against Ben's warm chest as his powerful and gentle hands caressed your arms. Remembering how he sung his own carol, Rapture, with such a solemn tone and face, made you smile uncontrollably.

A/N: I'm not proud of this work, but I hope you like it. :/ I'll be better, I promise...

Permanent Taglist: @ladykitana90 @kamisobsessed @artemys-ackles @thecutestaaakawaii  @supfan67 @suckitands33 @mggsrightfoot @kimxwinchester

[alexthebordercollie]

oooo, if you're taking doodle requests for the dad ford au, i'd love to see something with Ford + Tate and or Stan + Tate.

Ford, cause it'd be interesting to see how he handles being a stepdad on top of Newt and Nick. Stan cause while he'd obviously be fiercely protective of the twins, i feel like he'd understand Tate's motivation the most between him, Ford, and Fiddleford

Thank you so much for my first proper ask/prompt. So you asked for Tate with Ford or Stan and I decided to give you both. Ford is a genius but he's not a pediatrician and Fiddleford still insisted on finding a real proper doctor to help with the twin's general medical care. But the person they found willing to help them with their alien babies without freaking out is out of town so these trips are a bit time-consuming and Fidds is the best at keeping the beans calm for their shots. Mostly I just needed to come up with an excuse for Tate to be stuck with the Stan twins for the day.

I imagine this to take place while Fidds and Emma are still in the process of getting divorced. Custody arrangments are still being worked out. This is Tates first time coming to stay in Gravity Falls with his dad's new family and he has a lot of complicated feelings.

Fidds generally is very clingy with Tate when he comes to stay with them. Showering his eldest with affection out of a mix of missing him and feeling guilty. As a result Ford and Stan rarely are put in the position of having to look after Tate and Fidds initially doesn't make much of an effort to actively include Ford in his father-son time with Tate. Again Fidds feels guilty and like asking Tate to give Ford a chance is an unfair imposition.

Ford makes genuine attempts however to get to know Tate when the opportunity arises. At first, Tate wants nothing to do with him. He's overheard his mom occasionally talking about the divorce when he's supposed to be in bed and the bits and pieces he has picked up basis him pretty strongly against Ford.

Emma isn't trying to turn Tate against his dad or even really against Ford. Don't get me wrong she really doesn't like Ford for obvious reasons but she doesn't want to expose her son to the adults interpersonal drama. She didn't mean for him to hear her talking about Fiddleford leaving them for Stanford.

I think you're suggestion that Stan would understand Tate in this situation better than the other two is pretty reasonable. Tate feels abandoned, and maybe even replaced by new babies. Stan knows better than anyone how it feels to be abandoned and he knows enough to reassure Tate rather confidently that that isn't what's happening here. Tate also finds it a bit easier to open up to Stan because he's mostly a bystander in all of this.

[a-hazbin-reader]

All the Dad Alastor talk! How will Al react trying to cheer up his grumpy children. Alastor seeing his kids sad or frown. Or angy kids in general. Hangry.

HNNNNNNG

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

✅️Parental

TW: Crying babies, Angry babies, Desperate dad!alastor

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor is a firm believer in keeping a smile on one's face no matter what is happening

Your husband lives by it and is always smiling no matter what, it's part of why you love him so much

It used to annoy you when you were upset or fighting with him, but you've learned to read him through other ways

Like with his eyes, his ears, the different smiles he gives, his body language and tones

His smile happens to be contagious and whenever you're with him, you can't help but smile too

"My dear, your smile is one of the most beautiful things I have ever laid my eyes on~"

It helps that he's so damn charming...

You always try to smile for him even when you're crying, in pain, or scared... something that breaks his heart and also makes him proud of you

The twins seem to take after their father and smile every day, laughing in the face of chaos and cooing at the deadliest of demons

Even when they just wake up, the first thing they do is smile at you and Alastor which is a great way to start the day

But they still have their bad days and sometimes they lose their happy smiles, much to the dismay of your husband

He can handle it if his babies are flustered or angry, usually able to problem solve and fix it for them

"Now now~ There's no need for such a face, put that smile back on and papa will make things right~"

Lots of placating pats and little nuzzles along their cheeks until the babies finally start smiling again

Grumpy? That's even easier because papa knows a few funny tricks to get them laughing again

"Now just what is that behind your ear~? Hm~? Oh my! You're quite a lucky one to have a chocolate hiding behind your ears!"

Or if they get hurt and start to cry? He can handle that to, cleaning and bandaging up his babies up before giving the wound a kiss to make it better

"Mwah~! Now that boo-boo has no choice but to go away~ How's about we go inside now, hm?"

