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#and who can be arsed to actually clean up
gremlingottoosilly · 5 months
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The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]
Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.
CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)
Word count: 3246
This work on AO3
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You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 
John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 
His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 
But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 
When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 
John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 
But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 
You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 
God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 
You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 
— I can fold my own pants, love. 
He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 
— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…
— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 
— Little minx. 
— Me or Lady Lasswell? 
John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 
You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 
God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 
He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 
Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 
The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 
You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 
Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 
He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 
Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 
He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 
Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 
— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 
You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 
You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 
Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 
His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 
— Shite, love. Sorry. 
His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 
He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 
— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 
— Not a chance. 
Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 
You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 
John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 
— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 
— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 
He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 
You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 
— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…
Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 
He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 
Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 
Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 
— Help your captain, eh? 
You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 
He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 
John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 
— This is not very… appropriate, sir.
— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 
 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 
He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 
Price moans. 
— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 
The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 
— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 
He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 
God, what are you even thinking about? 
You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 
— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 
— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 
— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 
He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 
He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 
— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…
Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 
Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 
— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 
You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 
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They have a crush on you (HC's) - Team 141 + König
Requested by Anon
Simon "Ghost" Riley
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*Honestly I could write an essay on this complicated man, he's such an interesting character - but I've summed up some HC's below*
This guy is so hard to read, but at the same time he's not.
At first glance, he's a hardened man who keeps his cards close to his chest and never lets his guard down around anyone. And that's true.
Given everything he's been through in life, that amount of trauma is bound to have a long-term effect on every aspect of his life - not to mention the fact that he's probably learned to repress all of that shit for most of his life.
So I reckon that even if he did have romantic feelings towards you, it would take him a long, long time for him to even process what he's feeling - he's not stupid by any manner of means, more so he doesn't know what to do with this newfound information.
He would probably try and be mean to you - not that he was ever truly sweet on you in the first place, he couldn't let people know he had a soft spot; a weakness.
If you were part of 141, he would probably try to completely ignore you - unless he physically had to speak to you, like if you were on a mission together ((ngl I think Price probably would put the pieces together and would try to push you both together by sending you off on the same mission - fulfilling his Dad Captainly duties)).
You'd probably have known Ghost for a while before he starts to open up to you - it's superficial stuff, like maybe when his birthday is or his favourite food, little details that didn't really give any crucial information away, but you knew better than to pry as it would probably just make him shut himself away more.
He'd probably be protective of you - like if the team were out at a pub after a mission gone well, and there was a creepy guy bothering you, he would loom over you to scare the guy shitless with piercing, cold eyes.
We all know that as soon as Soap figures out that Ghost has a crush, he's going to absolutely want to take the piss out of him for it...he just needs to pick his words carefully, since he chooses life :))
It's hard to tell when or if he would actually confess his feelings to you - I can see it happening in one of two ways:
1 - You almost died on a mission, and he deeply regretted not telling you before when he thought you weren't going to make it back to base in time; he visited you every day while you were in hospital, and ended up bluntly just coming right out with how he felt because he needed you to know.
2 - Soap tells you before he can. With this scenario, I don't see Ghost blowing up in a fit of rage - it would be the silent death stare with the promise of an arse-kicking in the training room, maybe even making the Sergeant clean the bathrooms with a toothbrush for a few months for good measure. Ghost probably wouldn't even deny it, and would wait for you to come to him... and whatever happens next is a mystery ;))
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish
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*Ahh my fellow Scot - just to preface, Scottish slang and dialects vary across the country and I'm not 100% sure where Soap is originally from, so I'm just going to improvise and use local slang from where I'm from ~*
My guy wears his heart on his sleeve - he's naturally very flirty with you from the get-go, so it wasn't hard to figure out that he fancied you.
"Hello, Darlin', if yer wantin' a tour of the base, don't be feert* to gie me a shout ;D" [feert = afraid] [gie me a shout = ask me; gie = give].
With his flirty nature, it was difficult to discern if he was actually being serious about liking you, or if he was just flirty with everyone.
He'd probably realise that he was going about things completely wrong, and would make normal, friendly conversation to get to know you - he just wants to prove that he's a good guy and not a raging hornball :(
The longer time goes on, he starts to tell you more about his life outside of the SAS - he comes from a big family, he's the youngest sibling, his favourite colour, etc.
I can absolutely see his chest puff up a bit with pride when you compliment his skills - he disposes bombs and risks his life all the time, its his job and he doesn't expect praise other than a curt "good work" from his superiors; but from you, the tips of his ears are turning red, and a smile is practically splitting his face ~
Definitely doesn't use the excuse of training to get some time alone with you - not in a creepy way, he just likes spending one-on-one time with you.
