#iron dad tickle

[mymelodymia]

Raspberrys Dad!Tony stark x daughter!reader

Summary: you find your dad's tickle spot >:)

Warnings: like two curse words,

A/N: i thought it would be funny to turn the tables and have y/n tickle tony

+•°+*°•+

You and your father had been laying on the couch cuddling. He had just gotten back from a very long two week mission, you had missed him so much.

When either of you went on long missions you both cuddled before and after so that you could hold each other for the last time in a while, and when they got back you both would cuddle because you missed the other person.

You had your arms wrapped around his waist and he was holding you by your neck.

You nozzled into his neck, and he made a joke about the movie that was playing quietly on the tv (frozen) you chuckled at this creating a small raspberry effect on his neck.

He pulled away from you quickly and you stared at him in shock. "Did i just find your tickle spot?" You said as he scratched his neck, trying to get the tickling sensation out.

"No!" He answered quickly, he was very clearly lying 🤥🙄

"Oh really?" You asked him, not even giving him a second to answer before you shoved your face into his neck and blew the biggest raspberry you could.

He started cackling uncontrollably, you blew a few more before he spoke up.

"Y/NNnNnN! PLEEHEHEHHHHSSES! STOOAAAHAHAHAHAHPP!" he screamed into your ear, you giggled while blowing into him again, your own laughter causing a shake in this raspberry.

He tried to push you away by your shoulders but you held onto his waist as tight as you could. You wrapped your legs around his, which were shaking uncontrollably.

"YY/NN, PLEEASSEE! STOP IT OR YOUR GROUNDEEEAAAHAHAHAHAD!" he said trying desperately to get you to stop, he hadn't been tickled since he was a kid, so this was an odd experience for him. And you made sure you made it a miserable one as well 😈

he threw his head back which gave you an advantage, very dumb idea tony....

"FFAHUUCCK! Y/N PLEASE IM BEAHAHGING YOUUAHUHH! GOD DAMN IT! Y/N PLEAHEHEHEHHHE!" you blew one last raspberry into him before pulling away, he pushed you off of him and whipped the slobber off of his neck.

"Payback" you said out of breath. You sat next to him and continued to watch your movie, just in time to scream the lyrics to let it go.

After the song was over you spoke up "you still mad at me?"

"Yes." Tony said scrunched up into a ball in between a couch cushion with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting like a five year old.

You chuckled at this and rested your head of his shoulder.

+•°+*°•+

A/N: i came up with this on the spot, i just thought it was funny 😁

Tags

@tonystark-au // @white-wolf-buckaroo // @animealways // @zebralover //

[pseudowho]

(MASTERLIST DISCONTINUED- PLEASE SEE PINNED POST ON MY BLOG FOR NEW RESTRUCTURED MASTERLIST!)

Pseudowho's Original JJK Masterlist

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Nanami Kento

Higuruma Hiromi

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Aoi Todo

JJK multi-character fics

Nanami Kento Masterlist

Updated: 28th March 2024

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🔥 Smut 💔 Angst 💕 Romance

☕ Comfort/Fluff 🤡 Clowning

🐙 Monsterfucking. 📚 Education (*dirty laugh*)

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1st of December 🔥☕💕 -- No-Nut November is over-- but Nanami Kento won't let you get away with it that easily.

7:3 🤡 -- Nanami Kento never thought about his 7:3 pattern...a fourth wall breaking moment.

"Dad Reflexes" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕☕-- Nanami Kento can catch anything.

Daylight Robbery 💕☕🔥-- when Gojo asks Nanami to cuckold him and his fiancée, things don't go the way Gojo planned...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma sex-pollen threesome.

Ditch the Party 🔥💕-- Nanami Kento hates parties. But the drinks? The drinks make him bold.

Domain Expansion theory-- Pseudowho's vision of Nanami Kento's domain expansion.

Edging Nanami Kento 🔥💕-- The reader drives Nanami Kento to the edge and back again.

Fire and Iron 💕☕🔥-- AU!Nanami Kento is the town blacksmith, and the reader is forced to stay the night after tending to his wounds.

Full 🔥☕💕-- Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Glory Glory 🔥☕💕-- "Help, I'm stuck!" on a mission with Kento, and he takes full advantage of the compromising position.

Good Boy 🔥💕-- after a bad day, you know exactly what Kento needs to help him relax...

Good Girl 💕🤡 -- a drabble

Grandpapamin ☕💕-- Nanami Kento as a grandfather, Headcanons.

Grey 🔥💔💕-- The reader lives a vigilante life; so does Nanami Kento, a changed man after the events of Shibuya. When she is sent to hunt him down, Nanami Kento has a proposition for her.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part One ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part Two ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Christmas ⛄🎄 Headcanons ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader Headcanons.

Hanahaki 💕☕💔-- being in love with you is killing Nanami Kento.

Hide and Seek 🔥-- Game night gets spicy.

"How well can you drive?" 🔥 -- the reader takes matters into her own mouth so Kento can prove his driving skills.

Infiltration (MULTI-CHAPTER) 🔥☕💔💕

(COMPLETE!) --the reader and Nanami Kento must pretend to be married, infiltrating a Curse-user cult to take it down from the inside.

Chapter One: Introduction

Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Chapter Three: Deadly Games

Chapter Four: The Rumbling Shrine

Chapter Five: Breaking Point

Chapter Six: Exposed

Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Chapter Eight: Unchained

In From the Cold ☕🔥💕-- The reader wanders in the snow, lost and injured after a mission gone wrong; will Nanami Kento save her?

Kento Comes Home Drunk 🔥💕-- and the reader handles his advances like a total champ.

And, its sequel... Reader Comes Home Drunk 🔥 💕-- where Kento manages the reader's advances like an absolute champ.

Knismolagnia 🔥💕-- Kento has a somewhat...erotic response to being tickled.

Last Moments 💔☕-- Nanami Kento remembers a childhood holiday.

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature (MULTI-CHAPTER) -- Nanami Kento is deemed the only Sorcerer sensible enough to handle some frankly weird Curses

- Chapter 1: Gone Shopping 🤡 -- locals are going missing at a large shopping centre; Nanami Kento is sent to investigate.

Nanami Kento's Massive Squeezable Man Tiddies 🔥☕-- the reader being casually obsessed with Kento's chest...repost link HERE!

Operation Babymaker (a new series!) 💕💔🔥☕ -- Nanami Kento takes trying for a baby very seriously indeed.

A Trip to the Tailors-- the reader reveals she's been off the pill for months, and Kento cannot contain himself.

Benchpress-- the reader interrupts Kento's workout, and is manhandled into submission.

Ditch the Party...again-- tipsy Kento is back, and deadlier than ever.

Wet Dreams-- Kento gives the reader a free-pass for when he's asleep...and he returns the favour

Raising You ☕💔💕-- When the reader is de-aged by a Curse, Nanami is forced to raise her like a daughter.

Red 🔥💔-- Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse-user, has been on the run for years...what will you do when he catches up to you?

Resolute ☕💔💕-- The reader helps Nanami to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Seasons of Grief 🔥💔💕☕ -- The reader supports Nanami Kento through the anniversary of Yuu Haibara's death, and afterwards, when Kento nearly loses the reader

Shirtsleeves 🔥 -- The reader steals Kento's last shirt, and receives her comeuppance.

Still Got It ☕💕-- The Nanami kids' parents are boring...right?

Stoic 💕🔥-- Kento is furious when Gojo assumes that his lack of PDA towards the reader shows a lack of desire.

The Accumulation of Little Despairs ☕💔💕 -- The reader struggles with low-mood; Nanami Kento comes to the rescue

The Chase 🔥💕-- The reader has insisted on No-Nut November; Nanami Kento gets his revenge by hunting her down and taking his reward.

Why I love Nanami Kento

Yet Another Sex Pollen Fic, PART ONE 🔥💕

And...PART TWO 🔥💕 -- the reader has a problem... and only Nanami Kento can help her scratch the itch.

Higuruma Hiromi Masterlist

Updated: 6th March 2024

REQUESTS CLOSED

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Calamus et Gladius (the pen and the sword) 🔥💕💔☕-- slow-burn, enemies to lovers Culling Game smut with Higuruma and a foreign reader

Daddy 🔥☕💕-- dating apps are a hazard for men like Higuruma Hiromi...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Higuruma x Reader x Nanami sex-pollen threesome

Fellatio 🔥-- the bathtub lawyer receives head in his office.

Fumus et Ignis 🔥💕-- sometimes, Hiromi smokes and ties you up while he makes you ride him.

Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm Stuck!' with Hiromi, two bottles of wine and a compromising position with his gavel.

Hiromi and Nemo ☕-- tales of Higuruma Hiromi, and his little black cat.

Hiromi Higuruma Relationship Headcanons ☕🔥💕

In Flagrante Delicto 💔☕🔥💕-- Higuruma struggles to adapt to life as a sorcerer, refusing all of your offers to help...until he needs you.

"I've Committed a Crime" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕-- Higuruma is a ruthless tease

Jus in Bello: A Judicious Domain 💔🔥💕-- The reader throws Higuruma out of their home after they struggle to adapt to his new Cursed power...and the reader must then hunt him down in the Culling Game, to bring him home.

Men with Big Noses 🔥💕-- you reveal a kink for Higuruma's nose, and he shows you exactly what he can do with that.

Milk and Honey 💕🔥-- Hiromi is obsessed with your milk, and loves you while you sleep.

Office Besties ☕💕-- Hiromi and you are just friends...right?

Sanguis et Vinum 🔥💕-- period sex with Higuruma

Shower drabble ☕💕-- Higuruma comforts you after a bad day.

The Stairwell 🔥💕-- You've been teasing Higuruma all day at the office; he catches up to you, eventually.

Vinum Rubrum 🔥💕-- wine is better when you share a glass...and your mouths.

The Widow's Keeper ☕💔💕-- The reader and Higuruma traverse the complexities of love and grief, after the death of Nanami Kento, her first husband.

"Your Honour" Ask and Drabble 💕🤡🔥-- Hiromi forgets your name as he cums.

Suguru Geto Masterlist

Updated: 23rd February 2024

REQUESTS OPEN!

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Deadly Nightshade 🐙🔥💕-- a Suguru Geto "sex pollen" fic.

Kamo Choso Masterlist

Updated: 28th December 2023

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Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm stuck!' on a mission together, and virgin Choso is offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

Snowhere to Go ☕💕-- When your date plans are foiled by the snow, you and Choso make your own fun with a stack of old board games.

Aoi Todo Masterlist

Updated: 27th January 2024

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Act of the Soul 🔥-- Aoi Todo uses his Boogie Boogie on the reader during sex.

JJK's Multi-Character Masterlist

Updated: 31st March 2024

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Being gross in long-term comfortable relationships ☕💕-- with Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Yuuta, Maki, Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji and Ino

"Cumfaces" Ask and Drabble 🤡

Defending Your Honour ☕💕-- the JJK boys are sick of the creeps and perverts who harass our dear reader.

Nanami, Todo and Geto

Higuruma, Ino and Yuuji

Gojo, Megumi and Nobara, Inumaki and Toji

Firemen 💔☕💕-- the JJK Crew rescue the Reader, and fall in love at the same time.

Nanami and Higuruma Aesthetics: ☕ 'Besto Friendos' dichotomies

Neat Suit/Messy Suit

Cold Anger/Hot Anger

"Stay down!" Fighter/"Get Up!" Fighter

City-Skyline Penthouse/Converted-Factory Penthouse aesthetics

IKEA Flat-pack Aesthetics

How They Ejaculate 🔥📚-- a physiological ejaculation study of Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji, Higuruma and TrueForm!Sukuna

Penis Synonym Smutfics 🤡🔥 -- with Nanami Kento, Hiromi Higuruma, Takuma Ino, Gojo Satoru and Inumaki Toge

Penpals (a Panda fic) 🐼☕-- he didn't mean to Catfish you. Honestly.

Shower Mat 🔥💕-- the reader buys an 'old lady shower mat'...that makes shower shenanigans suddenly possible.

Takuma Ino as a Young Dad ☕💕-- when Takuma unexpectedly becomes a father...

The Rebounds 🔥💕-- Yuuta and Maki show you the date of your life, after you're dumped

They Find You Wearing This...Unsexy Monstrosity 🤡 -- with Itadori Yuuji, Satoru Gojo, Higuruma, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami and Suguru

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I can't get it out of my head that when Lucifer and the reader take Edna to the hotel to meet the others, ironically Alastor would become the favorite uncle just to annoy Lucifer like "I'll steal this girl too."

A/n: YES! Oh my god! Lucifer is slowly loosing his shit.

It was supposed to be a nice outing, one that Lucifer was hoping to enjoy with you and Edna. A nice, quiet trip to the Hotel to see everyone and to show his little one off.

Edna was enjoying herself, the toddler enjoying all the attention from everyone. Especially from Alastor, out of everyone in this place. Why did she have to enjoy Alastor's company the most?

Gritting his teeth, Lucifer glared at the demon. He'd do anything to wipe that smug smirk off his face. The bastard knew what he was doing.

"Aren't you just a little gem!" Alastor let his nail tickle the baby. Her excited squeals leaving her lips as everyone cooed at the scene, even Husk seemed to be taken in by the little baby's laughter. Everyone but Lucifer.

Lucifer could have sworn that Alastor was doing this to piss him off, it was the same shit with Charlie. Like hell he was going to let his little duckling get attached to this asshole!

Just before he could pull his daughter away, you snatched his arm tugging him back. "You break up this moment then you're never touching me again." You muttered with a forced smile on your face.

Letting out a huff, Lucifer adverted his gaze. He'd let this pass, for now....

The smile on Alastor's face grew as Edna cooed up at him, her little smile reaching for him. Oh he was going to enjoy this. "Such a cute little one you are, you can call me Uncle Alastor."

"LIKE HELL SHE WILL"

"LUCIFER" "DAD!"

Becoming this little one's favorite Uncle would just be a bonus to him.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒

ㅤㅤghostface!mike schmidt x afton daughter!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, dark content, ghostface au

word count: 4.5k

summary: how were you supposed to know one of your closest friends was also the one in desperate need for revenge?

warnings: dubcon (this can also be considered noncon to some since there's the fear of death in place so if that's not your thing please don't read), knife use, manipulation, voyeurism but no one actually sees, daddy kink, piv, blowjob, nonconsensual somnophilia, male masturbation, reader doesn't know what william did, dirty talking, creampie

a/n: a day late but happy thanksgiving everyone 🖤 i am thankful for my josh hutcherson phase (normally I was going to post this yesterday but oh well you get it)

**dividers made by @saradika xx

How long has it been since you came here? How long has it been since you witnessed the clean beige exterior that now looked more suffocating than liberating? 

You observe the dust over the picture frames as you drop the suitcases, the sudden release of weight making your back bend back like a bow. You stare for a while. Your dad had bought this particular vacation home ages ago. Ironically he had done it so the family could spend some quality time together over the summers. That was before the incident. Before your mom left, only leaving you and him. 

Now the dirt outside was muddy from the pouring rain. Leaves turning to mush under the pressure of tires and boots. You hear the faint sound of the car door closing. Moments later Mike stands behind you. You can feel his breath tickling the back of your neck. It soothes you. 

“So this is the famous summer house huh?” he looks around, not bothering to close the door behind him, he takes a step further. “God, it’s cold in here. Please tell me there’s a heater somewhere.” 

“Probably in the basement. Remind you this place wasn’t meant for winter.” 

“Yeah I can see that from the windows,” he turns and finally closes the door. “It’s a bit eerie that anyone might just watch us from down there.” 

You scoff, “Who’s gonna watch? This house is the only one. Besides it’s just a couple days.” 

Your dad was finally selling the place. Meaning you had limited time to pack the things you wanted to keep before the rest was torn out. You knew packing all the old pictures would be overwhelming so you asked Mike to join and he was more than eager to help out—which was a bit surprising but you were grateful nonetheless. He was always kind to you. Always so gentle. He made your heart jump whenever he looked into your eyes, observing, searching them for something more. You never knew what he was searching for. 

