#sac code | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moongreenlight · 11 months

Text

Have you ever seen that corny ass skit where it’s the girl talking to her husband asking him to fix things and he says “I’m not a plumber” “I’m not a carpenter” bla bla bla and then one day he comes home and the girl’s like “oh yeah I had the neighbor come over to fix the things you wouldn’t” and the neighbor says she can either bake him a cake or sleep with him as payment so the husband asks “so what kind of cake did you bake him?” And the girl says “I’m not a baker?”

Very much Neighbor!Price x stay-at-home-mom!reader coded :)

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Neighbor!Price who’s found a quiet little cul-de-sac to settle in when he’s got some time off. It’s a little neighborhood, mostly older people who’re thrilled to have a man like him around to help bring out bins and offer to mow their lawns or rake their leaves or shovel their drives when he’s around.

But somehow he’s found the only other younger family in the area living directly next to him. Parents are a few years his junior, and they’ve got two young kids. He assumes the boy, the older one, is early elementary age- sees you herding him into the car in the morning with a pack lunch and a backpack that’s nearly the same size as he is to and from the house in the morning and afternoon. And the girl, the younger, must be in pre-k, because she’s only out for half the day and doesn’t get the same pack lunch her brother gets.

He’s gotten to know you pretty well. When he’s around, the two of you will chat while you’re tending your garden and he’s working in his garage carrying out some odd project or another. He thinks you’re sweet. Likes the way you wear overalls with a little top when you’re planting flowers in the beds out front. How when you bend over or stand at the right angle he can imagine you’re not wearing a top at all.

He hates your husband. He’s crass and rude and never waves hello to any of the neighbors- odd for such a friendly little community. Leaves for work early and comes home late and leaves you to fend for yourself all day. Doesn’t know how to interact with you or your kids. And Price is almost certain he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked because his bedroom window looks over your living room and he’s caught you on the couch with your hand down your pants more times than could have been coincidence.

He’s known to be the neighborhood handyman. Got a little workshop set up in his garage and a general knowledge about nearly everything, so it’s not uncommon that he gets a knock on the door a few times a week. Usually it’s some of the older neighbors popping over to see if he can fix their TVs or help their grandkids connect to the Wi-Fi, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you turn up on his porch mid-morning.

You’re scrunching the ends of your soaking wet hair in a towel. Apologizing as soon as you hear him turn the deadbolt. Feverishly going on about how you must have blown a circuit in the bathroom trying to dry your hair and you’d usually be able to manage but your husband shoved a bookshelf in front of the breaker and you can’t get through to it.

He’s sweet about it. Always is, but especially for you. Follows you over to your place and promises you no less than ten times that it’s really no trouble. He’s happy to help. It’s a quick fix, but he drags it out as long as he can. Insists on following you up and down the stairs from the basement to the top floor twice to make sure everything’s working properly.

He notices that the bathroom door sticks and that the fire alarm in the hallway is chirping from a low battery. You apologize for the toys in the living room and the clean laundry pile on the couch and the state of your house. Say that your husband is racking up a hefty to-do list with a small laugh that’s just a bit too forced.

He’s thrilled to tell you that he’s got some free time later in the week and says he’ll come over if only to help out your husband. Makes some backhanded remark about how your husband is clearly a busy lad. You refuse- of course- sweet thing that you are, but he turns up the next day after you’ve taken your kids to school anyway.

He tails you up the drive so there’s no way you can shut him out. Shushes you when you try to apologize for one reason or another and takes off to fix not only the sticky bathroom door and the fire alarm batteries, but also the dripping kitchen faucet and the garbage disposal that’s been broken for months.

You try to stay clear of whatever room he’s working in, chirping short responses to whatever nonsense question he asked in an attempt to lure you over. It was only when he was about to head out and he saw you leaning on the dryer to keep it shut that he saw his golden opportunity.

You were clearly trying to hide it, but even with a small load of clothes in, it sounded like you’d thrown a pair of boots into a tin garbage pail and shook it hard as you could. You tried to shoo him off, but he wasn’t having any of it.

There’s enough skirting around the subject to give you chance to turn down his advances, but when he realizes you’re not outright telling him to go fuck himself, he’s essentially taking it as a challenge to see if he can’t push you to that point.

Hoists you up on the still clanging machine and pushes between your legs on the weak pretense of needing you there to keep the door shut while he works. The machine shook the straps of your top down off your shoulders and made him acutely aware of the fact that you hadn’t had the time to put on a bra yet. It made his pants near painfully tight on the crotch.

He’d try and make idle chat. Your kids and plans for the day, but it’s entirely too hard for him to focus on anything other than the way your thighs are pressing together as the dry cycle started to bang the machine around more. He makes a light comment about how he’s not sure how you get anything done around the house with the dryer in this state. Your laugh is breathy.

And when he leans over you to reach to the back of the machine, he can feel the way your soft panting breaths fan his neck. Confirms his suspicions.

“Alright?”

You’re chewing the inside of your lip while you nod. Clearly starved for stimulation if all it takes is a dry cycle to get you off. Poor thing.

It’s stuffy in the laundry room. Adds to the appeal. Makes your shorts ride up and stick to your legs. Your thighs are dewy and glide together when you shift under his gaze.

“You sure, doll?”

The two of you are almost nose-to-nose. You’re leaned back, caged in by his big arms that look even bigger in his almost obscenely tight shirt. He’s smiling. Letting his eyes wander to your collarbones. The way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

Before you could choke out your answer, the dryer stopped. Chimed the alert and slowly stilled. You took a shaky breath and nodded once more, looking like you couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. He backed off, stretched out his hand to help you down.

You lead him to the kitchen. Ask if you can get him anything. Tea or food. He declines. You say something about stopping to get cash when you’re out picking up your daughter in a couple hours. He declines again.

“John, really, I appreciate your help. You have to let me get you back.”

You’re filling the kettle with water anyway, leaned just slightly over the sink. He knows it’s impolite to stare, but he’s never had very good manners when it came to things like that.

“Bake me a cake or somethin’, then. Sleep with me. Won’t take your money, though.”

You whirl around and end up sloshing some water down your front. Doesn’t seem to phase you. Your eyebrows are damn near at your hairline.

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, considering…”

He snorts a soft laugh. It’s kind- not at all suggestive. Like he’s playing off a clever joke.

“What? Baking me a cake?”

You purse your lips and set the kettle on the stove.

“Never been a very good baker.”

He about hurdles the kitchen island like he’s running track.

“That right?”

You make a thoughtful sound before clicking on the burner. He can see you biting back a smile. You finally turn to face him. Leaned back on your hands with your head cocked slightly to the side.

“I just don’t know that it would be appropriate given our- my- situation.”

It’s his turn to hum and nod. Take a few steps forward, slow and slinky like a predator stalking toward its prey.

“Sure.”

You chew your bottom lip. Try to find some resolve in fussing with your wedding ring. It’s horrible. Small. He can’t help but think about how he’d be able to get you a much better one. He takes a few more steps forward.

“It’s complicated, John.”

Your voice is mousy now.

“I know.”

A few more steps forward and he’s back nose-to-nose with you. Pinning you against the counter.

“I just-“

“Then tell me to go home.”

The button of his jeans grazes your groin and sends sparks up your spine. You recoil slightly, but he’s got his massive hands on your wrists to keep you in place.

“My husb-“

“Don’t. S’not what I said. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave. S’easy as that.”

The coarse hair of his beard brushes along your jaw. Visible goosebumps rise all the way up your neck and down your arms.

“John, he-“

A throaty growl from him.

“He’s not getting a lick of you.”

And then somehow he’s got you on your back on the couch. Shoved off the pile of laundry and pushed you down. His eyes are near pitch black and hungry. Ravenous. He tears off your shorts. Doesn’t wait for you to hoist your hips, just yanks so hard that you’re a little worried you’ll get thrown off the couch with them.

He is wretched. Planting wet kisses from the inside of your knee all the way up to your sex frustratingly slow. Big hands splayed over your hips to keep you from bucking up into his mouth. He’s got this maddeningly smug smile on his face like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say I told you so. Like he knew this was going to happen from the start, you were just too stupid to see.

Your underwear is embarrassingly wet from your little go on the dryer. Your pussy puffy and sensitive underneath. You whine when he kisses over the damp spot. Laves his tongue over your folds without pulling them to the side. He makes some comment about the state of you that borders on snarky, but you choose to ignore it.

When he finally does rid you of your panties, there’s a moment of clarity where you realize what you’re doing. You push up on your elbows and try to roll out from under him, but he gives your clit a mean slap that forces you back onto the couch and ends your protest. Sends you to that liminal, clouded headspace where all you can focus on is how desperately you need to come.

