#maybe she was just weeping that often | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silkscream · 7 months

Text

HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable.

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning.

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him.

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt.

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again.

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself.

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only.

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back.

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks.

“More,” you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you.

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher.

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all.

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to.

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel.

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking.

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it.

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you.

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him.

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you.

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you.

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers.

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut.

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it.

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls.

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image.

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs.

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back.

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse.

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun.

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk

895 notes · View notes

s-soup111 · 5 months

Text

Make sure it kills me

Paring: Jinshi x (f) Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: hanakai, one-sided love, arranged marriage

“You’re breaking me.” You concluded in your letter. It’s not as if you were going to send it anyway, you placed the carefully folded letter into your locked drawer along with all your other heartfelt paragraphs. What was the point? He didn’t return your feelings anymore. Yes, maybe you did once share small intimate glances, hold pinkies as you walked down the flower garden together. Maybe you did share secret kisses under the softening gaze of the moon-lit pond. Where did that go?

“Was it ever real?” You ask yourself.

Maybe it was. But that was all in the past, Jinshi no longer belongs to you, he belongs to that servant named Maomao. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, with gleaming eyes and intrigued grins. You’ve seen how he gave her his hair pin, you’v seen it all. Jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach, how pitiful.

Why does he love her? She’s just a servant, strange green hair and a freckled face, she is nothing compared to a beauty like you- you held a graceful complexion, you had an air of confidence not only beautiful but superiority. Just as the daughter of the emperor should. You were perfect, so why doesn’t he look your way anymore? Maybe it was because of how perfect you were. Maomao was anything but perfect, an unpredictable character and lower class. So imperfect but kind.

You choke on something, suddenly you find it difficult to breathe. You struggle in your room but no one comes to help you, all your ladies in waiting are outside by your order. How ironic. You hyperventilate in your own room, coughing, tears swelling in your eyes- you reach out trying to grasp onto something. You fall and your sight fades.

Jinshi is not aware of your falling ill until Maomao is summoned into your quarters. Jinshi knows you will be fine, he is not so concerned for your health as he knows Maomao will fix you some way or another, so he does not find the need to visit you. Not until Maomao ushers him urgently with a sense of panic in her eyes does he start to notice something is wrong.

“The madam is severely ill.”

Jinshi rushes to your quarters as soon as he hears this, you never get ill, so why now? As the emperor’s daughter you have been treated with the utmost care, therefore almost never falling ill. He drags Maomao with him, telling her to fix you immediately, not a request, an order. She’s never seen him this way, not with sweat falling from his face in panic, eyes scanning you with concern, hands shaking. Not the usual flirty, perverted man she’s used to.

You open your eyes, searching around your room for any signs of human presence, you see Maomao sitting next to you, head hung low with dark circles sitting under her shut eyes. She must have taken a long time to treat you, you are grateful. You try to raise yourself but it strains your body, your arms supporting your body are weak and unstable, you let out a dry cough- leaving behind a beautiful pink petal on your bed; yet you do not notice and leave your room quietly.

The moon is bright; yet it is a cold and star-less night, you stare at it for some time before you feel the icy breeze get to you. Your body feels weak and worn. In another timeline, Jinshi would wrap his robes around you, shielding you away from the wrath of the night. You walk away pathetically, not the blood trickling from your mouth.

Jinshi watches you from a distance, he is paralyzed by your beauty, ethereal in the moonlight fanning your pale skin, he watches you gaze into nothing in particular, he sees puffs of smoke leave your mouth every time you exhale. You must be cold, he is too unsure if he should go towards you. He sees you turning to move away, his eyes catches something but isn’t sure what it is. Suddenly, he realizes Maomao isn’t next to you and worries. But this time, he worries for you than her.

You are heard by the maids weeping and sobbing in your sleep, often beseeching Jinshi to come home, the life left your body, only leaving some empty shell, your body pained and ached, vomiting blood and pretty pink petals, your health declined to the point you could not manage your household affairs and Jinshi was forced to take over. Jinshi visited your room as much as he allowed himself to; he watched your weak frame struggle to breathe as more tears rolled down your face.

For some reason his heart ached to see you like this, he thought he’d lost feelings years ago. Maybe his heart just didn’t want to let you go.

“Beloved..?” You reach out one night. Jinshi is nose-deep into his work as he hears your voice. He turns around abruptly, heart hammering in his chest. You looked enthralling even deeply ill. Though, you had tears staining your face, “Jinshi, please.” You cried. You coughed, spitting out flowers that tasted bitter on your tongue.

“You’re breaking me, please stop this my love,”

“You know I can’t do that,”

“Then kiss me. Kiss me like you love me, tell me you love me even if you have to lie.”

“I love you.”

You look at him, the ache in your heart has not gone.

“You’re merciless.”

#the apothecary diaries #jinshi #jinshi x reader #angst #female reader #anime #jinshi x maomao

445 notes · View notes

celtic-crossbow · 3 months

Text

The World Keeps Getting Hotter, Baby, but I’m Too Cool to Die

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Pre-series; The Line-Up; Whisperers Arc

Warnings: Domestic violence; Child abuse; Injuries; Blood; Allusions to alcoholism; Mentions of canonical character death

Summary: Three times Daryl didn’t fear death and the one time he did.

gif by @jaaryl

Daryl had honestly never feared death. Sometimes, he felt it would even come as a reprieve from a life that had taken such a toll on every aspect of his very being. He had seldom wished for it, mostly as a child who didn’t understand the permanence. He wanted to follow his mama, who often took the beatings meant for him.

Even in her near constant drunken stupors, she would reach for him from the bed, fresh blood and bruises still adorning her pale skin. C’mere, baby. It’s okay. When she died and Merle ran, Daryl faced their father’s wrath alone.

“Worthless, bitch-ass mama’s boy.” The rough leather of the well worn belt was a follow up sting to the skin-tearing agony of the metal buckle. “Gon’ toughen ya up. Won’t have no pussy Dixon livin’ in my house.”

Daryl just laid there, watching the new flecks of crimson fall in sporadic splatterings on the dirty wooden floor. He circled the thought of his mother reaching for him, shushing and soothing in her slurred voice. It was almost enough to numb the angry wounds long after the onslaught was over.

“I'll find ya, mama. We can run away together.”

He wasn’t a stranger to motorcycles. Merle had taken him down the backroads, no destination in mind. The elder Dixon had been working on obtaining his license but was already a skilled rider.

He’d show up at the most opportune moments, almost like he was listening for the old man to pass out drunk. Daryl was older then, early teens making things more confusing as he went through changes he didn’t understand. He’d never speak them aloud for fear of invoking his father’s rage or his brother’s ridicule. He kept quiet and waited excitedly for the times his brother would offer him peace on the open road.

Merle hadn’t noticed the pine needles on the wet asphalt until it was too late.

Daryl could only remember bits and pieces. His brother’s distorted face and muffled voice. Keep them eyes open, boy! The younger man found he didn’t care to oblige. Maybe if he closed his bright blues, he’d wake up in a different life. Loving parents, good grades, a house in the suburbs complete with a dog that was always happy to see him.

He was actually disappointed when he woke up in the hospital, broken arm and severe concussion, his body throbbing.

Merle was already gone again. An officer took him home where Will Dixon broke the cast within an hour and twisted the skin above the break.

Daryl missed his brother.

It was his fault Glenn had died. Maybe Abraham should be on his conscience as well. If he’d never stormed off, half-cocked and hell bent, they would have all been there to make sure the group made it to Hilltop. The line up would have never happened because all the best fighters would have been together, functioning as a well oiled machine to plow the Saviors down.

But Daryl had to be stubborn. He had to do things his way. And now Abraham and Glenn were dead, Maggie was a widow, and her baby would never know their father.

He was losing blood. The wound was through and through, steadily freeing his lifeblood without medical intervention. As the van bounced and jarred over the rough gravel, the archer hissed and sluggishly pressed a hand over the weeping hole so close to his collarbone. Yet the blood on his hands wasn’t his. It was Glenn’s.

His vision was graying at the edges, his skin colder without the blanket that had been left on the rough ground where his family mourned. They likely spit on the fabric, the only thing among them that had been somewhat his. Even if he lived, he could never go back and face their anger.

His breaths came slower, more shallow. He was growing numb and exhaustion had him giving in to the urge to close his eyes.

If there was a god, maybe he’d see fit to take Daryl and toss him into hell in exchange for Glenn being returned to Maggie.

He’d lost you. The cave had collapsed and you had been swallowed by the dust and debris. It had been suggested there were other ways out, that maybe you had escaped after all. Only to go back to Alexandria or Hilltop, to reunite with Kelly, Yumiko, and Luke while discovering Daryl had gone off on his own—again—and let rage drive him.

He was stupid to think he could coerce Alpha into revealing anything that might benefit him or aid in your rescue. He’d been reckless and now he was paying for it. Blood was no longer spurting from the wound in his thigh, the veins having long ago slowed the gush when his heartrate began to decelerate.

He was gonna die there, bleed out and never know if you were safe. For the first time, he found he didn’t want to go. You, arriving with Magna and her group, had charmed your way right past his defenses and straight into his heart. He had been a lovesick fool, grasping the unfamiliar feeling with both hands until his knuckles turned white.

You were completely and utterly transparent in your reciprocation, doting over his injuries and ensuring he took care of himself. You were glued to his side, throwing yourself into the fray when anything could possibly pose a threat to him, much to his displeasure. You were sweet as honey, but stubborn as an ox. Fierce and loyal, downright lethal when someone you loved was threatened.

And you loved him. Of all the people left in the world, you had chosen him.

And he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to escape the pain. He didn’t care to see Merle again yet or run into his mama’s arms. He had longed to hear the innocence in Beth’s singing that he’d failed to protect, but found that it wasn’t as important as what he had there, in life.

He actually had a life. He could settle down with you, even if he couldn’t promise you complete safety and peace. You were still young enough for children if you wanted them, and he’d never deny you that even if he felt he’d be a shit father. He wanted to go home to you at the end of the day and let you whisper away the stress he couldn’t leave outside the door. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, touch you, love you.

