#and that creature just REALLY wants to be a good dad
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Making another post actually, because all of the symbolism in Win or Lose is amazing.
Having anxiety be a creature that just grows and grows, and eats away and crushes Laurie down until she can't speak or walk like she used to? Having Laurie's dad always be under the sun, or some kind of light to signify that while Laurie is religious, and looks up to god, what she's really looking to is her father?
The way armour is necessary for some jobs - Frank need to be able to take criticism, and still stick firm to what he knows is true, - and that relief of taking it off? And when it bleeds into personal life, what can he even do? When he's been heart, because he can't open up, doesn't that just make it harder to shed that in the first place?
And then Ira, whose perspective reminds me a lot of Captain Underpants, and is so, so sweet. He's just a little kid, and a little weird, and he just wants friends who like him for that! And he wants his big sister to like him, and spend time with him! And he's so imaginative, the scribbly, cartoon style of his little world he spies through? I was just in love. The fact that he kept picturing the teenagers as super heros and rebels and good guys- and just the fact that he sounds like a kid! Are you kidding, that autraulian joke? I laughed so hard because I've heard kids talk like that, that's what shy, caring little kids sound like when they've been shot down before!
Yuwen's mini me inside his heart screaming like me!!, the version of him he doesn't let out, because it's cardboard and flimsy and so easy to crush. I'm really amazed at the way they portrayed Yuwen and Taylor, because i remember being in middleschool, and while I never dated (cough cough aroace), the depiction of them "picking out curtains and moving in" feels so real, because I do believe that's what love will always feel like, no matter the age. Being in middleschool doesn't mean the love isn't true, or isn't there just because it's not likely to last. And the way they depicted kissing, not by showing them kiss, but by showing what it felt like? I was amazed. Baffled. I can't believe I haven't seen more things like that.
(It's actually incredibly interesting to me, that 2/3 main male characters shown so far, have gimmicks of protection. Protecting themselves, their emotions, and who they are as a person, because they feel they can't be open and honest, they feel they can't trust their emotions to guide them.)
I talked about Rochelle and her mom in a seperate post, but the gasp I let out when I realized Rochelle's gravity was weird because she didn't have the stable force of a mom? Oh my god. Rochelle feels like her family is upside down, that she has to be the adult, and because of that, every force in her life is turned upside. She has no one to rely on and nothing to ground her, until her mom is finally there for her, no phone in hand at the end of episode 4. Gravity rights itself because her mom is there, fully present, to help her.
The way they contrasted Rochelle's episode's mood with her mom's was fantastic, because her mom's felt like a performance. She's performing, always, because she doesn't know how to be otherwise! She performs being a good mom and performs being happy for her audience, and even performs at the party, wether she wants to or not! That was an audience! And everything about her performance has bleeded into the way she sees the world, how everything's pink and sparkling and upbeat. It's only when she finds Rochelle do we see her not performing, we get to see, for the first time, who Vanessa is for just Rochelle. For just her family.
I'm so invested, so obsessed, SO READY FOR THE NEXT TWO EPISODES!!
(As a sidenote, if you haven't seen the storyboards of the cut trans scene, here's a link to the internet archive of them. I can't find them anywhere else. But the Picasso style falling apart, the shattering and splitting of identity, because Kai is scared, and has to act both parts and it's confusing and hurting her and oh- it really just punches me in the gut.
Here's the link directly to the archive: https://archive.org/details/23fr-4r
and the link to the reddit post i got it from: https://www.reddit.com/r/lostmedia/comments/1hhj1zh/partially_lost_deleted_storyline_from_upcoming/
please go watch it if you like the show it's absolutely beautiful <3)
#win or lose#pixar#laurie win or lose#rochelle win or lose#vanessa win or lose#frank win or lose#yuwen win or lose#ira win or lose#taylor win or lose#<- i will build the tags for these characters from the ground up if i have to
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I need more Baldurvæn content. He's just so cute 😭
i'll do the same thing that i did with luisne (give a list of random facts)
his sacred animal is the rabbit! i chose this because they symbolize innocence and purity so yeah
he's the only poki kid that loki doesn’t mess with cuz he just feels bad 😭😭😭
the last time loki pranked his son was when they were having flying lessons, loki pretended to lose his grip and baldurvæn plummeted down. poor baby cried A LOT and percy got so pissed she gave loki the cold shoulder (hurting him would've only turned him on 💀)
because of this, baldurvæn now has a fear of heights. GOOD GOING LOKI. dad of the year right here 😒
so yeah, loki feels bad so he doesn't do it as much now 😭
he knows how to bake because he often helps his mommy bake!
his absolute favorite food is carrot cake and percy taught him how to make it from scratch
when he first met dory, dory gave him candy to lure him away and tried to feed him to cthulhu 💀 kymon caught them and stopped it before their mom could find out 😭
baldurvæn didn't understand that he was nearly murdered by his psycho half-brother, he genuinely thought they were just on a bonding trip and dory was being nice by feeding him candy 😭
dory also put him in a trash can 💀 baldurvæn thought they were playing hide and seek 😭😭😭😭😭
he's one of the few kids that likes to sleep, mainly because when he was younger, his daddy would give him these super cool bedtime stories and he'd use his magic to make the scenarios come to life! since he enjoyed them so much, he gives himself a bedtime so he can hear more stories from his daddy 💖
he has been to midgard before, but doesn't like new york 💔 he thinks it's too loud and the people there are scary 🥺💔💔💔 he prefers small villages/towns in norway and nature attractions
when he first met poseidon, he tried to formally greet him but poseidon straight up said "your mother should've aborted you, you wretched creature 😠🔱" 💀💀💀💀
when he first met beelzebub, he wanted to formally greet him too, but he got scared off... beelzebub just gave him really scary vibes so he couldn't do it 😣
odin built a ten story library within the palace all for baldurvæn and it consists only of children's books and EVEN children's books from MIDGARD because baldurvæn pleaded for it 💖💖💖💖
thor lets him play with his hair 💖💖 he's a mini hairstylist now!
PERCY INTRODUCED HIM TO POKEMON AND MYTHOMAGIC! HE OFTEN PLAYS MYTHOMAGIC WITH HIS BIG BROTHER GROVER 😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖
he has a lot of pokemon plushies and mythomagic action figures in his room 😭💖💖💖💖💖💖
he is very sad that his mommy doesn't have a mythomagic card or figure "but mommy, you're a greek goddess too, so why don't you have one? 🥺💔"
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the creature is back with another private response!


time to deliver the coup de grâce to this... well, i would say fagtard, but being both a faggot and a retard, we dont claim her.
i could give a fuck if you wanna be my friend. i would rather tie a copper wire around my penis and run naked into a thunderstorm than ever even think to be your friend and deal with your manipulative and abusive bullshit. funny how you call me immature when you still talk shit about me and my friends behind our fucking backs. you say i wont leave the conversation alone, meanwhile you forget we can still see your subliminal jabs at us. situationship with my name attached? wow. a mature person doesnt talk shit about people theyve supposedly moved on from like you are. what im trying to accomplish is making you realize this shit is manipulative and awful, and you cant just cry and piss and shit when you get called out on it. i would let it go if you would, too. but you consistently keep making subliminal jokes about us. and good that you dont want to be friends anymore. that really does not do what you think it does. im actually thanking every god right now that you don't want to be in any way associated with me. so shut the fuck up and stop talking about me and my friends--no, my FAMILY, behind our fucking backs. we gave you everything, and you do this. call us pedophiles and shit talk us behind our backs. either be brave enough to say it to our faces or shut the fuck up. better yet, make good on your threat. get the fuck off of here. you would do this website a fucking favor. i used to think your dad and brother were shitty. now? i see it runs in the family.
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FNAF Pit bonnie considers himself a great dad!
#myart#chloesimagination#comic#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#fnaf fanart#fnaf gregory#glamrock freddy#pit bonnie#fnaf oswald#into the pit#security breach#there’s something so funny to me about this concept#like pit is a horror beyond human comprehension#literally made up of the agony and tragedy of Freddy’s#and that creature just REALLY wants to be a good dad#ITS JUST SO GOOD#pit Bonnie sees Glamrock Freddy getting called dad#another animatronic like him#BUT OSWALD is never calling this dude ‘dad’ BAHA#HE REFUSES to competely#better luck next time pit Bonnie 🙏🏾
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*ahem ahem*, if I may be so bold to ask...(and if you don't mind-)
What is Ragnvindr's dynamic with Venti in Boy and the Whirlpool? Do they ever meet face-to-face?
i don’t mind at all !!
and yes they do meet :D it will be relatively soon-ish (picks up papers and skims through the word count steadily rising) if god wills it. and ooh boy.
ragnvindr is already trying to keep an eye out for bard, to keep him out of as many spotlights as he possibly can, so that the guy can have at least Some good experiences as he grows up in this city, before everything becomes worse. he knows that there are places better—but for now.. he will lend the bard slices of what could be (what Will be, one day)
and then. bard goes and meets something that could doom them all.
they are. very terse !! in the beginning. venti did not think they would be sharing with other people, because while they know other humans exist here, he has not seen any around bard. and they know that humans think them scary, so they try to make themself as unassuming as possible, but. for this man. who lectures and scolds the bard with an undercut of concern. they test the waters a little—inching too close, grinning wide with their teeth. just a bit of a standstill between two protectors 😭
they do grow to respect each other, dynamic turning a bit into a bit drypan teasing and remarks for ragnvindr. go and fetch us something useful, you overgrown fish (venti blows a raspberry at him). especially since ragnvindr is more muscle than bard HDHS so he can take venti playhousing with him a little better. ragnvindr and the cat the siren he said he didn’t want, talking with each other over ocean matters and fishing <3
#going with the cat metaphor again theyre really just like. having to sniff each other through a door to get used to the other#rag who saw this kid come to the tavern with scraped up knees and a wide smile and wants to keep that happiness even for a moment longer#ven who heard bard singing solemnly and wants to make sure they never hear sadness in his voice again#poking at each other.. threat ?? threat ????? okay no we’re good#and then rag learns that ven is just as mischievous as bard and sighs#bard: so you don’t like them you said#rag with ven laid over his shoulders and rubbing their cheek against him: (completely stone faced) yes i did say that#rag has a big heart to me. he wants to keep people safe#but sometimes to do that you have to make big and difficult decisions#so yes he can accept this creature — but if anything happens he will be prepared#a small degree of distance to his actions#if that makes sense ??#wariness ….#lantern replies#mutuals !#the boy and the whirlpool au#i do think “dad and the cat they said they didn’t want” is their dynamic in canon too tbh even if to a lesser degree#if rhw could get over venti shapeshifting to bard 🙄 /j
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Not to detract from your point that most dangerous stuff isn't in cities, but I used to do snake collection and relocation in Brisbane and would get at least one a week (in spring and summer) in my collection area where I'd have to remove an eastern brown from people's homes. I wouldn't go more than half an hour's drive away from my house and there were at least 6 other people in the city who did it.
I also kept an eye on local populations of redbellies at my local bushwalk park because they were neat and I knew where they liked to sunbathe.
There are snakes in the cities, there are venomous snakes in the cities. Snakes are not evil or aggressive (though brown snakes will tend to get defensive instead of flee), and they're not out to get you.
But there are very definitely snakes in cities and that's why you need to keep junk like dead cars and tin sheets out of your yard, keep the grass mowed, and wear appropriate footwear if you're going walking off a path.
Sometimes they get into your house and you call a guy who comes and puts it in a bag, but you're only allowed to release them within 2km of where they were collected, they are not driven multiple hours away or anything. Usually they go to the first patch of scrub nearby, because they live here and are supposed to be here.
Snake safety is basically if it's outside, keep your kids and pets inside and it will eventually fuck off. Don't try and attack or kill them, that's when people get bitten. Most bites are people trying to attack the snake. If you're super worried call a snake guy.
If it's inside, leave the doors open, keep an eye on it from a safe distance, keep your kids and pets away, and call a snake guy to come remove it. Do not try and catch it yourself, even if you have experience with pythons. You should have training to catch venomous snakes.
(if you don't know how to handle pythons, same rules apply. If you do, use your judgement but know that it's still illegal to harm, trap, or kill them without the proper paperwork and its something like a 75k fine)
As an Australian I love the whole "Australia is a death trap full of vicious deadly animals" cultural myth. Every place has some deadly animals in it who will fuck you over if you don't understand them; we're not more dangerous than anywhere else. BUT we get to look badarse by existing when people pretend we are. No downsides.