Adores his children's laughter and squeals, loves being the reason their faces light up with happiness

But when they're sad? It's so much harder for Alastor to handle because he hates knowing his children are feeling that emotion

Because sadness is something that lingers even after problems have been solved and things have gone back to normal

He just holds them tight and hopes that with enough love and affection that things will be made better

The poor man almost looks ready to cry himself, bouncing the baby in his arms while rubbing their back in a desperate attempt to soothe them

"There there...it's okay, everything is okay...papa is here now...please be happy again..."

If that doesn't work, then he'll come find you, hoping that the two of you can stop the tears

Sits the babies between the two of you and looks to you for help because he doesn't know what to do to make it better

He can't treat them the same way he treats everyone else, his kids are special

He loves his children so much, and it hurts him to see such a raw emotion on their little faces

His smile is wobbly and his eyes are worried, leaning into the feeling of your hand on his cheek

"We can do this, darling, don't doubt the power you have to make our children happy."

Watches as you pick up one baby and hold them to your chest, humming softly to them while pressing a small kiss on their head

He copies you, and immediately, his heart breaks at how tightly his baby is clinging to him, watery eyes staring up at him

He brushes a hand over trembling ears and makes sure to give his baby the most reassuring smile

"My my...aren't you a little underdressed right now?"

Now his baby looks confused, ears pricking up as a clawed finger wipes away a few tears

"You know, you're never fully dressed without a smile~"

He rubs noses with his baby and feels his heart soar when he hears a little giggle, followed by the feeling of tiny hands on his face

Alastor is so relieved that his baby isn't sad anymore, squeezing them tightly and peppering kisses all over their face

And he's definitely not blushing or a little flustered when he notices you're watching him with a warm smile

"Why don't you give them a show? They love listening to their papa sing..."

He can't refuse that, getting both babies settled in your lap before dramatically taking stage, music erupting from a radio

You're looking at him like he's the most wonderful man in the world, like he's not some vicious evil demon who terrorizes people

And his babies are gazing at him like he hung each star in the sky for them, like he can do anything

But most importantly, you're all smiling

🎶 "Hey! Hobo man! Hey Dapper Dan!"🎶

🎶 YOU BOTH GOT YOUR STYLE

BUT BROTHER YOU'RE NEVER FULLY DRESSED

WITHOUT A SMILEEEEE 🎶

[allzelemonz]

Superior Mates: Nolan Grayson X Male Reader

Summertime Prompt: Day 4, Omegaverse AU Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘father’ Primary Sex: AMAB Secondary Sex: Omega Rating: E/Sex, violence, mentioned character death Warnings: Omegaverse, a/o, Viltrumite culture, imperialism, blood, smut, anal sex, breeding, bonding as mates, reader is a Viltrumite, Nolan being an asshole, Debbie mentioned, Mark is dead Summary: Nolan wasted seventeen years playing human, now he wants something from home.

The rush of air hits you before you see him. You had been standing in your kitchen, simply staring at your fridge to decide on a snack but clearly Nolan has a lot more going on. When you shut the door and look up at him you find him covered in blood and panting. His shoulders move up and down with every breath and his bloodshot eyes are full of that familiar Viltrumite rage that reminds you of home.

“What happened?” You ask, unfazed as you wet a towel in the sink.

“Mark.” He says simply, almost growling.

You approach him slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder and feeling his muscles relax under the touch. No doubt he’s calmed by the natural Omega scent. You run the towel over his blood covered face and he closes his eyes to let you.

“Is that who you’re covered in?”

“He refused.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

He sighs. “Waste of my time.”

“Seventeen years is nothing, Nolan.”

He leans into your hand as you run the towel over his cheek. “I want a Viltrumite.”

“Then raise the next one on Viltrum.”

His hand grabs your wrist and squeezes with a force that would’ve broken a human’s bones. “I want a Viltrumite.”

“Your obsession with fatherhood is concerning.”

His grip loosens and he runs his other hand through your hair. “You’ll think the same during your heat.”

You scoff. “I’m not mating with you, Nolan. We have a planet to conquer.”

“And it’d be easier with a few kids to help.” He says softly, rubbing your head. “I’d fuck you over and over until we had our own planet’s worth.”

“You’re assuming I want kids because I’m an Omega?”

He grips your hair. “Because you’re a Viltrumite.”

“Yeah, and I’ll do my duty and have the necessary number.” You sigh. “At some point.”

He shakes his head. “Now.”

You shove him away, turning back to the kitchen. “Go back to your little human toy, Nolan.”

He glares. “She can’t handle what I want to do.”

“Then go home and pick up some Omega bitch there.”

“They wouldn’t be you.” He seethes. “I want the father of my children to be you.”

“And I want to snap your neck, but we don’t always get what we want.”

“They sent us here.” Nolan growls, moving to stand in front of you. “They expect us to mate.”