He didn’t want to die not knowing if you were alive and that those things were possible.

He wheezed, forced to blink hard to battle against his eyes’ will to close. He was cold. He no longer felt the pain of the wound.

He wasn’t ready anymore. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to risk leaving you. He didn’t want to die.

“Daryl.”

The archer gasped, summoning all the strength he had left to slide his eyes toward where the sun was now beaming into the cold garage.

There you were, carrying the light behind you like a pair of wings. Like his vest, but bright and beautiful. He could make out your face as you lowered to hover above him. Your hand was warm against his cheek, it felt near scalding pressed to his chilled skin.

“You’re alive.” He managed in a rough whisper. Even with your features vibrating, he could see that beautiful smile. “M’dyin’, Sunshine. Don’t wanna go.” Someone was working on his leg but he couldn’t be bothered to check or even ask. Your lips pressed against his blood streaked forehead.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not today.” Daryl sighed. He believed you. It was always so easy to do, but he could tell you weren’t placating. “You’re too cool for that.”

He was going to live and he was going to love you right.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #Spotify

279 notes · View notes

palskippah · 7 months

Text

Hi! Some Bowuigi fanbaby thoughts!

So, since Bowser can shapeshift his size and stuff, he often goes very small (almost Mario movie small askldsa) to play with Magma, who loves to have a very small version of her dada that she can pick up and hug as she pleases.

Also, Bowser did the same with Junior, and when Magma's in koopa form, she reminds him way too much from when Junior was a baby koopaling, so he's like kinda nostalgic because his little boy has grown so much :'''v (he's never gonna recover emotionally from this).

Also, Luigi takes lots of photos of Magma and the rest of the kooaplings c: He became their mom and started snapping photos of his babies like crazy, and to not run out of space on his phone, he prints the photos like in both big and small formats and they're hung at the walls of any place of the castle (to the older koopalings' embarrassment).

Also also, headcanon that Luigi is a known crybaby, my guy's very emotional, but so is Bowser. Like he used to usually go to anger and frustration and that's where he stayed and that's why people think he doesn't cry easily or stuff. But at times (especially regarding his children), he can have his silly crying eyes on because he's so proud of them and loves them very much. Or he's sad because they used to be smaller and they're growing and becoming their own koopas and accomplishing good things and some of them just aren't koopalings anymore (like Ludwig).

Like, you can bet the first time Junior laughed when he was a baby, years back, Bowser was on the floor crying his eyes out but also laughing because it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard :'v (maybe Kamek was like 🧍🏻‍♂️right beside him, because at Bowser's silly sounds, Junior laughed more and Bowser weeped even harder, and it was like a never-ending cycle).

Got carried away 😔 Bowser and Luigi love their kids, as a summary.

#super mario bros #my art #bowuigi #bowser koopa #luigi mario #fankid #gonna tag magma officially :0 for when I draw her aksdlad #magma mario #I'm desperately trying to do stuff I like because I've got a couple of difficult exams coming and tomorrow monday I get full on study asdjs #I'm gonna leave another thingy I drew in the programmed posts for later in the week :'v #I love Magma I've got a bunch of stuff drawn of her but they're just sketches askdasd

474 notes · View notes

inbarfink · 4 months

Text

Okay, so… The ending flashback in “I Remember You” is often assumed by fans to be specifically the moment where Simon and Marcy first met. Like, Simon stumbled on this Weird Gray Kid crying in the middle of the apocalypse, cheered her up with a dolly and only after that Simon started taking care of Marcy full-time.

However, while this seems to be a pretty logical interpretation of the scene - a look at the original storyboard actually reveals that was not the original intention.

You can argue whether or not it was properly conveyed in the finished episode, but the intent was supposed to be that these two already knew each other and were already a tiny lil’ post-apocalypse family (‘he has left her alone for some reason’ implies that they would usually be together at this point).

I mean, since this idea wasn’t really all that clear in the actual episode, a lot of people who did know about the storyboard notes (myself included) still assumed it wasn’t really canon. You know, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. What’s the big difference between Simon giving Marceline Hambo on the first day they met or not? What difference does it make?

And even when this idea was discussed, it was generally within the framework of, like, speculating about a possible connection between Simon and Elise (Marceline's Mom). And/or that Marceline specifically knew Simon before the War. Since neither of these ideas ever really came back in the Show itself, most people just kinda forgot about these Storyboard notes - if they ever knew about them in the first place.

It’s only very recently that it suddenly dawned on me; what was the original intent behind that scene, what is the meaning it was trying to convey, why was it so important to specify that Simon and Marcy already knew each other in that flashback.

If this is Simon and Marcy’s first meeting then the narrative is, like we mentioned above, that lil Marceline was crying in the rubble because she misses her mom or she just really processed that the world has been destroyed, or because she was tired, or hungry. Then Simon sees the poor little girl weeping and immediately sets on to cheer her up and help her in whatever way he can. That is still a very solid narrative that focuses on Simon’s kindness and strong parental instincts. I can see why so many people are attached to it as their interpretation for that scene. It certainly makes sense for Simon’s character overall and Marceline’s relationship to him.

But the intended meaning is actually uniquely important as a part of “I Remember You”. Because the narrative implied by the fact that they knew each other at that point is that Simon has left Marcy alone ‘for some reason’ (scouting ahead? Forging for food in a dangerous area?) and Marcy probably started crying because of that. Maybe he was taking longer to come back than he promised her to, maybe she just started getting anxious because she’s a little kid all alone (who already has abandonment issues pre-packaged from her mom).

But whatever the specifics are, with this one extra detail of ‘they know each other’ it seems extremely likely that Marceline was crying because she thought Simon had left her forever.

But Simon did come back, ran straight to her, comforted her and reassured her that no, he didn’t leave her behind, he’s right here. And then he gives her Hambo as both an apology for leaving her behind and a reassurance.

A reassurance that he’s still here, and he’s not going to leave her.

#adventure time #atimers #ice king #the ice king #marceline #simon petrikov #marceline abadeer #marceline the vampire queen #marceline adventure time #simon and marcy #i remember you #simon adventure time #adventure time simon #adventure time marceline #adventure time analysis #at simon #at marceline #simon at

317 notes · View notes

billskeis · 2 months

Note

bill angst to smut

so like where he's just ignoring her for days on end while on tour, not answering her calls or anything, and when he comes home she's crying in the bed, so they have like soft sex to make up

(yk who this is)

ᡣ𐭩 missing bill kaulitz

it’s been days. fucking days, still you’ve last talked to your boyfriend. you understood, what comes with the heavy schedule of being today’s rockstar comes with the heavy absence of your lovely boyfriend.

but wouldn’t it hurt to just check in once in a while?

he made it clear to you, that he wouldn’t be able to see you often, hang with you often, and you were okay with that.

so you gave him the grace and leisure of not having to constantly nag for him go be there with you.

just—recently you’ve been feeling a lot more lonley than usual and the once person you look forward to seeing the most isn’t there for you.

not by choice, of course, bill would never!

you lay in your bed within the shared apartment you have with your boyfriend. luckily, the venue where tokio hotel’s final show for their tour was close enough to home you know that he’d come right back to you.

but it would be nice of him to tell you, instead of you finding out from his twin brother.

your chest feels heavy, and almost suffocating. you don’t want to cry, but you can’t help the feeling of emptiness without the light of your life being in your arms as of now.

you’re overthinking it, y/n, god.. in an attempts to shun away your thoughts, you get up to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and possibly a little snack to cheer you up.

having left from the already cold bed, you take a swig of the water you poured yourself and a bite of an apple.

with a sweet crunch, you had the idea to call bill. in hopes that he would for sure pick up this time, completely forgetting that he could just be performing.

with the press of many buttons to the memorized combo of your boyfriend’s phone number? you dialed his contact.

it rung,

and it rung,

and it beeped.

“fuck!” you curse under your breath as though someone else was in the room with you.

of course he didn’t pick up.

he never does,

he hasn’t for four days!

fuck, the things he does and doesn’t do drive you nuts. at this point you don’t even know what to do.

you affirm yourself “it��s okay y/n, he’s just being a rockstar,” but you cannot help the tears that begin to form in your eye ducts. you cannot help the stinging pain in your nostrils as breathing suddenly becomes hard to breathe.

you cry.

you cry, and you let it all out.

you miss your boyfriend.

all cooped up in your sheets, as you wrapped it around your cold and lonely body, you stare blankly at your wall.

it’s been like maybe an hour since you started crying, and indeed did you calm down a bit—but a sniffle here and there would pop out with the occasional tear or two jerking itself from your eyes.

with the click of a door, someone entered the apartment.

bill’s home, fuck.

you quickly wipe your face and fix yourself as to pretend that you were sound asleep as you lay on your side, back facing the bedroom door as you’re turned towards the wall.

“prinzessin? i’m home!” he exclaims but you a lack a response due to the facade you’re trying to put up. you don’t wanna worry or stress him any further after the long night he’s had.

as the footsteps appear to be louder, you can only assume that bill finally entered the bedroom as he places what seems to be his belongings onto the floor.

a dip into the bed as he sits down, “baby?” a hand placed on your waist as he caresses it up and down, “baby are you awake—oh my love..”

he cuts himself off, damn, did he notice?

you didn’t notice the tear that slipped out down your face due to your focus on trying to act asleep. swiping it with his thumb, he places a soft kiss onto your cheek.

he’s so warm.

“my y/n.. why could you have been crying.. i’m so sorry..”

and it all came crashing down.

you couldn’t help but weep. weep at the fact that your boyfriend is finally here. there was no use in putting up such a barrier as if everything’s okay.

bill would end up appreciating this anyway, the fact that you were able to show so much emotion. it tells him that you care, care so much that you were willing to waste your pretty tears on him.

“billy.. i-i missed you so much. i couldn’t help it, i tried to be strong f’you—but you weren’t answering your calls—or-or my texts! i know you were busy and i tried to hold in it but i couldn’t.. ‘m sorry..”