It’s clear he’s savoring the moment. Running the point of his tongue through your folds. Teasing at your hole. Artfully swirling around your clit, but never close enough to give you the friction you’re so desperately craving. Planting hot, wet kisses on your inner thighs. Leaves a few love bites in his wake like he’s boasting; so certain your husband wouldn’t get close enough to notice that he had no problem decorating you as he pleased.

You’re a mess. Being taken apart stitch by stitch. Panting and whining and begging for more. Your orgasm is coiling tight under your belly without him having to do much. Any other time you’d have felt a little pathetic, but you were too preoccupied to care now.

He finally brings his hands up and you think he’s about to stuff you full, but he only lets his fingers drag slowly along your sensitive sex. Collects some of your arousal and pulls it up toward your naval. Watches the goosebumps form under his touch.

He rucks your shirt up with his free hand and immediately wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples. Tongues at them. Lets his teeth graze teasingly over them. And whatever one he’s not got currently in his mouth, he’s working his fingers over. Pinching and flicking until you’re teary eyed and squirming under him.

And then finally, fucking finally, he ducks back down and fixes his mouth on your clit. Sucks gently on the swollen bud for just a moment and then companies his mouth with two fingers bullying their way inside you.

The stretch is almost uncomfortable in its suddenness, but you quickly get used to it. The pleasure is blinding. Forces you to throw your head back against the cushion and screw your eyes tightly shut. A string of high, needy moans float through your gaped lips.

He’s sweet, Jesus, is he. Hums and groans with his mouth still on your bundle of nerves. Pulls away just enough to tell you how pretty your pussy is taking him before going back to work on your sensitive clit. You want to scream. You think you may actually come entirely undone on this couch if he doesn’t stop.

And then your orgasm coils so tightly within you that it explodes outward. Tears through you and leaves every square inch of your skin sizzling. He doesn’t let up. Pins you down by the stomach with his forearm and continues down his warpath. The sounds his fingers make when they sink into you are so pornographic that it makes your face hot.

You eventually find it in you to warble out something that sounded like please, too much. And he pulled off, still with that smug grin pulling his lips now surrounded by glistening slick caught in the hair of his beard.

He gives you one last kiss. Lewd and wet and so searing hot you’re worried it will actually blister the sensitive flesh of your cunt. He’ll sit back on his haunches and fuss with the button and zipper of his jeans before saying something horrible and cheeky like

“C’mon, doll. Thought you were set on payin’ me back.”

#he sees a family with a present but shitty father and says ‘it’s free real estate’ I hate him #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #captain price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #price cod #john price #cod price #141 x reader #x reader

4K notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 3 months

Text

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too.

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it.

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with.

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway.

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in.

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her.

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her.

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé.

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you.

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.”

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.”

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain.

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again.

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before.

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-”

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her.

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it?

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been.

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.”

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid.

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter.

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.”

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity.

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate.

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.”

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact.

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too.

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again.

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.”

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten.

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you.

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids.

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly.

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-”

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused.

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…”

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world.

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right?

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.”

You nodded at the answer.

“And Spencer?”

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised.

“If I told him, you'd know.”

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb.

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?”

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.”

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids.

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art.

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again.

“So, you're not dating?”

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?”

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other.

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him.

“Okay. What's your next move?”

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her.

“I… what?”

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…”

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?”

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about.

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words.

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.”

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip.

“We don't do anything but argue.”

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you.

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.”

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.”

“Don't need to-”

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-”

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said.

You sighed and finally gave in.

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.”

“Great. What next?”

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.”

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table.

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear.

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it.

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly.

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts.

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was.

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer.

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…?

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities.

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in.

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile.

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed.

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.”

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly.

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby.

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again.

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him.

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open.

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were.

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you.

🔖@mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig

@pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read

@ari-aurelia @flipsideoflife @mggreidsreads @@farfromthehomelands @spicyspirit @donttrustlove @chicaconfudidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @@nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @famouslynerdy @batrensworld @batrensworld

@Cattosmush @im-this-girl @Sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere@ Cattosmush @lariclifford @daphnesutton Ccatstars @Iniyalovesall @solemnarration @emma-e-a @haygirleyhay Mel-knee @broadwaytraaaaash @Wildflowerpassion @itshardtopickaname @Timidquindim

@yourfavoritefangirl @waywardxrhea @Aliceofonederland @joshuafatubaee @jc10622 @timeboundkate @Roslxnxx @Gensthoughts23 @marvelshittt @lavvylove @Slitherss @mythumbhurts @Xiaexact @Honestlyloving @maryyy-8

@timeboundkate @justdamnpeachy @awezomezauce @darling006 @thefalseapp @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @fabulouslynerdy @short-mess @maeganme @crazyunsexycool @redmoonsofvenus @supraveng @lilscb @jackierose902109 @thebooklocket

503 notes · View notes

alien-magnolia · 1 year

Text

Tainted Love

Fic description: This is a dark fic. 18+ MINORS DNI. Dom!-coded Billy Loomis + hyperfeminine, sub-coded afab reader: they are married, committing crimes together <3 and having a wonderful domestic life <3 besides all the blood and murder. Smut/horror genre: kinks include service!, blood!, knifeplay!, ropes!, choking!, spanking!, free-use!, SERVICE, d/s mental dynamics, majorrrr daddy!kink, exhibitionism

If you like this post, pls engage, comment, reblog! It means so much to me, Ty <3 WC 2.7k

October 10, 1996.

The dark red, yellow, with tinges of brown leaves tumbled down the secluded suburban street. A tan cottage stood at the end of a cul-de-sac, yard neatly trimmed, wind chimes ringing on the porch where they hung. A dim light inside. A black van pulls into the driveway, scaring away a few neighboring birds. The door shuts — a young man enters the house.

——

You were just about finished with tonight’s dinner when your partner came back from college. You loved Billy dearly, and so you did almost everything for him. It was your dynamic — and he loved it as well. You served him, your Billy, your daddy.

How exactly did you get involved with a serial killer? Involved far enough to be an equal partner in his crimes? Involved enough to be so cautious and excellent at keeping first-degree murder a secret? Involved enough to live with him?

—-

It began last fall. A chilly November morning, fog rolling in on the campus. You walked in your pretty pink outfit, donning lace and frills, kitten heels, and butterfly hair clips. You were only nineteen. Young. Innocent. You were looking for your ‘Introduction to Early Modern Literature’ class, yet happened to wander over on the other, more secluded side of campus. You stumble over a rock on the sidewalk. You fall, beautiful rosy cheek now stained with a gash of bright, red blood.

Your hands, your knees, cut up from the bumpy pavement. You start crying. This was just too embarrassing!! With your social anxiety and shyness, you really hoped nobody had seen this. You did not like to be perceived by people — that is just how you were. You look around — not a soul to be seen.

Except for a man — lean, sitting on a brick bench, cigarette in hand. You couldn’t make out how he looked, yet fear overtook you as he started making his way over. You start to scramble up, hoping to run away from him, yet your bruises were just too intense for you to do so.

His deep voice asks you, “Hey, sweetheart, you okay? You nod. “Yeah jus’ a few scratches. Can’t see too well in the fog,” you sheepishly explain. “Hey, no worries. Here, I’ll help you up, yeah?” You oblige, taking his big calloused hands in yours as he helps you stand. You finally get a good look at him. God — he was handsome. More than handsome. Extremely, extremely, attractive. You got wet just by looking at his deep brown eyes and crooked smile looking down at you.

“Hey. Don’t be too shy, hun. Come. Want me to help you fix those bruises? There’s a bathroom right around the corner, he suggests. You nod silently, agreeing, following him to a door on the left.

He begins wiping your bruises with a wet towel, trying to stop the bleeding. His tongue pokes out of his mouth as he focuses. You see more of him now. He wears all black. Smells like cigarettes and a dusty old basement. “So what brings you to this part of campus?,” he asks, brown eyes focused on your bruises.

“Just got lost. Needed to find one class but couldn’t. Maybe I’ll skip today anyway…,” you trail off. “Aw. Today’s your first day huh?,” he coos at you, with a smile you just couldn’t figure out. “Um. Yes. I don’t really know the campus, so…,” you quietly answer him, afraid to look into his eyes. His voice, his face, it all made you thirst for him even more.

“I could tell. Hey. Maybe you should skip. Been looking for someone to hang out with,” he suggests, finishing up cleaning your bruises, putting a few bandaids on you. “I’m Billy, by the way.” You introduce yourself to him, a little smile forming on your face. You ended up skipping class that day, spending time with him in that secluded courtyard, smoking cigarettes, listening to The Smiths. You ended up fucking in the bathroom a few hours later. You knew that you were indubitably attracted — glued to him and everything that he was. Something did feel a little off about how he treated others — you did not care.

So it was.

——

~Present day ~

You hear the keys jingle in the doorway, heavy boots make their way towards the kitchen, where you were. You currently donned a short little black dress, fishnets, with nothing underneath. You were waiting for him.