#listen i love snakes so much#but they ARE in cities and thats normal natural and a good thing!#snakes are wonderful creatures and if you stay calm and not try and kill them theyre usually really really chill#most of the time i wouldnt even need to hook them you just show them the nice safe bag hole where its all dark inside#and their tiny snake brain goes “oh a convenient hidey hole has appeared#time to escape from this predator“#and they go into the bag themselves#i actually never had to pin a ven at ALL except for when i was training#theyre usually really freaked out and confused about being in a kitchen and just want to hide#that one family that were all on the kitchen table hiding from the snake#that turned out to be dads leather belt#that was fun tho#they were there for like half an hour till i got there#they still had to cover my fuel
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sweet creature // truck driver!rafe x housewife!reader

summary : just a few mixed headcanons.
warnings : +18 content. minors dni. strong age gap. sweetheart x old man trope. smut. p in v. teasing. smoking. size difference. full nelson position bc big men lovers club here. hand fetish(sorry.). sleazy!rafe. squirting. loss of virginity. please, be aware of the warnings before reading.
author's note : muchas gracias a mi dulce @rafesangelita for giving me the idea bc i really loved to work on the concept of truck driver!rafe. shout out to crush by ethel cain too for give me the inspo of the story. <333
can't stop thinking about truck driver!rafe who's a proud working man. he's soooo bulky from charging alone some weighty goods on his eight wheelers everyday to deliveries driving for weeks and days. he's massive without forcing just because he's doing so hard with his hands on daily.
speaking of this, he's got such big sized hands. apparent thick veins on the back and calloused on the palms. large fingers with too much strength. easier for him to manhandle you or lift you up. they're very manly and rough. fat and round biceps with a strong size. he's tall and big, literally showing you without speaking who’s the man of the house, and who you belong to. you feel so secure every time he's around because you can be sure no one is touching you, no one is looking down at you, no one just dare to even glance at you. he doesn’t like to fight because he doesn't want you to think he's gonna hurt you one day, but if it's for you, he can do anything.
even if you don't like it, he's always smoking a bunch of cigarettes while he's driving and listening to some kind of old music. john denver or johnny cash are his favs.
he's always buying some new marlboro reds at the gas station with some gum when he's taking a break. if he's not smoking, he's chewing some gums until there is no flavor. he's just needs to get something in his mouth. just a bad habit.
he’s a loyal man that doesn't care about women hitting on him at the gas station. but sometimes, he's nostalgic because years ago , you were one of them. you were that pretty rebelious girl who's acting like she has no dad, no family and proudly flirting with him, doesn't give a fuck about getting away with a stranger. at first, you called him old man to joke. at contrary, he directly called you sweetheart, thinking that you're such a sweet thing.
both of you ended up in the motel. “ im curious of what you’ve got in your pants, old man. ” “ you're too young for that shit. ” “ huh, huh…don't you think it's more like you're too old for that shit, sir ? ” the smirk on his face at the moment was really something else. that fucking attitude of yours making him bite his lips.
the minute after, you were pinned down on the mattress, his whole body size over yours. “ repeat it. ” “ i said, you're too old to fuck, sir. ” “ isn’t a fucking virgin thing who doesn't even know anything about the word she's saying who's talking right now ? ” “ I'm not a virgin. ” you lied, rolling your eyes at the sight. “ i swear, I'm not ! ” he laughed softly. “ why are you lying, so eager to be a little slut ? that's why you ran away with strangers like me ?” it was the first time a man like that, and you were speechless. not in a bad way. it was just surprising. “ i think you're forgetting your manners. ” he said carefully, his blue gaze burning over yours.
“ if you want it, i will fuck you. but i need you to say it. clear and ‘oud. ” you turned your head away because there's no way you're gonna say such a thing to him. “ i will find someone else then. that receptionist girl was pre…” “ fuck me. ” you quickly said before repeating it slower and clearly. “ i want you to fuck me…” “ alright. spread those fucking legs for me, sweetheart…huh, look at you, being so wet for me…you really need me.” “ ugh, just touch me ! stop talking, old man. ” you gasped. “ remember that you asked for it. ”
“ yea, yea. ” he started to unbuckle his belt before taking off his pants. your mouth was gagging at his fat cock hanging between his heavy thighs. “ it’s not gonna suck itself. ” you gasped loudly, swallowing hard. “ i j-just don't know how to do it…show me please. ” “ fine. after all, it's my job as your eldest. ”
and that's how you consumed your first night with rafe.
truck driver!rafe who’s got such a pretty polaroid of you that stays and never leaves his truck. there is your lipstick stains on it and a sweet “ good luck ” written on the white space.
as a good housewife, you always prepare him some delicious meals to keep him fed even if he's away. you're always checking on your man' and loves when he's gaining more weight.
he's starting to get old, hitting his forties soon. he doesn't really care about his physic anymore but you still find him so attractive. when you met him, he was already a grown man so it didn't really change anything. he loves to wear a cap on his messy mullet, thinking that it makes him look cool. biggest tees with long sleeves lover. the fabric is not good enough to hide his muscular frame because his big size is so obvious. and he's wearing those blue jeans that fit his muddy boots.
he's not very hairy, but he's not the type to shave often like he used to when he was younger. he's fine with the apparent thick hair of his happy trail and mustache that makes him look like an 80's pornstar. when he's come home, shirtless and sweating, he's just serving you the best look to fuck.
you're obsessed with his scent after a long shift work. you don't care how strong he smells, you just want to hug him and never leave. while he's holding you tight, he's getting you locked on his hug, your face buried against his heavy and glistening chest. and you can't help but kiss his wet sweating tee.
even if he's tired, just knows this man gonna fuck you very hard, especially when you're so clingy to him. you can forget vanilla with truck driver!rafe, there's no way he's gonna be sweet on your fucking pussy, especially after you've been teasing him with dirty pictures of yourself while he was away and driving. also, he does need some stress relief so prepare to be dumb for at least one fucking day raw.
he's excited the moment he sees you. there is no more teasing. he's now in charge of everything and you better take everything he's gonna give you. this is not like he gives you other choices. at this moment, his favorite position to fuck you will be full nelson because you're trapped on his tight muscular hold, forced to bounce on the thickness of his dick. he's dicking you down so hard that you could hear the famous flap flap flap of his heavy balls slapping your skin.
“ don't fucking move. ” he treaths you with the raspy sound of his voice, while your body is bouncing at every of his thrusts. you're shaking loudly on his rocked abs, lips filled with drool and tears running down your heated cheeks. ” you're so fucking tight..! gonna give your pussy a big stretch…fuck ! ”
every back and forth is powerful enough to make your pussy throbs. the way his fleshy cock is moving and bruising your hole — going further and further to the point your stomach is filled with every inch of his shaft, the veiny lines of his dick pulsating inside your cunt and growing harder on your belly. all your whines and cries are nothing for the truck driver, nothing more than a sign to fuck you even faster and stronger. he still holding your twitching body against his toned chest, feeling every squirms of yours on his sweaty skin, and his hands grips at your back legs, while giving you the craziest thrusts. his hands feel so warm and huge on your lower tummy, fingers bruising at your belly while his length is striking to your spot each time. “ you're d-deep…fuck, rafe !! ah…it feels so good…” you cry out of emotions, tears bursting on your face again. “ yea, right ? fucking deep’. you really feel it inside you baby. ”
he's stretching your cunt so well that you can't stop screaming and quivering, feeling his sweat sticking to your body. his breathing is hard and heavy on the side of your cheeks, his jaw slacks but he keeps his mouth wide open loudly panting and getting deeper and stronger, lips tugging at your ears.
he's such a bully. i mean, his dick is. hitting and hitting your g-spot with any fucking breaks, always striking at it like a weapon. getting no mercy and pity on the way he's making you cry. he loves to see your face turning dumb, eyes wide shut, mouth leaking too much saliva, stupid babbles coming from your trembling lips. he's just pushing himself so deep inside your swollen core, breathy moans filling his lips as his cock hardly twitch between your walls, making your throbs even more. you can't even breathe without choking on yourself.
it's like he knows how to take all your energy with his thrusts. his cock won't leave your pussy alone, the veins still hard and bulged with pumping blood, and balls full even after your first orgasm. but not only he wanted you to come but to squirt too.
“ r-rafe, i feel it coming…nghh! ah stop. i c-ca…” “ just let it go, baby. can you do that for me ? ” and it happens just two seconds after, your stretched pussy opening bigger to splash a strong liquid over your folds and making a pool everywhere on yourself. you can't even process the situation that his dick is back into your walls again, merciless pounding your wetted hole. with the same fucked pace. you're such a shivering mess you can't feel anything except the length that's driving hard in your soaked insides. now that you're squirted, it's such a big wet place on your cunt. and he leads him to make you squirt another time. the sound of your pussy pumping his dick is so squishy and loud.
when he comes inside you, you can be sure it's gonna leak a lot from your slick. he's gonna fuck until his balls are empty, and your pussy gonna coats with so much of his sperm.
to be sure of his cock being dry, he's softly slapping at your lips with the tip, and making you clean it. he loves how sloppy you're sucking when you're tired, but he's a hard sucker for the look you give him when his dick weakly falls out of your mouth, and a stream of his sperm sticks at your lower lips.
and you're just off, laying your body back to the sheets.
you can't believe this man was soon forties. you simply can't believe it.
#I'm perfectly normal about about this 🤓🤓🤓#credits headers to @rfcmron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x pogue!reader#rafe cameron x female!reader#obx fanfiction#older!rafe#rafe cameron x you#rafe x yn#rafe cameron concept#rafe cameron concepts#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron smut#truck driver!rafe#rafe x reader#rafe obx#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x female reader#housewife!reader#obx fic#obx smut#rafe smut#outer banks x reader#obx x reader#rafe cameron au#outer banks fanfiction#enouuuuughhh tags
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my body sleeps on your boredom
SUGAR DADDY!PRICE X READER
18+ | sugar daddy/baby relationship. age gap. (implied) mafia au. dom!Price. (slight) dubcon breeding. breeding kink one so insane you can hear Mormons applauding in the distance. contraceptive control. implied financial control. rough sex. infidelity*. dad!John Price. cheating (not between reader and John). Old Money Rich.
What you have with Price is entirely transactional.
His job—the nuances of which he keeps out of the bedroom, the bed—eats up the bulk of his time, and you—pretty little tchotchke that warms his sheets, keeping him cradled between soft thighs, head nestled on the enticing swell of your chest (weary heads and all, you suppose); a homecoming he can sink his stress into—lap up the scraps.
It's an arrangement that works for both of you, really.
Your rent is paid. Closet bursting with clothing. Always tripping over more shoes than you know what to do with. Food in the fridge. Financial worries are swallowed down quickly when they arise (along with a whiskey-tinged glob of spit when he grips your throat and tells you to open wide). He takes care of you. And you—
You take care of him, too.
a simple creature, really: he just wants dinner on the table when he comes over (home), a pretty thing to stare at while he eats, humming around a mouthful as you prattle on about your day (non-negotiable—his appetite is archaic, oppressive: the man grunts around a piece of meat his woman cooked for him as her bare feet slide teasingly up and down his leg, and she fills the stifling silence with inane chatter), and at the end of the obligatory meal, he gets to vent his frustrations out on the wet, warm embrace of your cunt as it squeezes his bare cock (also non-negotiable).
It's an effortless synchronicity.
When you need money, you send a picture of yourself in lingerie he bought above a coy pretty please, daddy to soften the grump up, and after a few exchanges of him lamenting the unnecessary purchase (a part of you, wishful, idealistic, clings to the idea that maybe he just wants an excuse to talk to you, to let you lap at more of his time than think he can afford to give), he relents. The money is sent to your account. You walk out of the department store with an ache in your belly that no amount of expensive wine or truffle could ever hope of filling and bags dangling on the crook of your finger, and he gets to thicken in his trousers over the idea of spending his money on a pretty little thing he can bury his cock inside of whenever the mood strikes. A patriarchal sort of preening. Masculine ego stroke. The role of a dutiful provider all wrapped up nice under the hum of ownership, sex.
(Then he really gets his money's worth when he bends you over the settee. Bought and paid for.)
And you're fine with it. It works. It makes sense because this is the only way that the two of you, together, do.
He's older than you are (salt peppers his hairline; wisps of smoke slither out of the tips of wry, umbre curls. No laugh lines, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles). He has a career. A good one. The second bottle of Violet Sapphire he bought on a whim for you after you whined about running out of the first (a gift—sales lady said you'd like it, sweetheart) isn't cheap. Neither are the handbags. The Tuscan leather shoes. The teardrop pearls. A good man, too. Upstanding citizen, and all that—
(the thin line of pale, creamy skin against ripened peach: a married man. a crayon shoved in the pocket of his trousers: a father.
blood under his nails. ghosts in his eyes. the smell of gunfire and madness clinging to his skin: a monster, too.)
—and you barely finished community college. Scraped by with a degree you're almost entirely certain he paid for, too. But you get to float around a meaningless job doing empty, vapid things to fill your days when he isn't around.
(An ornament doesn't serve a purpose if it isn't being gawked at.)
An imbalance, you suppose. Or a ballad: the timeless tale of a stupid, greedy girl sinking her teeth into a grown man's wallet like a dog with a bone. In his hand, the leash. A tug. Be good.
And you are.
You let him slide inside of you as many times as he wants, and pretend the burnished seaglass staring down at you isn't filled with longing. Kneel on your satin cushion at his feet as he stretches out on his throne, and guides your pretty, empty head to his cock. Good girl.
Always.
Even when you shouldn't be. Even when he's gone for long periods of time. don't wait up, peppering the air as he goes. Nothing but an empty bed. Rumpled sheets. The scent of sex and tobacco. Leather and motor oil. Smoke. Sage and stale sweat on your pillowcase. An ache between your thighs. The tattoo of his teeth seared into your skin. An envelope full of cash (just in case). The card he left behind (anythin' you want).
Little tchotchke put back on the shelf. Tucked away so the reason for that pale strip of skin and the broken crayon in his pocket won't ever see you. A dirty secret. Another skeleton in an overstuffed closet.
Predictable, really.
You know your place in his world even if he doesn't say it.
(until he does—)
Just not in so many words—a paradox considering how much he loves to boss you around, growling commands under his breath (on your knees, open up, suck my cock, pretty girl, want me bad, mm, missed my cock inside your cunt, didn't you? show me how much)—in fact, they don't even come from him.
It comes from the pharmacist when you duck inside to pick up your prescription for birth control, and instead of handing it over, he just shakes his head.
"You don't have any refills for this month."
He's gone for two months.
MayoClinic warns that this is the estimated window needed for the hormones to dissolve from your system. The risk of a pregnancy after this, it reads, is likely.
You ponder that in a penthouse suite, sitting pretty amongst shredded wrapping paper. A Dior Turtleneck Sweater wrapped around your throat instead of his hands. An apology—according to the embroidered card, the tight, messy pen strokes mention something about an unexpected business trip.
The return address on the box is in Liverpool.
It's listed for sale on Zillow. The asking price is just over a million dollars. A family home on a vast plot, it reads. Six bedrooms—five in the main home and an additional inside a detached coach house. A gated driveway. A secluded courtyard with a suntrap. Something called a self-contained annex seems to be the main focal point of the sale. It has five reception rooms and a sprawling garden.
Perfect for a family, it adds.
You thumb the alpaca wool on your knit sweater, and wonder if this is the leash being cut—
Or pulled tighter.