Mike walks ahead with just his backpack, he’s wearing all black: black hoodie, black pants, black jacket. . . he’s completely contrasting his surroundings. He turns to you with rounded eyes and you melt a little. 

“So where am I staying?” 

“Let me show you,” It’s odd being in the halls again, you remember them feeling endless when you were a kid. The floor underneath you creaks. “Luckily we have a bunch of rooms. I don’t know what my parents were thinking, it’s not like we entertained a lot of guests.” 

“Well, it worked out in the end. Now I have a place to say.” 

“Silver lining,” you agree, showing his room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to head to bed and we can brainstorm where to start in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he steps inside the room and you can’t help but be reminded of how out of place he looks. “Good night.” 

“Good night, Mike.” 

He stands at the door with furrowed brows and downturned lips. Not that it’s important what his expression is. It’s not like anyone can see it underneath his mask. The mask that he’d bought last second. It is now or never. And this is his chance to avenge his brother, his broken family. This is the solution to all of it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re soundly sleeping. Your lips slightly parted, more skin showing with each rise and fall of your chest. Mike takes a step further inside. The wind howls against the naked windows. Yet, your room managed to stay warm. You turn around to lay on your back and he sees you parting your legs underneath the comforter. His cock grows hard at the sight, he’d love to take you right now. Fuck you until you gasp awake, your sweet cunt dripping with arousal—you’d tell him to stop, not recognizing who he is and he’d go on until you’re creaming around him. Your body becoming sweaty and warm. 

Mike licks his lips and rubs a palm over the outline of his cock. His eyes search your room. You hadn’t unpacked yet. Your suitcase open with clothes pouring out the edges. You probably just picked that flimsy shirt you were wearing and headed to bed. He slowly walks to the pile of clothes, within, he finds a pair of black lace underwear. Mike picks it up. A gloved thumb follows the patterns of delicate flowers. His lips curl upward, just what you were planning on doing with him here? In your old family home where it’s just the two of you?

He stands at the edge of your bed. He’s amazed at how much he can get away with without waking you. It’s amazing how much you trust him without a second thought. 

Too bad he doesn’t trust you. 

With your panties, he fists his cock, the fabric catches against the head prompting the jerk of his hips. He strokes himself fast and hard. Precome seeping into the delicate fabric. His eyes are glued to your lips, the pacing of your breath, your body that’s sprawled underneath the sheets. His cock twitches. Balls tightening as he imagines the sounds you would make for him with a knife against your throat and him deep inside your cunt. 

The smallest of groans manage to escape him as he spills into his fist and the fabric, thick ropes of come staining your panties, he inches closer. Hips stuttering helplessly while wishing to see himself dirty your pretty parted lips. He knows he will soon enough. He sees the way you look at him, how desperate you are for affection and a sense of belonging. Mike enjoys the sense of control he has over you. It makes it all that much more sweeter. 

He’ll take you. Break you. And pull you back together again. 

He’ll ruin William Afton’s precious little girl. 

You’re blessed with a little bit of sun today. Bits of dust sway in the air, boxes upon boxes standing around you and Mike. Two empty coffee cups lay idly on the floor. You slept like a baby last night, which was something you hadn’t expected, yet when you woke up you felt a bit off. Your door was open for starters. And you definitely remember closing it. Mike had just shrugged it off, saying that you were tired and probably forgot. 

Which is likely, now that you think about it. 

Mike picks up one of the framed photos of you and your dad. Despite the sunlight filling the living room, a chill settles over your skin. He observes the photo longer than necessary. Then he traces the engraved name underneath the picture. 

“Afton,” he murmurs. “I keep forgetting you’re an Afton.” 

He doesn’t let go of the picture as his eyes meet yours, you don’t like the look in them. He almost seems angry. 

“What does it matter?” you say in a sheer tone. “It’s not like it means anything whether I’m an Afton or not.” 

“I’d beg the differ. And I know some other people would too.” 

Mike places the photo in a box, eyes dropping to the floor. Heat rises to your cheeks. You’re confused. Very confused. “Are talking about Freddy Fazbear’s? You know I don’t like talking about that Mike.” 

“No need to get defensive. I’m just saying that your surname isn’t nothing,” he gives you a small smile but it does little to calm your nerves. “You were never suspicious of him?” 

“Of what?” 

He gives you a blank stare, “Of the murders.” 

Your mouth opens and very promptly snaps shut. Mike was never interested in this before. He hadn’t even asked about it, not once. Your shoulders drop and your heart feels heavy in your chest—Were you ever suspicious of him? Of your own father? To be fair you never thought about it. You shut your eyes and plugged your ears. You never wanted to think about that wretched pizzeria and all the things that happened in it. 

Your stomach jumps when he reaches out, curling his palm over the slope of your knee. You release a long breath. 

“Sorry for bringing it up,” he says, his eyes now soft. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“That’s okay.” It wasn’t. You get up, feeling the weight of his gaze as you do. “Alright, I think I’m gonna take a brisk shower then we can make pasta or something.” 

“I can start on that,” he answers. “Pesto or marinara?” 

“You can pick. I’m fine with either.” 

He nods and you leave before he stands. You feel icky all over. The dust and the sudden reality check about your father’s pizzeria and his role in all that had happened make you desperate to scrub yourself clean. 

You swiftly enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, giving it a hard shove until you hear the satisfying click. The inside smells of lavender. 

You strip and throw your clothes into the washing machine. The water warms up easily when you step inside. You draw the curtain shut and sigh at the clean water caressing your skin. Warm showers are the solution to everything. Even daddy issues. You begin to wash your hair, a soft moan dropping from your lips as you massage your scalp. The water trickles down your neck and between your breasts. With soapy hands, you give yourself a firm squeeze and graze your thumbs over the pebbled nipples. 

“That’s nice,” you sigh, hands moving up to rinse your hair. Maybe after the shower you can lay down and treat yourself until lunch is ready. Your vibrator’s fully charged, and the prospect of Mike hearing the faint buzz of it makes your pussy throb. 

Just as you reach for the loofah a soft click echoes in the steamy room. 

Your body tenses. Your heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. 

Your eyes turn in the direction of the door but you can’t see well with the curtain. All you see is the blurry darkness of the hall thanks to the open entrance. “Mike?” you call out, voice trembling. “If that’s you it’s not funny.” 

Of course, it’s not him. Even from here, you can smell the pasta sauce. Pesto. You desperately search for any kind of weapon you can use but all you see are shampoo bottles and the loofah you’re currently holding. You swallow. Turning back to the curtain, you see a faint shadow. It tilts its head. 

You need to attack. Need to do something before they do. How did they even get in here? 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

But you’re frozen with fear as the stranger curls their fingers around the shower curtain. The rest happens suddenly. The curtain is ripped open and you see who it is—Mostly. You see the mask, two pitch-black eyes staring back at you. Instead of screaming you jump away, the porcelain slips from underneath you, you fall and as soon as you do, you’re swallowed by darkness. 

Your eyes flutter open. There’s a sharp sting against your forehead. 

“Thank god you’re awake.” 

“M—Mike?” 

Your vision stops shaking and you finally see him. Mike, and his two soft brown eyes staring down at you. He’s holding a ball of cotton, the white stained by a bit of red. “What. . .” You attempt to get up but quickly forgo your decision when your head throbs. Mike clicks his tongue and presses the cotton to your head, your eyes tear up as it stings, but it slightly subsides seconds later. Looking down, you notice a towel was thrown over you. 

“I should be asking you that, how the hell did you slip?” 

“I. . . I didn’t.” 

“What do you mean you didn’t?” 

“There. . there was someone in the shower,” Your blood freezes as you remember. “He. . .I think it was a he? He was wearing a mask and he opened the curtain and fuck—I was so scared Mike.” 

Your arms move on their own and wrap around his neck, pulling him close. It takes him only a second to mimic your movement, wrapping his arms around your cold shivering body. His fingers trace your spine. A pleasant shiver runs up your back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now,” he murmurs. “But. . . the door was closed.” 

What? “What?” You shake your head as you pull away from him, ignoring the towel slightly sliding lower. “There’s no way. How did you see me then?” 

“Well, I shouted for you but you didn’t respond. Then I knocked and you didn’t respond again. The door wasn’t locked so I let myself in.” 

“And you found me unconscious? No one was here?” 

“Only you.” 

You shudder. That’s absolutely terrifying. 

“Come on let’s. . .” he swallows and you notice his eyes lingering where your towel has fallen. The swell of your breasts exposed. Looking away, you pull the fabric up and properly wrap it around yourself. His eyes move up to meet your gaze. “Let’s get you dressed and then we can eat.” 

Your last night here. Finally. 

After the unfortunate fall in the shower, you never managed to shake the feeling of being watched in your own house. You didn’t say anything to Mike but you knew he saw how freaked out you were from your eyes, by the way you would jump at every sound. Every time you closed your eyes you saw the stranger’s mask—those damn black sockets and open mouth staring back at you. It didn’t help that every morning you found your door wide open. You could’ve sworn that you closed it. But without fail, the door was open in the morning. 

And you’re so grateful to be done with it all. 

Stacks of boxes stand tall near the door. You were adamant about having everything ready tonight so that as soon as the sun peaked through the two of you could leave. Which was why you had ordered Mike to pack his suitcase— you’re doing the same, folding clothes with shaky hands and hoping the morning would come faster. 

Throwing your shirt into the suitcase your brows furrow, “What the hell?” you murmur as you lower yourself to your knees. The drawers and closet are emptied out, so why the hell do you only have three pairs of underwear? 

Sweat beads at your forehead. With panic, you rummage through the neatly folded clothes. You don’t care about the mess or the fact that you’ll have to fold them again—why can’t you find the other pairs? 

You’re completely defeated as your entire body deflates. Just three. You remember packing ten. They’re gone. All gone. Stolen. 

Your heart lurches and you feel it beating in your throat. You want to leave. You want to leave. You want to leave. 

The phone rings. 

It’s loud and booming. Your eyes shot towards the hallway. It’s the landline. A phone that hadn’t been used for god knows how long. You weren’t even aware that it was still connected. 

You blink rapidly, forcing the sting of tears to fade. You stand on shaky legs as you head towards the phone in the living room. You vaguely hear Mike mumbling a melody that’s familiar but also not at the same time. 

You stare at your reflection in the widows as you pick up the phone. Normally you’d appreciate the view. The dark sky, the swaying pine trees. But not today. 

You clear your throat, “H—Hello?” 

You hear a faint static, a low internal breathing, then the silence talks back, saying your name. You shudder at the rasp in his voice, fear weighing you down and gluing you to the floor. “Who is this?” you ask. 

“You know who I am,” he murmurs and takes a deep inhale. “We’ve met before remember? That moment in the bathroom.” Your body freezes all over, he chuckles, then speaks as if reminiscing a fond memory. “You looked so amazing. Nipples hard, body wet. Were you touching yourself?” 

You remain silent, eyes glued to the hall that is lit by Mike’s room. You want to call out. You really do. But you’re terrified. 

“Was it him you were thinking about?” 

“That’s. . .” you swallow. “That’s none of your business.” 

“Everything you do is my business,” he snaps but then the harsh baritone of his voice quickly softens. “Fine. Don’t. I know the answer anyway.” 

“What do you want?” 

“I want the truth, Miss Afton.” Your breath catches, your knees begin to shake. “Just answer my question and maybe you won’t die.” 

You remain silent and you hear the smile in his voice, “Good girl. Now, do you know your father is a murderous piece of trash? Yes or no?” 

You close your eyes, shake your head, you can’t answer. “Fine,” he huffs. “Do you think you deserve to live?” 

“I. . .” Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the phone. “I do.” 

Honestly, you’re not sure if you believe that. 

“Oh, I’m sorry but that’s just not correct,” he answers with a melodic lilt. “You don’t deserve anything. Why should your life matter more than the other kids that were killed by your father?” 

“It shouldn’t.” 

Your voice barely comes out in a whisper now. Your eyes drop to the floor, maybe if you run and get to Mike in time you can save you both? 

“Is your dad a killer yes or no?” then he adds. “You better answer correctly this time.” 

“I don’t know,” you say this time, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

“Wrong.” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath you open them again. All you see is your reflection. “I’ve been watching you,” he says. “You sleep like a log. I watched you. Fucked my fist while you were sleeping soundly, dreaming of sunshine and rainbows,” he sighs. “Or whatever the fuck girls like you dream about.”

You’re appalled by the sudden gush of wetness that courses through you. You shake your head, trying to push the images away. “Please don’t do this,” you beg. 

He stops speaking for a good while, for a second you think he hung up, but then you hear his breath in your ear and know that he’s still there. “I keep forgetting.” 

“Forgetting what?” 

“That you’re an Afton.” 

Your heart drops to the pits of your stomach. Every fiber of skin burning and tingling with the realization. You’ve heard those words before. You’ve heard the hidden accusation in them. Your ear burns from the phone pressed against it, you press it harder, not wanting to miss a second of dialogue. Your lips brush against the plastic as you do. 

“Mike?”

The line goes dead. Silent. And you realize you preferred words coming from the other line. Tortorously slow, as if in a dream, you place the phone back in its cradle. You feel him before you see him. Your head turns. You feel every muscle pulling as you do. 

And there he is. 

The man with the mask. 

“Mike?” you say again with less conviction. He tilts his head, not moving, not saying anything. Your body stiffens and your eyes drop to his hands where you see the sharp edge of a knife. You drag your gaze back to the mask, hoping that you’re staring into his eyes, “Why?” 

He takes a step forward and you take a step back. You’re inches away from the wide windows. “I had a brother,” he says, you’re surprised to find yourself relaxing upon hearing his voice. “I’ve tracked down the suspects. Looked at similar cases for years. Every bit of information leads to Afton.” 

“I had nothing to do with it.” 

Another step. The glass is cool underneath your palms. 

“You father did,” he answers. He stands only an inch away now, your stomach jumps when he presses the sharp edge of the knife against your neck. You hold your breath. “The day he took him is the day I lost everything. My family shattered. All because of him. And now. . .” Mike presses the knife harder, a hint of pain blossoming from where he’d cut. Your eyes snap shut. “Now I’ll take his little girl. Eye for an eye.” 

“Mike, please,” you whisper. Then you say something that surprises you both. “Take off the mask. If I’m going to die, I want to see you.” 

He tenses but obliges anyway. The mask falls to the floor, his hair mussed, soft curls fall over his forehead. A bit of stubble on his chin from not shaving at all since you two arrived. He doesn’t look scary, not at all. He looks vengeful, yes, but the softness in his eyes is still there. 

“What are you going to do to me?” 

Mike’s nostrils flare as he inhales, he exhales through parts lips, you feel his warm breath on your skin. “I’m going to ruin you.” The knife is replaced with his hand, he squeezes your throat, pulls you away from the glass, and slams you into it. “You’re mine now. I own you.” 

You shudder as he lets you go, his hands fumble with his jeans, and the fabric pools at his ankles. “Get on your knees and suck daddy’s cock.” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed but do as you’re told anyway. You drop to your knees. His cock achingly hard in front of you. He holds himself and drags the wet tip across your lips. He slides the underside of his cock against your face and without thought you dart your tongue out, tasting him. Mike groans, the sound rattling in his chest. With no warning given, he slips his cock between your lips and stops halfway. Your eyes water at how thick he is. 

When you look up you see he’s holding his phone, camera directed at you with his cock in your mouth. “Sorry,” he says with a faint smirk. “I need a souvenir to remember how good you look with my cock in your mouth. Who knew Afton’s precious daughter was such a slut.” 

Your eyes flutter as he shoves the phone back into his jacket pocket. He cradles your head and starts fucking himself deep into your mouth. “You know,” he rasps. Mike pushes himself especially deep and smiles broadly when you choke around him. “You really should be thanking me for not slitting your throat during all the nights I watched you.” 