If he really trusts you, he asks you to help trim his hair - he did do his mohawk mostly by himself but trying to do the back of his head on his own was an actual nightmare.
Likes watching the look of concentration on your face as you make sure that his hair is even - winks at you when you catch him staring~
(Y/N): There we go - a job well-done, if I do say so myself.
Johnny: *just admiring your smiling face, smitten*
Would probably ask you out then and there, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Certified Best Boy™.
Captain John Price
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This guy doesn't fuck around - he's older, mature, and knows what he feels, and straight up tells you.
He'd call you into his office for a "chat" - queue you absolutely shitting yourself, being called for a chat with your superior in any circumstance automatically has you going through everything you've ever done prior to this moment to see what he could be mad about...
If you were a Private or any rank beneath him, he probably might hesitate to tell you a bit; HR really wouldn't like it but then again they wouldn't need to know... ;))
If you were a medic, nurse, doctor or civilian, he wouldn't hesitate to tell you.
The Team wouldn't know he even had a crush on you - even if you were on base, as a soldier or medic, they wouldn't have a clue.
The only time they grew suspicious was after they had all been to the pub and after a few too many drinks, one of the new recruits started talking about you and how he thought you were fit; Price's eye twitched slightly, eyeing the recruit with a poker face but with a slightly flash of anger in his eyes, cigar between his teeth.
"Bit inappropriate to speak of a comrade like that, Private, don't you think?" The Private sheepishly let out an apology.
Gaz and Soap gave each other a knowing side-eye; Soap looked to Ghost, who stared back blankly - he'd figured out that the Captain liked you ages ago, he was just waiting on everyone else catching up.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
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I see him as another guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, so to speak.
I think he's the silent type though - while Johnny will flirt with you openly, regardless of where he is or who he's around, I think Kyle would be more discrete about it.
At first, it would be the little things like making you your favourite tea when he's making his own cup - sometimes he'll just make you your own, delivering it to you with a little smile.
He even offers to spar with you during training - he wouldn't go easy on you but he would be missing the usual fire that he has when training with other members of the team, he doesn't want to hurt you :((
As he gets more comfortable with you, and you with him, he absolutely loves to wind you up.
I think he'd be a genuinely funny guy, so be prepared to laugh until your sides hurt.
He'd probably express his feelings for you in a cheesy but still down-right cute way; probably shows up at your door with flowers and asks you out on a date.
((Proud Dad™ Price is just around the corner))
König
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Another certified Best Boy™.
Honestly, he probably didn't speak to you at all for the longest time - not because he was intentionally trying to be rude but because if he feels like he has nothing good to say, then he just won't speak at all.
His social anxiety probably fluctuates day-to-day; one day he feels alright, can make small talk with others on base and do whatever he needs to do. But then the next day, he won't leave his room unless he has to, and when he does he's just this hulking mass of poorly concealed anxiety.
I think his anxiety would probably accidentally be projected outwards and would make him appear more intimidating, especially when all people can see are his eyes underneath his hood. Poor baby :(
He definitely knew that he had a crush on you - he's anxious in social settings, crowds, and he knows what that feels like - but with you? He gets full-on butterflies and he's scared to speak in case he says something embarrassing.
You'd most likely have to make conversation first, keeping it casual as to not scare him off - ironic, since the man is over 6ft and is built like a brick shithouse.
It would take time but he'd slowly open up bit by bit.
The first time you saw him out in the field - completely different ballgame entirely.
Who is this guy and what has he done with Konig??
He probably confesses his feelings on the way back from a mission, still high on adrenaline and confidence.
Oh he absolutely full-on panics when the adrenaline wears off and the penny finally drops...but he meant what he said. He really likes you, Maus.
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ellecdc · 1 month
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i love ur writing sm!! <3 can i request a poly!marauders x reader who has the personality of kat stratford from 10 things i hate about you? reader speaks her (or their!) mind and known as a "bitch" but shes really a softie for the people she cares about. much love♡
Thank you so much, lovie!!! Hope this is what you were looking for 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶
poly!marauders x feisty fem!reader
CW: burn/injury (nothing grave), use of Y/N, jokes at the expense of Hufflepuff House (no hate to the house, I too am a Hufflepuff)
By some brilliant stroke of luck, Professor Slughorn was away at some kind of Potioneer's convention in Sweden which left the Gryffindor and Slytherin's 6th and 7th year potion’s classes hosted by a substitute. That substitute happened to be none other than Professor Binns - the horrifyingly boring History of Magic professor. Normally, the presence of the ancient ghostly professor would be mind-numbing, but seeing as he’d just barely gotten today’s instructions up on the board before promptly falling asleep (and James threw a muffliato spell around him to keep it that way), the class was actually quite lively.