“babybaby, don’t apologize. i’m sorry, i should’ve reassured you further, shoulda been the one to let you know that i would’ve been really busy so you could’ve expected the worst..”

“mm, it’s okay..” you place a kiss onto his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as you straddle his lap.

he pats your head gently and caresses the top of it, sometimes running his fingers through your hair.

“how can i make it up to you..? i’d do anything,”

“you’re tired..”

“no. baby. now i’m not, all i had to do was see you and i’m feeling more alive than ever. now tell me, what can i do to make it up to you? please, schatzi?”

he places kiss after kiss on your lips, almost smothering your mouth with them. giggling, you decided to tease him by deepening it, returning the favour of kisses but ‘accidentally’ slipping your tongue in, oopsies!

“nnmh.. y/n,” he breaths out in raspy moans, voice seemingly tired out after singing all night, and from having to do it day after day.

tongues melting within one another, you focus your grip on bill’s hair to which he cannot help but whimper.

he works his hands on you, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm your once cold body up. bill soon focuses on a certain source of heat, as he tugs on lip of your panties to expose your clothed cunt.

“bill..”

“yes baby?”

“i need you,”

“i know you do. i got you, i’m here now, lemme make it worthwhile for you hm?”

“mmhm..”

whilst holding onto your panties to keep them free, bill uses another hand to work on his pants to free his throbbing dick that has been restrained and unused for oh-so long.

“oh how i missed this pussy, and how i’ve missed you,” he kissed your forehead and smiled, eyes glistening with lust from the moonlight.

eager to slip into your warmth as bill leveraged his member to enter your cunt. as he lowers your body onto himself, bill enters you letting out a breathy moan.

“mmmm, y/n.. fuck, fuckfuck—you just feel so good, i’ve missed this.. can you ride me?”

“makin’ me do all the work after working me up?” you scoff sarcastically and bill cannot help but blush at how pathetic of a boyfriend he is.

“shit, sorry i was just—”

“i’m just kidding bill,” you giggle as you begin bouncing your hips up and down his thick length, feeling every inch and vein that adorned his pretty cock.

the coil in your stomach begins to grow tighter in your stomach as you fuck yourself onto bill. moans shared and exchanged in the small space that heats up what once was a cold and chilly room.

“u-ugh..” you whimper out, an achy feeling in your legs from exerting them in riding bill.

“you okay?”

“y-yeah baby, ‘m fine..”

…

“c’mon schatzi now’s not the time to lie..”

grabbing onto your legs, bill flips you onto the bed missionary-style. he looks down at you with a shit eating smile, eyes all twinkly and what not.

“you’re so pretty, y’know that?”

“shut up..”

he thrusts into you to shut that pretty little mouth of yours up. how dare you tell him to shut up after he came home and offered anything and everything to you??

“n-ngh..”

“gonna come?” he asks, never stopping his movements

you nod, bill’s movements become even more sloppy and you can tell he’s nearing too. with a sharp thrust, electricity flushes through your body as the coil once help snapped.

“‘m cumming..!”

bill cannot help but moan at how clench around him, a white frothy rim forming around the base of his cock from the cum mixed between the two of you.

he fucks you through your orgasm as your body convulses, you squeal at the overstimulation of your bodies rubbing together, legs wrapping around his torso to bring him even closer.

“atta girl.. so pretty.. rather you cry down here instead of up here, don’t you agree?” as he kisses you softly.

a/n : i suck at dialogue >.>

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #2000s #fyp #billskeis

215 notes · View notes

sukunasweetheart · 2 months

Note

I was rereading some of your fics and got inspired so please hear me out🙏

Reader being college!sukunas pretty little gf but going through a bit of a insecure phase. Having to wonder if sukuna using her for her body. While also having to endure people trying to flirt with him at every party (sukuna has never and would never flirt or cheat but since reader is going through something, she's obviously bothered)

This continues for a few weeks, reader brings it up but sukuna always gets annoyed and shuts it down(Sukuna and reader both not knowing how to efficiently communicate). Reader's insecurity is kind of building up😕 so atp shes debating whether to break up with him because shes just so tired of feeling like she's not enough.

One night reader gets drunk during a night out with maki and nobara so they have to call him to go pick her up. Sukunas kind of mad since she hasn't called or texted him all day so he calls her out on it while driving home. Reader being a emotional drunk decides its the perfect time to unleash how she feels. Sukuna listens to her and starts worrying when reader very briefly mentions a break up. So when they get home sukuna gets her to spill the beans before she knocks out. Meanwhile sukuna spends all night thinking about how to reassure reader that he loves her (he doesn't want to lose her😭)

Next morning reader wakes up in his arms and he tells her he wants to talk about what happened last night now that shes sober. So they have a serious talk about it (tears were definitely shed)

Edit: THIS WRITING WAS GNARLY IM SO SORRY😭i had a vision but i couldn't put it into words correctly. i gave up near the end but i kind of just wanted to hear your thoughts😖

AWWWW THIS IS SO ADORABLE FR

i love the angst and happy ending, always 😘😘😘 it hurts so good </3 just them being so unsure of each other and what to do, even if its clear that they both are so deeply in love <3

very relevant angst bc someone like sukuna would find it very difficult to understand what it feels to be insecure... it makes you wonder how much patience he could have for someone who is intensely insecure (me)

anyway i can imagine drunk reader being a sobbing, bumbling mess when shes at home with him, talking in a way thats barely comprehensible, weeping in between sentences and sukuna just not knowing what to do with you except wipe your tears away (he'd call you cute if you weren't actually so upset) but then you mention that maybe its better off if the two of you break up, which wipes the smile off his face

imagine him wracking his brains at night while he observes your sleeping face, not knowing what to do... he'd never thought that what he was doing now wasn't enough in making you feel secure with him and that he was making you so unhappy

maybe what you need is more verbal affirmation, bc sukuna is so action oriented, he realises he doesn't nearly as often tell you that he loves you and only uses gestures to show it instead.

idk this might be corny but imagine you and him practicing saying 'i love you' while sitting face to face, holding hands, and for the first time you see his ears get pink, its certainly not something he says often. you bursting into laughter at the stiff way he says it makes him even more bashful.

"stop fucking laughing! it's your turn now, hurry up."

but when you say it, it sounds so natural and genuine and sweet, even when you're saying it in between laughs. it makes him wonder how you're doing it.

anyway, seeing sukuna's ears get so pink and seeing how awkward he is for a change, is strangely healing to you and probably helps you gain some confidence back bc who else could incur such feelings in him other than you?? especially when he usually has such an idgaf attitude :)

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #thank you for sending this in <3 #poe answers

298 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 1 year

Note

now you’ve got me thinking about reader giving husband bakugou a handjob in the car after their cutesy little date, and he’s just fucking throbbing because of the ring on your finger while you stroke him………..

SCREAM YOU GET IT BISC

The entire date is easy, domestic, just shared talk about plans for tomorrow or gossip you picked up while scrolling on your phone during the drive over.

As per tradition you both order something different just to split the portion down the middle and share the other half. Although fair shares in dessert is different, Bakugou makes his cut smaller knowing how much you love sweets while he cares for spicy. Giving a cocky smirk but his eyes are that of his soft smile, really taking you in as you dance in your chair from the first bite of the overly rich chocolate dessert.

So by the time the two of you get to the car he doesn't remember his little tease. He was only half joking but there were times he's man handled you into the back seat to bend you at painful angles to finger fuck and lick you in.

He gets the passenger door for you and leans down to give you a kiss before he rounds the car while you bite your lip.

Maybe this time you'll catch him by surprise.

Letting him get half way down the road before your left hand slips onto his thigh. Nothing new, it's very innocent considering it's a habit of his you picked up. Gripping the others thigh just for comfort.

But what is new, least while he's driving, is your manicured claws dancing up the inseam, tracing the outline of his cock while he glances down at you in a glare.

"Oi, princess. Don't start what ya can't finish."

"Oh I know I can finish this." Your voice is sultry and sinful, no where is your playful tease before you stop. No,no you continue. Teasing him until his painfully hard under his nice dress slacks, angling yourself so that he can get a good view down your shirt, pushing your tits together with your arms as you slowly undo his zipper.

"Sweetheart." He gives a warning bite that you don't heed. Pulling him from the confines of his pants and boxer briefs, the tip weeping silvery pre.

Your thoughts of hand job quickly go to head before Katsuki is fisting your hair, forcing you to look up at him.

"Remember what happened last time baby?" His voice a mix of concern and agitation. Like he wishes he didn't have to be the voice of reason but putting your life in danger, a second time, wasn't worth cumming down your throat. Besides he could have you on your knees for him any time.

"Well..." You flash your ring at him, knowing he often looks at it before pouncing onto you, wrapping your pretty hand around his cock to give a teasing pump, "How about this?"

His groan is his answer and he slowly releases your hair, forcing himself to focus when he knows you're going to end up edging him for the better part of the hour.

Changing your pace exactly how he likes and gripping him just right. Making sure your ring is facing him before you lewdly let spit drip from your tongue to his cock for more lubrication.

His eyes flutter and he groans again, forcing himself to focus even as your cute hand jerks him off at 85mph. Increasing your speed when you see him bite his lip knowing he's close before his hand grabs onto your wrist tightly, leaving you gripping at the base of his cock.

"Don't make me cum." He pants, sweat on his brow and hair a mess from how he pressed his head against the car seat, yet still he looks as if he's in charge. Smirk on his lips, malicious gaze in his eyes,

"Cause I gotta make sure I stuff my wife full tonight." He leans closer, eyes still on you before he whispers in your ear, tapping his ring against yours in the same rhythm he was fucking you in earlier.

"Then I can lick my wife clean til she begs me to stop."

This time you know he won't forget his teasing remark because this time it's more than a threat, it's a promise.