He suddenly stops and pulls out until it’s only the head between your lips. His cock throbs on your tongue, he forces your gaze up to him, “Thank me for not slitting your throat.” 

“Thank—” It’s hard to speak with him still between your lips. You swallow and try again, your nipples tight. “Thank you for not slitting my throat.” 

“Such an obedient girl,” he muses. “I’m going to fuck you in every corner of this house. Get up—” 

He says that but lifts you himself, impatient, he presses you against the window, your cheek smushed against the clear surface. Your neck strains a little. His breath caresses the back of your neck, his lips on your ear, “Time to pay for your father’s sins.”

Mike lifts your shirt and pulls down your sweats. His cock lays heavy above the small of your back. Warm and wet. You clench as he pushes you forward, your breasts fully pressed against the glass. He kicks your legs apart, holding your arms back, Mike slips inside you with ease. Your breath halts in your throat. You only feel pleasure. You drip down his length, and with a groan, he buries himself to the hilt. 

“I knew you’d been waiting for this,” he groans. “So fucking wet—” 

“M—Mike—” 

He clicks his tongue and cocks his head to the side, his forehead brushing against the back of your head. “Not Mike.” 

“Daddy,” you moan as he pulls out and slams back in. You choke. “Daddy—” 

Mike fucks into your harder, the sound of skin against skin echoes in the room, wet squelches following. Your knees shake as you find yourself completely immobile against the glass. His fingers curl around your neck and he yanks your head back, hips relentless. 

“Look at that, anyone could see you now. I wish we had an audience.” Your cunt squeezes him like a vice, his hips stutter forward, a sharp moan rattling in his throat. He laughs. “Does that turn you on?” Helpless, you nod. “That’s it, take it. Daddy’s whore.” 

“Kiss me—please—” 

The plea takes him by surprise, he stops, hand tensing around your neck, you feel the pulse of his cock deep inside you. He drags his hips down your neck and teases you with his teeth. Goosebumps rise over your skin. And finally—finally—those perfect plush lips meet your own. It’s cruel really. The red strings of fate that tie you two together. You’re still not sure what to make of it all. Or of him. But you surrender. You surrender to his mouth and tongue. Mike swallows you whole. His tongue moves lavishly over yours, sliding and sucking as he presses harder inside you. 

“Gonna come inside,” he breathes into your mouth. His hand drops between your legs, your body shaking as he draws tight circles around your clit. 

Mike’s lips meet your throat, gentle then ravenous, making their way to the blankets of your clavicle, scraping the delicate skin. You arch against him, pleasure building, craving more. He thrusts harder, deeper, the pleasure increasing with each movement. His fingers grab your hips, and you can feel yourself tightening around him, his cock slamming against your core inside of you. Obscene sounds come from where he’s playing with your clit. You feel like a rag doll. And soon the coil snaps, you’re falling. 

Your entire body goes tense, his name leaving your lips in an urgent plea as the pleasure overtakes you. You shake and tremble, Mike continues to hammer into you, hand leaving your core and bracing itself near your head. Briefly, you manage to look outside. See the darkness that looms over the forest. Then you notice his reflection in the glass, eyes meeting yours. 

He smiles. 

Mike moans loudly, lips parting, his hips stutter over and over, spilling himself inside. Your eyes roll back, a whimper falling from your mouth as you take all of it. He holds himself there until his come starts to drip from where he stretches you. Your forehead finds purchase on the glass. Cold and soothing. His lips brush the back of your neck. 

“You look so tired already but we’re not done yet,” he parts your lips with his fingers and pushes them inside. Teary, you find his eyes in the reflection once more. He’s pleased. “I was serious in what I said, Miss Afton. I own you, now.” 

“Mike. . .” 

“And no matter where you run off to,” he murmurs, cutting you off. A hint of annoyance in using his name.  “I’ll always come back.”

[z3nitsusgf]

omg help me your Roman Roy fic was amazing,,, you truly have a gift .

we need more Roman pussy eating fics! just thinking about his hands moving up your skirt, you sitting up on his big important boss man desk, his face buried between your legs, stubble grazing your inner thigh, you grab his hair and your back arches, head thrown back, your gasps and moans are echoed by his own as he gets off from eating you out.

You resist the urge to make a sound. Even though he’s lapping at your cunt like a fucking dog, you restrain yourself. You gnaw on your lip, feeling the busted capillaries at the surface release that familiar iron taste. You’re wet, embarrassingly so. You can hear the slick sloppy sounds of Roman sucking at your clit. You’re breathing heavy, panting and clawing at his desk as if that’ll help.

Anyone could walk past and see you getting tongue-fucked by their bosses son. Not that they’d say anything, but you’d be absolutely mortified.

“Roman- please, you can’t,” you squirm when he nips your folds, “not here.”

He groans, you sound so whiny. So breathy and on the verge of crying. He grips at your hips, your pencil skirt slid up and pooled around your waist. Panties tugged down (semi-ripped) across your ankles.

“Shut up.” He mumbles into you, the stubble across his jaw prickling your inner thighs. You jump at the feeling, squeezing around his head. You whine, trying not to kick up your legs and crush him.

“Just let me fucking drown myself in your pussy.”

He’s pawing at your hips, slipping them from outside to in. Running clean hands across your jumpy thighs and over your slick folds. He smashes his thumb against your sticky clit, rubbing sloppy harsh circles against the soft bud. Your hips stutter, he chases your bucking hips to rub at your clit.

“Sensitive?”

He asks with a grin, he knows you are. He loves it. You whine, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs drip.

“Roman-“

There’s most definitely a puddle of cum and slick underneath your ass. But Roman doesn’t give a shit, he’ll probably get some underpaid janitor to clean it up. It’s not like they haven’t done it before. Vaguely, you wonder what would happen if someone important saw. Like his brother, or his dad. Or even Gerri.

“Fuck, you’re fucking dripping.” He mumbles, hair messy and swept back. Strands of brown draping across his wide eyes and tickling your thighs.

You let out a yelp when he buries his face back between your legs, licking from the bottom of your cunt to the very top. It’s like he’s making out with it, dipping his tongue in and moaning at the way he can feel you clench around the soft pink muscle. He’s almost tempted to just say fuck it and fuck you over the desk. Who cares?

You feel like you’re gonna pass out. You’re panting, chest heaving and you scratch at his expensive glossy desk, nails trying to find purchase without tugging at your bosses hair. Your moans have his cock leaking against his slacks, staining the light grey dark. He tries not to hump the air, but it gets harder with each passing second. He might cream his pants if he’s not careful.

“Gonna soak my face, hm? Gonna get nice and fucking wet for me?”

You wish you could say you hate the way he speaks to you, but you’d be lying. It makes you whimper and drip and clench around nothing. Nodding your head and shuffling your hips to try and get a better angle. Roman grins like a fucking demon, staring up at you while he demolishes your pussy. Sucking at your sensitive clit and pressing his thumbs into your thighs to hold you open. It’s debauched, messy and wet. The definition of slutty.

It’s like the middle of a shitty porno, a boss eating out his favorite assistants cunt on his desk. Uncaring of the consequences because he’s never had to face them before.

Because who’s gonna tell the Roman Roy shit?

[allywthsr]

ELF ON THE SHELF | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando prepare elf on the shelf

wordcount: 1.5k words

pairing: dad!landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none!

notes: I’ve never had elf on the shelf, so I hope that how you do it

advent calendar

Elf on the shelf was a tradition you started ever since you had kids with Lando, every day in December the little elf (that Louis named Claus) did funny mischievous things. Last year's favorite was when Claus took a bite of every single cookie you baked the day before, Lando sacrificed himself to assume this task.

Now with Sofia being three years old, she finally really understood the elf on the shelf and got excited when she woke up, what kind of thing Claus did today, erupting in giggles every time.

You started this year with a simple, yet funny, thing, when the kids were sleeping, you got out a bowl and filled it with some water, you put a tiny carrot in the water and two wiggly eyes, you sat Claus on the dining table and the bowl next to him. Every year you wrote a little note, explaining what Claus did, today it was: ’I brought you a snowman from the North Pole, I hope it’s not that cold anymore xx Claus‘. You could already hear the giggle of your two little sunshine’s.

And that’s exactly how they reacted when Lando read the note to the kids, they giggled and Louis said: ’But mummy, the snowman melted, it’s just water‘.

In the evening, you set up the next one, Claus sat on a little chair you bought, and next to him the iron and some crinkled and normal crisps. Today's note: ’I ironed your crisps cause they were all crinkled‘. Lando laid out the crisps and ate a few himself, he chuckled when you two were ready for tonight, it was funny.

Little Sofia was tired that morning, not really awake, she just pointed at the different things, but Louis was awake and giggling. ”Daddy, he ironed our crisps!“ Lando lifted him on his hips and tickled his sides‘ ”Daddy…. stop. Can I eat some crisps?“ Lando nodded and bent down a little, so Louis could reach the crisps, taking an ’ironed‘ one. ”They taste even better when they’re ironed!“ Lando kissed the side of his head, and you chuckled.

In the following evenings you did several mischievous things with Claus, one day he put Christmas hats on some of you guys in the pictures, you cut out red triangles and white stripes, glued them together, and had a little Christmas hat. Another day he fried little Haribo eggs in a pan, obviously you only put the gummy eggs in the pan, sat Claus next to it and the giggles were loud the next morning. You were happy that you found new things that Claus did every year.

It wasn’t always things that you and Lando put a lot of time and crafts in, one time, Lando just placed Claus upside down on the fridge, simple, but the kids loved it. Lando had to lift up both of them, so they could say hello to Claus.

This year's favorite was definitely when you placed Claus under a glass and the note said: ’Your daddy farted, I‘m hiding in here from the stinky smell‘, Lando was a bit sulky about the fact, that he had to be that one that farted, but you reminded him of the time, you and the kids had to flee from the living room into the kitchen because it was smelling awful. He only smiled when you brought it up, clearly proud of his achievement. The next morning, the house was filled with giggles, Louis and Sofia couldn’t contain their excitement about this one, they even told Lando’s parents when they visited that day, laughing until you had to tell them, to think about their breathing.

One day Claus made a sponge cake, just a kitchen sponge on a plate, with some sprinkles on top of it, placed next to the Kitchenaid that stood in the corner of the counter.

Lando’s favorite was definitely the one, where you tin foil wrapped everyone’s favorite pair of shoes, Claus wanted them to look ’shiny‘ so he did some work around the shoes. Lando had so much fun, wrapping each shoe, especially Sofias because they were so small, ”Babe look, her feet are just the smallest cutest things ever!“

You had a few more, Claus was sitting on top of the tree, pretending like he removed the star and he was the new tree topper, another cute idea was, that Lando wrapped him in wrapping paper and laid him under the tree ’I am your only present for Christmas‘ the kids protested against what Claus wrote on the note, but Lando cooled them down pretty quickly, as always, Lando was the one, they always listened to.

One evening you stacked the living room pillows on top of each other and said that Claus stacked the pillows, to climb up to the ceiling lamp, but he couldn’t reach, it because the pillows weren’t enough.

An idea you found online, that took a bit more preparing time, was that you placed Claus on the counter, sifted some flour around, and placed little mini marshmallows next to him. The note said: ’I‘m ready for a snowball fight, I already have mine when the kids saw that, and they started to throw these little marshmallows against Clause, but Lando quickly put that to a stop and explained that you do not play with food, instead they should eat it, which they did. Sofia was propped up on Lando’s hip and every now and then she would pop some marshmallows in Lando’s mouth, she was always big on sharing things.

Things that made your kids, and Lando, giggle were when Claus played elf Jenga, you placed Kit Kats on top of each other and then you created a small eatable Jenga, easy, but the kids loved it, especially when Lando snook away with them, after you settled in the living room, to steal Claus some Kit Kat. One day, Claus cut a small hole into Louis's favorite cereal box, to snack on some chocolate puffs. You can imagine what Lando had to do after he and the kids rescued Claus from the box, a small bowl filled with milk and some cereal because if Claus was hungry, he should eat some cereal. Another time he placed some crayons on a crater and little Skittles were placed inside and in front of it, the note said: ’Now this is a great way to use crayons‘, the kids loved it, eating the Skittles before you could say no. A silly thing was when Claus was sitting in Sofias' underwear on the drying rack, she couldn’t contain the giggles, especially when Lando acted all disgusted playfully, that Claus chose to sit in her smelly undies. What else happened with underwear was, that Lando and you replaced the stockings that sat above the fireplace with underwear, so instead of Lando’s stocking, there was his boxershort. On the ground laid a small chocolate bar, the note said: ’I tried to put some candy in your new stockings, but they kept falling out‘. Also, easy things were that, Claus was trapped under a bell jar, and the note only said: ’help‘. Lando had to lift Sofia up to Claus, so she could help him before he got hurt, both of them cheering when she held Claus in her hands. One day Claus sat on the railroad, wanting to drive to the North Pole, to tell Santa what good kids they were, and another day he stacked up all jars and cups, so he could reach the countertop and a jar of sweets that stood in the middle of it. Lando also hid him between the bananas once, wrapped in some yellow napkins, to disguise himself as a banana, often these were the things where the kids would laugh the hardest, it was easy, yet effective.

Once Claus cooked breakfast, Lando poured different sweets into a pot, like Haribo spaghetti sticks or oranges, the variety was big and the cheer as well, when the kids saw it.

Lando was super proud of one idea he had, under a glass he trapped his computer mouse and the note said: ’I caught a mouse on the loose‘, because of his love for computers and playing games, the little ones also loved sitting in front of it and mostly press random letters on the keyboard.

On Christmas Day, Claus sat on the table with two eggs in front of and some sprinkles next to him, together with you and Lando, the kids sprinkled the sprinkles over the eggs, because the note said: ’Pour the sprinkles over the eggs and come back in three hours‘ in the meantime, Lando replaced the real eggs with some Kinder surprise eggs. The faces both of them made were the sweetest, how surprised and with an open mouths they looked at the eggs and stared to thank Claus that he made surprise eggs out of the normal ones.

All in all, the elf on the Shelf was a success this year, often enough Lando was just as happy and laughing as his kids were, but that’s what happens when you’re still a kid at heart.

[alonetimelover]

A fluffy little number 10 (5 words) for the blurb night🥺

"I miss you every day."

pairing: Harry Styles x popstar!reader

summary: YN is away and Harry is back home with their two kids - Judie and Teddy. When the name 'mama' is mentioned they just need to call her.

word count: 1k

blurb#1 blurb#2

popsatr!reader

“Judie. Please, put your brother down,” Harry said to his older child, seeing how Jude was lifting Teddy up and moving him somewhere else.

“But daddy. But daddy,” Jude repeated, fixing the laughing Teddy in his arms. “Teddy was falling on his bum! I don’t want him to fall.” 

Jude had a sad look on his face. From the moment Theodore, or Teddy like everybody called him, was born, Jude was very protective of him and his mother. Harry couldn’t get close to YN without Jude’s consent (that was based on asking his mum if she wanted him to let his dad through). But with days and weeks passing by, Jude learned that no one close to him wanted to harm his brother or mother. It didn’t change how his protectiveness stayed with him one year in the future though.

“Oh, I understand, Judie.” Harry kneeled in front of his children, being eye-to-eye with Jude. “But, Teddy is learning how to walk. You need to let him learn so he can run around the garden with you.” 

“But when you run you can fall and, and hurt your knee, or hands, or, or head. I did! Remember when I, when I fall long long time ago? I have an owie now.”

Judie forgot that he was holding Teddy and wanted to show his father the scar that formed on his left knee from two years ago. It was a bad fall that stopped Harry’s heart when he witnessed it. 

“Be careful,” Harry said, putting his hands around Teddy to hold him up.

“Oopsie. I’m sorry, little brother,” Judie whispered. “Can I kiss your cheek?”