“If they did, we’d have orders.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and you look at him. “I need to fuck something that can take what I give it for once.”

You stare at him, watching his eyes turn from a glare to something more honest. “Fine.” You sigh. “Once.”

“All night.” He squeezes your shoulder. “Let me fuck you until the sun rises and we obliterate this rat infested planet.”

“I’m not having your kids.”

“I know.” He moves his hand to cup your cheek. “Not tonight, but eventually.”

You roll your eyes and he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Is there anyone else you’d want to do that to you?” He whispers. “Anyone better suited?”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Depends. Can I at least pretend I’m fucking Mark’s replacement into you?”

“If you make me cum twice as much as you get to.”

He smiles. “Deal, Omega.”

His lips connect with yours in a hungry kiss, teeth and tongue with so little care but so much desperation. In a flash you’re in your bed and he’s palming you through your pants and his other hand squeezes your ass. His dick presses against your leg, taking over the length of your thigh as he grinds against it.

“I’ve wanted you since we got sent here.” He mutters. “I wanted to fuck you in front of this whole planet of inferiors and show them how perfect a Viltrumite Omega takes it.”

“Then why aren’t you fucking me yet?”

He chuckles. “I was trying to be a gentleman. Human sentiments, they must’ve worn off on me.”

“I didn’t sit through your sob story to not be knotted tonight, Nolan.”

He groans, leaning up to rip his clothes off. “Fuck, I missed Vilturmie Omegas.” He rips your pants off and grips your hips to pull you closer. “You know you’re superior, not whiney like bitched humans.”

“Happy to be of service to the Empire.”

He groans, lining himself up. “Is that what that slick’s for? The Empire?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to press closer. “No. That’s all for my Alpha.”

He stills, timidly running a hand over your taint, hardened dick, and up your stomach to rest on your chest. “Let me mark you.”

You meet his eyes, his scent hitting your nose. “I wanna feel you inside me first.”

He doesn’t hesitate, plunging inside of you and pulling your hips flush against him. His dick fills you completely, the tip pressing so far in that it bulges out your stomach even through your layers of muscle and fat. He holds himself there, leaning over you as he licks at your scent mark.

“Good enough?” He mumbles, kissing the sensitive spot.

Your legs are frozen around him, your body split open and head foggy from the Alpha arousal scent. “Y-Yeah…”

He leans his head up, a hand brushing through your hair. “Who’s your Alpha?”

“You… Alpha.” You shutter as his dick twitches inside of you. “Nolan.”

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hey Writers of ATSV, STOP letting White Men off the hook and expecting me to clap.

The fact that Miguel is repeated dehumanized and called an animal even prior to him snapping but George Stacy's scenes are written completely sympathetic towards him -

It doesn't sit right with me. Look at this:

They call Miguel an animal in the opening scenes.

At this point, he's not a threat to anyone but Vulture. In this scene, Miguel is doing exactly what he's supposed to do as Spider-man.

He gets called an animal.

Two pages later it's literal George Stacy holding a gun to his daughters face, and yet it's written completely, 100% sympathetic towards him AND ONLY HIM.

Which like..... Girl... Let me adjust my spectacles because I cannot be reading this right.

He's pointing a loaded gun at his daughter. Gwen is undoubtedly more scared than she's even been in her entire life.

She's confused and desperate, one of our main characters is going through a traumatic event.

The script though? It only cares about George and how he was 'betrayed by his little girl'

As if Gwen isn't her own person.

As if Gwen didn't just save dozens of lives. In a situation where the police could do nothing.

Had Gwen not been there, the police would not have been able to handle Vulture. The threat is subdued - yet he still persists.

It doesn't matter that she just saved multiple lives. It doesn't matter that she's not a threat - or that she's his literal daughter.

What matters is how hard this is for the adult white man with the lethal weapon in his hands.

The scene SHOULD be written from Gwen's point of view. SHE'S the victim.

But no, the white male cop is going through it due to his own emotional incompetency so let's focus on that while calling Miguel an evil animal.

In ATSV both George AND Peter - the two white men in the movie - let Gwen down. They either put her in danger or do nothing as they watch.

George points a gun at her. Peter watches Miguel as he physically assaults Gwen and puts her in the machine, exiling her into homelessness.

Then, he gets to go home to his wife and kids, not even mention to MJ that Gwen and Miles were both assaulted and are now missing. And instead he whines about how he's 'not good at this mentor stuff'.

In ATSV the White Male characters repeatedly fail the people around them with no consequences at all - even from a lot of the audience.

And yeah - Peter Parker is completely neglectful.

To the point it's not okay whatsoever.

I've seen MULTIPLE people say that 'Peter is justified in not helping Gwen during the Go-Home scene. Because Miguel was obviously violent and he's probably scared of him plus he was holding MayDay.'