“Hey, sweets. Looking good today,” he compliments you, as he takes your small hand in his, moving you closer to him, wrapping a hand around your waist. You giggle as he peppers your cheek with kisses. “Sweetie. Want’a ask you something,” he insists, quietly, yet confidently. Your big eyelashes blink as you wait for his question.

“Wanna play with me tonight?,” a sinister smile adorns his face, his brown eyes filled with a hint of malice, excitement. Your eyes match his. You loved playing with him, your sessions, where you gave over complete control of yourself, to him. You trusted him completely. He led, you followed.

You were his. His prey, his little girl, his accomplice. You were his, devoted completely, mind and body. The two of you even had matching tattoos: a forever symbol of your unique relationship.

“Yes, daddy. What first?” He chuckles lowly. “Glad you asked, princess. We’re going to the van.” You smile back at him, as he gives you a kiss, pulling you closer to him by your neck. You knew what to do, sticking your hands out, as he takes a rope from the nearby drawer.

The rope felt nice around your wrists, you liked to watch him tie it. You didn’t want your freedom when you played with him. “Daddy’s girl, all tied up, huh? Come sweets. Let’s go to the van,” he sneers at you in the best possible way, as he leads you outside. Still, he manages to grab a coat for you, alongside some knives. You suspected that both of you will be using those later.

“Before we leave our house, thought we might have a bit of fun in the van, what’dya say? I think it’ll be nice for my little girl, yeah?,” he croons at you, caressing your cheek, before gripping it harshly, brown eyes boring into yours.

You’re on your knees for him in his dingy van. His waffle knit white t-shirt feels nice on your bound hands, as you see him start to unbuckle his belt, dropping his jeans to the floor of the van. “Give daddy’s cock some love, hun,” you hear, and his strong arms work to push you down to the floor. You look up at him from your back, you see him towering over you, cock in his calloused hand, slowly rubbing it. He lowers his cock and balls onto your face, you love the feeling of his heavy ball sack on your chin. His cock was wide, not too long, yet wide, weeping, with three beautiful veins and a beauty mark <3

It was all red and ready for your wet throat. You took him eagerly, sucking so much pressure, you felt his silky smooth voice moan out in ecstasy. You keep sucking, swirling your tongue around the mushroom tip of his cockhead. He pulls a knife to the side of your cheek. You stop.

“Look what daddy’s got here hun. You don’t like this little toy, do you?,” he taunts. With that, he lowers the knife to your chest, where he makes a gentle cut on it. He liked to cut you with his knife. Another way to possess you, to mark you as HIS.

“Get up, sweets. Daddy’s gonna cum if you keep this shit up.” He chuckles, and helps you up, wiping that little cut he made with a towel. That same towel now goes in your mouth as a makeshift gag.

His hands tightly grip your hips, pushing you down onto the floor of the van again. Hips spread, gagged, hands still tied, you felt his finger swipe across your clit, down your labia, trailing over your wet, wet, pussy. Your hole was clenching around nothing!! He was going to fix that.

“Aww. Look at you , sweetie. Cheeks all rosy, ass up for me, ready to be bred,” he taunts. You only moan in response. “Does daddy’s little girl want to be bred, hmm? Like a little cow?” You moan in response, he tuts, and lifts your neck up gently. “What was that?,” voice low. Shit. You fucked up.

“Yes, daddy,” your voice is muffled through the gag. He smiles again, that dark smile of his. Sinister. Evil. Exactly what you wanted to see. Without warning, you feel him push into you. Wide, throbbing, filling that sweet spot exactly how you wanted. He went slow for just a little, relishing how good his little girl, his breeding cow, dumpster, was for him. Then he went fast. Too fast. You loved hearing the sound of his cock and balls slap against your ass, your squelching pussy <3

You feel so full of him, you saw stars as his wife cock drilled deeper and deeper into you. You felt him twitch inside, your favorite part!! “Take my cum, baby. Fuckin’ take it,” you hear him grunt, as his hands press your body down into a mating press, his stomach now on top of your back. He had you caged in, tied, gagged, absolutely abusing you on his wide cock. You were in heaven. You were his now, in this moment. The both of you came, and of course, he did not let you squeeze his cum out of you.

“Keep it in, hmm? Want our visitors to know that you’re daddy’s girl.” You nod and smile, making grabby hands at him once he unties your wrists, and takes the towel out of your mouth. He lifts you up into his lap, peppering your face with kisses, smiling up at you as you giggle.

He helps you get dressed, gently cooing at you as you show him the carpet burn you got from being on your knees for so long. He kisses it to make it better <3 and even puts on your white frilly socks for you, helping you with your little black kitten heels and your dress.

“Where to next, daddy?,” you giddily await his answer. “Now, we drive. To meet our special guests for tonight,” he replies, your smile now matching his level of sinister. The both of you were about to go have some fun, with some unconventional guests as well.

——-/

It was now almost midnight. After your play session in the van, you couldn’t wait to play in front of your guests!! The both of you listen to heavy metal as Billy speeds down an abandoned road, the rotting leaves blowing towards the sides from the van passing by on the road. He pulls his van up a few meters close to the woods, and parks.

“Coat, baby.” You nod, and he puts your black puffer on. He leads you to the backseat, where a black trunk with a lock is placed. He opens it. His mask. Ghostface. He puts it on his hip, putting on black clothes over his nice ones. He gives you gloves, and a knife. One for himself as well. Binoculars.

“Come, hun. This way.” You follow him up into a tree, where the both of you take turns with your binoculars. He takes out his block of a phone. How you loved the 90’s. He dials the number, telling you to watch their reaction in the windows. “Hi. What’s your favorite scary movie,” Billy's voice drawls out to his unsuspecting victims in the mansion that you were currently hiding outside of.

Billy continued to harass them on the phone, beckoning you down the tree quietly, and closer and closer to the person’s backyard. Billy stays on the phone, pointing at you to stay put, and opens the window on the first floor. You wait outside, as he slips on in.

You knew what to do. You’d wait for his signal, then follow him in. Then, came your favorite part: where Billy shows you off to his victims <3

You see his hand signal through the window. You step on inside, and see the couple tied to each other, this time with metal chains. Billy is wearing his mask. “Just in time for the show, sweetheart. Kneel.”

You do as said, loving the absolutely sadistic smile on his face right now. He puts on your leash ( only for when in front of un-consenting others) and has to crawl to sit at his knees. “You see here, my two pretties, you two are going to watch me fuck my little princess here. After that, I’ll decide if you get to live,” he chuckles in absolute glee.

“By the way, if you two decide to make a sound, or go at my little girl here, I’ll stab ya. Sounds good? My, my, what a perfect, scary movie,” he narrates to himself, to you, to the two victims, who looked like they were about to mentally lose it. <3

He skips with the foreplay, the blowjob, the fingering. He gets right to it. He wants his victims to see his pretty girl, on his own terms. He roughly pushes you down onto the floor, strong hands positioning your hips in place, giving your ass a few harsh spanks <3 you hear the belt buckle slip, and soon enough, you can feel the warmth of his already hard cock near your puffy pussy.

Your eyes are drawn to the couple. You loved being shown off, being watched. They did not want to watch you. But that is okay. Billy is going to make them. :)

They watch in horror as he starts rutting into you like a beast, bloody knife that he used on one of the victims nearing your neck, staying there. The knife soon drops, he gives it to you to hold as he starts losing control. You were too, feeling so full of him, getting an extra serving of his cum :) was your favorite thing to do.

You smiled as the couple looked on in horror. Billy pulled out just the last second before, and came all over your face. “Look so pretty with my cum all over your face, sweet girl. Clean it up f’me, yeah?” You nod.

After you wipe it off, Billy steps back in front of the two victims. “See how nicely I treat my girl? I’m her daddy, after all. Just wanted to show her to you. She’s mine, forever will be. What a nice show the two of you got,” he chuckles, before stabbing one of them, the screams could be heard from down the block.

Billy finished off the other one, not before giving her a good slap and punch. <3 The pool of blood covers the entire kitchen tiling, making it seem red everywhere. It’s on your shoes, on Billy’s. He takes his mask off, and picks you up in his arms.

“Did so good f’me today, sweet girl. So proud of you,” he praises you. “You did good too, Billy. I love how rough you are with them.” He smiles again, giving you a tender kiss. “Let’s leave, huh? Go back home, watch a scary movie?,” he asks. You nod, staying still in his arms as he carries you over the blood, and back out to the woods.

The two of you make it back to the van. They won’t catch you. As long as you’re together, everything was just fine.

#liz’s masterlist #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis smut #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #billy loomis fanfiction #billy Loomis hot #ghostface imagine #stu macher smut #dark!billy loomis smut #liz writes 🖤#pls don’t let it flop I’m proud of it!