“How was I supposed to know we were only meant to add a pinch and not the whole jar?!” Barty Crouch Jr asked you incredulously.
“Uhm, perhaps by reading the sodding instructions!? Circe’s tits; is it Evan’s turn with your shared braincell today?” You spat as you vanished your soiled potion. The sound of an explosion, followed by Evan’s laughing, followed by Regulus hissing “Rosier!” proved you wrong.
“Ah, the braincell eluded both of you today; my mistake.” You muttered as you began your potion from scratch.
“Reggie! Y/N’s being mean to me!” He tattled from across the room.
“It’s not mean if it’s true, babe.” Regulus responded without lifting his head from his own worktable.
“How rude.” Barty whined. 
“You’re starting to sound like a Hufflepuff, Junior.” You taunted as you swatted at his hands that were vying for your potions ingredients.
“How dare you. I have never been so insulted.” He seethed from his place on his stool.
You smirked. “You don’t listen much, do you?”
“Now, maybe that was a little harsh, L/N, comparing him to a Hufflepuff.” Dorcas called over to you from her worktable.
“You’re just as soft as he is, Meadows.” 
“Nobody is safe…” Marlene murmured with a smirk.
Sirius and James’ potion station made a startling pop sound before James hissed in pain. “Fuck!” He gritted through his teeth.
You looked over to find James holding his arm against his chest protectively, Sirius grimacing at the sight, and Remus rolling his eyes because he told those sods to be careful. You immediately abandoned your worktable and a petulant Barty and made your way to the Gryffindor side of the room.
“What happened!?” You cooed as you gently encouraged James’ arm away from his body so you could inspect it.
“I added too much billywig sting. The potion overflowed and got Prongs.” Sirius offered guiltily. You cooed again and gently kissed the space beside the angry looking burn on James’ arm. 
“Barty! Grab me the medikit from the supply cupboard!” You called over your shoulder. 
Your request was met with a scoff. “I’m not one of your trained dogs, L/N. You’ll have to show me at least one tit before I’m at your beck and call.”
He barely had time to duck as you hurled a beaker at him.
“Okay, okay. Salazar’s saggy balls, you’re wicked.” He muttered as he made his way to fetch the medikit.
Remus was planning to let those bell-ends clean this up on their own, but he relented at how sweet you looked as you fussed over James; unable to hide his fond smile as he made his way over to his three lovers from his own workbench he shared with Peter.
“What did I say at the beginning of class?” Remus asked impishly. Sirius seemed to gulp a little before he murmured “to read twice, add once”.
“Mhm, and what did you do?” Remus continued.
Sirius, now growing tired of feeling shamefaced, muttered “obviously not that…” which earned him a pat on the arse from the werewolf.
Barty returned with the medikit and leaned his cheek forward as if waiting for you to press a kiss to it for his assistance. You whacked him in the head with said kit before opening it to find the burn paste and poison neutralizer.
All contempt melted away from your face as you turned your sights from your potions partner to one of your three boyfriends. “It might sting, but I’ll try to be gentle.” You murmured to James as you began to work on his wound.
As Remus peered at the burn, it really didn’t look all that bad – but the way you were treating James made it seem like you thought he was going to lose his arm. Suddenly, Remus saw a small wet mark land on James’ arm from where you were hovering over him.
“Dovey, you don’t have to cry! He’s okay.” He cooed at you as he began rubbing soothing circles onto your back, pressing a conciliatory kiss to your temple.
“M’not crying.” You muttered somewhat petulantly. “The smell of flesh burning off of Jamie’s arm is assaulting my sinuses.”
Sirius officially seemed more distraught that he upset you than he did about burning James.
“Oh, my poor, sweet girl.” Sirius murmured at you as he pulled you away from James’ arm.
��I’m not done, Sirius!” You argued, though you never tried to pull away from Sirius’ grasp.
“Remus will finish up angel, give Sirius hell for me.” James winked at you. You flushed at the attention and hid your face in Sirius’ chest.
“Poor lovey, so worried about her boys, hm?” Sirius cooed into the crown of your head where his lips were pressed. You hummed in the affirmative.
“What the actual fuck?” Barty interrupted the moment as you all turned to take in his astounded face. “You’re holding a Chinese Chomping Cabbage that close to your jugular, Black? Do you have a death wish?”
“No need to be jealous, Junior. Your boyfriend is right over there.” James goaded from his place as Remus finished wrapping up his wound.
Not needing to be told twice, Barty all but skipped across the room to Regulus before he threw himself onto the quiet boy’s lap. Regulus, hardly sparing his boyfriend a glance, stood and dumped the boy off his lap before returning to his stool and carrying on with his potion. 