Which is an excuse that ignores the fact that it's pitiful that GWEN a teenage girl facing homelessness - who is likely weaker than both Peter and Miguel - is more willing to stand up to Miguel than PETER PARKER.

It ignores the fact Miguel would NOT attack a fucking baby. He's a FATHER.

But it's easier to assume the Latino man is a raging, angry, baby killer than to admit the white man is committing neglect.

It baffles me that people will really defend Peter saying 'he was scared - he didn't know what Miguel would do-'

Neither did Gwen. But she still did it.

Because she's a GOOD GUY. Because it mattered to her. Because the people she cared about were getting hurt.

She stood up to Miguel in the face of literal danger and homelessness.

Peter had nothing to lose. He make a joke and shut up when he was told.

Once again: If Gwen and Hobie hadn't come for Peter, we have NO IDEA how long he would've stayed with Miguel. We are given NO INDICATION prior to Gwen's arrival that Peter is actively going to change sides. Or is even really considering it in that moment.

Even in the script Peter shows no remorse or worry for Gwen or Miles at all.

It's as if they don't cross his mind. As if he doesn't care he led Miguel directly to Miles because he forgot he had on a tracking watch. As if what he just witnessed didn't disturb him, as if he isn't worried that Gwen is literally homeless.

All he cares about is him, and his image as mentor.

Like sir, I do not give a DAMN. I might not even give a fuck, if you will.

Shut the fuck up about that mentorship shit 😭😭😭😭 You tryna mentor niggas that's MISSING.

He's like that deadbeat dad that brought you a bike a decade ago at 6 and he still bringing it up asking you why you don't call him 'dad'. Like just because you taught Miles to swing over a year ago doesn't mean you're his mentor mfer. Miles would've learned to swing anyway cause it's literally instinctual and every person bitten eventually learns it by themselves so really Peter wtf 😐

People will scream 'But there's nothing he could do!! Miguel is too scary!!'

One: Peter is one of if not the Spider-person with the most experience. If we assume he was bitten at 18 and he's say 45 now, that's still over 25 years of experience. If he was bitten in high school, that's even more experience.

He has biological powers Miguel doesn't, plus he has years of experience over Miguel - who canonically got his powers as an adult. If anyone in that room can beat Miguel - it's him.

If you're telling me that Peter B. Parker is not only scared of Miguel but he's scared to the point he will not even attempt to question him, even though three people younger than him will - Gwen, Hobie, and Miles - that's pitiful. That's a sad excuse for a Spider-man.

Also He's Spider-Man. The whole point of Spider-man is he fights even if he isn't sure he can win.

Two: At the very least, he can show that he's genuinely concerned for the kids he wants to mentor so bad. But he doesn't even do that. Even bringing them up or saying their names doesn't cross his mind.

But once again, the white male character emotionally neglecting those around him - especially the children who depend on him - and both he are George are either shown as innocent, unwilling to act, or the script is outright sympathetic towards them.

It's easy to call the Latino man an animal but writing a scene in which a white cop is rightfully portrayed as selfish is too hard.

It's easy to call the Latino man a monster but writing Peter Parker as a heroic figure is too hard.

The racism is not just towards Miguel. It's also in the blatant favoritism the white male characters are given.

Both George and Peter actively endanger those around them and at no point do they do something on their own accord that helps anybody but themselves.

Gwen has to go to her father - by force. Gwen has to go to Peter - using Hobie's hard work.

What we NOT GONNA DO is give the white man praise when it's literally the black guy who did all the work.

Fuck - Hobie mentored Gwen TEN TIMES MORE than Peter ever did Miles. Hobie put a roof over Gwen's head and came to get her when no other person would.

Writers, stop trying to make me sympathetic towards the white men who actively hurt the people around them when there's good mentors like Hobie and good parents like Rio and Jeff.

I ain't with the shits'. If anyone is an animal in this script, it's the man who pointed a gun at his daughter.

I guess assaulting and mentally scaring children is only okay if you do it with a firearm? Or if you make this face while doing it 🥺*

(*coupon not available for the melinated)

I changed my mind i don't forgive Peter or George. Miguel who has a whole ass arc of life and death and loss gets called an animal while the white cop with six minutes of screentime gets shown as father of the year while holding a loaded gun to a child girl you must be kidding me

Maybe Gwen would be in a better mood if we let her kick their asses idk 🤷🏾

[thestarsofpines]

a little wip of a combination of prompts and AUs I've seen that I just had to give my own take on.

Damian was bored. He’d followed Father around for most of the night, listening absentmindedly to the trivial blabbering of rich socialites that tried to suck up to the prince of Gotham. He could only handle it for so long, patience quickly running out as a few shoved their own children his way, perhaps hoping the young heir would make a friend and create easier access to the Wayne wealth. Pitiful. 