He doesn't bring it up.
And so, neither do you.
It sits like an oafish, gaudy elephant in the background as he walks into the apartment, fingers digging into his tie. Ignored. Dismissed. He grunts when the knot loosens. Shoulders falling lax. Calmed without the clench of something around his neck.
You place his plate on the table when he wanders closer, offering one of those simpering 50s era housewife smiles when his big, bearish hand swallows up your waist. The scent of char and gunsmoke clings to his collar when he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. Acrid. Metallic. Beneath it, you catch stale sweat. Animalic. Unwashed man, leather.
And nothing else.
There's old, greasy sweat on his nose. His hair is slicker than usual. Darker. Blood under his nails. Smoke between his teeth when he hums, offering a low, rasping missed you, sweetheart that scratches along your skin.
He didn't shower before he came to see you.
You hide the notion of it behind your teeth, letting it grace your smile with something that feels less plastic, rigid. More real. Artless. Clumsy. Like the dress he sent ahead of himself and the matching pair of designer heels that still sit inside their box. You'd never wear shoes in the house, but John Price isn't a man who does things in halves.
(a purse sits on the settee: a complete set.)
His eyes are dark—pelagic: the ocean at night; all dark, no stars, moonless—and when he looks at you (in the clothes he bought, in the penthouse he owns, cooking the dinner he wanted), something ripples across the surface. A frisson. Underwater quake. Deep and dark, and darkly possessive. Hungry.
You like the look on him right now. Maybe even more than anything else he'd ever bought for you, done to you, because Price is, above all else, fundamentally human.
He has rules. Expectations. It's rare he's ever driven by instinct beyond anger—that thrilling thing you'd only ever glimpsed when he peeled back the curtain, tearing the skin he wore with you kneeling at his feet and growled into the phone at whoever stroke his ire. He's controlled chaos. Gruff and uncompromisable.
But the look on his face right now splits that staunch control down the middle until it falls, shattering into pieces at his feet.
He growls m’hungry, sweetheart, and you barely have a second to push the risotto aside before he lifts you onto the table, barely sparing a minute to swipe his hand across the surface, sending dishware and untouched food tumbling to the ground with that same little growl he gave to the man on the phone who disturbed him from the comfort of keeping his cock warmed on your tongue all day long.
You're laid over the jacket he'd thrown down—rich with gunsmoke, tobacco, and something sharp and metallic—legs squeezed together, ankles tossed over his right shoulder.
It's messy. Artless. All animal despite the cocoon of finery bracketed around you.
Plates shake from the jarring force of his thrusts. Cups tip, spilling your glass of Roumier across the table. Something shatters when it hits the ground. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even notice the chaos happening around him—as if the world ceases to exist beyond the sight of you taking his cock like a good girl. Spread out for his leisure. His pleasure.
He certainly looks like a hellish king as he stands above you. Towering. Terrifying. One hand wrapped around your throat, keeping you still as he slides his gaze from the tilt of your thighs to the tears puddling in the corner of your eyes as he stretches you open with the thick of him. The other looped under your knees, holding firm. Fingers digging into your flesh. Tight. Rutting like a beast.
There's sweat on his brow. His chest heaves. The hand around your throat slides down your collarbones in a damp spill of heat that makes your toes curl above his shoulder. Rough. Sticky with sweat. With you from when he pried your cunt open on three thick, scarred fingers, grunting at the sloppy mess he found between your thighs. Always so fuckin' wet for him.
It wasn't enough, but you think he likes that. Indulges in something archaic, sinister, when he catches the wince on your face as his too-big cock notches against your too-tight hole. Forcing himself inside with a grunt that sometimes sounds like a laugh when you whimper. When you cry and claw at the sheets and beg for mercy—just a minute to adjust, a second to get used to the burning stretch. The poignant ache when he slides down to the root—so deep, you sometimes think you can taste him in your throat.
He gives no quarter then, and he doesn't now.
Price likes fucking you rough. Edging on painful, bordering on too much. It's the juxtaposition, you think, from the way he treats you like a spoiled little princess who has daddy wrapped around her finger to the dressed up little whore he lays out on a table, bends over a settee, and brands your throat with the clench of his paw as he pounds into you like a beast. A little mean, a little cruel—just enough to balance out the rasp in his voice when he hands you his credit card and says buy whatever you want, sweetheart.
(and miss you, sweetheart—when he's tired and alone and already four glasses of whiskey deep; voice ground down to ash from the cigars he burned through. As soft as a man like him could ever get. Can't stop thinkin' about you, sweetheart. Need to see you, sweetheart. Need your pussy. Your cunt. Your mouth. That tight little ass. Want to fuck your throat until you can't speak for days, sweetheart.
(Want to push m'self so deep inside of you that you forget yourself, love. Forget who you are without my cock inside of you. Can't—can't live without me—)
Ash and soot. The next morning, another ten grand sits in your account. A knife slides cleanly, neatly, into your guts when the accompanying text says for listenin' to the nonsense of a drunk old man. don't take it to heart.)
Balance, maybe.
the thin strip of skin on his finger. the broken crayon in his pocket.
Maybe tonight was supposed to be the end. A clean break.
It makes you wonder if she found out about the tchotchke he keeps in his closet. The pretty little thing he begs to stay when he's drunk and alone, and then rips into pieces the next morning when money is promptly deposited into your account. A cruel-edged don't forget yourself, sweetheart.
But he's snarling as he peaks, grunting above you as sweat drips down his brow, heaving. Panting. Lips twisted up into a snarl. Eyes furious. Mad. His hand is a brand over your mound, possessive as he holds you in his palm, feels the way his cock splits you apart. Owned.
Bought and paid for.
Another grunt, and his thumb dips down to rub at your clit, barking at you to come—come on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel it—until you howl, clenching up so tight around him that it rips a molten, liquid purr from his chest. A throaty moan that breaks you into pieces. Tears the veneer of flesh and bone from your consciousness until your body liquifies, spilling out over the table, mingling with the Chambolle Musigny Amoureuses soaking into your back. Wrapped tight around him, as he batters into you without any finesse. Clumsy ruts. Sloppy. Animal. And then—
His cock swells. Throbs.
Over the roar in your ears, you hear him groan low in his throat, deep and brutal; the rumbling of a well-fed bear burying its dinner in the dirt. It sounds like mine now. Like ain't you, mm, sweetheart? gonna keep you nice and full. got all those rooms to fill, don't we—
wishful thinking.
But he comes inside of you. Bare. Raw. Your hands untangle from around his wrist, palm still wrapped around your throat, and drop down to your belly.
Price sees it and groans—
"that's it, sweetheart—"
(ain't gonna be empty for long.)
He's always had this little fantasy of knocking you up.
Used to growl in your ear about how badly he wanted to see you swell with his babies. Little broodmare he'd keep chained to his bed like a queen. Giving him five sons and five daughters because he could never seem to make up his mind on what he wanted—only that it was a lot.
(An improbable thing, really—he might yank on the leash, but you easily talked him down to four; two boys and two girls.)
He comes back (home) some days with fire in his eyes and sets on you like a man possessed, starved. Smothering you into the mattress with the thick of his body, grunting into your ear about knocking you up. Getting you fat and needy with his babies until you forget what it felt like not to be nursing, to be pregnant.
A terrifying concept. Something that made you rush a little faster to pick up your contraceptives, comparing the pill in your palm to pictures online just to make sure they were the same. And maybe at some point, it just became a game.
He'd press you into sheets and fuck you all day long, making you keep count. Each time he came inside of you was another baby to this empty house. A crazy thing, really. Midlife crisis, perhaps.
But you indulged.
Let him press his hairy, thick chest against yours as he folded your knees up to your ears and pounded inside of your aching, messy cunt, gasping out a tally into his sweat-slicked jaw. Laughed as he kept your legs bent and your hips tilted up, eyes riveted to the split of your sore, aching cunt. Growling an awful amalgamation of primal, masculine satisfaction at the sight of him spilling out of you and in anger at the fuckin' waste.
("gonna plug you up next time," he seethed, two fingers buried inside your bruised hole to stem the flood. "Wastin' it all, sweetheart.")
But that was before.
When he'd shower before he came to see you. Sometimes waiting days after he landed before he was back in your bed, grunting around the idea of another trip you wanted him to take you on, pretending to think about it despite the tickets to Egypt already booked. When he'd play house with you. I Love Lucy on the television, dinner in the oven. His hand curled over your nape as you bobbed your head up and down his cock. A dutiful wife taking care of her overworked husband.
Making babies in the dead of night. When he'd grunt say it, sweetheart into your ear, and you'd beg him to give you another one. Tears in your eyes, lachrymal, as you tried to convince your husband that the baby you put to bed in the empty room needs a sibling.
His hand on the leash, but your voice in his ear—paper soft—pleading don't make our child grow up as an only child, John.
(two weeks in Portofino booked. First class. Luxury resort. A Wolf & Badger swimsuit laying on your bed, one with a gold zipper on the front that he wears out by the sixth day and has to run to town to buy you a new one.)
But that was before. When it was just a rich, dangerous man's fantasy. When you had birth control to keep the unrepentant baby fever he had just a dream. Never a possibility. Never a reality.
MayoClinic says the possibility of conception is high.
The period tracker you glimpse on his phone one evening warns that you have two days before it comes.
When you swallow around the idea of it, half dizzy, half sick (six bedrooms), he rests his hand over your nape, tugging on the leash. His eyes are dark again. Midnight blue, almost black. Hadal.
He keeps them fixed on you. A ravenous black hole. Calmly closing the app as if nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t have your cycle locked into his phone. Rough, calloused thumb brushing over the soft patch of skin beneath your ear. Steady and soothing. Like calming a skittish mare.
Unflinching. Unbothered. Entirely unconcerned when he kicks his foot over the line of what's expected, what you want, and fucks you again that night, bare. Raw. Groaning when he comes. Huffing into your ear about how he'll take such good care of you—both of you.
And when he tucks a pillow under your hips, you drag your hand down to your wet, swollen cunt in a clumsy, enticing attempt to keep him inside of you until he fills the empty space with the thick split of his scarred knuckles.
A performance, you think, when he groans like you gutted him. Bought and paid for.
That's all this is.
But he doesn’t book a trip for this performance.
And he's gone when you wake (business, he says, in a messily scrawled note left on the end table), but there's a gift bag on the dining room table, sitting next to the stain you left when he pulled out of you. Dried come. Slick. Tinged slightly pink because he was rough with you last night. Hurried.
The black box inside is an apology for hurting you even though you know he likes it when his come is a little pink as it leaks out of you. When you wince when you sit, and have to press a icepack against your sore, swollen cunt.
(it doesn't surprise you to find a pack already left out for you. coffee in a pot. breakfast warm on the stove.)
But the next thing he left is the real gift.
Divorce papers—already signed by him, the gold band he never let you see on top—sits on a stamped envelope, awaiting another signature. It just has to be mailed out. When you sift through them, the cause for the divorce is irreconcilable differences.
Balm to the shame is the little fact that he hasn't lived with his wife for the last year. The date of separation coincides neatly with that drunken phone call when he told you he wanted to bury himself so deep inside of you that you couldn't breathe without him saying you could.
Domineering. Grossly possessive.
He has you already, but that's not enough.
It'll never be enough.
("wanna—mm, wanna give you everything, sweetheart. and I want everything, too. every part of you. wanna change your fuckin' name to mine—")
You tap your nail against the page labeled custody agreement, not even a little surprised that this docket has everything outlined, itemised. The table of contents says you'll find the prenup on page fifty-six and the proposed split of assets on page sixty-seven. It's thorough and every bit as intimidating and uncompromising as the man is wont to be.
He's serious.
And John wants his kid. Non-negotiable.
That, too, doesn't really surprise you. Even when you were playing house, he'd always been a rather doting father—
("I don't want them to just have a sibling," he'd growl, firm and immutable, adding (intractable as always): "I want them to have a fuckin' team.”)
The address he gives for his primary residence, however, does give you pause. Liverpool. Chestnut Avenue, Moor Park. Six bedrooms. A guesthouse.
The envelope is filled out, too. All it needs is to be tucked inside and mailed out.
Already separated, his lawyer says, neat and tidy, like everything else in the pages. This was the most inevitable course of action, and my client, John Price, is ready to move on with his new life.
Ready to move on. You scrape your tongue against your teeth, hand settling over your belly as you think about that. It's just—
He's always been a rather obstinate man. Stubborn. Once he gets his head around an idea, very little can change his mind. You'd seen it countless times before, but never this cold. Callous.
Dismissive.
Not to you, anyway. Not that you can remember. It's always been silk sheets, gifts from stores that would deny you entrance based on your credit score alone. A new wardrobe. A new place to stay. And that's—
That's kind of odd, you think. Maybe.
He cut your lease the day after you dragged him home from the bar, back when he was just a bad choice after a terrible night out. Had the locks changed. A new lease in your hands—in his name—and a key under the mat beside a housewarming gift. An expensive espresso machine that would be a little too bourgeois in Starbucks. A penthouse that overlooks the ocean. Members only.
There's a valet. A gym. A swimming pool. He joked one night that you'd feel right at home with the sauna it housed. Jus’ like a lodge, mm.
You're not sure how he knew. It's one of those things that he just does. Like your name. The real one you grew up hearing before you moved to the city and changed it to fit in. How many siblings you have. Your parents. Their birthdays. A gift always sent out in your name, arriving just on time.
All of your old things were donated. You didn't need them anymore—not when he ordered a whole new wardrobe from Loro Piana for you. Handed you his card and told you to fill the house up with whatever would make you happy.
(Fitting, you suppose, since you barely have to think about anything except how to make him happy.)
He turned in your resignation less than three hours after you fell asleep on your lumpy mattress, worn out after a night of drinking. A night of him. More animal than man. Too tired to kick him out before you passed out under the weight of him still burying you into the mattress, hips flexing as he fucked you again for the third time.