You could no longer see Barty from your place in Sirius’ chest but based on the vibrations from his torso and the chuckles of your other boyfriends, you were sure he was flat on his ass.
“I hate it here.” He cried.
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evilminji · 8 months
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:T Hello there, Thought(tm) of the day...
I? Just remembered that Constantine's "Laughing Magician"(?) title is... f*ckin HEREDITARY?
Like?? As in The Constantine Meances have been out here, harrasing divinity and demons alike for GENERATIONS on behalf of a Good Time, the Lols, and probably Humanity if they can be arsed and you make a good case.
W... What chance would there even BE of at least like? HALF those f*ckers(conflicted but affectionate) NOT becoming Realms Ghosts? With the sh*t they're exposed too? With THEIR luck??
You think DEATH can trick them? Take them away for good? Take away the local Rat B@stard, Tricks Gods Just To See If He Can, Fate Is My Second Mistress and I Cuckold Glory On Your Mother's Bed, Constantine?
They run down main street, *ss in the breeze, wearing someone else's shirt and two shoes that don't match, not a stitch else, like run away lovers. Let Death TRY and catch them. Sorry, Luv, it's not them, it's definitely you.
..........I bet they're the wooooorst~~✨️
No joke, I bet they set up a whole *ss TOWN of Constantine.
Where the odds are in THEIR favor, gods fear to tread, and reality straight out stops working right. Like Diagonal Ally for B*stards, extended to a whole floating island. Everyone's related. It's Chaos. They can barely stand each other. Would sell each other for a toothpick.
Mess with ANY off them... and you can kiss your afterlife good bye.
They have NO neighbors because both no ones dumb enough to get NEAR them AND no one can stand to be around that many Constantines at once. The physical Manifestation of Fate wants to take the whole LOT of the handsy F*CKS to court for child support and a restraining order.
Somehow... they keep getting Earth Booze.
They SHOULDN'T have access. It's been anywhere from decade to centuries since they died. Millennium for a few. Howms't The F*CK, do they keep getting cheap gin and vodka? Bourbon and beer? Even the odd fruity cocktail for funnies.
Please... PLEASE! Tell the Zone at large, that their innate birthright powers STOPPED at Death. They... they are just REALLY good at smuggling right? Excellent con men?
Tell us they can't f*ckin PREDICT AND INFLUENCE Natural Portals!!!
*smug sipping noises from a large room full of Dead @ssholes*
Okay... They Won't Tell You~ 🍺🍺🍺🍺🍺 *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip*
Now! I hear you ask? Why are John's Terrible, Terrible, God Awful Ghostly Relatives relevant? Absurdly powerful as they are... they seem to take the afterlife as an extended "Ha! GET F*CKED, DEMONS WHO WANTED MY SOUL!" Vacation/Family get together.
Minded their business and expected everyone to mind THEIRS, or ELSE.
Didn't give two solitary SH*TS that Pariah woke from his little nappy-poo to cause a tantrum. After all, in their family? When DOESN'T some "great and terrible Power That Be" get itself in a snit? Meh... it's baby Johnny's turn to clean sh*t up. Best of luck to 'im~!
But THEN!
They must've been drinking... making out with their equally terrible and bamf trainwreck significant others... sitting around playing "who can cheat best at cards"... when? Huh.
Never seen the Fate and The Odds... STRANGLE like that.
Billions of billions of What-Ifs, Maybes, Could-bes, and more... suddenly YANKED towards a single spot. The allowance of Only One Outcome. Almost like what they can do, but... not, WRONG, per say...
Just... impossible.
There's NEVER.. JUST one way this plays out. You can control the big notes. The script. But the details and set dressing will always decide themselves.
NO ONE can just... Decide What Will Happen. And yet?
...............was....... was that Little Johnny? Has to be. Right? Where's his old man? Oi! Was that your Kid??! John's closest relatives are baffled. Nope. They can still feel him laying a beat down on some demon in Norway. So then? Who?
How?
Well mark them CURIOUS(tm).
They decide to actually get up. Put their various drinks and cards down. Put pants on. Somebody's done something... INTERESTING(TM) and they want to know what's up. So? Off they trot.
It's traumatizing for everyone who sees them. The Constantines have breached f*ckin B*stard Containment and are spilling into the Zone. On this! The DAY Pariah Waged A War! THEY JUST GOT RID OF HIM!
And Danny? His everything hurts. The Eyeballs are starting to come out of the woodwork and ARGUE about him like he's not even there. He's DANGEROUS blah blah blah. Give them the crown. Right now! Etc etc.
Somethings telling him not too.
It's... it's HIS isn't it? Has been for centuries and seconds. And... and... everyone one of him is King. There is only one of him. The Zone covers all the multiverse and all of the Hims that were and aren't here and helped and... and...! His head is starting to hurt.