#kitten chats 🖤🐈‍⬛#kitten writes 🖤🐈‍⬛🖋️#bakugou smut

873 notes · View notes

milkmanxreader · 2 months

Text

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

You paused brushing your hair mid-stroke, head quirking to the side to look at the door. Faintly, the sound of the door opening and slamming shut could be heard. Dammit. You had really hoped your husband— Robert, a short round man with messy dirty blonde hair and dull brown eyes— would be working late, yet again. With a sigh of unease, you heaved yourself up from the stool in front of your vanity, gazing at your tired face in the clean mirror.

When had your appearance changed so much?

Of course, you were still stunning, your hair neat, and a nice colour. Despite all the years of a loveless marriage, your {E/C} eyes were still magnetic, and full of hope. Part of you really did hope your awful love-life with Robert could be fixed— even if deep down you knew it was far beyond repair. But it was a nice thought none the less.

"Where the hell is my food?" An irritated voice called from downstairs, snapping you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you made your way down the stairs with your hand gliding along the railing next to you.

For the most part, you loved your life, and home. Robert had a nice job, which meant you'd be able to live in this nice, large home, and not have to worry about getting a job you'd end up hating, though you didn't much like being a housewife either. You found it boring, and often fretted the common thing of husbands' cheating on their wives whilst out "working late."

Once you made it downstairs to the living room, you saw Robert pouring himself a glass of amber liquid, ice in the bottom of the glass. He brought the glass to his lips and quickly downed half of the whiskey. "Hello, honey," you offered lamely, brows upturned and a small smile plastered across your face— even if you didn't feel like smiling. He liked women who smiled, and Robert being happy meant less arguments in the long run.

He sharply turned his head to face you, glaring at you with contempt.

"..I'll get your supper dished out,"

Robert nodded, before turning his head back around and going back to his drinking. Fucking asshole. With meek steps you scurried to the kitchen. Once there, you opened the oven, a pan which was still — thankfully — warm sat inside of the interior, and it smelled wonderful too. Putting on oven mitts, you took out the pan and set it on the counter. Meatloaf.

Supper was silent, the only noise being the quiet sounds of eating, and forks scraping against the plates, a sound which made you cringe slightly. Robert acted like you weren't there. And maybe mentally you weren't.

Why on Earth did you want this life? To be a housewife? Growing up your mother was unmarried, nor was she dating anyone. She had always romanticized this life, her words laced with honey as she would pour out her dreams of finding some rich handsome man. Of course, she never did. But her raw adoration for such a simple, yet attractive lifestyle made you crave it just as much as she.

It was the worse mistake of your life. You loathed this, loathed Robert. His passion was long gone, with it your happiness, and sexual pleasure. Whilst "love"-making wasn't completely vanished, any of your pleasure being priority was. He was fast, rough, and awfully bad, too. Not a good combination.

Not to say at one time you didn't mind the roughness, or fast pace, but that was back when he loved you. Now, he treated foreplay like a chore, and all you'd receive was bad dirty talk, and mediocre fingering, and hardly much of the latter. It was just all that— a chore.

You didn't even have anyone to properly weep your woes to. Robert didn't like you shooting the breeze with other men, and all of your women friends were cherry-picked by him, the wives of his friends

They were all rude bitches. It was as if they saw just because they were a bit older that they were somehow better than you. Or maybe they felt that way because of your lack of children.

Not that you were infertile, no, you could have a child if you wanted it. But that was just it, wasn't it? You didn't want children. Occasionally you'd have to look after one of your "friends" ankle-bitters, and they seemed much more trouble than they were worth. If you wanted something to take care of; just get a cat, or dog.

Robert seemed a bit upset with your lack of child, too. It was often a sore subject which led to arguments, so you seldom brought it up. And he did the same, for which you were grateful.

You were a lonely housewife looking for some form of escapism. Cheating was never on your mind, but you craved excitement, and something far away from Robert.

Without wasting a single moment, the second Robert had finished eating he stood up and walked away, likely to the shared bedroom. With a grunt of irritation, you stood and collected up the freshly emptied plates, taking them to the sink to wash them.

Your hands slowly scrubbed the plates, wanting to prolong the time you stayed up into the night. Robert seldom cared if you laid with him at night, but the way he just.. ignored, turned away, or shoved you off stung, and often you'd have to blink away tears.

Half the time you couldn't even register your own feelings. Maybe isolated. Definitely lonely.

But, surely there was more out there for you, wasn't there? Maybe you could divorce Robert, move far, far away. You'd for sure be shunned if you got a divorce, nobody would want you— a woman who couldn't even be a right wife? Awful. But if you moved away, you could tell the new folks that you were.. a widow, or something.

That sounded nice.

Even if deep down,

you knew,

Robert would never allow you to divorce him. It'd hurt his ego far too much.

#francis mosses #francis x reader #thats not my neighbor francis #francis mosses tnmn #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #milk man #milk man x reader #fanfiction #x reader #prolouge

99 notes · View notes

bookshelf-in-progress · 14 days

Text

Heartsong

Everyone dreams of finding the other half of their heartsong. You know your heartsong from birth, grow up surrounded by the music that is you, and after a certain age, you're always listening for the one person in all the world--your soulmate--whose song exactly matches yours.

My sister found her soulmate in kindergarten; all through school, they sat by each other as often as they could, their heartsongs all the brighter for being shared.

I know girls who tricked themselves half a dozen times into thinking that they'd found the one, only noticing the clashing notes of their songs after the relationship had crashed and burned.

There are entire streaming services for heartsongs--in college, my friends listened to almost nothing else, waiting desperately to hear the song that would align with theirs.

I was no different than other girls. I tried all the usual tactics. I developed a good ear--maybe too good, because I always noticed the subtle differences in the closest matches. I dated a few of those, hoping the theory would prove true that heartsongs could develop over time so we'd grow to match each other. Every one of those relationships ended the moment the guy heard the heartsong of his true soulmate.

I went to countless social events. I tried the sites online. I even did a bit of world traveling, in case my soulmate had been hiding all this time on the other side of the globe.

As year after year (after year after year after year) went by with no success, I was forced to accept the truth--I had no soulmate.

Maybe my soulmate had died. Maybe I was too strange to have a match. However it had happened, I was a superfluous person, doomed to be always alone.

The revelation crushed me at first. I was strange, unlovable, incomplete. I was half a person whose heartsong would never be whole.

My mom came over the night of my revelation and found me weeping on the floor of my kitchen. She hugged me, let me cry, and then cooked me a meal.

By the time my tears had dried enough to let me take a bite of the spaghetti, I noticed her heartsong was clearer than ever--and it meshed with mine. It wasn't a match--it was better than that. My heartsong served as a descant to hers, our two melodies blending into a new song.

After that, I stopped trying to listen for one specific song, and started listening to every song. My friends had heartsongs that blended with mine in different ways--when a group of us were together, we became a symphony. My brother's heartsong was a lower version of mine--our growing up together had given us a shared bond. When the grocery store cashier and I shared a laugh, for just a moment, our heartsongs fell into harmony.

There was not one song, one relationship, that defined and completed my life. Every relationship was important. Every relationship was beautiful.

It's possible, I suppose, that my soulmate is out there. Maybe one day I'll hear that song that perfectly matches mine, and enjoy a bond that different than any of the others in my life.

But if I don't find him, it doesn't matter.

Because I'm more than one half of an incomplete song.

I am a vital part of countless symphonies.

#the bookshelf progresses #fantasy #a couple of days ago i was slammed out of nowhere with 'i need to write a soulmate au type of story'#naturally i wondered about the conceit that every person has only one soulmate that completes them #and i came up with this

121 notes · View notes

headfullofpresley · 2 years

Text

Mommy's Kissing Santa Claus

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: Caroline considers Santa to be her own personal superhero, but she isn't too happy about catching him kissing you. Because no matter what, her Daddy will always be number one.

Word count: 5,5K

Warning(s): fluff, domestic life, Caroline being sad/angry, Elvis dressing up as Santa, smut; just a quick morning quickie that isn't too detailed tbh, roleplaying (kinda.. lol).

Author's note: this was requested a while ago by anon, so nonnie, i hope this finds its way back to ya! enjoy luvs <3

masterlist

“I saw Mommy kissin’ Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night. She didn’t see me creep down the stairs to have a peep; she thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom, fast asleep. Then I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus underneath his beard so snowy white. Oh what a laugh it would’ve been if Daddy had only seen, Mommy kissin’ Santa Claus last night.”

Five year old Caroline adored Christmas. The decorations, the songs, the movies, the presents… but especially, Santa Claus. The bearded man that she believed flew across the world in his sleigh in the span of one night was a God to her.

While most children would weep upon the sight of a strange man in a red suit and a long white beard, Caroline was over the moon every single year. Even as a baby and before she could even speak a word, she would giggle and run up to whoever was dressed up as the man as soon as she could walk – or waddle.

She had no idea it was usually her grandfather or The Colonel who’d pay her a quick visit during Christmas day.

Caroline was the definition of a true Daddy’s girl, but Santa came pretty darn close to stealing Elvis’ spot during the month of December.

“Daddy, that’s wrong! Santa doesn’t have a green hat!” the tiny blonde giggled as she sat on top of the kitchen counter, looking at the freshly baked Christmas cookies her and Elvis spend their time on this afternoon. He purposely colored the hat of the Santa shaped cookie green, because he knew those little hawk eyes of hers would notice immediately.

“Maybe he does this year, honey,” he smirked at his daughter, licking some icing off his finger as he watched her laugh at him before shaking her head and returning her attention back on the tray of cookies. She squeezed a tiny dot of brown coloring gel on one of the reindeers, swinging her legs back and forth happily.

The red boots that she begged you to wear this morning were still on her feet, hitting the kitchen cabinets softly with her movements.

“You’re funny, Daddy.. but these cookies have to be perfect!” she told him with a stern voice. “What if Santa thinks we’re makin’ fun of him and won’t eat them? Mommy says sending letters to the North Pole takes a very long time,”

Elvis was often mesmerized by his daughter. Not only because she reminded him so much of both you and him, but also because she often spoke like she was much older. He figured it was probably because she spend so much time around adults when she wasn’t in school and she’d pick up anything she would hear.