“I think that Teddy would really love it if you did,” Harry encouraged, turning Teddy towards Jude. 

“But he didn’t say yes. You daddy and mummy say people have to wait for a, what was it called, daddy?”

“A green light.”

“Yes! Green light! And Teddy don’t have one.”

“I’m very happy that you remembered our conversation, Judie. Good job!” Harry smiled, feeling proud of his son. “We also talked about the fact that Teddy can’t speak yet.”

“He can! You are so silly, daddy!”

“Am I?” Harry laughed, tickling Judie with the right arm, the left one leaving secure around Teddy.

“Stop, daddy! Tickles, tickles!” Judie broke into laughter. “Teddy say ‘mama’!” 

Judie sat in front of his younger brother, unruly locks covering his eyes. He waited patiently for Theodore to stop picking on his father’s beard. Harry grasped gently Teddy’s hand that was yanking his facial hair, kissing it a few times. 

“Say mama, little guy.”

Thedore’s eyes lit up at the name of his favourite person. From the moment he was born, he was just like a magnet, wanting to be as close as possible to his mum. When he started crawling, he’d followed her everywhere. And his first word was ‘dada’, ironically. The last few days, when YN wasn’t at home, were hard on the two boys, but Harry was the best father they could have asked for. 

“Mama!” 

“Yay!” Jude stood up and started jumping up and down. He did his ‘happy dance’, wiggling his body from left to right, making Teddy clap his hands in amusement. 

“Do you want to call mama, boys?”

The scream coming from Jude’s throat was enough confirmation. He sprinted to the couch, sitting comfortably between two pillows - like always when they were calling YN. 

“Daddy, daddy! Can I hold Taddy?”

“Yes, you can. But remember to be very gentle and secure, yeah?”

“Yes!” 

Teddy was sitten in his older brother’s arms, looking up at him and giving him his sweet, toothy smile. Harry at the same moment was trying to FaceTime YN on his phone. 

“Hello?” 

“Mama! Hi!” Judie greeted his mum, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Hello, my big boy! And hello, you little guy,” YN said to her kids. “How are you guys?”

“Mama, mama I safe Judie today!”

“Oh, did you? What happened?”

“He fall on his bum!”

“Did he? Was he trying to get up from the ground?”

“Yes! How do you know?” Jude asked with big eyes, in shock.

“Teddy is learning how to walk, baby. He wants to be able to walk and run and play with you.”

“That’s what dad said. You are really smart, daddy.”

“Oh, thank you, Judie.” Harry smiled at his son, kissing his head. “Am I smart because I said what mum did?”

“Yes! She is super smart. But I love you both. Super much.” 

Judie was nodding his head, agreeing with himself that his parents were really the best. 

“We love you too, Judie.” 

Then the comfortable silence took over their call. Judie played with Teddy’s fingers when he tried to bite them and get relief from his achy gums. Harry was admiring his wife, counting hours till she would be back home with him and their kids. 

“I miss you, mummy.” Jude said sadly, tears in his eyes. 

Harry immediately scooted over to him and embraced him tightly. 

“Judie, I miss you everyday, every hour and minute. I need to stay with granny for a little more time and then I am coming back to you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, baby. Not tomorrow, but soon. I will call daddy when. Okay?”

“It’s taking so long,” Judie complained. “Can you hurry up?”

“I’ll try. But hey, did you finish that cosmo project granda bought you?”

Jude’s eyes widened. He forgot. 

“Daddy, hold Teddy. I need to work!” 

And just like that Jude was off the living room and on his way to the bedroom when the lay-out of the solar system was waiting for him to finish. Harry placed his youngest in his arms and took the phone in his hand. 

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, baby. How are you holding up?”

“Great. Mum was here today to help me meal-prep for the week. We cleaned all over the house while Jude and Teddy were having their naps. Ate dinner and soon is the time for the baths and making them go to sleep.” 

“You’re doing great, Harry.” 

Harry smiled at the screen, winking at YN. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I should be back in four days and then I am all yours.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[elly-grace]

The best day

Pairing Joe Burrow x reader

Thank you @funnyjb for proof reading

You and Joe stood in the Hotel bathroom getting ready for the NFL honors. Joe was in the running for NFL MVP. He was extremely excited to even be considered for it. The Bengals had a great run this season going 15-2, and they are playing in the superbowl on Sunday!

You knew eventually you'd have to wake your daughter up. But as for now you were enjoying alone time with your husband, even if he was blaring his Kid Cudi. You didn’t have anything against Kid Cudi’s music but it wasn’t what you’d choose. You were trying to listen to Taylor Swift while curling your hair, key word trying. You sighed, setting down the curling iron and turned to face Joe.

“Babe, can you turn your music down, please?”

“But, the music is so good!” He whined out in a joking manner.

“So is my Taylor Swift, but I’m not blaring it.”

He dramatically sighed and turned his music down.

“I have something to tell you.”

After you said that, you heard the bathroom door open. You see Brianna scuttle in the bathroom. You looked towards Joe giving him a small smile then mouthing ‘I’ll tell you later’.

Brianna was a mini you, she had your hair color, facial structure and if you asked Joe she also got your attitude. The only thing she got from Joe were her bright blue eyes.

“Mommy?”

You felt a pull at your dress and picked up the five year old.

“Yes my love what’s up?”

“You look so pretty!” She says while looking at you. She then turns to Joe, “and daddy, nice music dude.” She said sarcasm laced her voice. She definitely got the sarcasm from you, which was part of the reason Joe says she adapted your attitude. You tried to stop the laugh from coming, but you couldn’t. Joe gave you a look which was his way of saying, ‘come on be more mature’. But even he couldn’t stifle the laugh that left his throat.

“I’m going to go get her ready, please turn off the iron for me.”

You said then put Brianna down, she then ran back into the other room. As you were following her Joe grabbed your arm and pulled your back into his chest. Placing his lips on your ear.

“I do agree with Bri that you look incredibly pretty. It makes me think about making baby number two.”

He whispered into your ear, his voice sounded husky. You let out a soft moan at how he was making you feel and Joe definitely caught it. He turned you to look at him, a huge smirk plastered on his face. He knew what he was doing, he was trying to turn you on. He was seceding.

“Joe, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m already carrying baby number two.”

All the lust he was feeling moments prior was gone. Now he stood in front of you, his face lit up like a child’s face on Christmas. He hugged you tight then picked you up and spun you around. Once your feet we’re back on solid ground he gives you a long passionate kiss.

“When did you find out?”

“This morning, when I didn’t get my period two days ago I thought it was just going to be late. But when it didn’t come this morning I decided to just take a test. I was shocked to see that it was positive. I know we weren’t trying.”

“Oh my god baby I’m so happy!”

He gave you a peck although you could still feel the passion behind it. As you were going in for another quick peck there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

Joe yells from the bathroom.

“Ja’marr.”

Joe sighed. Of course it would be his best friend ruining this moment. Joe felt like alone time with you was impossible.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

He yelled, although he knew as soon as Brianna heard Ja’marrs voice she’d be already unlocking the door. Brianna loved Ja’marr, he really was her bonus uncle. When you and Joe walked out of the bathroom you saw Ja’marr sitting on the couch. He was in a conversation with Bri, which quickly turned into him tickling her.

You looked between Joe and Ja’marr sensing they needed some bro time. You quickly jumped to action grabbing your five year olds hand.

“Hey Bri, let's give your dad and Uncle Ja’marr some guy time.”

“I want to be by uncle Marr though!”

Brianna started to throw a tantrum. Which all three of you went to shut down. But Ja’marr beat you and Joe to it.

“Hey bean, you can hang out with me later after we’re all done getting ready. But you have to get ready, you can’t show up to the NFL honors in your pajamas.”

You and Joe look at each other with pure happiness. You were so lucky that Ja’marr was in your lives. Not only was he Joe's best friend but he became one of your close friends, and he’s great with your daughter.

After hearing Ja’marrs words Brianna quickly jumped off the couch and ran to the bathroom with you to get ready.

Once you and Brianna were in the bathroom Ja’marr started talking with Joe.

“Joe your the favorite for MVP”

“I know but if I’m being honest, I don’t need the award. Today has already been amazing. I got to spend l mostly uninterrupted time with my wife, and you want to know the best part? I found out I’m going to be a dad again.”

“Oh my god, Y/n’s pregnant?”

The smile on Joe's face was large, almost like a cheshire cat grin.

“I can’t believe you were able to wait four years. I thought you guys would be pregnant right away, with the way you two are. But I am so happy for you two!”

“Thanks man! Also it was kinda hard to be active with a little kid running around 24/7.”

Ja’marr laughed.

“We're going to be offensive player of the year and MVP. I'm calling it right now Joe!”

With that he walked out of the room, and went to finish getting ready himself.

Joe walks into the bathroom where you and Brianna were finishing getting ready. He stares at you causing heat to rise to your cheeks and butterflies to erupt in your stomach. You may have been married for almost five years but everytime he stares at you the same thing happens.

“How are my beautiful girls doing?”

“Good! Mommys music is way better than yours daddy!”

This caused both you and Joe to laugh.

“Oh is that so? You like Taylor Swift more than Kid Cudi?”

Brianna nods her head and stares at Joe waiting for his response. He knew Brianna loved Taylor Swift, she knew every song.

“Okay, Y/N I think we need a son. I’m out numbered. It’s not fair.”

Joe spoke acting like a four year old, which in response you patted his back.

“You love being a girl dad, don’t even lie.”

He sighed, you smiled knowing you were right. Joe loved being a girl dad.

“Now don’t go revealing my secrets! You two look beautiful, are you guys completely ready?”

“Yeah almost, I just have to put my shoes on.”

Joe went and grabbed your shoes and told you to sit.

“Here let me”

He put your shoes on for you. You thank him with a kiss.

After the three of you were ready you went to Ja’marrs room and all got into the car that was sent for you. Joe and Ja’marr requested to listen to Kid Cudi, which did not shock you at all. Once you get to the event, you and Brianna walk inside to your seats and wait for Joe to finish walking the nfl honors carpet.

The night went on as the nfl honors were being announced then finally it was OPTY. Which Ja’marr won! Then it was MVP. This was the moment that had Joe nervous, he was up against Lamarr, Patrick Mahomes, and Jalen, which was some tough competition. As they announced it you could see Joe started to shake slightly, but then they said his name. Joe just won MVP! This was the best day of his life. He looked at you as he received the award.

His speech was short and to the point making sure he thanked everyone who made it possible for him to revive this award. Coach Taylor, Ja’marr and his other receivers, his O-line, and then most importantly You and Brianna.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I saw a headcanon for Izana as a Husband/Dad.

If it's okay can you do a couple for Shuji and Baji?

If you already made post about, you can ignore this ask.

Have a wonderful day! 🤗

Ok I've done Hanma as a husband and dad on this post because Baji really needs his own post but here's Hanma!

Husband

Actually picks a ring out for you pretty quickly, he's confident in knowing what you'd like.

Wakes you up with kisses often

Doesn't get genuine compliments that often so you can catch him off guard when he does get them.

Knows when you're lying or keeping things from him (it's very hard when you want to surprise him) he's very observant of you. 

Falls asleep on you a lot (conveniently trapping you under him often)

He likes perfumes a lot, not on himself particularly but he appreciates and notices when you wear it.

You're pretty much responsible for any wounds he get's, he's not bothered by them and won't bandage them but he'll let you do it if you want.

Takes a lot of pictures of you

Sings very loudly, and he has no problem singing for you (going out for your birthday means he'll sing happy birthday loudly in public)

Takes great joy in threatening anyone who dares to flirt with you (it's so much worse if anyone actually threatens you or scares you).

Moves around a bit in his sleep, when sharing a bed with him you will sometimes get kicked in the middle of the night

Isn't afraid to get your attention by some odd means, not paying attention to him? Expect a random lick on your cheek or hand or something else just as odd.

Despite the kind of wild wedding all of his friend's imagine him wanting, he actually just wants something small and intimate when he get's married. 

Will steal little bits of food from your plate, pays you back with kisses and cheeky grins. 

He  started using pet names ironically/ as a joke at first but then actually realises he likes it.

Takes you on a super long honeymoon

Likes soft things, including your hair, will sometimes just stroke it when relaxing with you.

Dad

He keeps telling the baby secrets, you'll hear him having a full one sided conversation with the baby but when you walk into the room he suddenly stops. (He's doing it on purpose to see your reaction)

Had to learn the hard way to be quiet around a sleeping baby

When they grow up a bit more, his kid is practically glued to his shoulders, baby Hanma likes peering down at everyone while his dad talks to people.

Tells his kid to call Kisaki as "uncle Kisaki" (Kisaki never agreed to this)

Before the baby is born he will refer to it as being "Shuji jr"

Was banned from teaching the baby the alphabet after he kept replacing words "K is for knuckleduster" 

Likes to play a lot of games with his kids, it's common to find him chasing after them pretending to be a monster or something.

Tries to teach his kids about the dangers of smoking and to not be like him but does it in the worst way possible "if you touch daddy's cigarettes then the monster under the bed will get you" this results in Hanma sheepishly grinning at you as the kids cling to you and ask to sleep in your bed instead.

Likes doing skin to skin contact with his baby a lot, especially if they fall asleep on him.

Takes lots of pictures 

Tickles his kids a lot

Sometimes he carries his kids when they're small in the weirdest ways possible. You once found him holding one tucked under his arm and holding the other upside down by their ankle. The kids love it though and were giggling the whole time.

Will use his kids to team up on you to pull pranks. (Sometimes nice ones too though)

Once you found him carefully drawing on his kids hands with one of those tattoo felt tip pens after they asked for tattoos like his, it was very cute 

Has accidentally taught the kids a few swear words over the years (he always tries to make it up to you after)

[luveline]

eddie saying “hey babe, come here?” and both reader and roan show up

i love this idea, I know it's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it !!!! ♡ fem!reader

Eddie gets home and can't see either of his girls. Not a brilliant sign but not necessarily a bad thing, he sheds his clothing one piece at a time. Steel-toed boots at the door, oil-covered coveralls at the couch, gross socks in the kitchen. He screws them up into a grease containing ball and drops them onto the floor with intention to pick them up later.

There's a pot of macaroni simmering on the furthest burner. He lifts the lid, stirs the pasta with a wooden spoon and then licks it clean, eyes rolling up into his head at the unmistakable pleasure of melty hot cheese. He turns off the heat and moves on to a pile of clothes he'd ironed last night on the table, finding for himself a new pair of socks and some well loved slacks, their left hem sewn back together by your clumsy, well-meaning hand.

He can hear the shower going as he nears the bathroom, and Roan's animated make pretend from her own bedroom. He bypasses both, desperate for a hair tie to pull his hair out of his face after a day of it tickling his cheeks. His first hair tie had snapped halfway through the day, and Wayne had laughed and told him he should've cut it a long time ago.

You swear in the bathroom. The shower gets turned off and you flash past the open door, a blur of skin and your white towel. You cuss with every wet footprint you leave behind, though eventually you must realise he's home, because you ask, "Eddie?"

"In here, baby."

Roan throws open her bedroom door with as much strength as her body possesses and stares across the way with a small frown. "What, daddy?"

He's going to say, I wasn't calling you, sweetheart, you can go back to your game, because her formidable expression might be indicative of a grouchy mood on the horizon, but he's missed her so much he gives in.

"Can't spare a kiss for dad, can you?" he asks, throwing a hand against his forehead.

She drags her feet and Eddie swoops her up into his arms, dropping kiss across her face anywhere he can. She cracks quickly like an egg with a soft shell and deigns to give him the cuddle he'd been craving.

You watch from the doorway with your hand held to your chest, holding your towel closed.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks you.

"Perfect," Roan answers.

You both grin over her head. Eddie shifts her weight into one arm so he can hold out the other and beckon you you him, hugging your damp shoulder.