1K notes · View notes

unmotivatedwrit3r · 11 months

Text

why do we go back?

damian wayne x reader

warnings: anxiety, kind of a panic attack?, implied past trauma/abuse

wc: 800

“I went back.”

“Why? They—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why. I—”

“Damian, honey, breathe.”

Damian’s brothers don’t text you that often. You don’t have their numbers saved in your phone. Or you didn’t. You have Tim’s now.

come to the manor now. non-medical emergency

oh and this is tim by the way

You don’t even see the text until you’re done with your meeting, phone on do not disturb and notes document in fullscreen mode. It was sent at 1:30 in the afternoon. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen at 1:30 in the afternoon.

I’m on my way, you text back at 3:00. Is he okay? The response comes as you’re setting up your gps. no. then, i mean he’s fine but no. You pull out of your parking spot a little faster than you should have.

Once you get on the highway, you turn off the GPS. The number 21 exit towards Bristol and Wayne manor is nearly as familiar as your own. You’re thankful for the dozens of trips you’ve made because Tim calls you five minutes in.

“What happened?” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The anxiety that had taken root when you saw the first text is morphing quickly into fear.

“He disappeared.”

“What?”

“He’s not on manor grounds anymore. But he’s not in his suit.”

On top of the phone call screen, a push notification lets you know that Damian's code was used to disarm your alarm system. You let out a short breath and switch lanes. Your exit is the next one.

“I know where he is,” you tell Tim as you shift over into the right lane. It’s a little backed up, the way it always is this time of day, “I got him.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You take exit 24 towards the lower east side, then switch to an even more local highway and take exit 8 towards the residential district. When you pull into your parking spot in the cul-de-sac, your house looks empty. When you walk inside, Damian’s combat boots are sitting by the door, not unlaced all the way. One of them is sitting on its side. The other is askew. You let your bag slide off your shoulder to hit the ground next to your own shoes and venture further in.

Damian’s sitting on the steps in dark casual clothes and white socks with a paint blob pattern. His knees are bent, legs pressed against his chest. Your steps aren’t steep and Damian is very tall. Hands clenched into fists rest on top of his knees. His neck is bent too, forehead pressed against his fists.

You slide back on the wooden steps when you sit down. Damian doesn’t so much as twitch. You wait for him to come to you. He does.

“I went back.” His voice is rough but not thick with tears.

“Why?” You ask. The League leaves him with deep hurts every time he goes back to Nanda Parbat. And not the physical kind. “They—”

“I don’t know!” He exclaims like the words burst out of his chest. The energy propels him up, fingers digging into the arms of his sweatshirt as he rocks on his heels. “I don’t know why. I—”

“Damian, honey,” You stand to meet him. The emotions in his green eyes are wild, untethered. “Breathe.” He shakes his head at you, fingers curling harder into his sleeves. “You can.” Damian scans your body language and you let him, relaxing the tension in your shoulders and leaving your hands open, arms angled to hold him if he wants it.

“I’m here,” you say to the hesitation in his eyes. “You’re safe.”

You let out a grunt of air as Damian slams into you. His arms wrap around you tight enough that you think he’s afraid you’ll turn into smoke if he lets go. You raise your arms more slowly, one coming up to rub at his back and the other to cup the back of his neck.His knees buckle. You slow your descent to the ground only barely, saving your knees from catching the brunt of your weight. Your butt stings instead from how hard it hit the floor but it’s worth it when Damian buries his face into the junction between your neck and your collarbone and breathes. They’re choppy loud breaths that come with shoulders shuddering under the hand you have rubbing up and down his back, but no tears hit your neck.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper to him, cheek pressed against the top of his head. “You’re safe here.” Damian’s arms only tighten further. In response, you hold him tighter too.

Why do we go back, you wonder, when we know the only thing to come of it is more pain?

#red writes 5k real story fics about things that happen; i write 800 words of a not real aftermath #i'm not usually MC material but then I have days like yesterday #was it really yesterday? it feels like just now and weeks ago at the same time #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #emerson writes sometimes

541 notes · View notes

anamseair · 2 years

Link

#SAC code and HSN code #SAC Code

0 notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

Too Close for Comfort 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, a grumpy man, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find a place to stay for the semester but your landlord is less than hospitable.

Characters: Joel Miller

Note: I said I'd get to Joel and I'm sorry to neglect everyone else lol.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The suburban sprawl awes you as you steer down the gentle curving avenues, taking in the trimmed hedges and the short picket fences. The neighbourhood is a stark contrast to the grim backstreets where you grew up. As you turn into the bright cul de sac, you can't help but wonder if you put the wrong address into the app.

The automated voice declares you've reached your destination just as you drive past the house from the posting. You hiss as you confirm the metal numbers mounted on the brick are the very same. You swerve into the nearest lot and reverse, forgetting to look as you do.

A loud honk has you slamming on the brakes as a large truck flashes its lights in your rearview. You give a sheepish wave and cringe, waiting for them to pull in. You sink down as you notice the bulky Chevy roll expertly into the lot in front of the very house that distracted you.

You hold in a groan and back up, straightening the wheel and parking along the curb. A man drops heavily to his feet from the pick-up, slamming the door behind him. You wince and grip the steering wheel nervously. That must be the man you emailed.

Great first impression...

You open your car door to get out only to be trapped by your seat belt. You quickly click the button to release yourself and climb out of the car. You step up on the curb as the man scowls towards his front door, tramping up the cement walk between neatly groomed grass.

"Um, excuse me, Joel?" You call after him, "are you Joel Miller?"

He stops before the bottom step of the porch and pushes his head back with a growl. He turns to face you, agitation creased above his brows. You try to smile but your lips only tremble.

"Um, sorry to bother, I'm the one who messaged you. Er, about the room. You know, uh, online?" You wave your phone at him and his eyes dully focus on the gesture.

He crosses his arms. You shift your weight on your feet, not daring to break the threshold of his lawn. Right, you don't think this is going to work out. You should've known it was too good to be true.

"I'm sorry--"

"I'm Joel," he interrupts, "you're my one o'clock," he checks his watch, a brown leather band strapped around his thick tanned wrist, "you're early."

"I... yes, I am. I hate being late--"

"Doesn't matter," he dismisses tersely and twists on his heel.

He climbs the front steps of the two-storey house as you watch helplessly. His broad shoulders stretch the thin cotton of his tee shirt as he rolls his shoulders and keys in the code to the front door. You slump your shoulders, hooking your fingers in your pockets as you make to turn back.

"You wanna see the room?" He calls to you before you can retreat.

"Oh, uh, sure," you hop in place and quickly scurry up the wall, "er, that would be great."

You clatter up the steps, tripping over the last one. He stands by the door, staring at you dully as he holds it open for you. You show your teeth appeasingly as you approach.

"Take your shoes off," he points you inside.

You step onto the mat and bend to untie your sneakers. He enters after you with a sigh. You quickly sidle out of his way as he nearly bumps into you. You slide your shoes aside and stand as he thumbs off his boots.

"It's above the garage," he points to the east wall. That is east, right?

"Sure, uh, cool," you follow him past the staircase.

He leads you to a door just before the kitchen and opens it again. It occurs to you then, maybe too late, that he's a complete stranger and you've walked carelessly into his house. You look at him, trying to hide the flicker of doubt. It doesn't help that he doesn't smile. Actually, you're not sure if that would be any better.

You go ahead of him and climb the stairs behind the door. You enter the room, fully furnished and relatively cozy. You're impressed. It's not much but enough to make do.

“Built in the bathroom,” he explains as he does to another doorway, “only half bath, you'll have to use downstairs for a shower. Kitchenette,” he goes to the counter mounted into the wall, “microwave, hot plate sink, guess you could get an electric kettle.”

You nod as you look around. It's not bad; a bed, a chair and footstool, a table against the wall with two wooden stools. Of all the places you've viewed, it's decent and it's close enough to school

“I could… is that an offer?” You prompt.

“You got a job?” He asks.

“Sure, I work on campus between classes, and I have a grant,” you explain, “probably won't be here too much, just need somewhere to sleep.”

“Mm,” he rubs his chin, a hoarse bristle of brown and gray along his jaw. “Deposit?”

“Right, um, yeah, I got it. I could Venmo? Or paypal?”

“Cash,” he insists.

“Oh, uh, I don't have it on me,” you fumble with your phone, “but I can show you my balance.”

“Bring it tomorrow and the room is yours.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Get the money in my hand and it's a deal,” he offers his hand, “you seem clean. You're a student. Better than the guy who tried to steal my silverware.”

“Uh, I won't do that,” you shake his hand and chuckle nervously.

“Mmm,” he growls and lets you go. “As long as you're quiet, I don't care what you do.”

“Oh, yeah,” you cover your mouth and lower your voice, “I'll do my best.”

He is unshakable. You're not the most charming character but you're harmless, most people realise that pretty quickly. You turn and continue to look around.