Sometimes it caused for very funny conversations with her and sometimes she’d just embarrass Elvis and you when she had overheard the both of you talk about something or someone that was not meant to ever leave the four walls of this house.

Luckily, it had never been anything too serious.

“If Santa don’t like ‘em, I will deliver all those little apology letters of yours to him myself,” Elvis chuckled as he put the cookie he was working on on a Christmas decorative plate that had been hidden in the back of one of the cabinets. “But he will love your cookies. I bet he can’t get ‘nough of ‘em. Have you seen that fella’s tummy?”

Caroline looked up at him with wide eyes, taking the cookie with the green hat and shoving it into his hand. “Don’t be mean to Santa, Daddy, or you won’t get a present!”

He let out a hearty laugh, biting off the hat of the cookie as he squeezed her toes through her boots, making her squeal as she giggled and stuck her tongue out to him.

When all cookies were drawn on and she was satisfied with them, she took the plate Elvis handed her after he put her down on the ground and walked toward the staircase in the foyer. You had put a small table and a dining room chair right next to the stairs especially for Santa, your daughter unaware that you’d move the furniture back as soon as she was asleep and the cookies were eaten by you and her father.

“I need to get my drawing!” she told Elvis as she put the plate down and climbed up the stairs to get whatever she made for Santa to put it down with the cookies.

As she disappeared into her bedroom, you entered the house with shopping bags clinging in your hands and snowflakes covering your hair. You let out a huff as you closed the door behind you with your elbow, wiggling the cold and red tip of your nose.

“Next year I am back on baking duty,” you told your husband, trying not to crack a smile as he laughed at you and made his way over to you, taking the bags from your hands.

Usually, he would be the one doing the last minute shopping or have the things you needed to be delivered to the house but Caroline insisted he would stay home today and bake those cookies with her. All you really needed were some small presents for Vernon and Dee and some last minute groceries for tomorrow’s dinner.

You gave Mary the week off so she could spend time with her family during the holidays and you could provide a feast for yours.

“Sorry darlin’, can’t help it that she loves her Daddy more,” Elvis grinned as he took the presents out of the bags and put them underneath the tree in the living area before Caroline came back down. “If it makes ya feel any better, she got mad at me for talkin’ shit about her hero of the year,”

You didn’t miss the roll of his eyes and laughed, pulling the scarf you were wearing from around your neck. “She does not love you more, you’re just easier to manipulate,” you grinned teasingly at him, letting him take the grocery bags from you as well as he wandered back to you. “And she loves Santa more than you,”

You weren’t bothered by the fact that your daughter was a Daddy’s girl because when he’d be away from home and on the road, she would always stick to your side like glue. Elvis on the other side wasn’t so unbothered, hating that Caroline would not stop talking about Santa, Santa, Santa.

You loved to tease him with it.

“She loves that fool more than both of us,” he stuck his tongue out to you, walking into the kitchen to unpack the groceries and put them away. He chuckled softly to himself at the sound of your laugh and Caroline thundering down the stairs, running into your arms as soon as she saw you.

“Mommy, look! I made this for Santa to put with the cookies me and Daddy made,” she shoved the drawing in your face as you carried her toward the little nook you had created for Santa Claus himself.

“Wow Care, that’s beautiful! He will love it, baby,” you smiled at her, kissing her cheek as you placed her down so she could neatly place the drawing she made on the table, next to the plate of decorated cookies. The drawing consisted of three stick figures – you and Elvis being the taller ones and her being the small one in the middle.

Ofcourse, she had drawn Santa as well, only he was in an array of red crayon. You could only really recognize who it was by the white beard she managed to get quite accurate. It was cute.

“Did you buy enough milk, Mommy? He will be a lot thirsty,”

“Very thirsty, not a lot, baby,” you corrected her with a soft laugh, kneeling down next to her to look at the cookies. You could see which ones were decorated by her and which ones by Elvis. It didn’t really matter, they’d taste the same to you. “But yes, I have plenty of milk. We’ll pour him a glass before you go to bed, okay?”

“Two glasses?”

“If you’re a big girl and eat all of your veggies tonight, we’ll give him three!” you told her and she smiled excitedly, wrapping her arms around your neck as she leaned into you.

You were pretty sure she would definitely not eat all of her vegetables–she was her father’s daughter, after all–but you’d give her what she wanted and put three glasses of milk ready for Santa, anyways.

You found it hard to tell her no, because she was such a sweet girl.

She was your entire world.

Caroline surprised both you and Elvis as she shoved every single vegetable on her plate in her little mouth. It took her a while to chew everything down and she was the last to finish, but she couldn’t disappoint Santa, could she?

After sliding down chimneys all night, he must be extremely hungry and thirsty and she worked hard for those three glasses of milk.

You let them both go upstairs after dinner so Elvis could give her a bath and put her in her pyjamas as you cleaned the table and did the dishes.

Besides Mary, you basically gave everyone time off because you wanted to spend Christmas Eve with just your husband and daughter. Tomorrow the family and some of the guys would come over and the house will be rowdy again, so you were excited for the relaxing and quiet night you had planned.

You quite enjoyed yourself in the kitchen, cleaning and listening to the background noise that was the TV in the dining room.

You turned the TV off as you were done in the kitchen and heard Elvis and Caroline coming down the stairs. After getting some drinks, you followed them into the TV room and got ready for the movie Caroline had recently become obsessed with.

Scrooge.

She watched it with Dee’s sons a month ago and then made you and Elvis watch it with her again.

And again, and again, and again.

Neither of you could say no to her, even though you couldn’t care less about this movie.

Caroline snuggled in between you and Elvis, leaning into his side as her legs rested on your lap. She’d speak up now and then to point out a part in the movie that she liked and wanted you to pay attention to. But she had been running around all day, playing in the snow, helping Daddy feed the horses, baking cookies – she was tired, so tired that she couldn’t keep her eyes from fluttering shut despite loving the movie so much.

“Mommy!” she gasped softly as she shocked awake due to a loud noise from the TV, looking at you with wide eyes. “If I fall a-asleep.. wake me up, okay? I-I can’t miss.. Santa..” she mumbled, laying her head on Elvis’ chest as she pulled her legs in, holding onto his shirt with her tiny hand.

She didn’t seem to believe you when you told her that you would and looked up at her father. “Daddy, don’t forget, okay?!” she urged him, her voice thick with exhaustion and though her eyes were heavy, she wouldn’t put her head back down unless she got confirmation.

Elvis laughed softly as he looked at her, kissing her forehead. “I promise, yittle. Put your little head down,” he whispered to her, gently pushing her head back down on his chest as he tickled his fingers through her hair.

It didn’t take her long to drift off into a deep slumber.

You and Elvis didn’t wake her up, deciding that she needed all the sleep she could get for Christmas day tomorrow. She probably wouldn’t be too happy about it once she’d wake up and realise it was the next day, but she’d forgive you for it later. Especially when she’d see the presents she got from you and Elvis, her innocent little mind believing that they were from Santa himself.

“I’ll get her to bed,” you whispered as the movie ended which you and Elvis had talked your whole way through. Too comfortable on the couch to turn the TV off and move into the living room, plus Caroline looked too cute sleeping and you didn’t want to wake her. But it was getting late and you and your husband could use some rest as well.

“I’ll be upstairs,” he told you as you picked up Caroline in your arms, kissing your lips as he silently followed you up the stairs. You walked up the main staircase as Elvis made his way to the living room.

Thankfully, Caroline didn’t wake up when you carried her up the stairs and put her to bed. She mumbled something in her sleep and fuzzed in the sheets a little, but she went back to snoring softly before you left the room. You took the opportunity to clean up some of her toys that were scathered around the room and put the clothes away she wore today that Elvis put on her chair.

When you closed the door behind you afterwards and walked down the stairs, you frowned as Elvis was nowhere to be seen. The TV in both the dining and music room were turned off. The house felt empty.

“El? Baby?” you called out softly, looking around as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

Once he cleared his throat and you turned around, you saw him sitting in the Santa nook, cookie in hand and clothed in the Santa suit his dad or manager usually wore. You figured he must’ve put something around his waist, because he filled out the costume that would otherwise be too big for him.

“Merry Christmas to you, madame,” he grinned as he put the cookie down, slapping his hand on his thigh. You pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh as you walked over to him and sat down on his lap, slipping your arm around his shoulder. “Are these cookies for me, pretty lady?”

You cleared your throat a little, a soft giggle escaping your throat nonetheless. He had never dressed up as Santa for Caroline, both of you afraid that she would recognize him instantly.

You thought he looked ridiculous, but the way his voice deepened as he spoke to mimick a Santa like voice and his blue eyes were pretty much undressing you the second he saw you, you couldn’t help but feel a tingle run down your spine.

“They certainly are, mr. Claus. My daughter and husband made them especially for you,” you grinned, placing your hand on his stomach. Or rather the pillow you realised he had put in the costume.

“Your husband, you say?” he hummed, picking up the cookie once more as he took a bite of it now. “Isn’t he a lucky man to have such a beautiful little thing runnin’ around the place,” he put the cookie in front of your lips, his hand finding your ass as his arm was resting around your waist.

You feigned a gasp, gently pushing his hand away from your face as you looked at him. “My, mr. Claus. You’re very handsy, aren’t you? What would my husband think?”

“Well honey, your husband ain’t here, is he?”

He dropped the half eaten cookie back on the plate, wiping some crumbs off his fingers with the napkin you had put next to the plate earlier today. His palm squeezed your ass softly, pushing you firmly against his chest as your hand traveled over the hill of his fake belly and over his chest to wrap it around his neck.

“Now tell me, mrs. Presley. Have you been naughty or nice?”

His words made you want to rip that white beard he was sporting off his face and shut him up with a kiss. You didn’t feel awkward anymore at his little act–not when he was looking at you like that while his palm was shamelessly massaging your ass–and rather felt arousal seeping into your being.

Roleplaying wasn’t rare for you and Elvis, but you never thought him being dressed up as Santa Claus would get you as turned on as it did.