(the fourth, fifth while you were still sleeping. waking up to the sixth: him inside of you, a slow grind as he rocks in and out; he's bigger than you. too big. with your thighs wrapped snug around his hips, the top of your head barely clips the ledge of his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around your upper back, the other reaching out, gripping the pillows above you. panting into the thick bed of curls covering his chest as he threads his hand over your crown and presses you tighter against him. groaning into your ear. ducking his head down to rasp out how badly he wants to feel your messy little pussy squeeze him tight—
before he leaves, he hooks two thick fingers inside, and fucks his come into you. makes you come on his cum-soaked fingers before he wanders off with a small smile, the scent of tobacco and sex pungent in the air.)
And the ring—
You thought he never wore it because of some misguided sense of propriety. Decorum. The Madonna—a thin strip of pale skin, waterlilies and cashmere, a crayon in his pocket; tabloids dressing her up as a modern day Diana; a divot between his brow that grows and grows and—
and the Whore—
A penthouse. Dior sunglasses. Cucinelli heels. Colombo jackets. Loro Piana outfits that cost more than your parents make in a year. His credit cards left on your bedside table. Trips in a snap of a finger. Luxury a phone call away.
(his voice pitched low. a smoldering rasp. stay, sweetheart, don't go. don't leave—)
—the divot melting into a brooding, heated stare. Desire drenched across his brow; want so thick, so palpable, you can feel his need throbbing between your legs. Dissolving into ash after, when he loops an arm under your body, cradling you close to his sweat-slicked chest as he leans against the headboard, smoking a cigar. Basking in the scent of sex. Satiety. Your finger curling around a thick whorl of damp, coarse hair. Content.
It’s selfishness. Teeth digging into the man, refusing to let go. But beyond that, you know you’re good for him.
Better for him, you think, and jog the papers on the table, right above that ugly little stain, to neaten up the pile.
It takes five minutes to slip them inside the sleeve, peel the adhesive off of the sticky tab, and walk them down to the mailbox just outside of the lobby. Five minutes to initiate a divorce.
If you had any qualms about falling into bed with a married man—not that he really gave you much room to think about it since he never showed up with his ring, just the mark of her around his neck like a noose; a constant guessing game—it’s put to rest when the metal flap snaps shut.
Shame feels like an elephant. Something in the background. Ignorable.
And besides—
(you place your hand over your belly and hum)
—you have other things to think about, to worry over, than a crumbling marriage.
He must have gotten the notice that you mailed the documents because a text comes later that night. Simple. Succinct.
Good girl.
The elephant slinks away into the moonless night as you pull open the catalogue of engagement rings he left on his bedside table, and circle a few that catch your eye.
All of them sapphire. The same blue as the broken crayon in his pocket.
(The period tracker on his phone chimes a few weeks later.
You don't even bother peeking over his shoulder to know you're late.
You have more things to worry about, after all. Like moving to Liverpool next week when his divorce is finalised, and planning a wedding for the spring.)
#*infidelity but does it really count when your wife is getting in the way of your family 🙄#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#while i def have my suspicions that white ariana is the anti-christ i did listen to needy on repeat while writing this#captain john price#john price#captain price#pricefics
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Since I'm busy working on a valentines day drawing I thought we could do something different until I'm done with that. Trivia night! I'll be writing what's basically a compilation of fun facts we've already established or haven't learned yet. We will also learn more about their backstories.
For tonight we have Silas
Silas has a mom and dad but isn't close with neither of them
As a child he was quite needy compared to other elven kids
Elves almost never stray too far away from the elven village but Silas liked to play in the depths of the forest
He learned about humans from a story book he found while playing in the forest
He was amazed by the colorful imagery and the familial relationship depicted in the book and wanted to have the same, which kickstarted his human hyperfixation
He's currently the most knowledgeable elf in humans within the village
His house is located quite far away from the village, he can still reach there by walking but it's not somewhere where the other elves can just stumble upon
He likes sweet things like fruits or honey but dislikes the taste of meat so doesn't feed it to you much as well
He, just like the other elves, while natural with most other living things, hates all demonic creatures
He's very nice and sweet with you but wouldn't glance twice at other forest creatures and is actively hostile towards demons
Of course he would never let you see him make that kind of face
He thought of using magic to make you live as long as he does but it feels like tempering with your humanity so if you die he's planning to die with you
He's actually not that good at magic compared to other elves, he just knows the basics and relies on books for the rest
He's average height for an elf
He doesn't like leaving bite marks or hickeys on your body because it feels like dirtying your perfect form
But he really likes it when you mark his skin, whether they are hickeys or wounds
While more compassionate than other elves, Silas does have a bit of a superiority complex like them
For example, unlike other elves he does see the intelligence of humans but would still say elves are smarter
He doesn't have any ill intentions with it, to him it's just like saying a unicorn is be better than a horse
He doesn't like eating carrots because he thinks they look like elf ears
He loves learning more about you but dislikes hearing about your family
He doesn't want you to have pets, only the two of you are allowed inside his house
He does have a bathroom in his house but it's just a replica of what he saw in books and isn't actually that functional
If you want to use the bathroom for your baths instead of the river like he does, he just carries the water from the river to his house then uses magic to make it rain on you like a shower head
Even if you don't allow him inside the bathroom he still watches from the window
He has a diary where he writes everything you do in a day, from what activities you did to how many times you blink on average
If you offered to live in a human city with him he would refuse, while he likes humans you are his utmost priority and it's better for you to be inside his house away from everyone's reach
#silas#yandere elf#male yandere x reader#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#yandere#male yandere#yandere oc#oc#original characters#yandere original character#original character#original yandere
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Pregnant with a Ghost
Mr. Crawling/Mr. Scarletella/Mr Silver x MC
I remember a webtoon where this happened and thought it’d be fun!
Enjoy~
(not proof read)
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🏮Mr. Crawling:
-You had noticed the change in your cycle but initially thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until you woke up one morning and threw up a few times that it dawned on you.
-Of course Mr. Crawling has noticed you acting a bit odd. He was worried that you kept waking up and getting sick. He almost brought the nurse to look at you! But every time he asked, you would just kiss his forehead and smile telling him you were fine.
-It wasn’t until you started showing that you couldn’t brush him off. That’s when you sat him down and explained the best you could what was happening. It took a while but eventually he understood that the both of you had made one being.
-He was unsure of how it would play out but he did his best to reassure you! Every time you looked worried, got sick, or had troubles, he would poop up beside you to reminded you “Together.” He would even disappear to find things you mentioned you had been craving! He was actually really good at finding things.
-He noticed the things you began gathering and did some collecting of his own! He’d find small toys and soft items like blankets that he thought you’d like. He’d also try his best to help you assemble things and prepare.
-When it came time for the actual birth he was almost sent into a panic. Watching you scream and struggle to push worried him. He held onto tightly and did his best to soothe you. Combing his fingers through your hair, peppering you with kisses, and holding your hand.
-You half expected him to not even care about the baby but once the baby was born he seemed oddly fixated on it! To your relief the baby looked to be alive, healthy, and mostly human? Skin glowing healthy and a detachable heart beat. Though you could immediately see the resemblance between the baby and its father.
-Mr. Crawling was in love for the second time! Adoring your child and always keeping an eye on them. How could he not love them? As you explained it- this creature was half of him and half of you! They were amazing by all accounts and Mr.crawling sent chills down your back when he came to you at one point asking “Another?”
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🩸Mr. Scarletella
- Of course he knows what’s gonna happen before it happens. He doesn’t tell you on purpose he also has been hooked on creampies since being introduced.
-To be fair though, he didn’t think he it was possible either, he had some knowledge of human reproduction. Nonetheless, when he found you sobbing in the bathroom, he was overjoyed to find out there would soon exist a child that would tether you to him forever!
-During the pregnancy he was overwhelmingly clingy but oddly attentive. Anything you need, just snap your fingers and he’d get it for you in a heartbeat!
-Though he barely let you do anything. You wanted to assemble the baby furniture? Don’t blink because he’ll have it all built and taken care of before you can even dare to lift a finger.
-You also weren’t allow to leave his sight. He had you constantly in arms reach. Whatever you needed, you could have it and enjoying while still sitting in his lap.
-You were scared to death that you would give birth to the antichrist given Mr. Scarletella’s background but to your surprised you where given a healthy human- appearing baby. The only real surprise was that the baby came out with bright red hair. It almost made you giggle seeing the likeness he resembled to his dad.
-Mr. Scarletella would do anything to protect you and his baby. You can be he’ll always be there- on the first day of school, sporting events, graduation- it’s just overwhelming creepy when people see him standing in the background of your pictures!
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🩶Mr. Silver
-He did it in the name of science.
-He wanted to conduct research to see whether or not you could get pregnant.
-When you came to him with the pregnancy test and explained your symptoms, he was overjoyed and excited that it was a success!
-Of course he had grown fond of you- which was why he was afforded this opportunity- he would do everything in his power to make sure your pregnancy went as smoothly as he could manage.
-He insists on doing all your check ups and tests. He will bribe you with snacks you had been craving (He trades body parts with Mr. Gap to secure the treasures that seem to make you so happy)
-When you go into labor all hands are on deck! He’s the one helping you deliver the baby. Being dead- he finds the making of life absolutely fascinating, he views you in a more special light after open his world to such feats.
-He spends a lot of time with the child, running tests and taking notes, and occasionally trying to teach them from what you’ve observed. It was cute to see him trying to teach the kid about his research though you had to keep an eye on him or he’d get too ahead of himself.
-He considers your child together one of his greatest achievements. He feels a deeper connection with the kid when he sees his own likeness and your likeness in them.
#mr scarletella x reader#mr scarletella#mr crawling x reader#mr crawling#mr silver#homicipher x reader#homicipher
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spill your guts
sirius black x reader one-shot ! warnings: miscommunication? (apparently, that’s all ik how to write), friends to lovers, mentions of injury, no war AU! word count: 6,730 masterlist a/n: sorry I've been MIA uni is BEATING my ass and i rewrote this like 35 times, enjoy!



“I have this dream that I am hitting my dad with my quidditch bat” Sirius's clammy skin and the breeze that flew in from the window you had slightly cracked open when he awoke hyperventilating, caused goosebumps to crawl up his skin. You stayed quiet at his confession, your eyes trained on his face but his burned holes into your baby blue duvet. “And all he does is scream and cry for help-“
He took a sharp breath, this was one of those rare times when everything rotting inside him tried spilling out. For many years it was just James and Remus, Peter occasionally, but now he found that he couldn’t help but want to spill his guts to you. You stayed quiet as he spoke, scared to say anything that would cause him to shut himself in again.
”And maybe halfway through, I realized that it has more to do with me killing him than it ever did protecting myself.” Sirius never spoke of his father. His mother usually plagued his nightmares and it was the abuse he was more inclined to share.
Not his father's.
”He was really pushing his luck-“ His dry laugh, seemed cruel, but you could see how his fingers fidgeted, playing with a small thread on the edge of his boxers. The need to light a cigarette flashed in his mind.
You knew the man was dead. You were with Sirius and the rest of the marauders the day he was buried. After everyone else had left the funeral, the brothers stared at the coffin on the altar of the mausoleum the rest of their family rested in. Regulus didn’t speak a word but gripped Sirius’s arm with white-hot knuckles. Sirius put his cigarette out on the shiny, polished wood, one last act of defiance. His brother nodded, almost as if in approval, but not quite, and apparated away with their family house elf soon after. Sirius linked his arm with yours. You didn’t ask how he died, nor did you ask about the brothers' relationship now that both of their abusers were dead and buried. Now that everything between them rotted away.
You never wanted to push the boundary more than he’d let you. Your relationship, if that’s what you could call it, was already precarious as it was.
Tonight had started like many others, Sirius knocking at your door. The flat you shared with Dorcas in front of the one he shared with Peter and Remus. And you answered, you always did.
“you look good tonight-“ You thought the way too small sleeping shorts were the reason he said so, it wasn’t the mismatched socks or the oversized muggle band tee you had stolen from their dorm fifth year. Definitely not the messy, bed-ridden hair. He had only seen your face, the glint in your eyes, and the pull of your smile. That had been enough for him to decide you were the most beautiful creature on the planet. “can I sleep in your bed?” You said yes.
You always said yes.
You didn’t have sex. But you slept together, his fingertips digging into the supple skin of your waist as he slept with his face buried in your neck. You often played with his hair, tracing spirals on his back until he snored softly. You wouldn’t have guessed that tonight would end up with him waking up, in a cold sweat and gasping for breaths, much less confessing his dreams of murdering his already deceased father.
You didn't hold that against him.
You took a hesitant hold of his trembling fingers, he seemed to welcome the touch as he intertwined his fingers with yours.
He pulled you close to him again after he laid back down. The window remained open with the nippy night breeze flowing in, but his skin eventually lost its goosebumps and his grip ultimately loosened, he was soft and warm and moldable now. He melted onto your side and you couldn't help but stare. At his perfect nose and perfect lips, the weight of the world that he held on his shoulders faded away when he slept, even if just for a few hours.
You reveled in the fact that it was your bed he felt this comfortable in.
You hoped it was only yours.
-
Even the mornings where he had crawled out of your bed and your flat, the ones where you awoke alone and cold, he stayed in your head. He had imprinted himself on your mind, he had made it his home. Sirius Black, the man you were not dating, but the man you shared your bed with, occasionally made breakfast with in between fits of laughter. The man who had declared very loudly, and very drunkenly, that you'd make the perfect girlfriend at a party four months ago, and yet continued to ignore any hint that there might be something else between the two of you. Your bed felt cold the rare nights he didn't knock at your door, at this point your entire apartment called for his presence. Dorcas joked that he was your third roommate.
You always wondered if he had found some muggle girl to woo for the night, sleep in her foreign bed, and disappear in the morning. You wondered if he ever stayed 'til the morning in their beds, if he enjoyed them more than he enjoyed you. If your bed and your embrace weren't enough.
Until there was a knock at your door, the clock marked 1:27 am.