You go to the window and pull the cord of the blinds. Only one side raises and you yank it again. You give an oop as you angle it and try to let it down. It's only making it worse.

He huffs and crosses the room. You back up and he snatches the cord, rolling it up easily. You mumble an apology and look out, peering down at the driveway.

“It's really nice,” you say, “you said you put it the bathroom yourself?”

“Built the whole room,” he grumbles as he backs up, scratching the back of his, “something to do…”

“Right,” you smile, impressed by his handiwork. “Well, I can get the money. When should I come back?”

“Ten,” he says, “and don't be early. Don't need you interrupting my coffee.”

“Yes, sir,” you confirm, “ten…” you set an alarm on your phone and add it to your calendar, “I'll be here.”

You peek up at him as he watches you with narrowed eyes. His expression is enough to see you off. You're going to scram before he rescinds his offer.

🏘️

The next day, you head out to deliver the deposit. You take a little longer than you expected at the bank. You didn't consider that taking out a large amount would raise alarm bells.

With that sorted, you set off for your new home. This time, you park without issue, the Chevy truck unmoving in the driveway. You skip up the walk and take the steps two at a time. Your toe hits the top stair and you fly forward, colliding with the door.

You stand straight and laugh at yourself, reaching to knock on the door.

“Don't,” a disembodied voice warns.

You frown and look around. Your eyes catch the almost indiscernible lens above the doorbell. Oh, fancy.

The door swings open and Joel greets you over a gray blue mug. You stare at him awkwardly and teeter on your feet. Oh, yeah. You are here for a reason.

“Got it all here,” you proclaim as you loosen the drawstring on your purse, “counted it twice.”

He accepts it as he drinks from his mug, slurping down the last of the dregs. He clears his throat as he lowers the cup, “mm, great.”

“So, uh, not to be pushy,” you let your bag hang from your elbow, “when would I be able to… move in?”

His brown eyes bore into your very soul, “well… I guess whenever you need…”

“Great, because um, to be honest, it's really expensive to live on campus and my roommates are… messy,” you hesitate as you realise you're rambling, “not that that matters to you.”

“Just think of me like your landlord,” he grits, “don't bother me unless it's an emergency.”

“Got it,” you nod, “sorry, I'm excited. Oh, and I was wondering, am I allowed outside? Well, I don't mean, like, okay, is there a backyard?”

He nods stiffly.

“Am I… can I uh, use it?”

He stares then shrugs, “I guess. Two rules, stay out of my room and stay out of the garage. You got your room, you'll have access to the common space within limits.”

“Uh huh, makes sense,” you hold out the envelope and he takes it. “Well, thanks, I really appreciate it. You know, it must be a good investment, a little apartment…” you clamp your lips and cringe, “okay, sorry, I'm going.”

He doesn't respond. As you turn, the door snaps shut and you nearly trip again. It'll be a bit tense but it's better than scraping the bottom of the barrel to pay rent and dealing with Kaya's late night antics.

🏘️

You email Joel shortly after your last encounter. Restless, you're eager to be out of your overpriced and overcrowded dorm. You have most of your things ready to go. A single knapsack and a long duffle.

He agrees to the day before the first. You're not the sort to complain. It's better than the alternative. Short of the grumpy overseer, you really found the perfect place.

When you arrive, Joel's truck isn't there. You try ringing the bell but don't get an answer. You didn't expect any different. You sit on the top step and wait, admiring the facade of the neighbouring houses and the autumnal russets littered across their yards.

You’re not early. Not that early. You thought he’d be around or maybe give you some direction on how to get inside. Technically, this is your home too now. You signed the electronic lease.

When he drives up, you stand, swaying as you try not to seem too jumpy. He sits in his truck, taking his time as he lingers inside. When he gets out, he is in no hurry. You smile as he approaches and chew your lower lip.

His graying hair looks fluffy and soft despite his demeanour. He wears a tee shirt under a canvas shirt.

“Hi, er, Joel, sir,” you greet, “I… think I got the right day.”

“Was getting a key cut,” he slips his hand into his back pocket, “the keypad can be finicky. This one’s for the back. Just in case.”

“Thanks,” you chirp as you accept the key, “that’s awesome.”

His dark eyes challenge your enthusiasm as they flick up.

“Sure,” he agrees flatly.

“I’ll get my bags,” you announce as you back up, giving him room to step past you.

He rumbles but doesn’t give a real response. You hop off the step, landing clumsily, and follow the path down to the sidewalk. You pop your trunk and pull out your duffle and knapsack. As you go to shut the trunk, you feel a tug on the handle of the duffle bag and you hold back a yipe as a rough hand brushes the side of yours.

Joel doesn’t say a word as you let him take the bag. He turns and stalks back up the lawn. You can’t tell if he’s being helpful or he just wants to lock you away so you're out of his way. You hurry after him, keys jingling loudly.

Your foot hits the step and you nearly stumble again. You catch yourself with a stomp on the next step and he pauses at the front door to glance back at you. You offer another meek smile. He opens the door, waiting on you as you steady yourself.

“Sorry.”

“Slow down, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You give a nervous chuckle. He’s not laughing. You gulp and hook your knapsack on your shoulder before you continue inside. He might not be the nicest but at least you can be assured he can fix anything you break. Not that you’re intending on that… hopefully.

#joel miller #dark joel miller #dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #too close for comfort #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the last of us #au #series

359 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months

Text

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

June 2, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUN 03, 2024

Today is the one-hundredth anniversary of the Indian Citizenship Act, which declared that “all non-citizen Indians born within the territorial limits of the United States be, and they are hereby, declared to be citizens of the United States: Provided, That the granting of such citizenship shall not in any manner impair or otherwise affect the right of any Indian to tribal or other property.”

That declaration had been a long time coming. The Constitution, ratified in 1789, excluded “Indians not taxed” from the population on which officials would calculate representation in the House of Representatives. In the 1857 Dred Scott v. Sandford decision, the Supreme Court reiterated that Indigenous tribes were independent nations. It called Indigenous peoples equivalent to “the subjects of any other foreign Government.” They could be naturalized, thereby becoming citizens of a state and of the United States. And at that point, they “would be entitled to all the rights and privileges which would belong to an emigrant from any other foreign people.”

The Fourteenth Amendment, ratified in 1868, established that “all persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.” But it continued to exclude “Indians not taxed” from the population used to calculate representation in the House of Representatives.

In 1880, John Elk, a member of the Winnebago tribe, tried to register to vote, saying he had been living off the reservation and had renounced the tribal affiliation under which he was born. In 1884, in Elk v. Wilkins, the Supreme Court affirmed that the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution did not cover Indigenous Americans who were living under the jurisdiction of a tribe when they were born. In 1887 the Dawes Act provided that any Indigenous American who accepted an individual land grant could become a citizen, but those who did not remained noncitizens.

As Interior Secretary Deb Haaland pointed out today in an article in Native News Online, Elk v. Wilkins meant that when Olympians Louis Tewanima and Jim Thorpe represented the United States in the 1912 Olympic games in Stockholm, Sweden, they were not legally American citizens. A member of the Hopi Tribe, Tewanima won the silver medal for the 10,000 meter run.

Thorpe was a member of the Sac and Fox Nation, and in 1912 he won two Olympic gold medals, in Classic pentathlon—sprint hurdles, long jump, high jump, shot put, and middle distance run—and in decathlon, which added five more track and field events to the Classic pentathlon. The Associated Press later voted Thorpe “The Greatest Athlete of the First Half of the Century” as he played both professional football and professional baseball, but it was his wins at the 1912 Olympics that made him a legend. Congratulating him on his win, Sweden’s King Gustav V allegedly said, “Sir, you are the greatest athlete in the world.”

Still, it was World War I that forced lawmakers to confront the contradiction of noncitizen Indigenous Americans. According to the Gilder Lehrman Institute for American History, more than 11,000 American Indians served in World War I: nearly 5,000 enlisted and about 6,500 were drafted, making up a total of about 25% of Indigenous men despite the fact that most Indigenous men were not citizens.

It was during World War I that members of the Choctaw and Cherokee Nations began to transmit messages for the American forces in a code based in their own languages, the inspiration for the Code Talkers of World War II. In 1919, in recognition of “the American Indian as a soldier of our army, fighting on foreign fields for liberty and justice,” as General John Pershing put it, Congress passed a law to grant citizenship to Indigenous American veterans of World War I.

That citizenship law raised the question of citizenship for those Indigenous Americans who had neither assimilated nor served in the military. The non-Native community was divided on the question; so was the Native community. Some thought citizenship would protect their rights, while others worried that it would strip them of the rights they held under treaties negotiated with them as separate and sovereign nations and was a way to force them to assimilate.

On June 2, 1924, Congress passed the measure, its supporters largely hoping that Indigenous citizenship would help to clean up the corruption in the Department of Indian Affairs. The new law applied to about 125,000 people out of an Indigenous population of about 300,000.