But the more they try to push him to hand it over, the less he feels like unhanding the dang gaudy thing. No. His now. He'll use it as a DOOR stopper if he dang well feels like it! Stop yelling.
Then all these blonde ghosts saunter in... and all he can think is "F*ck. I think they noticed."
Huh?
@stealingyourbones @cyrwrites @bjurnberg @the-witchhunter @hdgnj
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winchesternova-k · 2 years
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as has been the case so so many times, mcr managed to get me out of a panic spiral
#i’m going to be able to see my ma tomorrow and hopefully she can come up w something#if not i’ll just have to call him while i’m there and be completely honest#which will bite me in the arse bc it always does but idk what else to do#and in case ur wondering being truthful w him abt my disabilities in the past has only led to him being manipulative ableist or trying to#take over even more (he even tried to say i wasn’t fit to look after my ma)#i just wish i could scream at him i don’t want ur help! i don’t want anything from u! except to be left alone!!#he never asks he just does and assumes that what he’s doing is the best course#and heaven forbid u disagree bc then ur Ungrateful and deserve to be homeless#(yes he’s actually said that)#i feel so guilty abt the fact that the day he dies (which won’t be far off bc he’s terminally ill) will be nothing but a relief to me#i don’t wish him dead but i want him to leave me alone and since that’s the only way it’s happening#and i don’t WANT to feel relieved or look forward to the day a family member dies but he’s keeps doing so much harm#like i literally can’t do anything at ALL rn and he expects me to be able to clean an entire house so long as three of the ppl who i hate#the most still living on this earth are in the house!#(i don’t hate them rlly but holy fuck they make it hard not too)#sorry i just need to get this out#but at least mcr are keeping me from spiralling while i think this out#i can’t wait to see my therapist on tuesday holy shit#literally this just makes me want to run away and hide in my room at the motel#it’s the safest place i’ve ever felt bc they didn’t know i was there#i want to feel like that at home again#alex talks#vent tw#abuse tw
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siredtoyourlips · 6 months
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You should look at yourself ~ Fred.W x Fem!Reader
Summary: An eventful morning leaves you vulnerable, covered in paint, and speechless but what leaves you even more speachless is the words that come out of your ex's mouth. Do you believe him or hate him? ( find out)
Warnings: smut but not detailed just mostly readers thoughts, a little angst, humiliation, crying ( barely), drama, eating out, lots and lots of kissing, p-in-v, swearing, moaning, use if the word God, body kissing, fred is very hot, not a warning but kinda is sweet!fred, rumors, lying and more:)
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900 words;)
Ps: left the ending where I could make a part two so like tell me if you would want that.
Fred Weasley, You heard of him before. Hot, flirty, prankster, twin, hot. Your ex. Didn't end on the greatest tearms. You got word that he cheated and broke up with him. Then after that you found out that he didn't but it was too late. The rumors were out that he was sleeping around, and not being serious.
Since the night you didn't talk to him but you see him around and staring but never thought anything of it because you thought it was hate or anger. You had him in Snape's class and he always sat a row next to you.
You've never been a victim of his pranks even though his own siblings have, and his friends and even strangers and teachers.
Here you are now on the way into his class, late. You had an accident while cleaning you picked up the paint and got it all over you. You had to take a shower and change your clothes and now you're going to be late.
You see that Snape's not there yet and go to walk in and all of a sudden paint gets thrown all over you again. Everyone looked at you, they knew who did it and who it was for. Some were laughing, some were gasping, but you just walked away, ran actually. It was the most embarrassing moment of your life.
You wanted to curl up in a ball, to stop existing, to never see any of those people again. So you ran to your dorm, leaving a trail of red paint from the classroom to your dorm room.
Not even minute later you hear a bang at your door. Assuming it's one of your friends you open it, but the only person you see is him, the last person you wanted to see at the moment. You go to slam the door in his face but he stops you and barges in the room.
" Please Y/n, just listen to me". He said and before you can get a word in he says "it wasn't for you, it was for Snape, he's been such an arse lately and I thought he deserved it. I never thought it would have been you walking through the door, I thought you were skipping not late. I'm so sorry. Please let me make it up to you" all in one breath. You didn't know what to say, so all that came out was "ok" and you walked to the bathroom and he followed.
"Fred, what do you want? I said ok, I believe you. You can go now" you spat. But he didn't leave instead he wiped some of the paint off of your lips and kissed you. He kissed you so hard that you almost fell into the tub. But he cought you and put his clean forehead Against yours.