The young teen stood off to the side of a polished dance floor that had couples mingling and swaying to the soft classical music playing. He’d picked up a drink and was sipping at it slowly, just to have something to do with his hands. He itched for something to do that wasn’t making small, meaningless talk.

He hears footsteps approaching, perhaps a bit heavier than intended, as if it was a warning for someone that they were approaching.

“Little Badger, we talked about this in great detail earlier, you are not to leave my sight-“

Just as a man moves to place a hand on Damian’s shoulder, the teen turns around and glares at the man. He takes in the details of the man quickly; older, likely mid forties if not older, gray hair pulled back into a low ponytail, vibrant blue eyes that at first are narrowed at him in perhaps annoyance before they turn wide with shock. The man recovers quickly, expression turning apologetic as he steps back.

“Oh-my most sincere apologies, I thought you were someone else!” He breathes out, and his expression shifts again to one of slight surprise as he takes in more of Damian’s features from the front. “My, you two do look quite alike.” He says easily, hand coming back to rest beside him before he places both his hands behind his back. “I do apologize again, young sir…?”

Bruce spots this interaction, politely ends the conversation he was in, and makes his way over to investigate. 

“Damian Wayne, my son.” Bruce slides up to the pair, standing easily at Damian’s right. “Vlad Masters, yes?”

Said man’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the easy recognition and at the fact that he could’ve accidentally torn into such an influential young man as he’d been planning to do to whoever he was looking for, but he recovers quickly again.

“Yes, I was just apologizing to your boy here, Mr. Wayne. It seems he has quite a lot of physical similarities to my godson.”

Damian remains silent, but nods in the direction of the billionaire. Something isn’t sitting right with him about Masters, but he can’t put it into words. He’ll allow Father to handle the situation, for the moment. 

“Oh? Why, that is quite interesting.” Bruce smiles, open and disarming. He places a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and gives a subtle squeeze. “What’s the young man’s name?”

“Daniel,” And the grip tightens ever so slightly. “He is the son of some old family friends who unfortunately cannot take care of him anymore, so I’ve become his legal guardian in their stead.”

“How kind, opening your house to a youth in need.” Bruce continues, pushing for more information. “From experience I know how hard that can be. Raising a teenager is no cakewalk that’s for sure.”

“Oh yes, I do recall hearing of your experiences with adoption; you’re up to four adoptions now, yes?” There’s a hint of something in Vlad’s eyes, likely aware of the information seeking nature of this conversation but unconcerned by it. Intriguing. “I can hardly claim to have such kindness, one fifteen year old is enough for me.”

Damian has to physically restrain his face from reacting. Perhaps this is another cloning situation. Perhaps this Vlad Masters should be higher on the priority list of people to investigate closely. 

“Oh, well I do believe I have taken up enough of your time, Mr. Wayne. I really must get looking for Daniel, as we do intend to leave soon.” Vlad holds out a hand to the two, smiling confidently. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.” 

Bruce takes it and shakes it politely; Damian’s following is more forced in its gentleness. Vlad Masters unsettles him and it is driving him mad that he cannot pinpoint why. 

“Enjoy the rest of the gala, Vlad Masters. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.”

[aealzx]

_______________________

Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

_______________________

It wasn’t long after the kids had rushed upstairs that Leslie arrived, and Bruce escorted her up to Danny’s room with Jason following them. It would be easier for Leslie to have them all together in the same room, and Bruce knew that his two oldest sons would be the best at handling keeping Jazz calm. She had only just met Bruce that morning, and only briefly, without speaking to each other. He didn't think she would be that comfortable with him yet. So while Leslie started stitching up his sons, having taken some time to get Danny hooked back up to heart and blood pressure monitors, Bruce turned to Damian.

“I’m going to get the collection device. Can you ask Danielle to meet me here? It shouldn’t take long,” Bruce requested, knowing that Danielle was probably roped into trying on clothes with Stephanie, but still wanting to make some progress on one of his self assigned tasks.

“Yes, Father,” Damian agreed easily, heading off to Stephanie’s room with Titus following closely behind.

Bruce left the hallway to Leslie commenting to the others that she had been expecting a lot worse, and made the trip to the Batcave a quick one. The canister had been left on the work table after he’d changed, so it was easy to scoop up and hurry back upstairs. And when he returned Danielle was there, enthusiastically rubbing Titus’ cheeks.

“Who’s a big boy? You’re a big boy,” Danielle cooed, gushing over the dog that was almost the same height as her.

“That’s Titus. And this is Ace,” Damian introduced officially, pleased with Danielle’s treatment of the dogs.

“They’re both your’s?” Danielle asked, reaching over to pet Ace as well when he got close.