“I’m always very nice,” you told him as you laced your fingers together behind his neck, plastering your most innocent smile on your face. “But I can definitely be naughty too, mr. Claus,”

“Why don’t you show me how naughty you can be, darlin’?” his hand was quick as it reached up to his face, pulling the beard down before he leaned in to you. You giggled softly, gently swatting his hand away before you put the beard back in its place, kissing him.

He laughed softly against your lips but didn’t question you on it, instead fully trapping you against him as he wrapped his other arm around you as well, deepening the kiss.

Caroline shot up in her bed as soon as she awoke out of her sleep not even twenty minutes after you put her to bed. The little Presley girl didn’t think twice to hop out of her bed and walk over to the window, pouting heavily when she realised it was still night time and she was not downstairs waiting for her beloved Santa Claus right now.

You and Elvis promised to wake her and she felt betrayed that you hadn’t.

She had no idea what time it was and if you were still awake, but she figured getting caught would be worth the risk. Tiptoeing to her door, she slowly opened it and shuffled to the top of the stairs – when she saw that the only light that illuminated the foyer came from the Christmas tree, she very slowly and quietly stepped down a few steps.

Not wanting to scare Santa if he was already here, she peeked over the bannister of the stairs and widened her eyes as she saw the white bearded man with his signature red hat and suit sitting in the seat you and her had provided for him. She would’ve thundered down the stairs if it wasn’t for you sitting in his lap, lips pressed against those of her hero.

The one who provided her with the toys she wanted every year, the one who paid her a visit every Christmas day.

She loved him, but he was not her father.

Only Daddy was allowed to kiss you on the lips, not Santa Claus. Not nobody else.

Tears stung in her blue eyes as she grabbed onto the bars of the bannister, watching the kiss for a few seconds before she ran back up the stairs and hid underneath her blankets, silently crying herself to sleep.

You and Elvis were too occupied to hear Caroline coming up and down the stairs and as you tugged him up from the seat to take him into your shared bedroom, he quickly stole the plate of cookies along with him.

You and Elvis woke up early the next morning despite that Santa costume keeping you both awake until the dead of the night. You expected Caroline to stand at the side of your bed by now seeing it was already 8 o’clock because she could never wait until she was allowed to unwrap her presents. This morning, the bedroom was silent aside from Elvis’ soft snoring.

You sat up in the bed and looked at your husband, laughing softly as you took the Santa hat that was clutched in his hand, throwing it onto the floor. You leaned over to him and planted soft kisses on his shoulder and up to his face. He groaned softly as you woke him, his limbs stretching out in front of him before he turned to you and wrapped his arm around your waist, forcing you to lay back down next to him.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” you whispered with a soft laugh as he hid his face in your neck, squeezing you in his embrace.

“Mwerry Chwistmas, little one,” he hummed sleepily against your skin before he kissed your neck, the faint hint of your perfume that lingered in your neck making him roll onto his back, taking you right with him.

“We don’t get a lot of Christmas mornings like this one,” he mumbled as he grinned, his hands running up your thighs to squeeze at your hips.

He was right, you didn’t. You’d either be woken up by Caroline or by the doorbell that announced the arrival of today’s company. You told them to come a little later this year, so you and your family had time to actually eat breakfast and get ready for the day.

Now that you and Elvis had a bit of time for yourselves, he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it.

His eyes caught sight of the Santa hat on the floor and he was quick to grab it before returning to his warm spot on the bed with you atop of him. “You had a lot of time with mr. Claus last night, it’s only fair if I get some sweetness from mrs. Claus,” he wiggled his eyebrows as he held out the hat to you.

You laughed and rolled your eyes, grasping it from his hand as you put it crookedly on top of your head. He bit his lip and moved his hands up your sides, slipping toward your front to squeeze your bare breasts in the palm of his hand.

Neither of you bothered to put on clothes before you fell asleep last night, so he didn’t need to wait for you to peel off pieces of fabric for you to raise your hips and sink down onto him.

He groaned as he moved his hands underneath his head, watching you ride him with a cocky smirk on his face.

“You look so sexy, baby,” he mummered as his eyes wandered down from your face to your bouncing breasts, voice sounding hoarse as it was still heavy with sleep. It only motivated you to go faster.

The idea of Caroline wandering into the room any minute was also on your mind, but Elvis didn’t mind you chasing your climax with slight hurry. He decided to help you get there even faster, reaching one hand down to circle your clit rapidly with his thumb.

The both of you had to bite down on your tongues to not moan too loud and while Elvis loved hearing you make those pretty sounds for him, he knew he could not make you truly scream while Caroline was also in the house.

Luckily for him, she had a sleepover planned at his father’s house next week.

Thanks to Elvis’ digit, you were quick to reach your climax and he followed not long after because of how visciously you were clenching around him.

“We should.. should check on Care,” you breathed as you ripped the fluffy hat off your head, throwing it across the bed before you leaned down and kissed your husband, who mumbled a soft agreement against your lips but made no movements to leave the warmth of the bed.

Caroline had been up before you and Elvis, but instead of walking into your room to tug on your blankets until either you or Elvis woke up, she went straight to the living room.

She was a girl on a mission today and it wasn’t a very fun one.

She was angry – at you, at Santa, and even a little bit at Elvis.

The little girl was still in disbelief of what she had seen last night. She just couldn’t wrap her little head around the fact that you kissed someone that was not Daddy and that Santa kissed you back.

And where was her Daddy while you exchanged smooches with her hero? He should’ve been there to stop it. Maybe even kick Santa’s ass a little.

She wandered over to the Christmas tree, taking the ornaments out one by one. Santa Claus didn’t deserve a nice tree anymore – if he would come by the house today, she would show him that she was angry with him.

Once you and Elvis came down the stairs and saw the bottom of the tree empty from its usual ornaments and Caroline gathering the sparkly garlands in her arms, you widened your eyes.

“Caroline, what is this?!” you exclaimed in confusion as you walked over to her to lift her up your hip. She crossed her arms firmly against her chest, the garlands crunching in her arms as she turned away from you with an angry expression taking over her features. “Caroline, I’m talkin’ to you,”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” she huffed as she stared at the chair by the stairs Santa had sat on last night.

“Caroline Mae Presley, don’t talk to your mother like that,” Elvis warned her as he stood next to you, looking at his daughter. But she didn’t look at him, hanging back in your arms so she’d be heavier for you to hold. “You know you’re not allowed to go downstairs before waking us. Why did you dissect the tree?”

She didn’t want to tell him or you how she was feeling, but she had a weakness for Elvis and she felt sad for him. He didn’t know what happened last night – while she was still young, she knew it was a bad thing. A bad thing that would hurt her precious father.

“I’m mad,” she mumbled and you allowed Elvis to take her out of your arms, walking over to the couch to sit down on it with her in his lap. She unfolded her arms and looked at her hands as you took the garlands out of her arms to put them back in their place.

“Yittle, if you’re mad, you come talk to Mommy or me. What does my tree have to do with anythin’, huh?” he grinned playfully at her as he tickled her sides. Usually, she would giggle and cheer up, but this time she pouted and pushed his big hand off.

“I’m mad.. m-mad.. at Santa,” she whispered, touching the small charm bracelet you gifted her for her last birthday that she never wanted to take off.

“Why, baby? Santa brought you a lot of presents,” Elvis told her as he nodded his head over to you. You smiled at your daughter as she finally looked up and you nodded, holding up a few wrapped presents Elvis put under the tree last night as you were putting Caroline to bed.

It looked like a smile was about to break the angry act she was putting on, but she huffed and looked down again. “I’m mad at Mommy too,”

You raised your eyebrows in confusion as you put the presents back under the tree, getting up to walk over to the couch. You sat down next to Elvis and looked at the pouty blonde in his lap, taking her small hands in yours. She pulled them out of your grip immediately, looking away.

Elvis saw the hurt in your eyes and sighed deeply, knowing playing nice would get him nowhere with his headstrong daughter.

He had finally met his match – it was more exhausting than he ever expected.

“Caroline, don’t be like that to your mother and tell us why you’re so mad. We don’t know what’s goin’ on if you don’t use your words,” he bounced his leg she was sitting on once, making her look at him with a glare.

Her face expressions softened a little when she saw both you and him looking at her so seriously and she couldn’t stop her bottomlip from twitching, her emotions getting the best of her. As soon as tears started welling up in her eyes, she pressed her face in Elvis’ chest and grabbed onto the shirt he was wearing.

“You and Mommy don’t love each other anymore,” she cried, her words coming out muffled. Elvis gently grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her off him so she could speak more clearly but she managed to wrap her arms around his neck, clinging onto him. “And it’s all Santa’s fault,”

You exchanged a look with Elvis and frowned, running your hand through your daughter’s hair. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

Upon the sound of your voice, she pulled away from Elvis and looked at you, tears freely rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh Mommy, please don’t leave Daddy all alone!” she cried as she stretched her arms out to you. She had been so angry with you only minutes ago, but the thought of you leaving and running off to the North Pole with Santa Claus broke her little heart. You immediately took her in your arms and caressed her hair out of her face, wiping her tears away. “Don’t leave me and Daddy!”

“Care, how’d you get that idea? Baby, I’m not leaving you and Daddy,” you told her, kissing her forehead before she wrapped her arms around your neck and hugged you tightly.

“But last n-night.. you.. you.. were k-kissing.. S-Santa..” she hiccuped over your shoulder, squeezing you tightly in her little arms as if she was afraid you’d disappear into thin air. “You are in l-love with Santa C-Clause,”

You looked at Elvis and he widened his eyes, letting out a hearty laugh as he leaned back in the couch, throwing his head on the back rest of it. You gave him a warning glare but couldn’t stop yourself from giggling softly too, rubbing your hand up and down Caroline’s back soothingly as Elvis hid his mouth behind his hand to muffle his laughter.