"A long time ago, my great-great-great-great-grandfather took something that did not belong to him," You wondered if this would also become ritual, him baring his heart naked. Baring his family's sins, his sins, to you. As if your divine acceptance would tip the scales, and that it would weigh his heart as pure. Your skin was the one riddled with goosebumps this time, as the cold that seeped through the window nipped at the thin material of your shirt and you duvet stayed discarded at the foot of the bed. You didn't mind it. He blew the smoke of his cig out the open window and turned to look at you again, unapologetically staring into your eyes. "And that is why I kind of look the way I do, 'm part Veela," you wondered if his confessions were a new level of intimacy you had gained access to.
"As if I couldn't tell," he gave you a crooked smirk, the type he gives you when he's about to make some obscene, dirty joke. He didn't this time though. You visibly saw his shoulders relax when you made a quick quip, ignoring the heavy atrocity of his ancestors. It wasn't him after all, why would you hold it against him? He hummed, reveling secretly in your compliment. Maybe you genuinely did think he was beautiful. Regardless of the tattoos that now littered his body, or the scars of abuse that would never leave him, or even the random bruises that sometimes stained his porcelain skin, from his bike, from Moony's transformations, from everything. Maybe you even saw past the commitment issues, and unspoken words, or the fact that he left you to wake up to an empty bed often.
Maybe, somehow, you were able to look past all of that. All of him.
Sirius knew it was wishful thinking.
-
“Don’t look at me like that Moony,” Sirius said with a groan as he stood at the door, still holding the handle from closing it. Remus glared at him from the top of his cup as he sipped his tea, Sirius really wanted to skip the whole lecture, you woke up early meaning he also had to, and had to make the treacherous journey across the hall. He glanced at the clock on the wall, it glanced 6:30 am back at him. Why was Remus even awake?
“you’re a prat Padfoot-“
”I needed some sleep, it's not like we're-“
“It doesn’t matter, what you’re doing to that poor girl is horrible, if you really can’t sleep drink some tea, go to a physician” Remus turned his back to Sirius, angrily cleaning his cup in the sink, although he couldn’t see him, Sirius knew Remus’s face was twisted into one of disappointment and anger. “you know she loves you, and you use it instead of telling her there will never be anything between you-“
”I love her”
”You’re not in love with her, are you?” He turned the water off, turning around with a glare as Sirius stayed quiet. “She is.”
Sirius didn’t know what he felt for you if he was honest. He loved you, though. He had always loved you. From the days you ran around with the four of them around Hogwarts, when you passed notes in class, when you accompanied him on secret trips to the kitchens, when you helped clean his wounds at Potter Manor the summer he ran away. Sirius has always loved you.
Remus might think that’s worse.
”Stop sleeping with her and having breakfast with her the morning after, Merlin-“ he took a deep breath, his fingers coming up to rub his temples in frustration and the Welsh accent seeped into his words, “What the hell are you thinking Sirius?”
Remus knew he was being tough, but he felt bad. He felt bad about the way your eyes always trailed after the boy, and how you always stared at Sirius’s closed bedroom door when you were over for tea. You needed to be able to move on with your life. It didn’t help you and Dorcas lived right in front of them.
”Alright Moony,”
“You’ll leave her alone?” Sirius refused to meet the taller boy's eyes.
”I’ll try”
-
Sirius did not listen to Remus.
He never did really, but he felt guilty now. He stared at you from your bed, you paced around stripping away the day, being a healer at St Mungo's was an arduous job most days. Some it was just kids with dragon pox and their mothers who came with worry stitched in their souls, doing rounds with residents that had been there longer than you, the older ladies always gave you candy. You didn't know where they were getting it from. Most nights you dragged yourself into your apartment late enough you might as well say it’s morning, and dropped, ruined and exhausted, on your bed. The worst days, it was back-to-back shifts of trying to heal curses, creature attacks, and mysterious maladies that left you drained and hopeless. Ones that made you fear the magical world that surrounded you. These nights you would've sought Sirius out, the way he did you, but you didn't need to. He was always there, somehow knowing and waiting outside your door. Sometimes, he was just exiting his apartment, going to knock on yours when you came up the stairs, other nights, like this one, he waited for you. He sat on the floor with his back against your door and his eyes closed until he heard your footsteps. He stood and greeted you silently with a kiss to your temple.
He trailed after you, into your room and onto your bed. So he sat, his back against the wall and the bottom parts of his legs hanging from the bed. He didn't say much, he observed as you sighed and sniffed, wiping your eyes as you muttered to yourself. He watched in awe as you took off the green healer robes they made you wear, your buttoned shirt coming off with it.
“I don’t understand how hard it is to keep your kid away from places like those, the kid was barely five and now he has all these welts-“ you huffed in frustration as you stripped off your pants and walked into the bathroom, the door open so you could continue to ramble “how does a five-year-old get cursed? I had to call the Ministry-“
Sirius didn’t think he could deny the fact that he reveled in these moments, he couldn't hide it for the life of him. The ones where you were so comfortable with him, walking around in your mismatched underwear angrily rambling about negligent mothers and how now you have to testify at the Ministry next week. It was laced with domesticity and a cloying sweetness that covered his skin. He wanted to stop you and kiss you silly. To sleep with you, in all your naked glory, and not care because you’d be together. He shook away the need to keep you for himself. He shuffled close to the edge of the bed, his feet finally touching the floor and he picked up a trinket on your nightstand. He bought it for you when he visited France last summer. He promised Regulus he'd gone to see him a few days. It went well, he realized. He also thought of the fact he didn't tell you that's what he went to do.
”Sirius?"
"Hm?" he finally focused back on your words, his eyes flickering back to you and the small smile that formed on your lips when you saw what he had in his hand.
"I said, what'd you reckon will happen to the kid?" your smile faded, and you picked nervously at your cuticles as you thought about him. Would they take him away? Would he be put in an orphanage? It was protocol you had no other choice but to call... and yet you couldn't stop thinking about it. You started moving around your room again, like a bee collecting pollen from flowers. Bees were cute, right? Sirius hoped you wouldn't think he was silly, Bees were cute, he decided. You grabbed a couple of items of clothing, collecting them in one arm as the other one massaged your scalp.
"I dunno," he remembered to answer now, "I had never thought about it,"
He could hear you turn on the shower, but you padded back into the room as the water warmed. You looked at him, still in your underwear, the eye bags underneath your eyes were visible, your makeup long faded by now.
"You never went because of your mum?" He shook his head, and you shuffled closer, the side of your leg pressed against the bed and your knee knocking with his as you looked down at him. Your hand went to caress his hair instinctively, his soft glossy curls sliding through your fingers easily. "I'm sorry no one noticed Sirius," this part was a whisper now, you feared overstepping a boundary you weren't aware of. He smiled at you, his hand coming up to pinch your naked side.
You yelped and batted his hand away with a laugh.
"She's good and dead now, I reckon it doesn't matter anymore-" He gave you a saddened smile, his nimble fingers grabbing a hold of your hand pulling you closer to him again. It was private moments like this, that confused you. The intimacy of it all, the way his lips pressed against the back of your hand and looked at you through half-lidded eyes. You were suddenly hyper-aware of how naked you actually were. You had been friends for the majority of your life, shame was long gone, but when you were so close you could feel his breath across the stretch of your tummy, it felt different.
"I reckon it does matter," You pressed a small kiss to his forehead and unpeeled yourself from him, "don't bury it all inside you, Mr Black"
You floated away now, in the sea of your anxiety over your actions, closing the bathroom door behind you.
Sirius had a lot of destructive behaviors, he knew that. The smoking since he was fifteen, the reckless way he rode his motorcycle around, the growing collection of tattoos on his body, the tumultuous relationship he had with his brother, Merlin definitely the excessiveness in which he drank, not to mention the way he showed up at the Potter's every once in a while seeking James's comfort and unconditional love, ignoring the fact that the man was a father and had a million things on his shoulders. Lily didn’t seem to mind. At least he was a decent godfather, took care of Harry to perfection, it took a few tries but he got it. Loved him with his entire heart. But you, Sirius, thought you might be the worst of it.
The worst thing he’s ever done to himself is allow for this domesticity between you.
You came back from your shower with your hair slightly damp and smelling of your signature body wash scent, sweet and enveloping. The oversized shirt that covered your torso was almost long enough to cover 'til your upper thighs. It made Sirius’s lips curl into a lopsided smile that he tried to repress.
He was lying down now, starfishing on your bed as he stared at the ceiling.
”Are you coming to bed?” The clock blinked 3 AM at you, and Sirius reached his hand out. You walked closer to him, a small smile playing on your lips. You sent the towel you had been using back to its spot with a swish of your hand. Basic handless magic was a difficult skill to gain but Merlin so gratifying.
“I forgot my pants silly,” he shook his head no, and reached for your hand with a bit more effort, grabbing a hold of it and pulling you down with him.
”Let’s just sleep, you don’t need those-“ He covered the two of you with your heavy duvet as you laughed, he leaned over you to turn off the lamp on your nightstand.
Yes, Sirius thought as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and threw one of his arms over your torso. You were the worst thing he had ever done to himself. He would never be able to let go, your hands stroking his hair until one of you fell asleep, the small ‘night that slipped past your lips just as your eyes fluttered shut. He'd never get enough of your saccharine scent that enveloped him like a blanket, comforting and warm. All-encompassing and suffocating, in each other’s arms every night, in the comfort of your room.
Sirius knew it deep in his heart, what he had been afraid of for so long. Maybe Remus had it all wrong, maybe he was in love with you.
Because what else could this feeling be?
-
You tried to ignore the ache in your heart when you woke up to an empty bed. You tried to forget the fact that you’d probably do it all again tonight, and the next night too, all to bear the fruit of nothing.
Dorcas shook her head and she pushed a cup of coffee towards you.
“Don’t look at me like that Dorcas -“
”I love Sirius as much as the next guy but-“ you picked up the coffee and sighed at its warmth “He’s being a prat honey-“
”It's not like we’ve been having sex, he just needs some sleep” You shook your head and looked away, afraid that your eyes would betray you, “hell I needed sleep too”
”It doesn’t matter, Y/N you’re a healer get him a stock of sleeping draught and yourself some too while you’re at it…” She furrowed her brows but you stayed quiet, not daring to meet her gaze “I know you love him, but I’m not so sure he sees you that way-“
” I’m not in love with him”
“I didn’t say you were in love,” Dorcas sighed now, placing her cup on the sink and walking towards the small chimney in your flat. “Promise me it won’t happen anymore, that you’ll try to break it off”
”I’ll try Dorcas,” she didn’t believe you much, you didn’t believe yourself either, the Floo Flames engulfed her body.
It was hard to, separate yourself from him that is. Sirius Black was addicting, simply from the way he moved. Just watching him is entrancing on its own. Speaking to him, with his suave words and low tone. Everything about him, everyone craved to have a simple conversation, have even an ounce of his attention. Sleeping in his arms though, heart to heart? Now that was in a league of its own.
-
You dragged yourself into your building, the day bearing down on you. You half hoped that Sirius would be waiting outside your door again, sitting waiting for you to lay in his arms. Disappointment added to the sack of bricks you felt like you were carrying when you turned to see the empty hallway. You sluggishly made your way up to your door, hoping to see Sirius's head pop out of his apartment door. Giggles came down your hall, as you fiddled with your keychain trying to find your key. The drunken whispers got louder and just as you grabbed a hold of your key you heard your name echo softly down the hall.
You dropped your keys in surprise as you took in the sight. Sirius stood rather close to a short woman, her bubbling laughter and her roaming hands didn't stop when he let his arm drop from her shoulders. All color drained from his face and his drunk, loose smile fell quickly from his lips. The girl that clung to him like gum to a shoe hadn’t noticed your presence nor how Sirius seemed to sober up at the sight of you.
You scrambled to pick up your keys as the blonde started whispering in his ear, starting to pull at him again. He called out your name one more time, moving towards you now, dragging the poor girl down the hallway with him.
“have a good night Sirius-“
You miraculously managed to get your key in the hole swiftly, turn it, open, and lock yourself inside just in time. Pressing your back against the door, your heart felt like it might leap out of your chest. You had always hoped that he wasn’t seeing other people, or meeting anyone else. And the absence of encounters just like this one had solidified that thought, you were properly convinced. Now though. You had just been lucky enough to not encounter them. You thought back, it was impossible not to feel like Sirius’s look had been one of guilt. Like he got caught. But the two of you weren’t anything.
You were painfully reminded of that fact tonight.
You hadn't noticed how fast or how hard your heart was beating. You felt like it was ready to break through your ribs, leaving you shattered and with a void in your chest. But it didn't do such a thing. No, you stayed perfectly intact, even as you felt the panic batter your chest and the notion that you were definitely not the only woman in his life torturing your heart.
"What's wrong?" Dorcas said in a whisper as she looked up, her large glasses sliding down her nose. The yellow lamps that decorated your apartment gave Dorcas's dark skin a low golden tone, like the type you'd see in paintings of candlelights and sultry lounges. Marlene was over today, her short, bleached blonde strands fanning over her face as she slept with her head on Dorcas's lap, her arms wrapped around the girl's waist. If it had been any other time you would've run for the muggle Polaroid camera Lily bought you, flashing a picture of the two of them.
"Sirius was just outside with some girl," Dorcas gasped now and shot up, dropping Marlene's head on the couch. The blonde groaned awake and asked what was wrong.
"Sirius brought home a girl" The blonde shot up as well and the girlfriends ran to the door, trying to look through the peephole. "Well this whole thing has gone arse over tit hasn't it?" Marlene pushed Dorcas off for her turn at the peephole.
"There's no 'thing' between us anyway"
"Well, shit" The blonde outside kept pawing at Sirius, trying to reach his face, to eat it Marlene guessed. He stared at the door, trying to hold the girl who stuck to him back. Marlene felt as if she was in a staring competition. She knew Sirius couldn’t see her but she still liked the thought that she’d win.