"Fred". You started but before you could finish he said " it's not true, I would never. I love you more than anything, I would do anything for you. You are the love of my life. I am nothing without you. The rumors were just that, rumors not true". You just smiled at him and said " you got paint on you" his laughing filled up the room " me?" He asked " you should look at yourself" be says while kissing you. "You want to take a shower with me?" You ask. " I mean since you asked" and then be turned on the water and you both got undressed and stepped into the water.
He instantly started cleaning your arms and back and hair while you cleaned your face. Every chance he got, he kissed you. He washed and washed until you both were all clean. Then he turned the water off and walked you out while kissing you. He walked to the bed and laying you down. "This okay baby?". God, you thought he's so hot " mhm, yeah" and he started kissing you from your neck to your brests, to your stomach which was always his favorite part of tour body, down to your thighs and finally to your core.
And God, was he good at making you feel good. It's been months since he's touched you and you've been craving him, his kiss, his tougne, his finger, but especially his cock. And he knew what you wanted by the way you were looking at him, and the way you were acting. And he gave it to you. And it felt so good.
"Shit" he mumbled " Oh my god" you moaned and what felt like the next hour went like that. It was so good, and you came so many times that you forgot about everything else.
All your worries, all your cares just disappeared like before. Before you let all the rumors get to your head, before you left him, before everything went to shit. And when you finally came down from your high he was there, it wasn't a dream it was real. He was real. And he was hot.
" you ok?" He asked and you just smiled and nodded while laying on his shoulder. And everything was perfect. Until you heard a bunch of voices and realized you never but a silencing charm on the dorm and you both looked at eachother and mumbled "fuck".
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bisexualhomelander · 2 months
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F O R C E D F E M I N I Z A T I O N | B U T C H L A N D E R
Billy runs his mouth. (verbal feminization, rimming, hatesex... or is it)
Part of Billy should have known the joke would come back to bite him in the arse sooner than later. He shouldn't have invited the supe in at all, but definitely not with the offer of watching him have a wank. Homelander felt he had a foot in the door now, and if Billy had put that kind of depravity past him, he's probably dumber than he thought he was.
The sonic boom woke him up, and as much as he simply wanted to close the blinds on Homelander, curiosity did get the better of him eventually, and he opened the balcony door.
Before he had even asked to what he owed the pleasure of the late-night company, the supe had already pressed a few banknotes into his hand, and Billy instinctively tightened his fingers around them despite his bewilderment. "You said ten dollars to watch you jack off. What do I get for a hundred?"
Billy huffed in amusement, even if there was a bit of sound behind the huff. Shock that he couldn't quite conceal. Was he being propositioned?
Homelander had a smirk on his lips. "I'm serious. William. I can feel your blood pressure, you know? That includes knowing where your blood is, right now. Had I stayed last time, who knows how we'd have ended up."
Billy swallowed all the other choice words he had for the man and stared down at the money in his grip. "If you think you can buy me, cunt, think again."
"If it hurts your pride, fine." The supe plucked the dollars back out of Billy's fingers and threw them into the air. Billy watched them sail over the balcony and out of sight. That would make some lucky bastard's night. Not his problem. He didn't have to pay that out of his pocket.
Alright, supe wanted to play. He could have that, surely. Billy could almost feel the moment his brain turned itself off. He'd feel the consequences of his actions some later date; for now, he didn't want Homelander to think he won by flustering him. Sure, he was half-hard. Why not go all the way and hate himself for it once he was alone again? So he put on his most charming, shit-eating smile and replied: "Shitty pickup line there, luv."
Homelander's face was wiped blank for a moment before he could reign in his emotions at the sudden pet name. Point for Billy.
"See? That's how it's done. Now come in. Freezin' my bollocks off here, and I'm of no use to you if that happens, hm?"
Homelander had his bearings again and gave him an amiable smile, hiding his teeth. Why did the cunt always seem like he had something with an unpleasant taste in his mouth? Was that jaw ever slack?
"Not really that into cocks, if I'm honest."
Homelander chuckled. "And? Neither am I. Will that stop you?"
"Nah, it won't. But we're gonna do it my way."
"Fine by me." Homelander came inside and closed the door with his gloved hand. He even cleaned his boots on the door mat. "Bedroom's this way, I assume," he said and began to saunter off in the correct direction. Fucker had clearly x-rayed the apartment before, and Billy prayed it had been when he'd been here last and not right before he'd swept in to watch Billy sleep.
"We ain't goin' to the bedroom here, luv." It was likely impossible to actually surprise the supe. Last time, Billy had not even seen him fly off. Homelander moved at the speed of light, and so he must have seen the assault coming from a mile away, but it spoke to how much he wanted this that he let it happen anyway. Billy had him up against the wall in one smooth movement, and Homelander's legs were riding high on his waist like it was natural. "My way, remember?" Billy smeared the words against the supe's lips like spit and greedily drank down the answering whimper. "And if I say cock isn't what I'm looking for tonight, that's what goes, a'right?"