"Ew, dad. You stink," Roan says.

You giggle from under his arm. "He really does."

"To think I was missing you both," he grumbles.

-

more eddie and roan

[nicohischierz]

love at first trip: jamie drysdale

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hisch if you want to join the taglist let me know!!

tani speaks: so ironic that i was working on this before he got traded 🥹

“elijah zegras, watch out!” you yelled at your nephew.

however, the young boy followed after his father. so he continued running, his footsteps and laughter reverberating through the training facility.

you should’ve looked where you were going instead of cursing the young boy because not long after your shout, did you bump into someone.

well, you tripped over your nephew into the arms of his father's teammate.

"are you okay?" the body asked.

although your body felt perfectly content staying within the confines of the man's arms, you knew you had to pull away from him. and so reluctantly, you pushed yourself away and gave a curt nod.

"uncle jimmy!" elijah yelled.

jamie bent down and picked up the young ball of energy, spinning the four-year-old. no one had to question who the boys father was seeing as he was a splitting image of trevor.

trevor showed up in the hallway not long after. "i heard some ruckus and I just had to check it out," he teased, going over to tickle his son's belly.

once he had shown his affection to his son, trevor turned to you and gave you a short hug. you enveloped your brother-in-law and assured him that it was no problem.

"aunt y/n/n, will i see you tomorrow?" your nephew asked.

you shrugged and bent down to his level "if your dad's paying then I'll see you, same time and same place." you answered. elijah thought about it for a bit and then nodded his head.

elijah gave you one last hug before he spotted one of alex killorn's children.

"thanks again y/n," trevor thanked.

you waved him off. "i love the little guy, plus I sat him. in front of the tv and he was good for an hour before he needed me which is surprising considering he's your kid," you poked fun at trevor.

"ha ha. very funny,"

you smiled at trevor and checked the time before heading off to your apartment and waving bye to his quiet teammate.

“who is that?” jamie asked immediately.

“y/n.”

jamie rolled his eyes at trevor “yeah i gathered that. i didn’t know you had another sister,” he admitted:

trevor burst out in laughter. the idea that the two of you were related was abysmal. although, he is married to your sister.

“nah that’s val’s sister,” trevor answered.

trevor then went on to explain that you were in your senior year of college and elijah had managed to guilt trip you into spending more time with him.

the next time jamie saw you was at elijah's fourth birthday.

he's spent the whole week building up the courage to talk to you.

but his hard work was crushed when he saw you wrapped in the arms of another man. a man who was way taller than him.

"who's the giant?" mason asked when he, jamie and trevor were together.

"y/n's asshole boyfriend," trevor answered.

"are you just saying that or is he really an asshole?" jamie asked.

"he's a good kid but he's so focused on basketball that sometimes he leaves y/n disappointed. like he forgot her birthday because he was watching film," trevor explained.

the two canadians grimaced. that never flies.

and so, jamie watched you the whole party as you laughed with your boyfriend. meanwhile, his heart clenched at the feeling of losing his chance.

jamie didn't see you again unless you attended a game. the interaction was so rare, that when you came up to speak to him one night, he was shocked.

but alas, that was the last time jamie saw you.

until valentines day.

jamie was oulled away from his guitar lesson by a rapid knock on his door.

"y/n?" he questioned.

out of all things he could've thought of. jamie never dreamt of you showing up at his apartment door on valentines day.

his shock was smothered when he saw the mascara running down your face. immediately, he let you in without another word and directed you towards his couch.

he offered you a cup of water and let you regain your composure before asking you what was wrong.

"he broke up with me."

"what?"

"my boyfriend. he broke up with me because I was too clingy which I think is utter bullshit because I let him do whatever he wanted." you spat.

among all the thoughts on why someone would cheat on a person like you. jamie only voiced out one.

“how do you know where i live?” he asked.

you finally looked at the boy and gave him a sheepish shrug of your shoulders. “z always left your address incase of an emergency when i look after eli. i guess i just learnt it cause this was the first place i came to,”

jamie pulled you gently into his chest and rubbed your hair.

“i’ll go grab some clothes for you to change into. you can sleep in my room,” he whispered, letting you go.

that night your dreams were filled of the blue eyed canadian downstairs as his scent filled your nostrils.

and jamie.

well his dreams were always filled with you and life that could be.

[madsmilfelsen]

I think Rust is neat and all but what drew me in was his HANDS. Idk how to explain it, but something about the way he holds things and articulates makes me just. Stare at them. Like I just Know he has rough hands

alright babe, you want to talk about his hands, let’s talk about his hands via timeline

Obviously living in the bush of Alaska requires a lot of manual labor to survive, skin rubbing raw inside leather gloves, blisters from splitting wood, scars from his knife slipping on salmon (v real, I used to filet 500 salmon a summer and baby…. yew, my left hand has gotten nicked more than once— Travis and Rust had a fish camp on the Copper River, probably across the bridge from Chitna and a touch north, and lived way up river between Slana and Nabesna bc I’m making all this up right now and I said so) etc etc so his hands well worn before he got out, moved back to Texas and meets Claire snared by his weirdo allure and bizarre way of handling things— Sophia comes along and I bet he was washing his hands like a maniac, dry as fuck, probably worried his rough hands might make her fussy so held her with her little swaddling blankets at first (compensated with A LOT of skin to skin time but that’s a different ask), carefully petting her hair with just the tips of his fingers, down the bridge of her nose to make her go to sleep. Sophia loved his hands (like mother like daughter fr) could be occupied when he took her fishing by just letting her sit in his lap to play with his fingers, try on his wedding ring, ask why his nails are shorter than mommy’s or why they aren’t soft like mommy’s, map his calluses, trace the lines of his palms until he set a hook and watched him reel in dinner.

(Addition) hol up, hear me out— Sophia rooting around his bare chest and pacified with the curl of his knuckle, Sophia teething and gnawing on his fingers, Sophia learning to walk with her soft pudgy hands in his, Sophia squealing and giggling as he tickles her round lil tummy, Sophia’s only sitting still to get her hair brushed but only for daddy— Rust’s hands becoming the most abused part of his body after she’s gone

Crash era— this man does not give a shit about his hands, the most treatment they get is when he taped them together after breaking a finger, had a punching bag for obvious reasons and beat the shit out of it no gloves no tape constantly bruised. Not a stranger to working with mechanics (in Alaska, Travis would make sure he could keep his equipment running— boat engines, four wheeler oil changes, changing snow mobile tracks etc) and probably took his bike apart and put it back together just to make sure he could be Authentic, different calluses with new tools, divots in his skin lost to the unforgiving scraping bite of metal, hissing when he gets transmission fluid in his split knuckles

1995– habitual hand washing returns, dry as hell, his wrists probably crack and bleed in the winter (very very very rarely is annoyed enough to actual do something about it, probably had to bleed on one of his files— he’d use Johnson and Johnson baby lotion becuase that’s he only shit he knew, definitely drunk cried about it at least once, before sucking it up and swtiching to Vaseline), pull up bars give calluses at the base of the fingers/tops of the palms, just does calisthenics because who the fuck wants to buy equipment. Does all the upkeep on his truck (and thinking about it, this would be the first time he’d be like Alone alone in a long while, no handlers, no Iron Crusaders, no backstory upkeep, no dad, no wife, probably takes truck parts inside and cleans them on his kitchen counter because no one is there to say what the fuck are you doing— “we don’t mind being alone” okay Okay sure honey) Makes it worse by the talcum powder in his rubber gloves or licking his fingers to go through case files or staying too long in the dry archives where he can’t smoke so probably tapping his mouth, rubbing circles on his knuckles with his thumb or running it along his nails— don’t know what flavor of adhd that man has a strangle hold on but he can’t sit entirely still, fingers moving with the bits of his mind that aren’t occupied to keep himself from distraction, pretending he didn’t lose his patience with his fatherhood.

2002– Laurie :) home girl said that’s enough! Probably got recommendations from surgeons and plys him tins of hand salve, he doesn’t like the greasy feeling, but his girl is askin’ he won’t say no babey!

2012– full circle, back to them Alaskan fishing boat hands, type of hands that snag fabric (my husband isn’t a mechanic but does work with his hands and I can’t wear silk around him) and hair gets caught on, the man does not own a brush, finger combs his hair once a week and puts that shit in a hair tie, done with it.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

I keep picturing this:

(Not yet bf!)John going short of ballistic with genuine worry when you refuse to hold hands.

CoD ML

Okay, obviously this needs context.

So, John tags along with you to the V&A. Now, being a proper gentleman, he first takes you out for coffee and a bite before you slowly make your way to the museum in South Kensington. After all, it’s one of those rare sunny and warm London spring days and you could do with some Vitamin D.

No, not Vitamin Daddy. What was that?

ANYWAY! As soon as you enter, you fall into the habit of wandering about without any regard whatsoever for your companion. It’s not a conscious decision, of course, but sometimes you need to turn your brain off and enjoy art while protected by your personal bubble.

When you’re in the Cast Courts, you feel a hand on your shoulder. It takes every ounce of self-control not to let the scream tickling the back of your throat escape, which would definitely break the amiable peacefulness of the museum.

“There you are! Do you have any bloody idea how worried I was?” John’s lightly panting, eyes wide and pupils dilated with a frenzy that leaves you wondering about the cause of it. “I let you out of my sight for one second and you have me run around the entire museum looking for you.”

“Well, you kinda invited yourself,” you mumble under your breath, masking the way you flinch with a step back.

“Pardon?”

“N-Nothing.”

“Nah, Y/N.” His fingers dig painfully into your cheeks as he grabs your face and forces you to look at him. “You’re a big girl so use your words. Go on. You know how.”

“Y- You wanted to come with. Invited yourself.”

“I guess that’ll have to do for a proper sentence.” He lets go and extends a bear-like hand. “Before you wander off again with that silly little head of yours.”

“No.”

“Hand. Now.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking,” John growls, forcefully entwining his fingers with yours. The grip on them is firm, iron-like. Fully aware you won’t be able to escape.

You slowly walk about the space like that for a few moments. Eventually, you find the courage to defy the seething rage you feel emanating from him.

“I… I’m sorry, John.” You’re not afraid of his mood, but it’s rather the guilt that sinks its claws into you which evokes tears in your eyes.

He stops in his tracks, lets go of your hand, and turns around so fast it’s like he’s trying to evade a bullet. Within seconds, he has you wrapped up in his arms, his fingers running through your hair in an effort to console you. “Hey, don’t cry. I’m not mad with you, just a little annoyed you don’t account for me and worried about what might happen when you’re alone. I know you’re a capable girl, Y/N, but I still care about your well-being too.”

The back rubs help soothe the storm of tears welling up inside you, waiting to come thundering out. Nevertheless, the kiss on the top of your head calms it. “How about we grab a coffee, hm? Maybe get something to eat too. My treat.”

He holds you at arm’s length, checking your expression while lovingly wiping the tears rolling down your cheeks away. “Does that sound good?”

You nod. You inhale and exhale deeply, feeling silly for acting like a child at your grown age. “I’m sorry you had to see that. And for me not telling you where I was.”

“Shh, ‘s alright, love.” While normally he wouldn’t allow himself to do it since you’re not official yet and he doesn’t know whether you reciprocate his feelings or not, he kisses your forehead and the tip of your nose. “Let’s go to the café. Don’t let go of my hand.”

And you don’t.

(Might make this imagine into a proper scene for my dad’s best friend!John Price story. It’s in the works, btw! I’m currently gathering inspiration and writing bits like the above here and there, organically creating the tale, so to say.😉)

[mymelodymia]

The chaotic duo

Summary: you and your dad are the most chaotic due ever.

Warnings: tony being evil, y/n getting revenge 😈,

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•++•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

The ENTIRE team had become aware that you both were chaotic, but oh, my, goodness you too together? Jeez, I dont think the universe could handle it.

It had become a regular occurrence to see you being chased by tony, for reference, they had just seen you running for your life, screaming through the tower, and once you ran out of the room, they'd see tony run in like,

"Which way she go?" A few of them were on tonys team and pointed straight to your direction, and some pointed in the opposite direction. Eventually tony gave up and guessed, and he got lucky I guess 🤷‍♀️

Then he'd just run into another room and they'd just hear a shrill screech, then see tony walking in heading straight back to where he came from with you over his shoulder.

You kicking and hitting him in a attempt to free yourself, this did nothing. You screaming various protests against this act of evilness 😡

"We can talk about this!"

"No we cant."

"YES WE CAN!!"

He walked into an empty room before plopping you on the couch, he began to smile evilly, you knew what was coming at this point (T^T)

"Noo!" You could barely get this plead out before he began tickling you. You started to laugh uncontrollably, kicking your feet and squirming to try and get out of his iron grip (pun so, fucking, intended)

"NOOOHOHOHOHHO! DAAAHHAHHADD!!"

"STOOAAHAHHAHAHPP!"

"Stop what, this?" He said as he reached for your underarms, causing your laughter to go silent for a moment. After a few more minutes of this torture, he let you go. The whole team was still sitting in the next room over, listening in horror, trying to withhold their own laughter.

"That poor kid." Clint spoke up, causing everyone to break out into a fit of laughter

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

That night, you walked into your bathroom and remembered, you still had temporary green hair dye fron last years halloween from when you dressed up as Beetlejuice.

You decided that this was your chance to get some revenge 😈

so, you grabbed the hair dye and slowly creeped into your fathers bedroom, made your way over to his king sized bed, and unscrewed the lid.

You dumped a large clump into the palm of your hand, when it made contact with his head It made a small 'plop' sound, which made you freeze for a few moments before returning to your dirty-work.

Using both hands this time, you spread it around on his scalp, and luckily he was a very heavy sleeper, so this didn't even make him stirr.

Once you finished this part of revenge, you walked across the large bedroom and got a sticky note and wrote the words 'revenge mother-fricker' and stuck it on his forehead

You could only get one side of his head covered in the dye givin that he was laying on his side. Now you just had to wait till morning.

+•°+*°•+

The morning after you did this you were sitting at the table, gobbling down on some cereal. Then tony walked in, half of his hair dyed green, and the sticky note still on his forehead.

you immediately started giggling, which turned into laughing. Almost choking on your cereal, which you had to calm down to get it to slide down your throat.

"Okay, now i know who did it" tony said trying to withhold the smile that perched upon his lips.

"I think it was obvious from the start-" nat said crossing her arms on her chest, being cut of by you falling out of your chair, holding your hand on your mouth as an attempt to stop the laughter.

"Thats literally worse then yesterday and no one is even near her" clint whispered to nat.

"Thats, hahAA..thats what you get"

"How is it....oh" he said when he remembered his little scheme from yesterday 😳

+•°+*°•+

You guys also had your cute moments, for reference. Right now you and the whole team was watching tangled together in the living room

You had drifted off on your fathers chest, your hand just under his arc reactor, his hand on your back, the other on your forearm (that wasn't on his chest) rubbing it with his thumb.

You loved moments like this, it gave you a feeling of peace after a long day of dealing with his and your sassyness.

Tony also fell asleep about halfway through the film, the two of you resting in each others warmth.

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

A/N: HAHAHA! You think I'd finally make a fic with no lovey dovey stuff? Nope! HAHAA-

Tags

@animealways // @white-wolf-buckaroo // @tonystark-au // @yummyangy // @zebralover

[delopsia]

Dancing Beneath The Moon | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 10,000  Cross Posted on AO3 Brief Summary: How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you? Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Ghost!Rhett AU (with a twist! I won't tell you what kind but it's a twist!), friends to lovers, Trevor does not take rejection very well (please be advised that he does yell at the reader and scare them), unprotected sex, mentions of violence, and Rhett's 'murder.' Please refer to the user manual and wash your cowboy before sex.  

"I-I'm sorry, I need to leave."

"Trevor, wait!" Your feet patter across the floor, struggling to keep up as he lets himself out the door, "I can explain."