Dorcas was the first to peel herself off of the door and pull you into a tight embrace. Her hand rubbed circles on your back and Marlene followed, embracing the two of you. They smelled coconut-y and sweet, even the remainder of Marlene's stronger perfume wafted over you ever so slightly. It was grounding, really, to be hugged tightly by your closest friends, the smell of home, the comfort of knowing that you were loved, even if it wasn't by him.
"I'll hex him for you if you want" Marlene's suggestion, although serious, wasn't necessary. You shook your head sighing.
"He didn't do anything-" Dorcas flicked your head now, a frown forming on her face as the three of you parted.
"Like hell, he didn't-"
"He doesn't owe me anything 'Cas don't be harsh"
"He's been sleeping in your bed for the better part of six months I reckon he owes you a lot" Dorcas gave you a look of pity now, like you were a wounded abandoned animal.
"I say we set his motorbike on fire," Marlene suggested casually like she was talking about the weather. You slowly peeled your layers off, as you dragged your feet towards your room. You knew the girls felt bad for you, but it was your fault. Who in their right mind would let Sirius Black so into their hearts, knowing that no commitment would ever come from it?
You.
You would.
From his muscles softened under your touch, his warmth spreading to your body, to the way he mumbled in his sleep. It was something your soul craved to see, to feel, to hear. He had bewitched you, without you wanting him to, without meaning to allow him. You threw yourself on your bed, starfished and in your underwear, freshly showered. The water did not wash away the regret nor the hurt. They only made you think of coming back to Sirius in your bed, smiling and pulling you into his arms. Your sheets were cold, and tucked in neatly, very unlike the cozy mess Sirius usually made of it. So you stared, long and hard at the white of your ceiling. You prayed sleep would take you, you were exhausted. Like your body had been beaten, like your heart had split in two.
No such sleep would overtake you. Instead, you could hear frantic knocks on your front door, your muscles twitched but you didn't dare move, like if you breathed he'd know. You heard Dorcas rip the door open, the force of it reverberating through your small flat.
"You got some balls coming here," It was muffled, but you could still hear the venom in her voice. She didn't let him speak. "You're going to die cold, sad, and alone Black— don't you ever forget it" She threw the door closed now, the bang shaking your room again. It was jarring to hear that, especially from someone as sweet as Dorcas was, and she meant it. Hell, you felt like she would make sure of it, no matter the cost.
"Sweetheart-" Dorcas spoke through the door, her knuckles grazing the wood but not quite knocking. You didn't answer.
A muffled she must be asleep, and you felt like you could breathe again. You knew Sirius wouldn't end up alone. If he did romantically, the friendships in his life would fulfill that void anyway. He had a family. Most of your friends were his, and you knew, that you could never ask any of them to walk around the uncomfortable wall that seemed to form between you, or god forbid pick sides. It was stupid, you knew there was no reason you should be upset. You were not together. You weren't anything to him, and he wasn't supposed to be to you.
But oh he was. He was everything.
-
On nights like these, you thought you might reach your limit and have to be admitted into the psychiatric ward of St Mungo's yourself. You felt sweaty, and the stuffy healer robes didn't help to ease the heat that crawled up your skin. Your hair felt frizzy and out of place, and your buttoned-up shirt felt like it was choking you, but you couldn't stop. You couldn't afford to nor could the patients that kept coming in. The St Mungo's emergency room was nothing short of a battleground, it was vile and the worst turn to get. Especially during the overnight shift. These were the types of shifts that made you second guess your career choice, the ones that made you want to throw in the towel and drag yourself back into your apartment and never come out.
"Y/N come on, they're bringing in a flying vehicle accident-" you frowned as you let your turn partner drag you towards one of the newly entered patients. For the first time that shift, you felt dread crawl up your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you saw Sirius lying unconscious on the bed. For a second you thought you had forgotten how to breathe, your fingertips felt numb and your ears rang. His perfect nose was bloody, his perfect lip bruised and split. There were scrapes on his cheeks, and his jeans had been ripped and stained red. It wasn't noticeable at first, but the metallic smell and the caked-on blood on his black jacket became visible as you approached, it all made it clear, it had been bad.
You couldn't understand what your partner was telling you, the ringing in your ears too loud for you to make out the words, but as they moved Sirius onto a proper bed, it all came crashing down again. Repeated prayers of no's rang through your head along with pleas to a higher power to let this be a nightmare, one you'd wake up from cold and sweaty but knowing he's safe. No such relief came, and your fingertips buzzed with electricity once again, moving so fast it was like you moved at two times speed. You couldn't think of anything but prayers, to what? You didn't know, but you did so nevertheless. To the stars, and the heavens, or the magic that ran through your blood, through his. You didn't know. But you muttered words of hope and love, as you cleaned his wounds, hoping he'd hear you.
You busied yourself and basically assigned yourself to his care, after they moved him out of the ER, into one of the beds in the rows of other patients divided by sheets. You barely left his side, just to shower and change into the spare clothes Dorcas had brought you reluctantly, mildly upset you were taking care of Sirius. You ate next to him, talked to him, read your favorite poems, and hummed his favorite songs. He mumbled here and there, and his eyes would flutter sometimes which you took as a good sign but the tension didn't leave your shoulders, and your prayers never ended.
James, Remus, and Peter passed by, dropping some baked goods off and comforting you with teary hugs.
"I told him that bloody bike would kill him-" Remus said as he shook his head and sat next to Sirius for a bit, his hand on the boy's knee.
"How's he doing doc?" you rolled your eyes, amusement played in James's eyes at the pull of your lips. He had always secretly been a worrywart, but he played it off well as if his heart didn't almost beat out of his chest when he got the call.
"As long as he wakes up he'll be fine-" He smiled genuinely now, "Few broken bones," He hummed, looking at Remus and Peter huddled next to Sirius's bed.
"few broken bones hm? wouldn't be the first time." You talked for a while, each one of you ignoring the nagging feeling of worry. Sirius's boisterous laugh was poignantly missing from the conversation. But soon enough, James's father's duties called and he pressed a kiss on Sirius's forehead and one on yours very fatherlike and apparated away, Remus and Peter gathered themselves up as well not long after.
"Call if anything, okay doll?" Remus pulled you into a tight hug, his lips pressing against your temple as well. Peter gave you a small hug, his eyes trailing over Sirius's form sadly.
You were left alone again, the window panes that surrounded the hall letting some moonlight in. Time felt like a thick jelly, your eyes staring at the clock as you ran your hands through his hair, the exhaustion was quickly catching up to you. But the thought of another coffee made your stomach churn and your eyelids felt heavy like lead. So you gripped his hand tightly and laid your head against his arm.
If he woke up, you'd be there.
-
Sirius felt like he might be in heaven, the second his eyes fluttered open you were there. Your face pressed between his forearm and the bed, your hand tightly clutching his. He could feel the ghost of your lips on his skin and goosebumps threatened to crawl up his spine, his thoughts straying to your pout. Your closed eyes and your steady breathing made it clear you were sleeping, Sirius couldn't help but smile. He very rarely got to watch you like this, by some miracle he always fell asleep first and woke up second. You were so lovely, with your soft skin and the angelic glow from the light of the moon glaring against the curve of your face. If it wasn't for the stinging in his face or the way his ribs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, Sirius would've sworn up and down he had died and gone to heaven.
He squeezed your hand, and the weight of the realization that you had been taking care of him fell on him. Guilt clawed at his throat, he had broken your heart and you still took care of him. He'll never forget the look on your face, the surprise, and the tears that threatened to fall. There was no other word to use besides heartbreak, and it had been his fault. He didn't know why he had brought her home, he didn't particularly fancy the girl, but the alcohol made his veins feel warm and she smiled at him and the impulsiveness and self-destruction within himself were a shoot-first ask-questions later duo that ruled his brain. He realized that you deserved more. More than him, more than the empty bed he left you with, or the avoidance of feelings. Sometimes Sirius wished you'd forget him. It would be better for you.
To forget his face, forget his name.
Your eyes began to pry open, and he couldn't help but spill his guts again.
"For so long I hoped I'd fall asleep at the wheel and crash my motorbike on the ride home-" Your heart jumped to your throat, your head shooting up at the realization he was awake. His words were raspy and as much as he tried they were barely a whisper. "But then you came back from your apprenticeship, and moved right in front and it felt like-" he looked away now, his fingers fidgeting with yours. "Like you were that light at the end of the tunnel." Your hand was still pressed against his.
"I stopped wanting to fall asleep on the bike, I just wanted to fall asleep with you"
"You are an idiot Sirius Black" The frustration gathered over the last two days flushed your system, tears threatening to fall over "you are so reckless and so utterly stupid-" tears flowed down your cheeks but you wouldn't let them fall, furiously wiping them away with your sleeve. He looked at you heartbroken.
"I know love"
"No," you shook your head now and stood up, his hand falling back to the bed "You don't know, all I do is worry and care, and you don't!" your laugh came out crueler than you meant but it came out nonetheless "You never care Sirius- Oh and imagine when I don't see or hear from you for days, and suddenly you're dragged in here looking like you're seconds away from dying-" you paced around as you went on, your hands running through your hair in frustration.
"I didn't think you wanted to see me" he stared at you now, hoping to catch your gaze. Hoping to see if you meant it, hoping to see, something. Something that would tell him what he so desperately wanted to know.
"I always want to see you" You locked eyes with his, his stupidly gorgeous stormy eyes. And he knew, from the pain in your eyes, from the way your pupils blew the second you looked at him, from the way you softened, anger dissipated when you looked at him. You didn't understand how anyone could look like that, how even scratched up he looked like he had been carved out of marble. "All I want is to see you," you were close enough for him to reach for your hand, even with pain shooting down his ribs, he did.
"I'm sorry,” you sat on the edge of his bed, closer than you had intended, as he spoke, looking at your intertwined hands. “and I’m sorry about the lass too-“
You scrunched up your nose, “I reckon that is none of my business” and he wondered how long you had to tell yourself that until you believed it.
”I sent her home, nothing happened-“
“you can go out with whoever you wish”
”I only want you”
You looked at him again, into his eyes, into his soul. Hoping to catch a flicker of truth. His eyes looked at you with hope and want, and you knew. Sirius would never lie to you, he might be a drunk, and emotionally unavailable, and Merlin knows that he’s a mess, but Sirius Black was not a liar, especially to you. He squeezed your hands, pulling them close to his chest, pressing them against his heart.
”I’m so in love with you, you drive me mad,” he said this last part with a laugh, pulling a teary giggle out of you. You couldn’t help yourself, the wetness of your eyes and cheeks coming without you meaning it to. He swiped a thumb under your eyes, a nervous laugh threatening to spill from his lips, a watery smile forming instead.
“I am regrettably, in love with you as well” You smiled now, looking away from his scoff. His lips curled into a full-fledged smile now, as did yours.
“Am I that awful?”
”I fear so Mr Black,“ you glanced at him teasingly, the glint in your eye he loved so much returning.
“I reckon you wouldn’t want to kiss a tosser like me then,” You couldn’t help but smile, as the both of you subconsciously leaned closer. His hands cupped your cheeks as your foreheads pressed together. “Can I—“
You didn’t let him finish, finally closing the distance between you. He kissed you shyly, a trait you didn’t know he possessed. You kiss him soft and open-mouthed, a small hum coming from his chest. His fingers hold on to your face, desperate to keep you close, and and you revel in the fact that his kiss turns hungry like he’d never get to kiss you again.
You part with a small satisfied sigh, foreheads pressed against one another and eyes fluttered shut. Sirius thought about the many times he wondered what this would feel like, to press his lips against yours. He had dreamt of this for months; when you walked around your room in your underwear ranting or every time you opened the door, he dreamt of kissing you in the mornings and late at night.
Sirius realized, as he pressed another kiss to your lips, he had dreamt of kissing you for years.
#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#marauders#the marauders#the marauders era#marauders era#padfoot#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#sirius blurb#sirius x you#sirius black/reader#sirius black angst#sirius x reader#sirius o black#sirius angst#sirius orion black#james & peter & remus & sirius#sirius black#padfoot x reader
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Little Eldritch Creature part 2
DCxDP Prompt/Drabbles
Chirp! Chirp!
Bruce expected many things when Oracle suddenly told him in comms that Jason's tracker went to the cave.
He expected something might have happened to Jason since Oracle had told him that his comms were gone, cut off.
He did not expect a little glowing creature chirping, almost in concern, around Jason.
"Get it off me!"
"Todd! I won't tolerate you hurting the little creature!"
"Why is it so cute?"
"What is that thing? It's not a fish right?"
"A worm maybe?"
"Ugh....bright.."
Little. Cute.
The said creature was small, with a green tail for legs, white hair that floats and blue skin, from closer inspection, he looked like he was wearing a long sleeve black shirt with white cuffs. Their ears were slightly pointed but still visible.
And also big wide green eyes that reminds Bruce of puppy dog eyes.
Bruce should be really freaking out right now. An unknown entity is in the Batcave and it seems to like Jason and charmed his family.
Which usually is not a good sign.
Bruce cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention, that includes the little creature.
"Jason." Bruce says slowly, it made the said man grimace. "Where did you find...him?" Bruce took a moment to look at the creature who was clinging on the side of Jason's helmet, looking at Bruce as if he was listening. When Bruce hesitantly said the pronoun as if acknowledging the little creature, the said creature nodded.
Well, He understands him. One question out of his list.
Jason clicked his tongue. "I found him where Oracle reported about the disturbance in the satellite. That's when my comms started to loose cignal. I saw something glowing by the dumpster and when I took a look...I found him."
The little creature chirped in cue, as if he knew Jason was referring to him.
"And then he went in and smack into my face." Judging by Jason's tone, it wasn't good experience.
"And he just what? Stuck with you?" Tim asked suspiciously.
"I tried getting him off but he won't--!!" Jason did try. He tried grabbing the little creature off him but Jason's hand went through him or even letting go from Jason's helmet and floated around him as Jason tried to catch him. Then went back to holding on to Jason's helmet on the side.