“Titus is. Ace belongs to Father,” Damian responded, starting to pet them as well.

“Cool! I have a dog too. Well, he’s actually Danny’s, but he likes me too,” Danielle chimed before noticing Bruce was next to them now. “Oh. What’s up? He said you wanted me.”

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, gesturing for Danielle to enter the bedroom with the others so that Jazz would be aware of what he was asking Danielle to do. “I had Cass take this on patrol with her, and wanted to see if it was collecting the correct substance. I thought you would be the best to confirm if it is,” he explained, briefly showing Danielle the canister Cass had given him at the parking garage before twisting the device in the middle. Pulling the top away, he revealed the ping pong ball sized glass orb inside, holding still when Danielle looked closer.

Inside the glass was a gently swirling, green liquid that was softly glowing very faintly. It was a lot more pale in color, and thinner in consistency than Danielle was used to. But without the metal barrier she could definitely pick up on the faint, familiar signature. “Oh my gosh, you found some!” she gasped, snatching the bauble from Bruce and holding it up to look at it. “Jazz, they got ecto!” she exclaimed, glancing at Jazz before looking back at the liquid. “Or at least it seems like it. Normally it’s a little… more,” she hummed, swirling the contents a little and scrunching her face slightly.

Jazz seemed stunned, not sure how these people were able to find something that she and her family had spent two months looking for. And what they had found had only been a corrupted version of it. Was this the same?

Without asking Bruce for permission, Danielle placed a finger on the opening of the bottle and tipped it over to get some of the substance on her hand. Rubbing her thumb against it, she noted that it definitely seemed to be ectoplasm, just not as concentrated as she was used to. And when she confirmed that she abruptly took a small swig from the bottle, smacking her tongue at the taste and ignoring the mildly startled expressions from the others. “Yeah, that’s definitely ectoplasm,” Danielle confirmed despite looking at the bottle again in mixed disappointment. “But it’s like… the skim milk version or something. It’s very diluted.”

The analogy made Dick snort softly, but Bruce breathed a small sigh of content. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still progress. “Much better than the Lazarus water though?” Bruce asked, holding his hand out for the bottle to be returned, glad she didn’t drink it all just yet.

“Oh, way better,” Danielle agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “That was more like rotten milk from months ago. With all the chunks and mold.”

This time the analogy made Dick gag a little, and even Bruce grimaced. “I’ll take your word for it considering I’ve never personally tried milk that was that spoiled,” he chuckled, replacing the bottle into the canister to seal it again. “It gives me a better idea on what to work towards. I’ll see if I can modify the next collection device to be able to draw a less diluted strain from the environment. How much do you think we’ll need?”

“Cool,” Danielle grinned, only somewhat excited considering it didn’t seem to be completely ready or useful yet. “Honestly, that was like… half a blueberry all together,” she gestured to the bottle. “I could get that from sitting in a graveyard around here for an hour. So it’s not a lot, but if you can manage to get more, faster, then it’ll probably be good.”

That was a significantly smaller amount than Bruce had been hoping for, but he would accept it. Like Danielle implied, it was still better than nothing. “Thank you. That was all,” he bid, letting Danielle choose to stay or not as he headed further into the bedroom, standing next to Leslie as she was finishing securing the bandage on Dick’s forearm. “How is everyone?”

“Your boys will be fine. Nineteen sutures for Dick, and twenty two for Jason. Just keep the sites clean and dry, like you’re used to,” Leslie reported, turning to face Bruce on the stool that had been provided.

“No signs of a concussion in either of them?” Bruce asked, just to make sure considering the blow Jason had taken to the head.

“Not that I can see,” Laslie confirmed, wordlessly shifting her body towards Danny and following through with the intent when Bruce nodded to allow her to continue her work. “I was hoping to see more improvement in this one compared to last night, but as far as initial vitals tell the variations in readings are within the same parameters. I’ll need to take a full blood sample to run some more comprehensive tests. Did you have something you wanted to try on him?”

It wasn’t a reassuring report, but it also wasn’t one that was unexpected to Bruce for someone who was in a self induced stasis. But something about the phrasing, and the way Leslie had turned Danny’s arm to face palm up and started to feel for a vein while asking if Bruce had anything to test on him made Jazz jump to her feet. “Absolutely not!” she shouted, roughly shoving Leslie away from Danny and standing protectively in front of him.

Bruce was quick to catch Leslie and lift her to her feet before she fell to the ground, quickly taking in Jazz’s reaction as well as what had led to it.

“Jazz?”

“What was that for?”

Dick and Jason’s questions were confused, but Jason was also wary. Neither of them liked the treatment of their doctor, but neither of them were dumb enough to not notice Jazz was reacting out of fear.