Only on the front porch does he stop, ostrich-skin boots clicking against the old wood with every step, "You don't need to," holding up one hand, as if to ward you off, "I just...forgot my Dad asked me to interview our new ranch hand today."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, gaping like a damn goldfish.

"I'll call you later," and that's all Trevor leaves you with, skittering off the porch and clambering up into that lifted F-150, with its perfect, custom black paint that glimmers a deep blue as he tears down your driveway.

Ugh.

"Rhett!" Your voice echoes throughout the house, punctuated by the slamming of the door behind you. So loud, and yet you can still hear the vicious banging of your beloved cast iron skillet banging on your kitchen tile. A shrill clatter of noise that has you fighting the urge to cover your ears as you storm into the kitchen.

And there he is. The translucent motherfucker, sitting cross-legged beneath your table, peeking out from beneath it. "What?" A big, shit-eating grin lacing his barely there features, so innocent and childlike that you almost don't believe he was the cause of this mayhem.

Almost.

The skillet in his hand provides a pretty damning counterargument.

"I'd kill you if you weren't already dead," fuming, yanking that dented skillet out of his hand; Rhett's grip is strong, but not enough to stop you from taking your cookware back.

"I was playin' with that," he huffs, a cold wind that tickles your ankles.

The skillet lands in the sink with a clatter. "And I was trying to have a date," you hiss, throwing your hands up, "but I'm unfortunate enough to share a house with a ghost who doesn't have any fucking manners!"

"I have manners!" Rhett's up in the air now, a buzzing collection of mist that floats up to the ceiling, no longer human, "I just ain't got 'em for big shots that wanna play cowboy for a day!"

"He is a cowboy," he's not. You know he's not. But god, you are not giving Rhett fucking Abbott the satisfaction of you agreeing with him. "You wouldn't know, being ancient and all that."

The temperature drops. Mist scattering. You can't tell where he is anymore. "I would know 'cause I am a fuckin' cowboy!" His disembodied, roaring voice comes from all directions. "No good-minded cowboy wears a goddamn rolex on a work day, 'cause they know that shits fixin' t'get scuffed!"

"Cowboy or not, you're going to have to get over it," as you reach for the tap, you think you can feel his presence behind you. Some invisible thing that sends your skin prickling, even with the knowledge of how harmless he truly is. "Trevor's coming back, and if you keep scaring him off, I'm phoning a priest."

"Fine!" Booming behind you.

"Fine!"

He's gone for the rest of the night.

The pizza guy scares the hell out of you when he knocks on the door. Not because you had forgotten about your order but because you were waiting on the curtains to peel themselves open. Expecting to hear a deep, half-hearted grumble about how "your date is here" as the fella clambers out of his beat-up sedan.

But it never comes.

Rhett doesn't even bug you about giving him a slice that he knows he can't eat, but you catch yourself putting a plate out for him. You wonder if he's in the room to see you rushing to put it back in the cupboard. Maybe he's out in the field because the television doesn't miraculously change to the Animal Channel like it usually does. You don't catch a glimpse of him lingering in the mirror whilst you brush your teeth.

You're glad.

You didn't want to see his ugly mug anyway.

Strange how such a big presence can vanish so easily, without a trace or hint of where he went, leaving this big farmhouse feeling like a husk of what it usually does. The temperature drops a degree or two when he's around, but without him, it feels like you've set up camp in the Arctic. How can a dead man bring so much life to a place?

But the covers are tucked around you in the morning.

You can't see him, but when you step into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and yawning, you can feel him wisping around you. That invisible presence seeking for anything to get back on your good side.

The toast lifts itself onto a plate before it can be burnt by that old, barely functioning toaster of yours. On the table, the weekly grocery ad flips open to a discount on new toasters, a lazily written note scrawled beneath it. 'They even have the color you were wanting! :)'

He pulls the chair out for you to sit, and when you defiantly head out onto the porch to eat, he pulls the patio chair out for you too. You hate giving him the satisfaction of helping, but it's hard to avoid him when he's free to roam this entire property.

But the one thing you've forgotten is just how hot Wabang can get, even this early in the morning. Birds tiredly chirp from their nests, unwilling to take flight beneath the sweltering sun; the old wind chime is silent, not even the slightest breeze appearing to help it sing its tune. You've been outside for a mere five minutes, and yet sweat already beads on your forehead.

A cold nothingness wisps past you. Round and round your little patio table, stirring up a breeze that doesn't reach the trees.

"You can come out, Rhett," fighting your laugh is futile because it slips out as you speak, dancing through the air in tune with the wind chime.

The opposite chair scoots out on its own, a pale blue mist collecting in the seat; it'll take him a moment to get settled back into form. "Did ya happen to find my headstone yesterday?"

Your head is shaking before he can get his sentence out. "Are you sure you were buried in Wabang?"

"I don't know where else I'd be," Rhett's face isn't fully there yet, but his scowl is, settled deep into his nonexistent features. "Wabang was the only place my folks ever knew."

Your heavy tongue can't be brought to tell him about the graves you did find. Royal and Cecelia buried together, their son Perry right next to them, and their granddaughter Amy buried in the row in front of them, next to a headstone simply titled 'Autumn.'

Rhett should know. He deserves to know where his family rests, but you can't bring yourself to tell Rhett that his killer was given the privilege of being buried next to his parents. Don't know how to tell him that the Amelia County Sherrif dug up an old newspaper declaring Perry Abbott as not guilty of Rhett's murder.

"C'n I bug you to put a cup of coffee out?" Rhett chirps, and that permanently scruffy face almost looks real. His eyes must have been as blue as the ocean deep when he was alive, for even now, they glow with their color. The only thing off about him is his slight transparency and the rays of sunlight that spear through his body.

"You didn't smell it enough this morning?" You ask, but you're getting up anyway; you'd rather not deny his request and risk him making a mess by trying to do it himself.

His boots click across the old wood, in perfect tune with your step, "wasn't here."

"Where did you go?" You're already grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, other hand reaching for the coffee pot.

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "barn." When you turn around, he's no longer there, a plume of mist once more, but you don't need to see him to know that his eyes are transfixed on the ground. "Didn't think y'wanted me in the house after last night."

Most people would love it if their ghosts would leave the residence; let them live in peace without being heckled by the souls who can't move on. You'd know; you were one of them, once upon a time.

"You don't have to leave every time we bicker, Rhett," it feels strange to say, but those words are spoken directly from the heart, "this is your house too."

He manifests again. Back to his favorite spot beneath the edge of the kitchen table, cross-legged, where he can peek out to see what you're doing. A little too big to fit, but he makes it work.

Like clockwork, his right-hand toys with the cracked edge of a linoleum tile, the one he's pulled up numerous times in the past.

"Please don't tear up my tile," you try to say it as gently as you can; you know why he's so drawn to it, but you really don't want to spend an afternoon fixing your beloved floor again. Wordless, he leaves his spot, content to settle down in a kitchen chair and smell his coffee. The closest he can get to enjoying its flavor.

You wind up back in bed early in the afternoon. Downed by a migraine that refuses to pass, settling deep into your skull, brought on by an unknown cause. You think it may be from the obnoxiously strong air freshener you plugged in; Rhett blames it on your cellphone.

"Care for some company?"

You're fortunate that Rhett Abbott is easy on the eyes because it's difficult to open them. There he is, standing near the edge of the bed, in the same spot you met him three years ago.

At least this time, the two of you aren't screaming, startled by each other's sudden presence.

"As long as you don't hog the sheets," comes your conclusion, and the bed is dipping as soon as the last word has left your mouth. A weight that isn't there settles across from you, a human-shaped indent that by all means shouldn't exist.

Rhett's hair falls into his face as his pretty head lands on the pillow, snuggling against it, and you know he's trying his best to remain as solid as he can. He says he's not touch-starved, but you're starting to think that he's lying.

Your hand wanders out on its own, carefully settling against that misty cheek, trying not to go through him. "You look a little more solid than usual."

"Only took a couple years of practice," the corner of his lip rises with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh, why does he have to look so sad when your hand inevitably passes through him?

You don't know if ghosts can cry, but his eyes seem to water as he feels your touch falter. They always do, but it never gets any easier to look at. It never gets easier, watching his smile wobble back into a frown, and his form grow a little more opaque.

Opening your arms to him probably isn't the best move to make. You've both discussed this; roommates is as far as this relationship can ever go because anything more asks for nothing but heartache. Heartache, such as the crushing feeling of feeling him squirm closer and not being able to feel him when you wrap your arms around his waist.

The only sign that he's real is the coldness you feel against your chest as his head settles against there. And, maybe, just maybe, you think you can feel wisps of his hair tickling your skin.

"What the hell is that?"

You haven't even taken it out of the box, and Rhett is already puffing up like a feral cat about it. "What does it look like, Rhett?"

The living room light flickers, his blue mist settling into the corner of the couch, as far as he can get from the box sitting on the floor. Refuses to take any more form than he already has, doesn't know how to react to this new thing that now sits in the same room as him.

"I don't have a clue," he says after a moment.

"It's a video game console," you want to take it out of the box and prove that it's not going to hurt him, but you don't want him getting any more surprised than he already is.

Against all odds, it seems you've got his attention because you can see his face now, head cocked to the side like a puppy. "A huh?"

"It connects to the television," nodding your head toward the flat screen next to you, "you can use it to play games on it."

He perks at that. "You can play checkers on the TV?"

Checkers wasn't what you had in mind, but you're sure it's on there.

There's a lot of fumbling involved. All the various cords and manuals only serve to confuse him more than he already is, and though he tries his best to help, he's not much assistance. There are less than five cords for the system, and he thinks they're all HDMI cables. But he's helpful when it comes to squeezing behind the television, at least.

"So that box...puts the game on the screen?" He asks as soon as you've settled onto the couch together, scooted as close as he can possibly get. "And you use that thing to play?"

For a cowboy who grew up in the days of black-and-white television, he catches on quickly. "For the most part, yes."

You'd won this thing in a raffle held down at the Bison Valley Bank of Wyoming, entered just for the hell out of it while you were down there a couple of months ago. How you won a new gaming console and why it came with a second controller, hot pink in color, you'll never know.

Rhett's simply poking at the joystick, unwilling to pick it up just yet, but you know he'll take to it like he did your television. Later, you'll wish you hadn't, but for now, you'll download one of his favorite board games.

"Monopoly?" He's fighting it, but there's still a twinge of excitement in his tone.

Now he's picking it up.

And within the hour, you regret even bringing the damn console into the house because you lose. Horribly. As soon as Rhett figured out the controls and the slight change in rules, you knew you didn't stand a chance. You can't even be upset about your crippling loss because he's kicking his legs back and forth and giggling.

"One more round?" He pleads, those opaque eyes sparkling with their childlike wonder, and you know he's never going to let this controller go.

"Let me get a drink, and then we'll play another," are you only agreeing because you enjoy the melody of laughter coming from your household ghost?

Absolutely not.

...okay, maybeyou are, but still.

At least he can't see your smile as you head for the kitchen, socked feet pattering across the cold hardwood without much of a sound. Already formulating a plan in your head, the next surprise move that might help you beat Rhett at one of his favorite games. If you can buy all four railroads before Rhett does...

The floor bends beneath your foot. Something crackles.

"Rhett, can you come here for a second?" Frozen in place, afraid to make another move. The lights are off; you can't see what's going on, but something feels wrong.

His presence is there before you can think any further, a chill ghosting over your body as he breezes around you. Circling like he's making an attempt at thwarting your fears before he flicks the light switch on.

And now you see it.

The kitchen floor is beginning to cave in, bowing inwards, right where your kitchen table sits. Beneath your foot, the tile has begun to crack, breaking into smaller pieces that cannot withstand any amount of weight on top of it.

"That floor's fixin' to collapse, doll," comes his voice, seemingly from all directions.

You're moving to step off of it and venture back out into the presumably safe hallway. But the floor crackles even louder. Tiles buckling beneath both of your feet. Sinking lower.

"I don't think I can," your body sways, fighting to remain upright.

Rhett's silently wrapping around you, formless blue mist shaping around you like a hug, tugging you away with a surprising amount of force. Practically takes your feet out from under you as he hauls you out of the kitchen.

"You're stronger than you look," you mutter in the hallway. Where the floor is solid and doesn't threaten to come out from under you.

"Only when I'm wantin' to be," he mutters directly into your ear, and you're suddenly glad that you've never asked how strong he is, as a ghost and all, "Now what kind of drink were you after?"

Rhett's your kitchen boy for the next three days until you can get someone to come and take a look at your floor. Balancing drinks and plastic cups that occasionally end in a tragic spill because he's not as good at balancing small objects. The first person never shows up; the second arrives bright and early in the morning, interrupting your morning conversation with Rhett on the porch.

"Now, like I said before, I don't have my equipment on me, so I can't guarantee you that this is the case," the guy begins, and you really, really hope he doesn't look up and see Rhett's dumbass sitting on the counter, "but my biggest guess is that your foundation has been exposed to too much moisture for too long."

"What's the worst-case scenario for this?" Your attention flickers between him and Rhett; what if it's something that you can't afford to fix?

He pauses to press his foot against the floor one more time, carefully surveying the way it shakes beneath the weight, tile crackling once more, "now it's highly unlikely, but worst case scenario, in my opinion, would be a sinkhole."

Your face drops.

"But that's highly unlikely," and he doesn't seem too concerned as he turns to face you, "I wouldn't worry until we get back out here and tear up the floor this coming Monday."

So Monday it is. That will be the day you find out if it's a simple fix or if you'll have no choice but to move out and leave your beloved house ghost all by his lonesome. Rhett seems to catch onto that thought, too. Remarkably quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

You can't blame him. For about forty-five years, this house was occupied by a family of religious folk who used some sort of herb to quite literally render Rhett into a state of unconsciousness. One too many surprise appearances in the mirror doomed him to sleep for all those years, only -reawakening after you moved in and scrubbed this old farmhouse from top to bottom.

He's never known what it's like to be alone. The closest he's come to it is the sporadic vacations you've taken over the past couple of years. None of which have lasted longer than a week, but all of which have ended in him waiting on the porch, tackling you the moment you stepped out of your car.

Unless he can attach himself to you, he'll never be able to wander further than the fields that surround your home.

Rhett doesn't take form again until Sunday night.

You don't know why you've drug these two lawn chairs out into the lawn, past the gravel that eats up the area around the house, but you have. Lounging, gazing up at the moon and stars hanging high above your heads, pointing out all the shapes you find amongst them.

The portable radio drones lowly in between you, stuck on the same old country station, ever since Rhett and his ghostly ways accidentally jammed it last summer.

"Do you wanna dance with me?"

And you don't know if...did you make that up in your head? Or was that just the radio?

"You know I'm not drunk this time, right?" Your head tilts, aiming to get a glimpse of him. He's already looking at you, smiles weakly as you meet his eye. Laying here, cloaked in the silvery light of the moon, he looks...real. If you reached out, you're sure you'd feel the scruff of his cheek scratch at your palm.

He hums, "I know." Pausing, just for a moment, to look up at the stars one more time. Your eyes follow, scanning the speckled sky, delighted to catch the tail end of a shooting star. You should make a wish...but you can't think of anything to wish for. "I just...wanted t' know what kinda dancer you are when you're sober."

"Alright," comes your answer; dry, nothing more to add to it.

And you don't know where it comes from, but Rhett reaches off to the side of his chair and plucks a translucent cowboy hat off the ground. Takes care to dust it off with his scarred palm, even though nothing can possibly dirty it, before carefully placing it atop his head.

He holds his hand out for you to take as if it's something that's become possible all of a sudden, and against better judgment, you do just that. Slipping your palm into the chilly illusion of his, deceiving yourself into believing that you feel his fingers curling around your hand. It's not, but as he leads you out further into the grass, it becomes easy to deceive yourself.

"Whoever taught you to dance, anyway?" You giggle as he spins you around; catches you by the waist when you come to face him once more.