"See!? Get him off! I have other things to do!"
The little creature chirped as if he was amused.
Bruce sighed. He should call Constantine even if he doesn't want to, this is clearly magic stuff.
Bruce takes off his cowl and grabs his com. "Let me call Zatanna about this."
"Uhm....B?"
Bruce blinked at the green eyes staring right back at him. The little creature suddenly let go of Jason and floated towards Bruce. The Small thing was staring at him before tilting his head, from Bruce's observation, it seems like he was confused, debating.
"Dad?"
Bruce blinked.
What?
: )
Part 1
#fic recs#dc x dp#dc x dp recs#dcxdp#dp x dc crossover#fic finder#dc x dp prompt#dpxdc#dpxdc fic recs
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Fae adjacent! Danny, pt. 3
Jason returns to consciousness with a scream trapped before it could come to life. He twisted his neck back and forth and back and forth.
It was the last thing he did before he died. When the Joker left and told him to say hello to the big guy, Jason could not muster up the energy to make a single sound.
But Bruce… Bruce was here this time, heavy head making the mattress by his leg dip.
The scars that ran over his face stretched as he blinked.
“…B?”
Bruce’s head shot up, eyes bloodshot and bags heavier than a Gotham socialite’s solid gold Dior purse.
“Jaylad.”
Jason- Jason was alive now. Bruce’s hug felt warm, the tear spot on his shoulder was damp as his dad cried while hugging him.
And Jason should be happy. He’s alive again. His dad loved him.
But all he could think about was the cold of the coffin, the squelch of mud and dirt, and the unerringly wrong feeling of knowing he came back but he came back wrong.
——
Tim had wandered Gotham in the weeks following Jason’s reawakening. He wasn’t avoiding Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t. But Tim knows he’ll have to answer questions soon. He just wasn’t ready.
Tim looked up at the den of pixies- pixies were real!- and squared his shoulders. He did his research. Tim Drake walks into the den with nothing but foolish hope and Gotham-brand audacity. He’ll get answers about Danny today. He will.
——
Soul-Plucker, they called him. Danny Fenton, the proprietor of Fenton Artifacts. The High King.
“I thought King Oberon was the High King?”
The pixies chittered at the little human that could have been kin. Their wings fluttered at their backs, muffled by cloth. It’s not often they find kindred. It really is too bad that Fenton had his mark on the child. How they would have loved to whisk him away. He would have made entertainment that would last a millennia! Or until the court decided to cut of his tongue, at least. How well he had tricked them!
“Of course! Of course! King Oberon is our king, see?” A younger pixie swirled her drink, a shining red and blue thing. “But he’s the High King of another court!”
“The High King of the Infinite Realms, encompassing far more than King Oberon and Queen Tatianna could ever reach.”
Another pixie chimed in, on their fourth glass of amber colored nectar. “The Soul-Plucker!”
“The Beginning of the End.”
“Afterlife IRS department!”
“He who wanders.”
“Death-Caller.” Another one said, grave and serious.
“The Arbiter.”
“So, he’s like, the boss of bosses?” Tim asked. What kind of entity did he make a deal with? Why was he kind to Tim? What motives did Danny have?
“Uh huh!”
“Then what’s he’s doing here?”
“Who knows? The whims of the most powerful are unknown to us.” The pixies clustered around Tim. “Won’t you play another game with us, Alvin? You’re so good at it! Oh, how about a drink?”
“Can’t. I gotta get home. Also, I’m a minor.” Tim slipped passed their fluttering wings and manic smiles. They move to let him past, waving drinks at him in a tantalizing manner.
“And where is that, sweet one?”
“Somewhere, Liltri. Somewhere.”
Tim Drake was a child of pure will, pure hard headed foolishness, a mind sharper than any blade, and luck more terrifying than the creatures he now dealt with. And so, he stepped out of the Pixie Bar with more questions than answers but he stepped out unharmed.
——
“Who are you?” The shadows shift as Lady Gotham unveiled her knight.
Danny felt his eyes cool, glinting green and blue. Lady Gotham forgets who her liege is.
“Haven’t you done your research? You who walks along the edge of shadows, my shop is not a place to dismiss decorum.”
“You brought… you brought him back. How. Why?”
“You want answers? Then give me something in return.”
Danny gestured to the circle his clients have come to know as the deal-maker. Danny doesn’t ask for much in return. Just… something equal to the request.
“Ah,” Danny pointed up at the sign. “I am legally able to deny you my service, so don’t get any ideas.”
Batman was studied up on myths. But he was not a believer, and that both hindered and helped him. What was a god, in front of the faithless? What was the faithless in front of power?
The vigilante stepped into the circle, unable to see the subtle shimmering of magic but remained unbound by the virtue of his disbelief.
“What do you want for answers?”
“You do not often deal with the occult, do you?” Danny tapped the counter. Batman remained silent.
“I have a soft spot for vigilantes,” Danny continued. “And so I won’t ask for much. Just… your cape.”
“Not my hair? A body part?”
“If you were dealing with the fae, you’d probably would lose something of that value, yes.”
“You aren’t fae.”
Danny merely smiled. “Do we have a deal?”
“My cape in exchange for honest answers to my questions.”
Danny huffed, approval glinting in his eyes.
“Your cape for honest answers to three questions,” Danny pointed at the sign, still hanging above them. “Three questions or nothing.”
Batman grimaced. “Deal.”
“Ask your questions, protector.”
“Why did you bring Jason back to life?”
“I didn’t.” Danny grinned. The Bat should have stipulated that he must answer elaborately. He looked like he realized that. Oh well. His mistake. Well, not like there was actual magic binding Danny, so technically, Danny could lie off his ass.
“…Will Jason stay alive?” Danny had a heart and this man was a much better father than Jack ever was.
“Yes. Barring unnatural causes, his soul is firmly attached to his body and will not shuffle off the mortal coil without warning.”
The lines of Batman’s shoulders slumped. Relief. He paused.
“What are your intentions in this city?”
“To run my shop… and to enjoy retirement.”
Danny laughed at Batman’s stoic face. “Disappointed I am not up to nefarious deeds, little knight?”
“No.”
Danny tapped the table. “My payment?”
Batman shucked off his cape and handed it to Danny.
“Why my cape?”
Danny smiled a fanged little thing. “Because your costume looks stupid without it and I could use a laugh.”
Batman grumbled and turned to leave. Ha paused, eyes catching on the glint of camera lenses.
“How much for that?”
“For the little sparrow’s camera?” Danny sighed, eyes fixed on the form of a vigilante who was more kind than angry for once. “Two thousand dollars.”
“That’s a huge markup.”
“That’s how much it means to me, compared to the rest.” Danny slid beyond the counter, a ghostly air about him. He pinned his newly earned cape up. “My shop, my prices, little knight.”
Batman silently handed him two thousand dollars and left with the little sparrow’s camera.
#fae adjacent danny#danny phantom#batman#jason todd#tim drake#dc x dp#dpxdc#my favorite trope is actually Danny selling things to Batman at a markup
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Okay so since we know that a TFP version of Sparkplug exists…that got my inner Prime fan, brain thinking, and I sudden had some questions regarding Sparkplug Prime.
So like how did the bots even discover her, like was she really dramatically unveiled by Megs? Or was it more of an accident, and they found her during a big fight? Cause she was still fairly young into of the images we saw her, while her more mature, form seems to be hinting at her future.
Plus did the bits really take her back to their base? Cause if Acree is comparing her stare with one of her dads, then I assume Team Prime does ‘capture’ her, and brings her back to outpost omega one. But that raises even more questions…
Like how do the rest of the hits react to her? I assume Acree is going to be very protective of her seeing how she’s the one holding her? What are the Kids and Folwer(and by extension his bosses the U.S government) reactions cause the bots can’t exactly hide a Sparkling meant to be the ultimate Optimus killer.
Plus since we know that Sparkplug is a member of a trio, does that mean a version of her friend’s Soundblaster, and Nightflyer exits?

Someone wanted to know more about her, and I felt like drawing her so why not. I image she ended up in the hands of the autobots because of Starscream. He saw how much Megatron fussed over her and immediately knew his ass was about to be replaced. Seeing an easy target to dispatch, he literally just kicked her out the ship during a battle and said the autobots must’ve dispatched her.
Megatron is obviously heartbroken and Starscream uses this to get a little bit more control for the time being.
Meanwhile, Arcee finds this little sparking in the middle of nowhere and due to survivors guilt, takes her back to the base.

Due to her intense power, they decide to take her in and hopefully raise her to be kind. This all being while Megatron still tries to look for her (I image he takes her when Megatron steals Optimus prime). She ends up getting rather attached to Jack’s mom, as well as Ratchet. This Sparkplug actually wants to be a medic and does her best to help… even if she’s a little destructive.
Miko loves her, seeing her as a little destructive creature with good intentions. Jack is more upset that he’s getting suck with babysitting duties. And Raph is happy to not be the youngest anymore.
I image her older version would appear in “Robots in disguise”, showing up to glare at bumblebee and force him to get his shit together instead of Optimus. (My version Optimus stays gone because we want Bee to have proper character development)
Nightflyer would probably be one of the animal themed deceptions that trained under Starscream, starting in his predicon form.
Soundblaster would probably still be a attempt to make another Soundwave since he’s still trapped in the fucking shadow realm
#digital art#drawing#illustration#artists on tumblr#fanart#art#oc#transformers idw#soundwave transformers#transformers starscream#transformers prime#tf prime#megatron#tf megatron#tf sparkplug#sparkplug#bulkhead#Arcee#ratchet#Megop#ratchop
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könig as a dad (part two)[ könig ]
part one | part three
- In your second pregnancy he is much more likely to take in more missions (you told him to- ordered even)
- He HATES being away from you and your little boy.
- Marvels at how much he has grown in a couple of weeks.
- When his missions last for more than a fortnight, he goes stir crazy but focuses on the task at hand to get back to you
- Nobody knows he’s a dad at KorTac, he’s not close to any of them
- His greatest fear is for his kids to ever be scared of him.
- When he comes back, you don’t even realise until you see him in the rocking chair by the crib- your baby boy in his arms. Whatever wounds he has tended to by you, you MUST insist and pry your son away from him.
- Is glad that your boy will have a sibling very close in age- conceived a month after his birth. He was a very lonely child, he’s glad his kids won’t have the same experience.
- Presents you with another crib, and would be offended if you ever bought one.
- The cribs are very stable and thought carpentry looked good on him.
- He was going to teach his kids it, as his grandfather taught him.
- Your kids are named after his grandparents (I’m convinced he was raised by them in the Austrian countryside) and they were the only source of kindness in his traumatic childhood.
- The birth comes and it’s another boy.
- Next pregnancy comes in quick succession, and it’s a baby girl.
- Ahhh, that was why he got a four bedroom house… sly bastard.
AGES 0-4:
- Not afraid to change diapers or sick, he’s seen so much shit in the field… it doesn’t phase him
- Records everything! He’s such a documenter, he has very little photos from his youth so makes sure he takes them in excess.
- He manages to record all three children’s first steps and jots down their first words.
- Loves watching you teach your kids very early on, is so proud whenever they do something new.
- Your boys take after his height, they stick out like a sore thumb in nursery when around the other kids. And König doesn’t tolerate bullying, you rein him in from going yourself.
- He’s been known to make grown men cry and the kids at nursery look at him in fear. Even if he smiles.
- Mums flirt with him sometimes, he ignores them. He’s only there for the kids.
- Is sad when your kids start growing out of clothes, reminds him they’re growing up and in a matter of years they won’t need him anymore.
- He loves your kids equally but may be more attached to your daughter. She was premature and doctors said she may not make it.
- Cried in private when she was stuck in an incubator for weeks on end. He doesn’t want to burden you or unsettle the boys.
- When she could be held, he couldn’t let go. His sweet angel, so tiny compared to his large body. A kiss to her forehead.
- Your sons don’t know what to make of the small creature that cries in the middle of the night. You hoped they would come to understand what happened when they were old enough.
AGES 5-9
- Your boys look out for each other in school- König made sure of it.
- He also instilled them to watch over their little sister when she would attend primary school.
- You had to hide a bullying incident, every one of them concerning your little girl. Knowing what would happen if König found out.
- But he knew. He checked in with her every day after school and she told him, “It’s because I’m littler than them,”
- “I was picked on, for being too big…”
- “Really, papa?” With eyes like his own, the soul hadn’t been taken out though. “I wish I was tall like you…”
- He holds her on his knee, “You are perfect just the way you are, little mouse.” Giving him the love he rarely had gotten from his own parents.
- His constant lesson to his children is ‘be yourself’. Something he wishes he had learned at that age and onward.
- If your sons are picking on each other, he puts them through the wringer and gives them a hard time.
- He lets them then figure it out between themselves.
- Helps with homework, though literature and comprehensive skills aren’t his thing. Science and maths are his jam, though. Your kids are getting good grades from homework assignments.
- Walks them home from school, on the daily.
————
masterlist
#cod modern warfare#cod#cod x reader#cod mw2#konig x y/n#konig fanfiction#konig call of duty#konig mw2#konig headcanons#konig cod#cod smut#konig smut#konig x you#konig x reader#könig x reader#könig smut#könig cod#könig call of duty#könig#dad!könig#cod mw x reader#cod mwii
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Silent Night



Summary - You're back from college for the holidays, and you've decided on exactly what you want for Christmas - Joel Miller's cock.
A/N: this was such a last minute fic im ngl rn. wasn't even planning on posting a Christmas fic, let alone my FIRST dbf joel miller smut?? anyway, i hope everyone enjoys. happy Christmas<3
Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader
Word count: 3k
Warnings: smut, some good ole daddy kink, age gap (20+ years), Joel is pretty pervy in this, alcohol, divorce mentions. Not proofread because I'm tired
DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.
When you left for college all that time ago, Joel didn't have any strong feelings towards you. You were his best friend's kid, so naturally he saw you often, and got close with you. You were a sweet kid, kind, smart (more than him, he reckoned), and very.. determined when you wanted to be.