“Care bear, look at me,” you chuckled softly as you grabbed her arms, pulling her out of your embrace so she’d look at you. Her hands rested on your shoulders as she sniffed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “What you saw last night… was me hugging Santa…”

Elvis stopped laughing as he grinned cheekily, waiting for you to explain to your five year old what she had seen. You silently begged for help and he cleared his throat a little, scooting closer to you and Caroline. “Yittle, Mommy was comfortin’ Santa last night. You see, Daddy forgot to put his milk by the cookies last night and Santa was so sad, because he thought we had forgotten about him,” he explained to her as she looked at him, listening while repeating his words over and over again in her head.

“Yes! And I told him we definitely did not forget about him. He was also a little sad that you fell asleep, baby girl, so I gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek,”

She turned to you, her eyes still a little red as she sniffed once more. “Really?”

“Promise. Would we ever lie to you?” Elvis chimed in, smiling at her and she shook her head.

To her, you and Elvis were perfect and would never ever tell her a lie. Not a big one, nor a small one.

“No,” she whispered. “So you will stay with me and Daddy?”

You looked at her and laughed softly, nodding as you pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Yes baby, I’m going to stay with you and Daddy forever and ever,”

She smiled softly, nodding her head heavily as she seemed to buy the story you and Elvis told her. Honestly, it wasn’t a very good one, but the only thing you could come up with on the spot.

And for five year old Caroline, the story sounded solid.

“Okay,” she said, grabbing Elvis’ hand as she kept her other hand on your shoulder. “Daddy is more beautiful than Santa,”

Elvis grinned widely, raising his chin smugly. “That’s what I thought, honey,”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, rising from the couch with Caroline in your arms. “Now Santa, me and Daddy will appreciate it very much if you put the ornaments back in the tree. Let Daddy help you,” you grinned, kissing her temple before you put her back on her own two feet. She nodded and walked over to the tree, sitting on her knees as she did what you told her to.

Elvis slipped his arm around your waist, squeezing your ass as he pushed you against his chest. “Seems like we should keep the costume strictly for the bedroom, huh?”

“Definitely,” you laughed softly, kissing his chin. “Without the beard next time, though,”

“I didn’t hear ya complainin’ when I was in between your legs with it last night,” he whispered teasingly with a grin on his face, raising an eyebrow.

You playfully slapped his chest, laughing. “I was feelin’ festive, but Christmas is almost over, baby,”

“Not in this house,” he wiggled his eyebrows, leaning down to kiss you. The moment was interrupted sooner than he liked by Caroline who called out to him.

“Daddy, help me!” she yelled as she had managed to get herself twisted in a string of garland, looking at him with a goofy smile on her face.

“You truly are your mother’s child,” he laughed as he shot you a wink, walking over to his daughter to help her get out of the small trap she got herself into and to help her re-decorate the lower half of the tree.

You laughed as you watched them for a little bit before disappearing into the kitchen to start on breakfast.

In an hour or so, the house would be filled with family and friends again, disrupting the peaceful bubble you had been in since yesterday.

You didn’t mind it all that much, though. And as long as Caroline would have a good time, you didn’t care if the house was empty or full.

951 notes · View notes

cleabellanov · 3 months

Text

Fighting for good, one widow bite at the time: Black Widow's cultural impact

Critics scoff when I call the Black Widow movie a favorite, but hear me out. It deserved a better release window, maybe at an earlier time, when things would've been viewed differently. Sure, it doesn't rise up what it could've been, leaving so much lingering dreams in the hearts of us, fans. So much potential remains untapped, so many questions unanswered... but Natasha Romanoff? She rises above it all. If you doubt her power, think again, and as I said, hear me out.

Black Widow, the assasin with steely eyes that hide and protect a heart of gold, has transcended the screen to become a cultural icon. From her first appereance in the MCU in Iron Man 2 (2010) to Black Widow (2021), she truly went through a lot, took us with her, and thaught everyone some lessons on the way.

Shattering the mold of the damsel in distress: She's no sidekick, she's a strategist and a fierce fighter. She is a vital member of the Avengers, that's a fact we saw in the 2012 movie. After all, how many characters can you name that tricked the God of Mischief? Nat didn't only do it exceptionally, she is the first we saw doing this on screen.

Reclaiming Narrative: Unlike many superheroes defined by singular origins, Black Widow carried the trauma of a dark past, manipulated by the Red Room, a notorious spy program. Her movie explored this narrative, acknowledging the exploitation and abuse she endured. This resonated with survivors of violence and abuse, offering validation and representation. Her journey of breaking free from her past resonated on a broader level, highlighting themes of resilience, empowerment, and overcoming hardship. Furthermore, she hasn't always been a hero, an avenger. "Regimes fall everyday. I tend not to weep over that, I'm russian" and "I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out" show how she's not just using the power she already has, but has the power to change as well. This isn't about brute force, it's about internal struggle and choosing to become a better version of herself despite her history.

Sisterhood and Solidarity: Black Widow's story wasn't solely focused on herself. In "Black Widow," she teams up with other women who share similar experience, even if at first this doesn't seem to work, indoctrinated as they are in the Red Room programme. This depiction of female solidarity resonated with audiences, particularly feminist movements advocating for women's support networks and collective action.

Representation Matters: Black Widow's portrayal as a skilled leader and strategist challenged existing portrayals of Russian characters in Hollywood. They are often depicted as villains or stereotypes, but her complex identity sparked conversations about diversity and representation within the superhero genre.

Defying stereotypes: As the sole original female Avenger, Black Widow carried a unique weight. She didn't need superpowers or a revealing suit — her determination and arsenal spoke for themselves. That's true power. I mean, in some situations she only had two cool firearms, but did better than Captain America with a vibranium shield! I also love how her costume evolved over time, prioritizing functionality over sexualization. Ditching the impractical neckline in her solo movie? A much-needed win! It shows that Black Widow commands respect through her actions, not her body.

Her impact and importance punches like her combat skills, if you ask me.

So, the next time you see the Black Widow, remember, she's more than just a character. She's a symbol of strength, resilience, and the unwavering human spirit. Thanks for being a constant source of inspiration, Nat ❣️

#Marvel #mcu #black widow #natasha romanoff #nick fury #maria hill #the avengers #avengers age of ultron #wanda maximoff #wandavision #marvel bucky barnes #buckynat #scarlett johansson #florence pugh #sebastian stan #cate shortland

105 notes · View notes

daydreamsandcrashingwaves · 3 months

Text

Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt 4

Hi Friends! Part four is here for you first!

General warnings for ya'll

Big sads, panic, PTSD, flashbacks/traumatic memories, Danny should come with his own warning, canonical plus one death but it's Danny, guilt (does it classify as survivor guilt? idk)

Anyway! I hope you enjoy! The Ao3 version will be up soon too!

Stay safe, take care of yourselves please, take your meds if you need to, water yourself, eat some food, get some sun! Much love to you all

~Ren

Danny hadn’t woken up this comfortable in a long time. Fingers dragged through his hair carefully working out knots before scratching at his scalp. He was curled into someone’s side. His automatic thought is he crawled into bed with Jazz after patrol. He grumbles a reply as he tries to bury his face deeper into the shirt? Blanket? Whatever it was, it was soft against his cheek. His core is purring in contentment. He feels safe. Something he hasn’t truly felt in a long time. He melts, even if Danny doesn’t understand why the logical part of his brain is begging him to be suspicious. He pushes the thought away and wants to revel in being close to his sister, just for a moment.

A voice breaks the silence. “Are you awake Danyal?” It comes out hushed, but warm and fond. A distinctly male voice. Danny jerks so harshly the boy he’s resting with begins fussing, worried Danny pulled something.

Danny’s eyes shoot open and he tries to rear back to get a good look, something pulls in his chest but Danny ignores it. His brother’s arm tightens around him keeping him nestled into his side. His brother is staring back at him. Danny looks him over for the first time since he died in the League all those years ago.

Short dark hair and a face like his own. Danny wants to weep gazing into his emerald eyes. How often had he transformed just to see green eyes instead of blue. Even if doing so brought his memories of the lazarus pits to the surface.

(He doesn’t really remember, it was a wisp of a memory. His Mother carefully hiding their presence as she rushed his limp body to the pits. It was just nothingness… for once. No more harsh shouts and bruises just the soft transition from alive to dead. His heart had stopped, his lungs refused to bring in more air and then nothing changed to screaming pain searing him down to his bones, or maybe he was the thing screaming as he could feel what little air he had escaped into the toxic water he had been tossed into. He remembers the frantic way he swam upwards, breakinging the surface with hacks and coughs, only to see an unfamiliar landscape around him. This water was actually water, some sort of lake as far as he could tell. A little girl sitting on the dock had reached over and pulled him out of the water by the scruff of his shirt. When Jazz would recall she had always fondly said she had fished out her rabid kitten that day. The rest was history.)

Danny couldn’t help himself. Kept going back to his mirror to stare into toxic swirling green, trying so desperately to see his brother reflected back. Only to swallow disappointment when the reflection always fell short. For all his genius, for all the solid, crystal clear memories he does have of Damian they are few. All the more Danny hoarded them cradled in between his ribs, mapped them along the many scars that he gained before meeting the Fentons. He had spent so many nights tracing them trying to remember just how he had gotten the mark, Danny instinctually knew that they would lead him to remembering the boy who’s shadows haunted him. Desperate and determined to hold onto any connection to his older brother.

Danny takes a moment to really look at Damian. Damian looks healthy, a bit tired maybe, but his clothes are casual and clean. Nothing like what they wore in training. Damian isn’t as tan as he was as a child, but it was a small difference. There is a faint scar by Damian’s left eye that catches Danny’s attention, it trails down his cheek and under his ear. His hand moves to cup his twin’s face without thinking, softly tracing the mark. Danny aches at the thought that Damian could’ve lost an eye while they were apart. A few more inches down or over and his brother wouldn’t be alive in front of him like this.

“Damian” The name comes out broken, filled with reverence and awe. Danny can be certain at least in this moment they are safe, together now after a decade. Damian wouldn’t allow himself to be truly relaxed if they were still in danger.