"You can fuck me if you want to," Homelander panted. He was lighter than Billy had imagined. Holding him up cost little energy, and Billy wasn't even properly awake. For a split-second, he wondered if he was still dreaming.
"Not into cocks, my arse. You're downright begging."
"I'm not begging for anything." The hand around Billy's throat had crept up so suddenly that it did shock him into silence for a second. "I won't beg on my knees for the right to see my son, and I will certainly not beg you to fuck me. I chose you for tonight because you are a disgustingly filthy excuse for a man who has no dignity left for his sorry life, and I knew I could get you if I wanted you. And here you are. So if you want me to leave your body intact, you better get your ass in gear and get me off."
With every ounce of willpower, Billy forced a swallow against the fingers pressing down. The grip loosened. They still held eye contact, and neither of them blinked first. Homelander was giving him a way to get his piece in. Well. Why not.
"You babble on like a woman, you know?"
"Hm?"
"Goin' on and on about things I don't wanna know. Gnawing my ear off here, mate." He leaned forward a bit, happy to see the supe's eyes dart to the left and right in an attempt to focus on both of his eyes. It made Homelander break the unblinking eye contact, lids fluttering rapidly. "Like a girl."
They were pressed together from the tips of their noses, to their chests, to their bellies, so it was easy to actually feel the way the cunt's cock throbbed at Billy's verbal abuse. "Yeah, that's right, hm? You wanna be my girl for the night? Daddy's girl?"
Up close like this, he saw the laser lights spring forth from Homelander's pupils first, slowly filling out the rest of his eyes. It looked fascinating from this perspective, even as the intense light immediately burned bright white spots into Billy's retina that he had to blink away. To anyone, it might have been threatening, but Billy was too worked up now, and he called the supe's bluff easily. "Bitching like you're PMSing, luv." He leaned his face into the heat emanating from Homelander's eyes to force his mouth open in a kiss. "Just from a bit of talking."
"Shut up-" The hand that landed over his mouth could have broken his jaw or taken it clean off, but Homelander knew how much pressure to use. Billy didn't think about how the supe had learned this. Or tried hard not to.
It wasn't difficult to pry the hand away and let the supe see his sly grin. "Gettin' shy already? Why you wanna shut me up so hard?"
"Nothing of value comes out of that mouth of yours," Homelander said.
"Oh, come now." Billy made certain to school his face into a disappointed frown. "You gonna lie to me? I can see you getting wet in that suit of yours."
It wasn’t wrong, exactly. There was a distinct dark spot where the head of Homelander's cock pressed into the fabric. Billy decided, however, that he liked the ambiguity of this game of his and wanted to see how much he could push the supe.
"Must be like a slip 'n slide between those legs."
"Don't-" Homelander began, but his body took over halfway into speaking, had him rub up against Billy like the mere mention of his arousal had reminded him of it. "Don't you ever shut up?"
Billy leaned forward to bite Homelander's ear. "You love it."
"I don't." Those baby-blue eyes tried to find Billy, and find him they did. Up close like this, he looked pretty. Innocent, somehow. The line of his mouth was still angry, but somewhere in the depths of those eyes lay something that wanted to give up and surrender to Billy. It was hypnotic.
Billy leaned forward and breathed his next word onto Homelander's mouth. "Liar."
Homelander whimpered when their mouths met, but he parted his lips readily and began to suck on Billy's tongue as soon as he had access, ashamed at his body's reaction and ready to shut Billy up. The supe tasted like absolutely nothing, not even toothpaste. It was almost unsettling, were it not for the wet warmth of his mouth that was like any other. What a weird thing to discover this fucker's humanity through.
Billy decided he'd had enough of the stalling and went to his knees. The supe's legs slipped from his waist in the movement; they were unsteady when holding up his weight.
Homelander willingly pushed his hips into Billy's hands as he began to open the belt holding the outfit together. He'd never seen the ins 'n outs of that. The suit wasn't one piece. It was a top and trousers that could be pulled down like leggins. Skin-tight and stuffed full of foam to give the impression of defined abs and pecs. Uncovering a bit of skin between the top half and the bottom half of the outfit felt like a forbidden pleasure, and Billy's mouth descended on an exposed hip bone before he even had time to plan out his move.
"Thought cock wasn't what you were looking to get," Homelander mumbled.
Billy huffed a laugh against the skin under his teeth and felt an almost nauseating flutter in his abdomen as shaky fingers held on to his shoulders. "Nah. I'm here for that pretty cunt you got hidden away." The fingers flexed and spasmed; Homelander's hips ground forward of their own accord.