But in that era, citizenship did not confer civil rights. In 1941, shortly after Elizabeth Peratrovich and her husband, Roy, both members of the Tlingit Nation, moved from Klawok, Alaska, to the city of Juneau, they found a sign on a nearby inn saying, “No Natives Allowed.” This, they felt, contrasted dramatically with the American uniforms Indigenous Americans were wearing overseas, and they said as much in a letter to Alaska’s governor, Ernest H. Gruening. The sign was “an outrage,” they wrote. “The proprietor of Douglas Inn does not seem to realize that our Native boys are just as willing as the white boys to lay down their lives to protect the freedom that he enjoys."

With the support of the governor, Elizabeth started a campaign to get an antidiscrimination bill through the legislature. It failed in 1943, but passed the House in 1945 as a packed gallery looked on. The measure had the votes to pass in the Senate, but one opponent demanded: "Who are these people, barely out of savagery, who want to associate with us whites with 5,000 years of recorded civilization behind us?"

Elizabeth Peratrovich had been quietly knitting in the gallery, but during the public comment period, she said she would like to be heard. She crossed the chamber to stand by the Senate president. “I would not have expected,” she said, “that I, who am barely out of savagery, would have to remind gentlemen with five thousand years of recorded civilization behind them of our Bill of Rights.” She detailed the ways in which discrimination daily hampered the lives of herself, her husband, and her children. She finished to wild applause, and the Senate passed the nation’s first antidiscrimination act by a vote of 11 to 5.

Indigenous veterans came home from World War II to discover they still could not vote. In Arizona, Maricopa county recorder Roger G. Laveen refused to register returning veterans of the Fort McDowell Yavapai Nation, including Frank Harrison, to vote. He cited an earlier court decision saying Indigenous Americans were “persons under guardianship.” They sued, and the Arizona Supreme Court agreed that the phrase only applied to judicial guardianship.

In New Mexico, Miguel Trujillo, a schoolteacher from Isleta Pueblo who had served as a Marine in World War II, sued the county registrar who refused to enroll him as a voter. In 1948, in Trujillo v. Garley, a state court agreed that the clause in the New Mexico constitution prohibiting “Indians not taxed” from voting violated the Fourteenth and Fifteenth amendments by placing a unique requirement on Indigenous Americans. It was not until 1957 that Utah removed its restrictions on Indigenous voting, the last of the states to do so.

The 1965 Voting Rights Act protected Native American voting rights along with the voting rights of all Americans, and they, like all Americans, are affected by the Supreme Court’s hollowing out of the law and the wave of voter suppression laws state legislators who have bought into Trump’s Big Lie have passed since 2021. Voter ID laws that require street addresses cut out many people who live on reservations, and lack of access to polling places cuts out others.

Katie Friel and Emil Mella Pablo of the Brennan Center noted in 2022 that, for example, people who live on Nevada’s Duckwater reservation have to travel 140 miles each way to get to the closest elections office. “As the first and original peoples of this land, we have had only a century of recognized citizenship, and we continue to face systematic barriers when exercising the fundamental and hard-fought-for right to vote,” Democratic National Committee Native Caucus chair Clara Pratte said in a press release from the Democratic Party.

As part of the commemoration of the Indian Citizenship Act, the Democratic National Committee is distributing voter engagement and protection information in Apache, Ho-Chunk, Hopi, Navajo, Paiute, Shoshone, and Zuni.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Heather Cox Richardson #Code Talkers #Letters from an American #History #American History #Native American #voting rights #citizenship

108 notes · View notes

guardarecheluna · 8 months

Text

I know you’d never leave me behind, but i am lost this time.

Words: 5K

Warnings: Fluff, Angst (Arguments, miscommunication, anxiety.)

Summary: Harry has never been an anxious person before having his daughter. And bursting through the baby bubble, leaving the safety of home behind was more difficult than expected; way more difficult than expected.

“She’s just over a week old, and you’re insane if you think we’re taking her to see my family. She could get really sick, so tell me, what is it that you don’t understand?”

Harry’s harsh tone was resonating in Y/N’s system as she looked up at him from her place on the sofa. Harry was holding their newborn in his strong arms, her little head perfectly supported in the crook of his arm. And even with his frustration spilling out on Y/N, he was gently swinging side to side, to keep little Elida calm and happy. Y/N swallowed harshly and bit her tongue, not wanting to upset him further or wake up their sleepy baby.

Anne had been terrorising the new family with calls every day since the birth of Elida. She didn’t mean no harm, they knew, but she had been asking to come meet her grandbaby. However, Harry and Y/N were in agreement that they wanted the first week on their own, no visitors unless wanted, just to get settled into being a new family and spend time in the baby bubble. It had now been over a week, and without thinking much about it, Y/N had agreed to travel up to see Anne, from London, without talking to Harry first. She figured it would be fine, they had only discussed a week, Y/N had been feeling better and better since the birth, and Elida was getting used to her life out of the sac nicely. Y/N was also desperate to get out of the house at this point, to see another face, and show off the new family member. Y/N just didn’t expect hell to break loose when she mentioned it to Harry.

“I can’t believe you’re not thinking about Elida, she’s so little, and they’re going to be all over her with their germs. It’s our baby, they can wait for a few more weeks.” Harry continued on, Y/N have barely stuttered a word in response to his words. She had no idea that agreeing to come see Anne the next day would cause such a stir in him.

“Harry, settle down, please, let’s just talk.” Y/N tried carefully, with a gentle tone. She knew that Harry’s baby anxiety had been hitting him hard. Although they both expected to feel some anxiety around their new life as parents, Harry’s been off the charts in the past few days. He looked livid, dark circles under his eyes and some spit up on his ripped Pink Floyd t-shirt.

“No, I will not back down on this, because you obviously don’t understand.” He said, now pacing around between the sofa and their living room windows. That was the final straw for Y/N. She had been understanding, gentle, and comforting with him although she was also feeling all of these new feelings surrounding their baby, plus she had just given birth. She was tired, and she was sore. Y/N stood up with a blank expression, facing him. “I would think very carefully of how you speak to me, don’t act like I’m clueless. Talk to me about what you’re feeling instead of speaking in code. Cause I’m not buying it, I will not allow you to talk to me like that.” She said harshly, a wrinkle between her brows and eyes glazing over. Harry’s face softened for a moment, before hardening up again. “I’m going to have a shower, and you’re going to call your mother and tell her we’re not coming.” Y/N continued, walking towards the stairs, in direction of their bathroom.

She honestly couldn’t tell if she was sad or angry; if she was hurt or offended. But she got in the shower anyway, trying to think of anything, anything but Harry being that angry with her. She just wished that she knew what was going on in Harry’s head.

Harry could feel the anxiety rising in his chest. A nauseous, tight feeling climing up his throat. He knew he messed up the second he saw her eyes become teary. He wasn’t really angry, not at all, and especially not with Y/N. He needed her more than ever, and she, him. However, with all these new feelings, and trying to take care of Elida; constant nappy changes, tummy massages, lullabies and changing of clothes, - he felt himself slipping. All the anxiety he was feeling just came out as anger, and Y/N shouldn’t have to take the heat of it.

The thing is, he is constantly worried for Elida. Has she gotten enough milk? Is she comfortable? Too hot? Too cold? Is her tummy aching? Is she breathing alright?

Harry had spent most of Y/N’s pregnancy on family forums and reading parenting books, trying to learn anything and everything. At the end, it all got too overwhelming, hearing scary stories from other parents of what not to do, and in result, he could barely put Elida down in another room without his head spinning with anxiety.

It was hard. Harry had experienced his fair share of anxiety earlier in his life, but never like what he was feeling right now, having another little soul to love and protect.

Immediately when Y/N had left for her shower, it was like he snapped out of the haze, and all came crashing down. He really needed to talk to her before he completely fell apart.