The world resettles around him. Danny remembers his escape, the portal that ripped through reality to reunite him with his twin. There was so much blood, Danny was sure he was gonna die for good on the floor of some dirty warehouse. Shame floods his system and settles beneath his lungs. Danny grips his hair in frustration as he tries to fill in the yawning blank spots of the last twenty four hours. His delirious panic yesterday is mostly a blur, he can remember soft whispers of Arabic and careful touches. How far he has fallen. He should know better. He should be better.

He sees the questions that Damian wants to demand answers for behind his favorite pair of green eyes, the frustration that builds under his skin the longer his brother waits to ask. He wishes Damian would just ask him. Danny takes a trembling breath. Danny is confused why he would hesitate, his brother was never one to hold his tongue. A quick glance around some sort of medical room. It seems for now they are alone, proof Damian has some sort of regard or leverage here with their Father. With slight amusement, Danny catches the slight glare of wire and is sure part of the peace came from his twin having trapped any entry points into the room.

As Danny takes more in the room uncertainty takes root as he starts catching sight of more of his brother’s traps, he was very thorough. Like he was trapping his bedroom in the League from those who would want to cull one of the young heirs.

Perhaps Damian is also uncertain about his family’s reaction to Danny since he felt the need to defend them in such a way. Truth was Danny had no idea what any of the Bats were truly like. A few rumors about how metas weren’t welcome in Gotham had circulated but other than his childhood stories about their mysterious father Danny was going into this blind. His mother’s opinion was one thing, but Danny refused to be blinded by his feelings again so soon. Mother had said their father loved them, but what assurance was that? Mother wasn’t exactly a good standard to judge others on. The Fentons had said they loved him, they had taken him in as one of their own and raised him. After watching him grow up they didn’t flinch once strapping him to that table. Danny wants to ask just what about his existence is such a threat he must be wiped from the Earth, his memory squashed and scattered. Singular snapshots in time that are taken as the whole of his being. He could run again if he had to, if things go south and Batman also believes Phantom is a threat. If the vigilante wants to turn him over to the GIW...

A shiver works its way down Danny’s spine and he pulls Damian closer. He can be untouchable and invisible in seconds, Danny reminds himself. The thought of leaving Damian so soon after their reunion makes him pale and his core protest in his chest. His form shutters for a brief moment. Danny tried to shove down the sudden desperation and panic he felt. He had nowhere else he wanted to be, together they could figure something out. Danny wouldn’t have to run.

His brother is watching him carefully, goes to say something but Danny needs his older brother to just listen for a moment and pushes closer, a gentle hand over Damian’s mouth to silence him. “You said we were with Father. Do you trust them? Are you safe here?” The Arabic stumbles out of him in a hushed whisper.

They stay like that, staring at each other. An assessment. Danny wants to shrink under his twin’s steady gaze but won’t look away. How Damian responds is important, Danny might be out of practice reading his brother’s expressions but if he tries to placate him, if Danyal isn’t safe here, Damian won’t be able to fully hide his unease. A soft grip pulls his hand away and Damian looks exasperated as he leans forward to bump their temple’s together. “Yes. Our Father adopted many children that despite their overdramatic behavior, they are reliable,” Damian says it begrudgingly but he also sounds incredibly fond. Well, fond for Damian. His brother had never given out meaningless praise before Danny was sure that hadn’t changed in their time apart. He can picture the way Damian’s face softens as he whispers between them, “Father allows me to care for a handful of animals and last Christmas Grayson and Pennyworth presented me with a Studio to create my art pieces in. ”

A soft awed sound leaves him as Danny tips his head forward onto Damian’s shoulder. It’s just like Damian to know exactly what Danny was searching for even after all these years. Damian can indulge in things that once were decreed by Grandfather as weak here. He can be vulnerable and is with enough regularity that he has a special studio that was made specifically for him to use and a multitude of animals to care for. Danny is suddenly so happy Damian can spend his days petting animals and creating art on canvas instead of training. His brother could hold a brush in his hand instead of honing himself into a weapon to be wielded for the benefit of their Grandfather and his legacy. This was what they whispered about in the dark as children.

Relief is sweet, his body sags into Damian’s. Danny’s smile is so big it almost takes up his whole face, he’s almost drunk with how the release bubbles through his veins. His brother wouldn’t lie to him. If Damian would now just ask the questions they both know he’s itching to, Danny can answer them. Danny will trust his brother, if he trusts the family he is with now then he will too. Likely feeling Danny’s rising nerves Damian leans to catch his eye. “What happened to you, Danyal?”

Danny can’t help the bitter laugh that leaves him as he sags back into the bed. This conversation will be long and he’d prefer not to go over it twice. “You wanna gather the Bats? I don’t want to go over this a million times.” He can’t help how sad and tired it comes out.

It’s not the reaction Damian was expecting, unsure what sparked the change in his twin as he just blinks at Danny for a moment before smoothly replying. “ No one but me has access to the Recovery Room at this moment, although Pennyworth has successfully pleaded for his access to be temporarily reinstated when your bandages need to be changed and wounds assessed. I have stayed close to you since we brought you back since we were unsure if you would recognize any of the others and I refused to risk you panicking and reopening your chest wound again.” The hard glare at Danny’s chest makes it clear that Danny will not be escaping the care now that he is conscious and that Damian was aware of the possibility Danny pulled something earlier. He prayed he didn’t pop a stitch, half-ghost or not Damian was still very scary when upset.

With a huff Damian adds, “Though the family is sure watching through the cameras as they are both worried and incredibly nosy, especially when a new sibling is involved.” Danny could barely breathe, his gaze bounced about trying to spot the glint of a camera lens. The room felt smaller. How long have they been watching them? Why wouldn’t they confront him? When would people stop impersonally observing him? Were they scared to be close to him? Worried about contamination?

Before the fear could settle Damian caught Danny’s attention. “I simply meant you only have to tell me, once, here. I.. We had thought you would prefer what privacy we can afford while we determined who had done this to you.” The uneasy lit to Damian’s words was matched by his restless need to play with Danny’s fingers. “The family while well intentioned, can be overwhelming. It is difficult gathering everyone and having them sit quietly for extended periods of time and our family is… large.”

Danny sat stunned. He would never say his brother was mean or cruel in their childhood but consideration of another person was frowned upon outside of ensuring the success of team missions. More often than not those who couldn’t keep up didn’t return. It’s just how the League had worked. For his twin to shield him, possibly creating tension amongst his family just to make Danny feel comfortable. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

It hurt to see how much his twin had grown in Danny’s absence but it also made Danny flush with pride. Damian’s behavior is proof to Damian’s claims that their father truly is different, maybe even safe for someone like Danny. Swallowing all the things he could say Danny clears his throat with a small but real smile, “Thank you Dami.”

Once Danny makes a decision he throws himself in head first, this will be no different. Danny has to start at the beginning. He must tell them everything to have a hope of them understanding how Danny ended up dropping through a portal to his brother’s side. For… their family to understand what true danger hunts him even now.

With a deep breath Danny goes back as far as he can.The terror of fighting to his first death, the enchanting embrace of the dark, his violent resurrection in the pit. How when he surfaced some strange red-headed girl was in his Ahki’s place to pull him soaking wet to the solid wood of the dock. How Danny knew their mother had defied the Demon Head and even if he knew how to get there, Danny could never go back. How when he had done his best to shake off his disorientation it had been childs play to integrate him into the strange family that found him. Danny was good at hiding, at adapting.

Danny didn’t know how exactly but the Fentons had gotten their hands on a forged birth certificate and social security documents. He assumed through some government contract seeking their expertise on ghosts or weaponry. It was as if he had always existed in Amity Park, there was enough of a rotating population that not many remembered differently. Danyal Al Ghul son of Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne, twin heir to the Shadow and the Bat fully became Daniel Fenton, only son to Maddie and Jack Fenton, younger sibling of Jasmine Fenton.

Things had been great for a while! Easy even. He gained a sister in Jazz. As he got better at socializing, Jazz’s dedication to practicing with him paid off, he gained friends in Sam and Tucker. Their afternoons spent studying or hanging out at Nasty Burger. He had creative parents who knew so much about science, technology and the universe. Who would take Danny and Jazz camping so they could fish, and eat fudge-filled s’mores by the fire. School was boring but he liked going to the library and looking at their books on space.

Danny could’ve never imagined how happy life could be away from obligation and duty. Away from his Grandfather. He could live happily while keeping his weakness from eroding the League further. Danny had tried so hard to forget, forget so his guilt about him alone getting all these soft experiences wouldn’t eat him alive. How dare he friviously enjoy a normal childhood when his brother was left behind with the course sand and suffocating expectations.

Things had been great until their obsession with completing the portal infected his new home. That kind of overwhelming happiness was simply too good to be true for someone who had done the things Danny has. His parents would spend days holed up in the basement building. Grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and maintenance to the house it all fell to the side. House keeping wasn’t nearly as interesting as trying to build a bridge to another world. Eventually Jazz dragged Danny to the library so she could teach them how to do those things on their own. Danny could never tell her he already had learned to do most chores on his own by the age of 5 and if the debit card stopped working he could trap and clean something reasonably sized in the woods for them to eat.

Danny had tried to convince himself after the portal failed to open at his parent’s big presentation things would soon return to their normal, as chaotic as that normal was. Sure they had been really upset, slipping into depression, but they always started up again. Gained their groove. They had gone on their vacation and… Then the portal turned on. Well, he turned it on and was electrocuted with the entirety of the town’s power grid. (They had done the math at some point to figure out the exact voltage but Danny had never wanted it written down, if Tucker thought it was important to know he could keep it hidden under his firewall in a secure file.)

His second death was painful. The electricity had burned its way through his body, stopping his heart, only for the ectoplasm to force it to beat once more. He was sure his heart would burst under the strain. Or the ectoplasm would rip holes in the delicate tissue as it puppeteered it into the sluggish beating he has now. How does he put into words what becoming the gateway between two realities feels like? It was… An eternity hoping for the agony lighting up his nerves to end in the seconds it took for the ectoplasm to merge with him down to his DNA. He could feel his cells splice, die, stutter, and trip but life surged and evolved. He became something new, something unknown, something rare.

79 notes · View notes