“What’s going on?” Danielle’s voice came from the hallway as left petting the dogs in favor of running into the room, placing herself between Jazz and the others and raising her fists slightly just in case. That was until Jazz grabbed her and pulled Danielle behind her as well, raising her arms to block both her siblings from the others.

“I said no,” Jazz emphasized. She was trying to glare at them, but her shaking form was far from intimidating. “If you think, for one second, that I’m going to let you experiment on my brother and sister then you have another thing coming-... W’what…?”

Bruce reacted quickly after his eyes scanned the surroundings, gently pushing Leslie behind him and holding his hand out for Dick and Jason to stay back as well. And as Jazz revealed her concerns that they were trying to experiment on Danny, Bruce took one step back before she finished, causing her to falter.

“...I would never experiment on your family, Jazz,” Bruce assured, keeping his voice more on the gentle side and avoiding trying to deny her assumption. She didn’t need to be told that wasn’t what their intention was. She needed to be assured that it would never happen, regardless of any circumstances surrounding them. “Nor would I allow anyone else to try. It doesn’t matter if he’s not a typical human, he still deserves to be treated like one.”

While Bruce’s words cleared up any confusion Dick and Jason had about the reaction from Jazz, they only served to incite confusion in the girl. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. In her mind he would either deny that the blood draw was for experiments, or would openly admit what they intended. Not tell her what she and her siblings and parents had been trying to prove to other people for months now. That ghosts were still human, and deserved to be treated as such.

“...W’what?” Jazz repeated, her defenses faltering.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Bruce reinforced, slowly lowering to kneel on the floor, allowing Jazz to look down on him instead of him towering over her, keeping his hands visible. Dick and Jason supported the action by backing away more while also keeping their hands visible, giving them plenty of space. When Jazz didn’t vocally respond, Bruce continued. “We won’t take anything from Danny, or Danielle, without clearly stating what it’s intended for, and getting permission first. With Danny being unable to answer, we’ll defer to you for that permission.”

Jazz looked like she wanted to believe Bruce, but was afraid to. Her arms lowered in favor of wrapping around Danielle and carefully holding her close. She found it hard to respond, the words in her mind a jumbled mess. “I’i… I don’t understand. Everyone who knows tries to hurt him. Even our parents did… until they found out it was him.”

That was concerning to hear, but not shocking. “Those people aren’t here,” Bruce assured, shifting his hands to be offered to Jazz instead, palms up. “And you didn’t hurt him. Neither did the others,” he reminded, noting how her breath shuddered as it left while she made the connection in her mind. There were people who wouldn’t hurt ghosts just because they were ghosts. It was going to be okay. “Let’s take a minute to focus on you, okay? Maybe just sit, and take some deep breaths?”

It was only an offer, but Jazz couldn’t keep herself from collapsing to her knees, tears budding in her eyes as she brokenly stared at Bruce. Ever since they had taken her and her family in she had been afraid they were just playing at being nice. Just waiting for a time when they could start researching her siblings. But even though she’d accused them of trying it, they didn’t behave at all like she’d thought they would. It wasn’t fair. How dare he give her the chance to not be in charge for once. Why did he have to tell her it was okay to prioritize herself for the time being? How long had it been since she started telling herself it would be just a little longer and everything would be okay?

As Bruce started to visibly breathe slowly, coaxing her to do the same, Jazz broke into sobs while trying to mimic him. That little bit of familiarity that she knew from studying about how to help calm someone who was panicking was giving her something to latch onto that for once didn't just bring more self doubt and stress.

At this point Dick couldn’t keep himself back any longer, especially if Bruce was only going to sit there. So he quietly, but still audibly, approached the others to kneel near Jazz while Danielle tried to comfort her sister by rubbing her back. “Would you like a hug?” Dick offered, holding his hands out to the over stressed teenager.

“Uh huh,” Jazz accepted with a sob, nodding as she shuffled forward to accept the hug and hiccup into Dick’s shirt, a muffled apology half voiced.

“It’s okay, we understand,” Dick assured, taking over for Danielle and rubbing Jazz’s back while holding her firmly. “There’s been a lot for you to handle. And you did great. You can let us help take care of you now. We’ll keep you all safe.”

“And if you still have doubts, just remember forty one stitches and a piggy back,” Danielle consoled, trying to reinforce Dick’s statement even if it did earn a confused look from both Dick and Jazz.

“...What?” Jazz hiccuped, the confusion stilling her crying just enough to respond.

Danielle just grinned. “Nineteen,” she said, pointing to Dick, “and twenty two,” now to Jason, “makes forty one stitches. And they carried me home, even after getting cut up,” she explained, gaining a rare, warm but huge smile. “That’s more than the Guys in White ever did for either of us.”