Now you're back for Christmas, and as he sees you exiting your dad's car, hurrying over to him, yelling “Joel! Joel! Oh, I missed you so much!” he realises how fucked up his mind might be.
Any normal guy who was reuniting with a girl he'd known since she was a teenager, and a girl he had at least 20 years on, would not be looking at how her tits bounced in her crop top, or how her leggings were tight enough to let him see just how perfect your ass was.
But Joel wasn't normal, he wasn't a good man, so he was looking for all of those things. If he'd actually been looking at your face, maybe he'd have seen you smirking. Maybe he'd have realised you wore those clothes for exactly this reason.
-
Joel, or dad's best buddy, Mr Miller, as you'd known him until you were 16 and couldn't be bothered to pay respect to your elders, had been a part of your life for a while.
Ever since your mom took off, Joel was coming around far more often and, in his own gruff and quiet way, was taking care of you more than your own father was at the time.
Nowadays, you didn't really have any resentment towards your father because of this - he'd just gotten divorced, he was going through a rough time.
But teenage you definitely did, and having Joel step in like that definitely left you with mixed feelings.
If things weren't the way they were back then, you'd probably have developed this all-encompassing crush on him even earlier.
When you were leaving for college though, the crush suddenly dived into your life, crashing down and muddling up everything you thought you knew about yourself.
Now, as you returned back home at last, you knew you had to have him, or you feared you might just lose it.
He was everything a girl.. like you, could want right now. Old, brooding, mysterious, and so fucking hot.
So as you hopped over to him where he stood in his front lawn, you made sure to hug him tight and make sure he could really feel that you weren't wearing a bra. You knew he was looking already, so why not let him feel it?
He hesitated for a moment - probably struggling with his boner which you swore you could already feel - before bringing his arms around you and clapping you on the back.
“I missed you so much, Mr Miller.” You hum sweetly, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His own eyes almost flutter shut at the name you chose to use for him, and he manages to choke out a soft missed ya too, darlin’.
That darlin’ would be enough to make you come tonight.
Your dad finally turns around after unloading your luggage and turning the car off, greeting Joel before the two of you head to your house.
-
The next day, it's Christmas Eve. Dinner rolls around, and you check over your makeup one more time. You don't want it to be too much - it would look weird, considering it was only Joel coming over (your dad was a solitary creature) - but you still had to look good for him.
The doorbell rings and you almost trip down the stairs. “I'll get it, dad!” You yell, and he thanks you, completely unaware of your motives.
You open the door, biting back a smirk when Joel immediately looks you up and down, only just managing to tear his eyes away from your chest.
“Hi, Mr Miller. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly.
“Hi, sweetheart… told ya y’dont have ta call me that. Joel's fine.” He says softly, eyes still a little hazy.
You step back to let him inside and immediately take one of the beers he'd brought over once he sets the case down.
“Y’old enough to drink that, honey?” He teases, mind finally out of the gutter for now.
“I'm 21 in like.. a month. It's fineeee.” You smirk, tipping your head back and taking a big swig, showing off the long column of your neck and the swell of your breasts.
His mind is back in the gutter.
Your eyes are off him for now, so he allows him to drink in the sight of you properly. A silly Christmas hat atop your curled, gorgeous hair; red sweater tight around your breasts, little candy-canes dotted around it; your skirt, far too short and he's almost certain you're teasing him now, tights underneath making him want to rip them clean off of you. Your makeup looks perfect, red lips which he knows would look perfect around his cock, mascara which he can picture smudged and ruined from tears and sweat while you fuck-
“Joel, y’made it! Cmon, sit with me.” Your dad grins, and Joel's eyes widen. What the fuck is wrong with him? He cannot be thinking that way about you.
He shakes his head, muttering something to himself before going to sit with your dad.
-
Joel finally thinks he'll have some reprieve from your incessant teasing, letting out a tired sigh as he sits on the couch, your dad on the armchair.
“Tired already, old man?” Your dad teases.
“You're older than me, asshole.” Joel grunts, earning him a chuckle.
Just then, you appear in the doorway. Of course, of-fucking-course, you'd decide to watch TV with them tonight. It's soccer, for Christ's sake, you'd always get bored out of your mind and run upstairs to go on your phone whenever the game was on.
Not today though, much to Joel's dismay.
“What're you watching?” You ask, sitting beside Joel. He tries to mask his discomfort.
“Just soccer hon, I know you don't like-” your dad starts, but you quickly cut him off.
“No, no! It's fine. I'll try watching it tonight.” You smile softly, and settle in to watch.
You clearly get bored after about 5 minutes, sighing softly.
“You really find this interesting?” You murmur to Joel, now having made yourself comfortable on his shoulder. He tried to make himself as stiff as possible when you first lay on him, but you were persistent as always, and he just gave in.
“Ain't nobody forcin’ you to watch it.” He argues, and you keep quiet after that, eventually getting up to go get the food ready.
-
Dinner is yet another trial for Joel. You've gotten just as frustrated and impatient as he is, it seems.
Leaning in front of him when serving the food, giving him a clear view of your tits. Not to mention you never serve food, set the table, but all of a sudden you're acting like little miss helpful today.
‘Accidentally’ dropping a cup and bending over in his eyeshot to pick it up.
Sitting beside him at the table instead of with your dad.
When your hand moves to his thigh, he bolts upright, earning him a look from your dad.
“Bathroom,” is all he can get out before he's rushing upstairs.
“Fucking kid. Thinks she can fuckin’.. pull all this shit with me.. thinks she can act like this in front of her dad.. fuck me.” He mutters to himself, despite undoing his belt and pulling his cock out, barely stifling his groan when he spits on his palm and starts tugging at his length so fast it's almost painful.
His mind conjures up all sorts of unholy images, and he's on the brink of release when- “Mr Miller,” you coo, knocking on the door. “is everything okay? You've been gone for like 10 minutes. Was it something in the food?”
He's so angry, so pent-up, he wants to pull you in here and just fuck that goddamn attitude out of you.
He's deathly silent, flushing, turning on the sink as he pulls his pants up, blue-balled like he'd never been before, and exiting the bathroom.
“Everything is fine.” He grits out, fists clenched as he walks past you. You eye his bulge and smirk before practically skipping down the stairs.
“He said everything's fine, daddy.” You smile to your dad, and he almost collapses. He swears he sees god for a second.
That word coming out of your mouth should absolutely not turn him on like it just did - but it did.
The rest of dinner, he's almost silent, just gulping down beer and chewing on his now cold turkey. You don't try anything with him, actually a little afraid he might just get up and leave.
Instead, you wait until the movie.
Your dad puts Die Hard on, and after a lengthy argument about whether or not it even counts as a Christmas movie, - you insist it's not and will carry that with you to the grave - you settle beside Joel.
Joel thinks he's made it through the worst of the evening, but then you shiver. You shiver again, and then you pout, and he feels obliged to ask.
“Are you cold?”
“Yeah.. can I have some of the blanket?” You whisper. Your dad is practically falling asleep in the armchair.
He goes to hand you the blanket, and you, devious as ever, put it over both of your laps, cuddling up to Joel even more.
He's on full alert right now, stiff as a log, waiting for your next game.
The movie goes on, and then your hand creeps under the sheet. Moving from the side, to your own lap, to his arm, then to his leg-
“What're you-” he grunts, but you just shush him.
“I'm trying to watch the movie, Joel.” You huff, as if your hand isn't on his cock right now.
His eyes are darting between you, the screen, his lap under the blanket, and your dad. Way too much is going on, and as you start palming him, he lets out the most pained groan. He sees you biting your lip and he's so angry, so horny, he doesn't know what to do with himself.
Your dad suddenly wakes up, and the bubble pops. You pretend you're asleep on Joel's shoulder, and you know you've won when Joel tells your dad to just go on up, that he'll make sure she gets to bed.
As soon as your dad's bedroom door shuts, Joel grabs your jaw, glaring at you.
“Exactly what the fuck do you think you're doing, little girl?” He spits, and you giggle softly.
“‘m not doing anyth- ow, Joel!” You whimper when he squeezes your cheeks together.
“You gonna tell the truth now? Gonna answer me properly?” He says, tone and eyes cold as the ice on your driveway.
You nod, trying to stifle your whimper. He eases the grip on your jaw, still holding it, before asking you again.
“What do you think you're doing?” He says through clenched teeth, and you know he's not fucking around anymore.
“I.. I just..” Fuck it, you may as well shoot your shot, otherwise what was the point of everything tonight anyway?
“I wanted you to fuck me, Joel.”
Creak goes the step at the top of your staircase, and you squeak, jumping off the couch as Joel pulls the blanket and a pillow over his lap. You rush upstairs past your dad, hurriedly bidding him goodnight before slamming your door.
“Just came to grab my phone. Everythin' alright..?” He asks, brows furrowed at your skittish behaviour.
Joel nods, and your dad leaves him alone.
His cock has been throbbing for hours. So long that it's actually painful. But now he can't do anything. You and your dad are upstairs, you'll be asleep in 5 minutes, and Joel will just have to pretend it's your pussy wrapped around his length when he fucks his fist in the guest bedroom tonight.
-
Guilt gnaws away at him as he cleans his come off of his hand and stomach, tossing the tissues into the bin before changing into some sweats and managing to fall asleep after half an hour of tossing and turning.
The world seems to hate him, since he wakes up at 2am, heading to the bathroom only to walk past your bedroom and hear you moaning. He can't make out what you're moaning - but he has a good idea - and he's thankful your doors are quiet when he opens the one to your room.
You're facing away from the door, legs spread, face in your pillow as your hips buck, fingers working your pussy furiously.
“Joel, Joel, fuck-” you gasp, whimpering as you get close.
Fuck this.
If he didn't get to come for the entire evening, you did not get to come right now.
He walks over to you, morales abandoned, and growls your name.
You squeak, biting your lip as you turn and look at him. You'd been so close, but now you're too petrified to finish.
“Joel, I-”
“Not another word.”
It's the last thing he says before he flips you back onto your stomach, pushing your head down into the pillows.
“You're gonna be a good girl and shut the fuck up while I fuck this needy pussy. You understand me?”
You part your lips to reply, earning a spank to your ass.
“Can't fuckin’ listen, can ya? No talking, baby.”
You nod, whimpering as he pushes your head back down and pulls your soaked panties off, tossing them onto the floor.
“Fuck, look at her. Drippin’ for me, ain't she? Didn't know you were such a slut, babygirl.” He teases, knuckles dragging along your slit, and you cry into the pillow, hips bucking back against his hand.
Another spank, making you moan, trying to stop your hips from bucking once more.
“You take what you're fucking given. Do you understand me?”
You nod, having learnt from your mistakes.
“Good girl. Knew you could listen for me.” He coos, before he's thrusting two of his thick fingers into your dripping heat.
You gasp and whine, moaning his name into the pillow, almost tearing your sheets with how hard you grip them.
“That's right.. moan my name. Fuckin’ slut.” He grunts, head ducking down to tease your clit with his tongue. You almost lose it, starting to clench hard and fast around his fingers. You're right on the edge when he pulls away.
“Joel!” You practically sob, deflating as your orgasm drifts away.
“Shh, shh. You thought you could tease me all night and still get off? Y’thought wrong, honey.” He coos, mocking, pulling down his sweatpants and slicking up his cock with your wetness, giving you no warning as he starts to push in.
“Ohh, fuck. Knew you'd be tight for me, baby. That's it, good girl.” He groans, bottoming out. He allows you to cry his name into the pillow, but when he starts really fucking you, it gets too much.
He pulls out to the tip before slamming back into you, making you almost scream, back arching and hips bucking - unsure if you want him to get out, or fuck you even harder.
He decides for you, starting to pound into you. The only sounds in the room are your broken moans, his heavy breathing, and the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.
“Joel- Joel- pl-please I'm gonna come- please Daddy-” you moan, and his hips stutter before he's pulling you up by your hair, his back to your chest when he resumes his aggressive thrusts.
“Shut- the fuck- up.” He pants in-between thrusts, and you whimper, brows drawing together as you get close. He starts rubbing your clit and you see stars, unable to stop yourself from coming.
“Fuckfuckfuck yes, yes daddy- oh my god-” you sob, before he's pulling out and manhandling you onto your back, thrusting back inside to the hilt, palm covering your mouth.
“You better shut up right now unless you want your real daddy to wake up, find us here like this-” you curse silently when you clench around him at the thought - what is wrong with you?
“Oh, you like that? Dirty fucking girl. Such a slut for daddy, huh?” You clench tighter at that, and his thrusts speed up, pace irregular. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.”
His hand leaves your mouth and you cover it yourself, not wanting to anger him anymore.
“‘s okay, baby.” He murmurs, taking your hand from your mouth and leaning down to kiss you. As he does, his hand goes to your clit, and you moan loudly, muffled slightly by the kiss, as your back arches off the bed and you come so hard you see stars, setting off his own release and making him groan, biting your shoulder as he fills you up.
It's quiet for a moment, save for your shared panting, before he pulls out.
“Fuck, honey..” he murmurs, watching your shared fluids dribble out of your cunt, gathering them up on his fingers and pushing them back into your tight hole.
“Made such a mess, didn't we?” He says softly, brushing your hair away from your eyes as you giggle softly, nodding.
“That was so good.” You whisper, and he nods, gathering you up in your arms.
“Joel, you can't stay in here-” you mutter, confused.
“Just relax, honey. I'll leave in the mornin’. Just let me hold you for now.”
You're utterly perplexed, but you're definitely not complaining, swallowed up by his warmth and drifting off within a minute.
-
The next morning, you're opening presents, and you bite your lip when he reads his card from you. At the bottom, you'd added - come to my room afterwards for the second part of your gift - and when he comes upstairs afterwards, it's safe to say he doesn't leave for a good hour.
Dividers by @adornedwithlight <3
Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Have a good Christmas everyone!! ❤️
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