Harry went after Y/N, up the stairs as he heard her turn the shower on. Elida was sleeping heavy in his arms and against his own will and father-instinct he gently put her down in her little bed-side crib on Y/N’s side of the bed. He brought the monitor next to her and took his phone out so he could keep an eye on her, and went after Y/N. He would be just 6 metres away from her, and keeping an eye on her constantly. It would be okay, he told himself as he put the phone monitor next to the sink and started to strip out of his clothing. Y/N barely glanced at him when he got in, not saying a word. The ball was in his court, he was the asshole this time around, she figured. “I’m sorry, pet, I shouldn’t have taken that tone with you.” Harry tried, as he came up behind her, placing his calloused, shaky hands on her hips. “No, you shouldn’t have.” She replied quietly. It wasn’t that she was trying to act pissed, it was just that she wanted him to take action. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, about how it’s been the past week, it’s been hard, and I know I haven’t made it easier for you.” Harry continued, gently leaning his forehead to the back of her head. That struck an icy pain through Y/N’s heart. He had made it so much better, and she let him know. “Hey,” Y/N said as she turned around in his embrace. “You have been making it easier for all of us, I know it’s a hard transition, I just…I just want to know what’s going on with you, because you haven’t been yourself lately and it’s worrying me. All I’m asking is that you tell me how you’re doing.” Y/N raised both her arms, and put her hands in Harry’s curls, massaging the back of his head under the hot stream of water. Harry let out a big sigh, trying to relax. “I’ve just, I’ve been so anxious, all the time. I’m worried about her all the time and it’s eating me alive. And you’re the best mama, I’m never worried about her when she’s with you, it’s not that at all, it’s just that I can’t seem to stop worrying. She’s so tiny, and it scares me how far I’d go to know that she’s okay.” He let out, not looking in her eyes, almost like he was ashamed of admitting it. “You know what that tells me?” Y/N then said, and now Harry’s eyes met hers, curious, like a child about what she was going to say next. He shook his head quietly, nudging her to go on. “That you’re the best daddy out there. It’s your job to worry about her, yes, but we can’t possibly do everything. She’s safe with you, she’s safe with us, and we will know what’s best for her. I just think you need to go easy on yourself, tell me how you’re feeling, and we’ll figure it out. We’re a team, and I’m not going anywhere.” Y/N said to him, slowly and with intent, to really make sure that her words got to him.

“Y-Yeah.” Harry replied. “I’m sorry, it’s just overwhelming. I know it’ll get better soon, but she’s just so little I don’t know how-“He interrupted himself, sobs crawling up his throat, his head landing on Y/N’s shoulder. He felt completely vulnerable and safe with her. And for a moment, he thought that he wouldn’t want to do this with another person on the planet.

A few hours later in the day, Y/N got some energy back in her system. The days felt all jumbled together, and the parents could barely tell day from night between the constant cycle of changing Elida, feeding her, naps and keeping her somewhat entertained in her awake window.

Y/N decided that she was going to do some baking, maybe some bread to bring to Anne’s the next day. Harry was laying flat on the couch, having some skin to skin with Elida as she was drooling on his chest, producing those sweet baby noises that Harry loved. He could look at Elida for days, just in awe of what him and the love of his life had created together. She was perfect. Harry could almost feel himself dose off on the sofa, to the soft sound of Y/N’s music coming from the kitchen. He was sure he was in heaven right now.

“Tesoro?” Y/N called to him from the kitchen with a gentle voice, snapping him out of his daydream. “Yes, m’love?” He replied, not letting his gaze drift from Elidas little face. “Do you think your mom would prefer focaccia or baguettes?” Harry’s blood turned cold at the reminder of them going to see his family. They hadn’t really talked about the fact if they were going or not, just why he was feeling the way that he was. The issue now is that he still didn’t want to go, his intuition still telling him that it was too soon. He knows he couldn’t turn to anger like he did last time, so he had to try and be more diplomatic, even though all he wanted was to hide Elida away for another month at least.

“Darling, like i said earlier, I’m not sure we should, can’t we just wait like another week? I feel like it’s all wrong exposing her to new people this early.” Harry said, craning his neck to see Y/N stood leaning against the doorpost to the kitchen. Her face unreadable, straight, as she calmly said, “Call your mom.” Before pushing of the doorframe and continuing her mission in the kitchen. Harry sighed, what was he even supposed to say his own mom whom he didn’t want to see right now? Harry got up from the sofa, stepping into their bedroom and putting the awake Elida on the bed in front of him, pulling his phone out to call his mother.

Let’s just say that Anne put some sense into him. He told her about how hard it had been, how the new parent anxiety was eating him alive, and she understood, of course she did. He should’ve called her earlier. They had come to a compromise that it was just going to be Anne and Gemma, no other friends or family, and that if the new parents didn’t feel comfortable yet, Gemma and Anne would have to be satisfied with just admiring new addition to the family from afar, not yet holding her. That felt okay for Harry, that meant that he and Y/N still had some control over the situation. Harry gulped, once again picking up Elida. “C’mere my little love.” He whispered happily to her, putting her in a sling on his chest. Wrapping her up safely, making sure to tie an extra knot so that she would stay put. Elida let out a big yawn as she settled against Harry’s warm, safe chest. Harry’s lips just about reaching her soft head if he leaned down slightly. Harry felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest after the conversation with Anne. Harry took a deep breath as he ascended the stairs down to their kitchen, hand spreading over Elidas small back to keep him grounded. Y/N turned around and looked at him with expectation in her eyes, a slight, gentle smile on her face. “I talked to mum, we came to a compromise, so…” Harry breathed out. “It’ll be okay, yeah? I’m sorry I’ve been stressing about everything; I feel like I’m going insane sometimes.” He continues. Y/N walked up to Harry, sandwiching Elida between them. Y/N leaned down to out a kiss on Elidas head, and then one on Harry’s lips. “You’re not insane. You’re a good father, I told you earlier. I’m convinced it’ll be okay. What did your mum say?” Y/N reassured him, taking his hand and pulling him over to their dining table to sit down.

Being parent to a newborn is never easy, and nobody has ever claimed it to be. Harry, however, was a natural. And it may have something to do with all those books and forums he consumed during Y/N’s pregnancy, but some things seemed to just come naturally to him, while Y/N sometimes stood on the sidelines, not sure what to do. Harry truly is her rock, and she is his.

They spoke that evening about the next day, dread and excitement filling them at the same time. The couple wanted to have some boundaries, even for family. It made them feel safe, and feeling safe and being careful put their minds at ease while trying to figure things out.

Harry’s eyes were focused on the road with an icy grip on the steering wheel. He was a safe driver before having Elida, but now he was extra safe, not making a single risky turn or change of lane as they made their way to Manchester. Y/N was in the back, strapped in the middle seat, so she could be next to Elida.

They had found out day 2 with Elida that she loved car rides. She would instantly calm down when they drove off from the hospital, despite being uncomfortable in her car seat. They figured it was the whooshing-sound of the wind against the car, and decided there and then to invest in a white noise machine for her.

Y/N looked at Harry through the mirror. He had that little worry-wrinkle between his eyebrows as he focused on the road. Sometimes he’d glance at the pair in the back and his gaze would soften. This time he made eye contact with Y/N. “Penny for your thoughts?” Y/N said to him, leaning forward, her cheek against his bicep as he leaned into her touch slightly. “I’m excited to show her off. But I’m nervous about mum and Gemma not respecting our boundaries.” Harry could feel her nod against his arm, placing a soft kiss where her cheek was as she leaned back in her seat. “I know it’s nervous, but you were really brave telling your mum yesterday about your worries, and I’m sure she’ll respect them, she’s a parent too, you know. And if they don’t remember, we’ll remind them. It’ll be alright.” She said calmly, looking at him though the mirror of the car. Harry hadn’t even thought about that before. His mum is his mum. She was also a new parent once, she’s gone through this exact thing, twice actually. Just the thought of that made Harry feel instantly calmer. “And how are you feeling, lover?” Harry bounced back. Y/N thought for a second, glancing over at Elida and then to Harry. “I’m so proud I could burst. We’ve made a perfect little girl, and I can’t wait to show her off. And I can’t wait to show off my more than capable baby-daddy.” She laughed and squeezed his bicep jokingly. Harry chuckled, nodded. “I’m so proud, too.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he parked in his mum’s driveway. They had made it there safe and sound, and with only one pitstop to get some air and a coffee. They had barely opened the door of the car as Anne came towards them on the driveway. “My loves, oh my goodness.” Her eyes were filled with happy tears, taking Y/N instantly in her arms and hugging her tight. “Darling! How are you, are you recovering well? You look stunning, Ah I can’t believe you’re here.” She blabbered as Y/N lightly laughed at her erratic behaviour. “I’m well, Anne, it’s been a lot, but Harry’s been taking care of me.” And at the mention of Harry’s name, Anne turned to him, and with wide stretched arms embraced her son. “Hi mum” Harry said quietly into her hair. Y/N knew he had missed her, he was such a mummy’s boy. “My son, who’s now a father of a little girl. I can’t believe it.” Anne continued, with Harry’s face in her hands, pinching his cheeks and putting his wild hair back in place.

You could tell that Harry was gleaming with pride, constantly between laughter and tears at the rush of emotions. He could barely imagine her reaction when she’d get a look at his daughter.

Harry could see Y/N on the other side of the car, just about to grab the car seat, as he rushed to her side. “Careful, lover, you’re not supposed to carry too heavy, I’ve got her.” He said in a quiet voice, a comforting hand on the small of Y/N’s back. Y/N nodded, instead grabbing the diaper bag from the trunk.