He grins, big and wide, and you think you see his teeth glint in the moonlight. "You give amazin' lessons when you're drunk."

Oh, how easy it is.

Dancing beneath the moon, in nothing but your pajamas, held close by the ghost of a cowboy whose soul fits against your own like a puzzle piece. He doesn't know what he's doing, and if he were human, you're sure he'd be stepping on your feet, but he moves in such wonderous tune with your body that it feels like a daydream. His cold forehead rests against yours, ocean eyes peering deep into the deepest crevices of who you are.

You're drifting away from the grass and into the driveway, feet kicking up loose gravel with each and every step. Sweeping past your car, your shoulder narrowly avoids the passenger side mirror. You should be looking where you're going, you're going to drift too close to the porch and fall, but Rhett's gaze is so captivating that you can't bring yourself to look away.

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy?

And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

"You're thinkin' awful hard," the hand that curls around your cheek feels so real, the vague callous of a thumb stroking beneath the corner of your eye.

"Just figuring out how I'm going to pack you up and take you with me," your words are a poorly collected lie; you both know it, but he doesn't call you out on it.

Oh, and he's pushing your noses together with all the boldness of a man who knows what he wants. Your fingers are trying to tangle in his hair, and it's of no use, but you do it anyway, uncaring of how your hands sink through that collection of mist.

"Take me with you, hm?" He's slowing to a stop, the arm around your waist drawing you closer to him. "What happens when y' find someone to settle down with? Y'gonna turn me into the ring bearer at the weddin'?"

"Fortunately," your gaze flickers down his face, and you're so, so sure he's real, "I've already found that someone."

Rhett has no need for oxygen, and yet he sucks in a breath of air anyway, a little reflex remaining even after all this time.

One of you should shut this down right here before it goes too far. But your arms are wrapping around those broad shoulders, precariously balanced upon the thick collection of mist that makes up Rhett Abbott's ghost. The hand on your cheek is dropping to cup your jaw, and the world spins even faster as both of you lean in. His cold breath fans out against your lips, your eyes meet one more time, and...

Kissing him is the only thing you have ever needed.

A heart-stopping boom tears through the silence. Glass shattering in hot pursuit. As your eyes flutter open, the kitchen light goes out.

"What was that?" Your feet are already moving, Rhett's form dissolving into a thin mist, following at your side.

"I don't know," his distant voice rings, "please be careful."

You can hardly heed his warning. Sweeping past the front door, not bothering to take your shoes off, as you head for the kitchen. It's too dark to see, forcing you to fumble for the dining room light that you never use. Your hands graze over the switch, flipping it on, and, and—

The kitchen floor is nearly gone.

Replaced by a deep, cavernous hole that seems to reach deep into the earth. Consumes over half of the floor where your table once sat, reaching from your cabinets to your teetering refrigerator, on the verge of falling in.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to get your spirit to attach to a living person, do you?" You hope Rhett can't pick up on the shake in your tone; there's no way insurance will cover a damn sinkhole.

But your question is met with silence.

"Rhett?" You're turning, and...he's not there. The air is unusually warm, not a speck of mist to be found. "Rhett?" Trying again, louder this time, as you head for the door, because maybe he's outside, maybe he's...

He's not there either. Maybe he's upstairs. Yeah, when he panics, he usually hides out in his old bedroom. He's just upstairs.

The door slams shut.

A second crash follows suit; you don't want to know if that was your refrigerator or if the sinkhole expanded even further.

"Rhett, this isn't funny," shaking the door knob. Locked from the inside. "Rhett, open the door!"

He doesn't.

The windows are all locked down tight. Even the one you intentionally leave unlocked. You find your car keys sitting atop the roof of your car, the paint scratched from where they've been thrown from a distance.

Rhett's chilly presence doesn't visit you when you sleep in the car that night.

He's not there to spook the contractor when he and his crew arrive early in the morning. You don't find him sitting on the couch when they kick the door down, and he's not on your bed when you sneak up the stairs, even after you're warned against going to the second floor. He isn't even there when countless faces enter your home to check out just what is going on in your kitchen.

"I've never seen this before," one of them tells you, her brows furrowed as she looks at her clipboard once more, "but it's not a sinkhole at all."

You don't know if you heard her correctly. "It's not?"

"It's a fifteen-foot hole that must have been dug by a past owner," she pauses to flip through her phone, presenting you with a photo of...just a dirt hole. Nothing special about it in the slightest. "They never refilled it, either; it was only a matter of time before the foundation collapsed into it."

Your mind flickers to your seemingly non-existent ghost. Rhett's never told a lot about his murder, but you know for sure that it happened in the kitchen. "Did you find anything down there?"

That seems to give her pause, ink pen tapping idly against her lips as she rechecks her pages and pages of notes. "Aside from your refrigerator and debris from the collapse...," flicking through another page, "it was completely empty! Nothing to worry about."

Well, at least now you know Rhett's not buried beneath the kitchen floor.

Even worse, his spirit no longer lurks within the paper-thin walls of this century-old farmhouse. You call for him in the fields, disturbing the cattle your neighbor keeps, and you beg for him to be there when you crawl out of bed in the morning. But the house remains warm; the only mist you find is in the fog that settles over your home after it rains, and he doesn't come out to mess with the teen boys employed to carry in bags of dirt, to fill the hole with.

Doesn't even appear when Trevor's F-150, with its irritating color-shifting paint, pulls into the driveway one evening.

"And so there was just a hole under your floor this whole time?" He's sitting in Rhett's favorite spot, cheap beer balanced carelessly between his legs. Has already spilled it once, leaving a stain on your cushion, and you'd tell him off if you weren't hoping it would infuriate Rhett into showing his face.

"The going theory is that one of the past owners dug it," glancing toward the mirror as you speak; still no ghost.

"I bet you more than anything that it's related to that Abbott murder," Trevor says, picking his drink up once more.

Your heart lurches in your chest. "Murder?"

"Did the realtor not tell ya?" Why is he scratching his cheek with the edge of his beer can? "That uh...what's his name? Perry, that's right, got into it with his brother and beat 'em to death in the kitchen."

"They told me someone died, but they never really elaborated," you mutter as he scoots a little closer. "Do you know what the argument was about?"

Trevor's heavy arm slings over your shoulder, drawing you near, musky cologne rudely meeting your nose. This is the same man you've been pursuing for months, so why is it that all of a sudden, your stomach churns at his touch? "Think it was...mmm, I think it was over some broad that went missing a couple of months before. Perry's wife, fiance, or something like that."

The alcohol on his breath has your senses reeling, overwhelmed with a sudden onset of nausea. Rhett didn't have much of a scent, but the little he carried was nothing but leather and honeyed sweetness. Your memory of his touch is brief, can count on one hand the amount of times he wrapped an arm around you, but he never dragged you into his chest like Trevor does.

"I'm sorry," speaking gently, you slide out from under his arm, rising to your feet, "I can't do this."

Trevor's face falls; you already regret speaking up, "what do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought I could, but I just..." shaking your head, eyes landing on the hot pink controller that Rhett once played with, "I can't."

"The fuck do you mean you can't?" He's shooting up from his seat, beer can hitting the floor, the golden liquid splashing across the hardwood.

Your mouth is opening, but you don't get a chance to speak.

"You sure could when you were begging me to stay in this freaky ass house of yours last week!" Roaring, face twinging with red as he tries to close the space between you. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Loud bangings that rattle you so hard the house seems to shake with it. "You put me through all this just to tell me no?"

"I didn't put you through a damn thing!" Your voice echoes through the house, tone fierce, yet your feet timidly take one step back for each one Trevor takes forward. The floor seems to tremble beneath you. An earthquake that only you can feel.

Trevor's quiet at that.

You'd rather if he just yelled.

Because now he's got you creeping backward, and there's only so much space you can back up into. Your voice is caught in your throat. Stifled by something invisible. Mouth opening, but nothing comes out. The light in the kitchen goes out. Glitters of gold flitter past your head like tiny sugar plum fairies.

All of a sudden, Trevor lurches toward you.

Your head smacks against the wall. Jumping away from him.

"You think that little of me," he laughs, incredulous, "you think that fucking little of me?"

"Trevor." Your voice bursts past your lips. Shaky. But there. "Stop."

"Or what, huh?" Spit hits your face. His hand slams next to your head. Breaking through the drywall. "You owe me! I didn't spend all this goddamn time just for you to up and change your little fucking mind!"

"They asked you to stop." That's not your voice.

And it's not Trevor's, either.

Heavy boots thump across the floor. Spurs jingling with every step. Next to your head, a dirt-covered hand takes hold of Trevor's wrist. Muscles flex as it tears Trevor's fist out of the wall. Shoves it into his chest.

Trevor's reddened face has gone stark white. Trips over his own boots as a hulking, dirt-coated figure steps in front of you. Broad shoulders, covered by a vaguely patterned flannel; plaid, it looks like. Dark brown curls rest at his nape, unruly hair flowing freely. Suspiciously similar to...

"Who the fuck is this?" Trevor's still backing up, and this vaguely familiar man eats up every inch of space that's put between them.

"The house ghost." And that's...that's...

Trevor runs for the door before you can finish your thought. Slams it shut behind himself, like it'll keep him from being followed. Truck already rumbling to life. Downright roaring as the vehicle tears out of the driveway, sending gravel clanking against your windows.

But that's not what you're paying attention to.

Truly, you should be concerned about your windows being broken. But all you can do is look towards your kitchen because the light flickers back on. Gives you a momentary glance at a bottomless hole that's returned once more. Leaving behind no trace of the dirt that once filled it. Thin wisps of gold dance through it like an aurora, seemingly alive as they move.

You blink, and it's halfway gone. The edges shrinking inward until the hole is no more. Leaving behind that same freshly packed dirt.

Leaving behind...

"Rhett?"

He jolts at the sound of his name. As if he's surprised you're even speaking to him. Has yet to speak; confirm it's really him, but you already know the answer to that. He turns. Slow. And you can't help but wonder if that really is dirt because it seems to be fading away.

Slow, your hand drifts out from your side, and when your fingers curl around his jaw, you don't know if it's you who sucks in a breath of air or him.

Scruffy. Unshaven face scratching at your soft palm, dirt sticking to your skin as your thumb soothes over a remaining patch stuck to his cheek. Warm. He's warm. And he's hesitantly pushing his head into your hand, and, and—

"Rhett." You say it once more. The only thing you know how to say.

Tears well in those eyes. They're as blue as you ever could have hoped they would be. So, so real, not a shred of translucence to their color. One spills over onto his cheek, rolling until it's caught and wiped away by your thumb.

His arms are moving, hesitant to wrap around you, and you know he's worried about getting dirt on you, but the only thing you care about is stepping into him. Wrapping your trembling arms around that big, warm body of his and feeling him squeeze you into his chest. Where his heart beats heavy, thunking against you with the strength of an ox.

"I don't know how..." he whispers, hot breath tickling your neck, where he's buried his face.

"You're still an ass for locking me out of my own house," you're trying to sound irritated, but it's difficult to feign annoyance when he squeezes you a little tighter.

"Didn't want you bein' sucked in like I was," it's so strange to hear his voice like this, no longer a disembodied sound, "I...it just...kept suckin' me in every time I got out."

You're leaning away, and God, you don't want to leave those strong, trembling arms, but you want to see that face of his even more. The wrinkles beneath his eyes, the wobble of thin, chapped lips as they rise into a meager smile.

The callouses of his fingers drag against the soft skin of your cheek as his big hand settles there. Not the misty, barely there touch you're used to, but just as gentle as it's always been. His nose bumps against yours. Don't know who's leaning in. You shouldn't. You shouldn't do this.

This time, you know for sure that it's you who closes the gap between your bodies. It's you who catches this cowboy's lips in your own, reveling in that surprised gasp of his.

If you thought that kissing his ghost was heaven, then this is something else entirely.

Molding together like you were made just for this, his hand on your cheek and yours delving into his messy hair. Feeling the strength of the arm that curls around your waist and breathing in those faint notes of leather and honey and something warm that you can't quite place.

He pauses for a moment, breaks into a big, dumb smile as you meet his eye once more. And then he leans in to kiss you once more, hands cradling your cheeks, like you're a delicate flower whose petals will fall if he doesn't hold you together. His body shudders with something torn between a giggle and a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he's smiling so much that your teeth clack together.

Your name tumbles off of his lips. Then again and again, like he's trying to memorize the feel of it in his mouth. The way it rolls off his tongue and twists through the air, the sound seeming to kiss your ears when it meets them.

"Rhett," mirroring him, and oh, how he perks at that. Has he always reacted so beautifully to you calling his name?

"Say it again," his nose bumps against yours as he speaks, "Please. Wanna hear you say it again." So eager to hear you that he looks two steps away from a puppy, the tears in his eyes shimmering with wonder as you open your mouth once more.

"Rhett," you whisper, like it's a secret shared on the playground, and then, again, "Rhett."

This time, when your back hits the wall, it's because a bright-eyed cowboy is carefully backing you into it, one hand protecting the back of your head as he dresses his body against yours. Smiling too much to kiss you, can't seem to get over the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming reality of whatever this is.

"We probably shouldn't be..." Higher thinking rushes back to your head in a whirlwind, thoughts running wild in the darkest crevices of your mind. What if's and why's and wonderings of how this happened, if it's permanent or temporary. "What if we cross that line, and you go back to being a ghost?"

You don't think you'll ever adjust to the sound of Rhett breathing or the way his eyelashes flutter as he thinks for a moment. He's licking his lips, mouth opening, and, "What if we don't cross that line and spend our whole lives regrettin' it?" 

One too many kisses may leave you longing for him for the rest of your life, but one too few may leave you carrying eternal heartache. And that's only if he goes back to being a ghost. But he feels real. When you press your palm to his chest, his warm hand covers it, guiding it to rest over his beating heart. Little thumpings that shouldn't be there, full of life and love and all just for you. 

He could have come back to life for anyone. But he came back for you. 

To hell with it. 

Your bodies collide like galaxies. Blinded by a frantic kiss that promises bruises to your lips. Flecks of gold fall from his body as your hands roam, tugging at a flannel, at his hair, at his hands. Legs tangling because you're moving too quickly, and he's still adjusting to walking rather than floating. 

Only break apart long enough to tumble up the stairs; Rhett almost trips over every one of them. Struggling to keep his confidence but boosted along by the kisses you pepper to his reddened cheeks and the gentle tuggings of your hand in his. 

Your back hits the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn, Rhett tumbling right along with you, chuckling into the crook of your neck. Under the dim lighting of your bedroom lamp, it's easy to catch onto the deep bruising that scatters beneath his right eye. 

"These are from Perry, aren't they," it's more of an observation than a question, your fingers soothing over the marks as if they can somehow heal them.

Rhett's pressing a kiss to your wrist as it roams past, "Don' wanna think 'bout that son 'f a bitch right now."

You can work with that. 

Especially when your bodies squirm further up the bed, his hips settling between your legs, forearms bracing themselves on either side of your head, heaving chests against one another. His lips solid against your own, hungry, urged on by the nails that dig into his shoulders for leverage. 

"You'll tell me if I'm goin' too far?" He's speaking into your kiss, unwilling to remove himself any further. 

Maybe there's a second ghost in this house because something possesses you to roll your hips up into his. Such a faint pressure, the rough bulge in his jeans rubbing against your soft pajama shorts, but it's so much compared to what used to be. "I will," you're interrupted by his mouth once more, "but I'm sure you'll be the one asking me to stop before the end of the night." 

Your hand has a mind of its own, wandering down his chest, flattening out to feel the muscles that ripple along his stomach, hidden from view by his shirt. They flex under your touch, a simple thing that makes your head spin. By some method of madness, that shirt is still tightly tucked into his jeans, the material hard to get ahold of. 