Jazz stared at Danielle for a long stretch, finding it hard to comprehend how something so simple was so hard for her to have used as proof before that this family not only wasn’t going to hurt her family, but was going to go out of their way to help them. She felt a little embarrassed now, cheeks burning hot as she turned to smother her face in Dick’s shirt again. “...I’m so sorry,” she apologized again, her tears abating significantly.

Dick could only chuckle lightly, giving her a soft pat on the back, and another rub. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured again. “Like I said. We understand.”

And they did. Though Jason had to somewhat marvel at being able to see what it was like to not be on the receiving end of Bruce or Dick’s calming methods.

_________________

Theeeere's like 5 different topics I've been struggling to get organized in my brain which led me to completely rewriting this section maybe 4 times, and actually only half of this part stayed as part of this section while another thing as added and the other half is getting shoved to the next part X'D This was after spending like 6 hours researching dialysis, what systemic meant versus sepsis, blood poisoning, learning that was completely different than poison throughout the bloodstream, also looking up plant toxin chemicals, looking a lot into alkaloids, getting so confused I asked my mom about all this stuff and learned about ricin and umbrella assassinations. @ v @ my brain started to hurt, and I info dumped with my beta reader to try and figure things out and still ended up rewriting everything. X'DD

why all that is relevant will be part of the next parts X'D

_________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics,

[thempregsimmer]

When Alex first found out he was pregnant, it was a surprise, to say the least. He never imagined that he'd be carrying his husband’s child, but the modern world had its share of twists, and he was ready to embrace the journey. One thing he hadn’t considered, though, was how much his lifestyle would need to change to accommodate the growing life inside him. His old car just wasn’t cutting it anymore. The cramped seats, the bumpy rides, the lack of storage for all the things he needed as a soon-to-be father—none of it felt right.

“I wasn’t just buying a car,” Alex explained, “I was buying peace of mind.” The spacious, supportive seats offered him comfort during his increasingly frequent trips to the doctor, and the adjustable ride height made it easier for him to get in and out as his belly grew larger.

“But it’s the smooth ride that really sold me,” he said, rubbing his stomach with a smile. “The new car handles the road like a dream. Every bump, every uneven surface—it smooths them all out. It’s exactly what I needed, especially during the last trimester when comfort is everything.”

And as Alex prepared for fatherhood, the vehicle proved to be more than just a mode of transportation. Its spacious back made carrying supplies—everything from strollers to baby bags—effortless. “This car is really for families,” he added. “I guess, in a way, I’m starting my family a little earlier than expected.”

He chuckled, standing tall next to his car on the beach. It had become more than just a car to him; it was a partner in his journey. “I wouldn’t want to be driving anything else right now,” Alex said. “It’s kept me calm, comfortable, and ready for whatever comes next.”

---

Jordan had always been an adventurer. He loved long drives along rugged coastlines, hiking trips, and spontaneous road trips with friends. But when he found out he was pregnant, he knew his trusty old car wasn’t going to cut it anymore. The baby growing inside him meant his priorities were changing, and he needed a car that could handle both the road and the responsibilities that came with this new chapter in his life.

“I never thought I’d be saying this, but being pregnant has totally shifted how I look at cars,” Jordan said, resting a hand on his growing belly. “I needed something that wasn’t just tough but comfortable too. A new car was the answer.”

Jordan appreciated the space it offered. As his body changed, he found himself needing more room—both for comfort and for all the stuff he was now carrying around. “It’s surprising how much space a guy with a baby bump needs,” he laughed. “But with this car, it’s like I have my own little cocoon. The seats are adjustable, and the back has more than enough room for all the gear I need.”

He pointed to the SUV's off-road tires, grinning. “And don’t get me started on the off-roading capabilities. I might be pregnant, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped exploring. This thing has taken me to some of the most beautiful, remote places where I can relax and connect with nature. It’s like I haven’t missed a beat.”

But the biggest surprise for Jordan was how much the car helped with the emotional side of his pregnancy. “Honestly, it’s been a crazy ride—pun intended,” he admitted. “But being in this car makes me feel strong and in control, even when my body is doing its own thing. This pregnancy wasn’t at all planned, it’s a result of one of those passionate dinners that come with breakfast in bed afterwards. However, I’m glad it happened, and that I’m carrying my son inside me now. He’s taking up a lot of space, both in my belly, and in my head. Sometimes I feel like I’m loosing control over my life and body, and I know it’s worth it, but it’s a feeling I have never had before.”

As Jordan leaned against his SUV, he looked out at the horizon. “I know it might sound strange, but this car has given me a sense of freedom. Even with the changes happening in my life, I can still be me. And when my baby comes, I know this car will help us have so many adventures together.”

For Jordan, the car was more than just a vehicle. It was a lifeline to his independence, helping him navigate both the literal and metaphorical roads of pregnancy and beyond.