Anne rounded the car after them, looking for the little face buried in the blanket of the car seat. As soon as Anne caught a glimpse of Elida, she gasped. She had seen plenty of pictures, of course, and she’s seen her though facetime, but seeing her grandchild for the first time in front of her made the tears fall from her eyes. She put a hand over her heart. “Oh my goodness, she’s precious. She’s even smaller than I imagined!” Harry held the car seat in front of his mother with a puff of pride in his chest, the anxiety has since long left his body, and Anne seemed to keep her distance, as they’d wished. “Alright mum, let’s head inside, yeah? No crying in the streets.”

Harry was light on his feet as they stepped inside, it was always nice to be home, Anne’s house always warm and welcoming. Elida was starting to move and making unhappy little noises to alert her parents to her discomfort. Harry and Y/N looked at each other. “I’ll take her, H, she probably needs a good feeding as well, go sit down with your mum.” Y/N stepped forward to fish Elida out of her seat. She cooed at her little baby, body scrunching together as she picked her up, then stepped away for a moment to change Elida.

Gemma was supposed to arrive in a little while, so they had some time, just the three of them in the lounge. Harry and Y/N sat next to each other, as Elida was being fed. Anne was on a sofa opposite them. Harry and Y/N could tell Anne was bubbling to get talking, barely being able to keep her eyes off Elida as she fed from Y/N. They had been in constant contact since the birth, but Anne didn’t want to miss a thing; it was her first grandchild after all. Harry felt calm in this setting, with his little family just beside him. The time felt like thick jelly, comforting and warm. He could stay here for a long, long time. Conversation was flowing between new parent struggles, trying to fit in a meal or a nap wherever they could, to laughing about little outfits they wanted to put Elida in when she’s a little older. Elida was now napping in Y/N’s arms, belly full of milk, satisfied little sounds coming through her little mouth.

Then Gemma stormed in through the door. They could hear her throwing her clothes off in the entryway and almost jogging to reach them in the lounge. As Gemma caught sight of them her eyes filled with tears, her hands over her mouth. She hadn’t said a thing yet, as Harry stood up and walked over to her. “Hey Gem.” He said, trying to comfort her tears. “My little brother is a dad.” Was all she could get out, embracing him in a hard hug. Harry laughed, a faint blush on his cheeks. It was still so strange when they said it like that, it would take some getting used to.

Gemma moved past Harry to get to Y/N and Elida. Harry motioned for Y/N to transfer Elida to his arms, so that she could greet Gemma. And Gemma basically threw herself over Y/N. They had become close almost immediately when Harry and Y/N had started seeing each other, like they were lost sisters from another universe. “I’m so proud of you. Are you doing okay, is Harry helping at all? I’ll be sure to give him a whooping if he doesn’t, you just let me know.” Gemma said, still tearful about the fact that two of her favourite people just had a baby together. “Gem, don’t worry. It’s been a lot, I’m so tired I could pass out but I’m so happy, and Harry’s been an angel. But it’s good to know that you’ve got my back.” Y/N laughed brightly, rubbing Gemma’s shoulders in comfort, in hopes that the tears would stop.

Harry suddenly felt brave, he sat down directly next to his mother, putting his knees up so Elida could rest against them. “Come sit down, Gem.” Harry smiled to his sister. Gemma sat down next to her brother, and all three of them looked down at the sleeping baby in Harry’s lap. Admiring her little nose that looked just like Harry’s when he was a newborn, the light dusting of hair on the top of her head, and how her little chest moved quickly with her little breaths. “She’s so small.” Gemma said, almost whisper quiet, as to not alert the sleeping baby. “Yeah.” Harry replied mindlessly, still gazing at Elida. “C-can I touch her?” Gemma almost whispered. Harry looked at Y/N for a second, who was nodding at him. “Y-yeah, just wash your hands first, and no kisses on the face, please.” Harry answered. Anne and Gemma almost threw themselves off the sofa and sprinted to the nearest sink to wash their hands.

“Tesoro.” Y/N said, when Anne and Gemma had left the room. Harry looked up at her. He looked so good, she thought. Even with hair unkempt and tired bags under his eyes. His face was clean shaven and soft, for the sole reason of not upsetting Elidas sensitive babyskin. Damn, she thought, she knew he’d let the mustache grow out otherwise, and she loved it when he did that. “Do you feel alright?” Y/N continued. Harry just nodded, a smile spreading on his face. He felt better than he thought. This all felt like a dream.

Anne and Gemma came back and settled down, one on either side of Harry, as they gently reached out to stroke the baby’s soft head and grabbing her tiny, clenched hands. Y/N pulled out her phone, having to snap a few pictures of this special moment of their family. All three of them smiling and looking down at the sleepy baby. It was the start to something new, a new generation, filling all of their lives with happy laughter, endless diaper changes, tiny shoes and most importantly; love.

The room was thick with emotion, and Y/N looked at the family opposite her, almost not being able to keep her tears at bay, just seeing them together with Elida.

Gemma looked up at Y/N, and reaching her arm out for her in a quiet attempt to get her to join them on the sofa. Y/N rose from the opposite sofa, trailing over to them and sitting down next to Gemma. “She’s like a little doll, I can’t believe she’s here.” Gemma said, as if still in disbelief about the whole situation. “You have no idea how hard it’s been not to storm over to your house and see you, I’ve been worried.” She continued. Harry and Y/N shared a thankful look, knowing that in the midst of the chaos of being new parents, the last thing they wanted was a visitor. “We’ve been doing our best to settle in and enjoy the first week of just the three of us together. I just…I know you wanted to see her and us earlier but at the time it was just another stressor to all of this. It’s got nothing to do with you or mum, it’s just our decision, and we’re really thankful you respected our boundaries when we put them down. It’s a special time and we don’t want to miss a single thing, but she’ll be here for the rest of time so you’ll get to spend time with her until you’re sick of her, don’t worry.” Harry gently explained to his mother and sister. They just smiled to him, giving him a soft squeeze to assure him that they knew. “I know it’s a special time, darlings. I know that after I had you, Gemma, me and Des just wanted to be alone, but people kept dropping by and expecting us to take care of them too, on top of our new baby! It made everything a bit harder, even though I know they meant well.” Anne reminisced.

Y/N could physically see Harry’s shoulders loosen up and relax. She could tell his breathing wasn’t constantly in his throat as it had been the past few days at the mention of leaving their baby bubble. He looked relaxed, like he belonged.

Y/N remembered an evening Y/N and Harry had shared just in the beginning of her pregnancy, where they had felt high on serotonin and adrenaline just thinking about the tiny sprout in Y/N’s belly.

“It just feels like full circle in some way, having our own child. I know mum’s been harassing us about having one, but still I don’t think she’ll fully believe us when we tell her.” Harry said into the night. It was dark out, it had to have been hours since they had retreated to bed. Y/N was laying on Harry’s chest, her nose finding his pulse point, and leg thrown over his hip, close, as close as they could get without crawling inside each other’s skin. Y/N smiled at Harry’s words. “Imagine when we get to show them off for the first time, for our family, our friends. I just know it’s going to be perfect. I feel like that’s one of those situations I’ve been dreaming about ever since knowing I wanted a kid.” Y/N replied lightly. She could tell Harry’s heart was racing, she could hear it through his chest. It was quiet for a moment, Y/N could feel her eyes droop and getting heavier in the arms of her lover. Suddenly Harry spoke up. “What do you think of Rose? Elisabeth Rose?” Y/N’s eyes shot open, removing herself from his neck, looking at him with squinty eyes. “Veto. They’re not a character in pride and prejudice, Tesoro.” Harry chuckled. “I like Samuel. Or Logan, Esther, maybe Levi.” She suggested. “Mhm, I like them…but maybe we’ll have to do some more scouting though.” Harry sounded almost sarcastic, and a flat palm was thrown against his chest. “Ow!” Harry whisper shouted. “Be nice. I’m the pregnant one, I think I have a pretty big say in what name they’ll be getting.” Harry grabbed onto her, shifting them around in the bed so that his arms were completely encapsulating Y/N’s frame. “You’re right, you let me put a baby in you, yeah? And I seem to recall you asking for at least a few more after this one.” He said, placing wet kisses on Y/N’s face; on her cheeks, the side of her mouth, her jaw. “Hmm…” Y/N let out, melting into his hold and his soft kisses. “I love you; I love you for doing this for us, I love you.” Harry sincerely let out, lips grazing hers. “I love you.” Y/N whispered back, sleep catching up to her, safe and warm in her lover’s arms.

And as Harry sat there on the sofa, right beside Elida, Y/N, Gemma and Anne, thinking about all that was, and all that has become, he came to realize that this was his reality. His own little child with the person he loved more than anything on this earth. A whole family circle that showed support, love and respect through thick and thin. Harry had never been more thankful for his life, and the thought of this being his forever made him giddy to get started living the rest of their life. Yeah, he would manage just fine – as long as he had them.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #dad!harry #harry styles masterlist #dadrry #harry styles dad #harry styles angst #harry styles fic

378 notes · View notes