Rhett shifts above you, unintentionally moving when you feel for some slack in his shirt, something to get ahold of, and your hand wildly overshoots. Palm splaying out against the front of his jeans instead. 

"'m not so sure 'bout that, sweetheart," he groans, a deep, guttural noise escaping him as he reaches down, catches your fleeting hand, and guides you to press against him once more.  "I ain't had a dick for the better half of a fuckin' century." 

These old jeans are thick, but even so, you can still feel him twitch against your touch. This wasn't what you were aiming for in the slightest, but watching him shiver as you massage over the outline of his bulge is a hell of a sight. 

"Sensitive," you're only lightly teasing; any more words and you'll be fumbling with his belt buckle.

"You're one to talk," he mutters, head dropping to press his lips to the meet of your jaw, teeth tugging the skin there. 

You think your eyes may pop out of your head. "I thought you promised to stay out of my bedroom when I didn't invite you in." 

"Wasn't in the bedroom, baby," he's chuckling, breath tickling your ear as he works his way towards it, "When you're a ghost, you hear everythin'." 

Then he's leaning back, leaves you feeling cold as he fumbles with his jeans, boots hitting the floor with two solid thunks. An involuntary whine works its way out of you, reaching aimlessly for him. 

"Don't wanna get y'all dirty, sweetheart," he soothes, catching your hand and pressing kisses to your knuckles. Pops open his belt buckle with a pinch of his fingers, and soon those dirty jeans are sliding off, revealing milky white thighs, mottled with bright spots of red and deep purples,  a badly bruised knee to match.

...as well as a pair of boxers patterned with bright red hearts. 

"Y'ain't gonna believe me," Rhett's staring down at them too, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "but I have no fuckin' memory of wearin' these." The tips of his ears have gone bright red. Another quirk hidden until now. 

"We'll get them off soon enough, I'm sure," you say, leaning up to let him peel your shirt over your head. 

As soon as it's out of sight, Rhett's lips return to your neck, one wandering hand soothing up your side, not stopping until it reaches your breast. Does nothing more than feel you in his hand, sucking at a soft spot beneath your ear that has you fighting the urge to close your eyes. 

Your hands wander, one wrapping around a surprisingly muscled bicep while the other delves between your bodies once more. Feeling down his sturdy chest, past his stomach, and not stopping until you can take hold of him through his boxers. 

"Fuck," his body jolts, "'re you sure 'm not dreamin'?"

"I thought ghosts didn't sleep?" You're parroting something you so clearly recall him mentioning in the past, can't place the memory yet. Don't really care to, either. The only thing on your mind is the way your fingers wander past his waistband, wrapping around his cock that jumps at your touch. 

He's thicker than you imagined he'd be. 

Moans prettier, too, for that matter. A little bit breathy and so Rhett. 

"Hands of yours are so fuckin' small," he's muttering in between kisses as he works his way back to your lips. Can't kiss you because a jolted grunt interrupts him, a symphony of sounds as you slowly stroke him. Oversensitive, the first touch he's felt in decades.

His hair drops into his face, acts as a curtain when you look down to where your hand is working him. Can hardly see what you're doing, but you do catch a glimpse of precum beading at his flushed tip, hearing his gasp when your thumb swipes over it. 

"Y'need to stop that," he huffs, voice nothing but air, "gonna...fuck, 'm gonna cum if you keep..." And despite asking you to stop, he grumbles when you let go of him. 

Hands now free, you reach for your shorts, not sure why you feel so shy when he helps you tug them down your legs; it's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. From you forgetting he's there to him accidentally floating into the shower while you were using it. 

But these eyes are not the translucent ones you're used to, with their expression hidden by deviations in his mist. No, these eyes darken as they drink up the sight of you, every little thought in his head spoken through his gaze. But even as he kicks his boxers off, shirt going right along with it, you can't help but feel like hiding under the sheets. 

"'ve I ever told you that you're beautiful?" His voice breaks the silence, stroking the inside of your knee as he speaks. 

You don't have words for that. 

He doesn't need them. 

You really don't have words for when he takes hold of your wrist, guiding it up and taking two of your fingers into his mouth. Tongue carefully swirling around each of them, soaking them with a content hum. Your eyebrows furrow, to which he raises his other hand. Dirt beneath his nails and caught in the wrinkles of his hand. 

Ah.

Reluctantly, you pull your fingers from his warm mouth, and you're pleasantly surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press them inside. Open and already wet, helped along by a moment of fun you'd had in the morning, hoping a familiar ghost may come to help you along. 

"How did you know I kept my lube in the bottom drawer?" You can't help but ask, watching as he fishes around for it. 

The tips of his ears are red again. "I learned the hard way not to float through bedside tables."

He's the one who uncaps the container, but it's you who reaches out for him to pour it into your palm. Not because you're concerned with dirt but because you want to feel him in your hand again. Twitching when you take hold of him, a thick vein running along the side of his length. He has to stifle a noise with each stroke, squeezing your knee all the while. 

"You're sure you're ready for me?" He asks when you urge him closer. 

"I'm sure I'll be fine, cowboy," fighting back a noise as you guide him down, letting him push between your folds, some lazy, teasing thing that has his plush head dragging past your clit. Sensitive, almost has you considering making him fuck you like this instead. 

But he's catching against your entrance, and you've daydreamed about this man too many times to pass up the opportunity. 

That tentative, forward tilt of his hips is enough to make your head spin. Pressure blooming as he pushes into you, careful, like you'll shatter into a million pieces if he's too quick. 

"Rhett," you whisper, don't quite know why. 

"'m here," he's coming back down, nose pressing against yours in his own little way of reassurance, "I've got you."

Your earlier rendezvous didn't end well for you, but you're so thankful for it in hindsight because his cock stretches you wide. Blunt head dragging against your walls, massaging past the bundle of nerves you couldn't seem to find with a toy, your thighs squeezing his pale hips. 

"So tight for me," he pauses about midway, or what you think is midway, at least, "you're sure 'm not hurtin' you?"

Your head spins, loose on your shoulders, "I'm okay." 

With a noise of his own, Rhett starts to move again, draws back a little before pushing further, and you can't help but wonder if he's holding his breath. Your nails bite into his shoulders, hanging on as he finally bottoms out, now flush against you. His mouth moves, but he can't speak. Only capable of releasing a shaky breath, lazily catching your lips in his.

He doesn't need to be asked to move, catching on the moment you grind yourself against him. Withdrawing slow, shallow, before pushing back in, and you're so, so full. Clinging to his shoulders to stay in place, feeling like you'll float away when he brushes against those nerves again.

Fuck, he's just begun to move, and you're already biting your lip. Don't know how you're going to keep yourself quiet because he massages past that little spot every time he moves, never lets it alone. 

His thumb pulls your lip out from between your teeth, "Let me hear you, darlin'."

His words alone have your cunt fluttering around him, and you're leaning into the palm that cups your cheek, mouth falling open. "Rhett, fuck."

You don't think you need to reach down between your bodies, but you do anyway, fingers pressing to your long-neglected clit. Working in tandem with Rhett's quickening hips, jolting as his angle shifts.

"There?" He says as if he hasn't already found that damned spot. All you can manage is a nod, a whimpered 'uhuh' escaping you. 

And he's doubling down, cock head kissing that oversensitive spot again and again. Grins wickedly when you shudder beneath him, nails dragging down his pale shoulders, panting into his mouth.

"Fuck, this sweet lil' pussy of yours feels so good 'round me," he groans, thrusts becoming harder now that he's remembered the ropes. Heavy balls smacking against you, and you really hope there aren't any more house ghosts who can hear the sinful sounds whistling through the air. "'s this what you've been needin', hm? 

"Rhett," you don't know how to speak, his name tumbling off your tongue.

"Bringin' home all those dates that could never make you cum," his voice dropping an octave deeper, damn near growling, but the softness in his eyes suggest he wouldn't hurt a fly. "Wouldn't have terrorized 'em if they woulda treated you better." 

That's why he chased them all off? God, how many times did you bring someone home, thinking he was gone? And how many times has he daydreamed about having you beneath him, whimpering his name as he fucks you nice and proper. 

You should be mad, but you can't. Not when you're falling apart at the seams, hand sliding from his shoulders, barely clinging to his bicep. Bounced by every heavy thrust, can't keep your fingers on your pulsing clit, tightening around him as something warm blossoms between your legs.

And he must be able to feel it because his eyes flicker into the back of his head, if only for a moment. "You gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart?" 

This is new. Fuck, this is so, so new and so much. No longer able to keep your eyes open, tongue lazy in your mouth, words long forgotten as you try to nod your head. Mind clouded with thoughts of Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Shit, y'got me so damn close, baby," he rasps, hair tickling your cheek as he presses kisses there, "You want me to cum on those cute thighs of yours? Or your sweet little tummy?" 

You don't have the answer to that question. Distracted by the crumbling of his rhythm, thrusts growing shaky, in perfect tune with the tightening coil in your lower belly. Almost there. Almost there. 

He's still talking. "Or would you rather I cum nice 'n deep in this pretty pussy of yours," you regret opening your eyes. All you see is the sweat beading at his forehead and strong hips working you over. Fat cock disappearing into your wet pussy, elicits a dizzying squelch every time. "Pump you nice 'n full of me, just so you'll need me to fuck it out of ya in the mornin'." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where's your voice? Where's your voice? "I-inside."

Rhett's breathy "yeah?" is all you fucking need. Your back rises up off the mattress, head tilting back with a silent cry as you cum around his cock.

"There you go," Each pump of his length into you only sends your head higher up into the stratosphere. Whimpering, clamping down around him as a shudder washes over you. "Feel so good when you're clampin' 'round me like that." 

And he's still fucking going. Fucking you through it, beating against that bundle of nerves even when you begin to tremble, after-shocks still tearing through you. 

"Hang on for me, baby," his eyes are bolted shut, chasing his high, biceps shaking, so, so close. 

"Please, Rhett," you whisper, your hand soothing over his hardened face. Those deep blues flutter open, softening at the sight of you, like he's just seen an angel "Cum for me." 

A whimper tumbles past his lips,  a second one follows suit, and then those eyes are closing once more, hips stuttering to a halt as his orgasm hits him. Tiny noises escaping his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, the familiar tune of your name tumbling off his sweet tongue. Filling you with his cum, making good on his promise, jolting as you involuntarily pulse around him.

For a while, the air is silent. 

Until Rhett lifts his head and kisses up your sensitive neck, sending you into a fit of giggles. "C'n we take a bath t'gether?" He murmurs, seemingly shy, unable to meet your eye.

"So long as you agree to bubbles, baby." Baby. You don't think you've ever called him that. 

You can't wait to do it again.

For decades, the folks of Wabang, Wyoming, have whispered the tale of two brothers. Gossiping about a murder they presumed to have taken place, for they knew that Perry Abbott was a violent man, and it was only a matter of time before his little brother became the next punching bag. 

Never have they whispered about the hole that opened beneath the kitchen floor, swallowing Rhett's near-lifeless body up, escorting him to an unknown safety while leaving his lonely spirit behind. They don't know of the decades he spent forced into an unnatural slumber, only to be awoken by another lonely soul with a heart made of the same glass as his own. 

Nobody giggles about how a human scared a ghost or chatters about the adventures they've shared in that century-old farmhouse. They do not know of the arguments, and the boyfriends lost because a ghost wanted the best for his friend, appearing in mirrors and whispering their deepest insecurities into their ears. Worse, they don't roll their eyes over the many tales of him banging a cast iron skillet on the tile just to see them run.

But you do. 

Only you know of how Rhett smiles, big and dopey, as you take him into town for the first time in decades. You are the only person who gets to explain what self-driving cars are and roll your eyes as some new thing scares him into jumping behind you. Nobody else gets to take him on a road trip, watch him fight with a GPS for the first time, and introduce him to the ocean and the concept of crabs.

"Why are they shaped like that?" Rhett's stumbling after you; not sure if he likes or hates this little creature, only knows that he wants to follow you. "Why is he following me?" 

You wish you could see the little bugger, but it's so dark that you can hardly tell where you're going. The only light you have is a dull light in the parking lot and the silver moon hanging high above your head.

"Probably because you've pissed him off," you laugh, holding your hand out when he reaches for it, "are you going to survive two more nights this close to the beach, or do I need to take you back to the pasture?"

He hums, loud and dramatic as he can manage, scratches his freshly shaved chin for added effect, "I suppose I'll survive, but if that crab kills me, I'm comin' back as a ghost and suin'."

From the moment your feet are on the cool concrete of the parking lot, Rhett's spinning you around. It's still the only thing he knows how to do, and his feet tangle with yours a little more than they should, but oh, is it as magical as that night in your driveway.

"'ve I ever told you that I love you?" He smiles as he speaks; knows he says this every time you wind up dancing beneath the moon.

"Never," feigning surprise, as he pulls you in close, noses bumping together, "but I love you more."

And then you're running. Squealing as Rhett sets hot on your trail. He'll catch you before you so much as reach the hotel doors, trap you in his arms, and insist that no, he loves you more, punctuating every word with a wet, sloppy kiss. And you're so excited for it that you think you may let him catch you early. 

Perry took away a lifetime from Rhett. 

You're more than happy to give him a life worth waiting centuries for. 

Even if he does still refer to himself as the house ghost.

[blizzardheart12]

Descendants headcanon/theory || Hades

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Theory: Hades was trapped in a mortal form BEFORE the creation of the Isle of the Lost

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In the first Isle of the Lost novel, Mal’s dad was only mentioned once and referred to as a “pathetic, soft human” or something of the like. It’s clear now that this description was placed there intentionally to throw readers off so that the big Hades reveal would come as a complete shock to everyone once Descendants 3 was released, but given the fact that Mal supposedly knew who her real father was the whole time, what if that detail wasn’t totally inaccurate after all and Maleficent hadn’t really been lying?

If you’re familiar with Rick Riordan’s books, you’ll know that in the Percy Jackson series, the god Dionysus was punished by Zeus for flirting with a nymph and was forced to spend a century as a head counselor for Camp Half-Blood, and he wasn’t allowed to consume any alcohol during that time. And then in the Trials of Apollo series, the god Apollo was turned into a mortal teenager as a punishment and had to earn back his godly form by completing a series of difficult tasks. My theory is that Hades simply screwed up just like the other gods and had to put in his time in order to earn back his true form, albeit not completely without magic. He is still one of the “Big Three,” after all.

(Also, it tickles me how much he acted like Mr. D in D4. “Yeah, someone should help her.” What a goof lol)

This is why we see him as a teenager in Rise of Red and then as a grown man in Descendants 3, because his punishment was probably that he had to start out as a kid and then age like a normal human being. The other theory is that he still had the ability to change his appearance and used it to disguise himself as a teenage boy, where it wore off the second he got stuck on the Isle. I prefer the former theory— it’s kind of cute to imagine him growing up alongside his friends, and perhaps that was part of whatever lesson Zeus was trying to teach him about life or something. That’s why I mentioned Dionysus’s prohibition earlier, because just as that punishment temporarily forced him not to indulge in his own abilities, Hades’ punishment did the same thing. The former had to be sober, and the latter had to leave the shadows and live a life. Who knows? It would make a hell of a good story.

It just so happens that during this little time-out of his, Hades decided to attend Merlin Academy— or perhaps Zeus forced him to do that too— where he met and fell in love with Maleficent and then later on got himself imprisoned on the Isle with no real power to stop that from happening (I’m sure his brothers got a real kick out of that). Then of course, Mal was born, so that punishment definitely had some upsides. I’m fairly certain that Hades’ godly punishment ended (or got cut short) just after the Isle’s barrier came down. Maybe Zeus wanted to see Hades become a good dad or something, which is a little ironic, but whatever.

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Anyway, that’s my theory! My only defense as to why I referenced Percy Jackson so much is because the series is also published by Disney, so it could technically be canon, at least in some aspects. Let me know what you think! Also I’d love to hear other people’s ideas as to how Hades got himself punished in the first place.