Billy was so hard he felt dizzy with it, and he blinked to get his wits about him. He couldn't forget his mind completely. This was still none other than the monster who'd destroyed him - or the parts that were worth destroying anyway.
He pulled the ridiculous trousers of the outfit down to Homelander's knees and was met with...
"Red panties? You on the rag?"
"You're disgusting," Homelander commented, but he sounded so out of breath Billy considered the comment flattery.
"Gets you wet enough." The front of the supe's briefs was almost black with precum in the low light of Billy's living room. "Why give you pretty words when this gets the job done just fine, eh, bird?"
"Please." And oh, if that word didn't go straight to Billy's dick.
"Please what?"
Homelander squirmed, and Billy didn't help by blowing air on the wet spot where the cunt's cockhead was seen straining through the cotton. "Eat me-?" Shame clogged his throat, and now Billy did help out by leaning forward and rubbing his beard against an exposed thigh, earning something that came close to a mewl and finally got the answer he desired. "Eat me out. Daddy."
"Good girl." He pulled the briefs down to the rest of the way and went on to unzip the ridiculous red boots. The supe toed out of them so quickly he nearly tripped, and Billy made quick work of the rest of the clothes by pulling on them to let the cunt step out.
Half-naked, the masculinizing effects of the costume were visible. The clothed half of Homelander still looked imposing, but his naked legs were literal sticks. His ass round, but not nearly as firm as the outfit made it seem. Billy slid his hands up the back to cup the cheeks. "Leg on Daddy's shoulder, girl. Come on. Giddy up."
Homelander obeyed without complaint, like he was beyond words. Maybe Butcher had him where he wanted. And where was that even? In what universe did he want him? And was there still a remote chance he'd wake up hard and full of self-loathing?
Not much time to think about it when the current position spread the cunt's ass so deliciously and allowed Billy a good look at his hole. Fucker was shaved everywhere, it seemed, not a single hair more than necessary on him.
"Brazilian? Fine choice, princess."
"God, fuuuck." Homelander shivered, a foot pressing into Billy's shoulder blade with an amount of pressure that bordered on abusive. He'd get a bruise there. It drove him forward, though.
"Got the prettiest cunt I've seen." As if to prove a point, Billy lapped at the hole, huffing a laugh when he saw the muscle contract. "Look at that. Pinker than a virgin. Or is that it, huh? Anyone ever been where I am now?"
The silence was damning.
"Never had a man before." He held onto Homelander's thighs for leverage and pulled himself up again, shoving his face in for real this time.
Homelander's hand found his hair and pulled with surprising gentleness. It was an interesting contrast. Billy'd have sooner expected him to push him forward and not try to pull him backwards, but the cunt probably was lost to the pleasure and didn't remember how to move in any coordinated fashion. And they'd barely started.
He lapped at the furled muscle, relishing in the way it spasmed against his lips. As much as Homelander kept complaining, this he could hardly deny. This was his body talking.
No denying it; Billy'd always been an ass man. Something about getting his tongue in there had been appealing since a young age. The filth of it, sweat and musk. The embarrassment of his partners when they realized how much he loved inhaling all of it. Like a bloodhound.
Not with him. He was clean, no sweat, no smell. But aroused all the same and opening up to Billy's ministrations. The thighs around his face quivered. The hand in his hair went from insistent to demanding. Homelander's body was putting out heat like a furnace, and it drove sweat to Billy's brow.
"Fuck," he could hear a muffled voice from above. Was the cunt covering his mouth to keep in his noises? Afraid there were fans in the apartments around?
There was definitely movement happening, and Billy just knew without looking that Homelander meant to touch himself. He pulled back immediately, licked his lips where Homelander could see and looked up at him with disappointment.
Homelander's hand around his own cock went still, and his eyes were wide. He's scared he's been bad, Billy realized, and the thought made his neglected cock throb. Fuck, he'd have to get out of those trousers. The strain against the zipper was gonna kill him.
Billy gently pried the supe's hand away from his erection. "Pretty birds like you only come from getting their snatch eaten."
Homelander let out a wet sound that might have been a gasp or a sob. His eyes were teary, and- was that a red gleam or was Billy just suffering the first effects of hypoxia from spending minutes between those cheeks?
"You're close anyway. No reason to abuse that pretty lil' bean of yours."
"My-"
"Your clit, luv." Billy dove back in.
He tried not to get too smug at the gasp that Homelander let out when he managed to work his tongue in again. He knew it wouldn't do much for this one, but he rubbed his face sideways against an inner thigh anyway. At least give the notion of a notion of beard burn to a cunt with impenetrable skin. Felt soft to the touch, though. Real lifelike.
His own drool dripped down his chin and onto his sleep shirt, but he didn't plan on wiping it off. Half the fun was getting dirty and besides- "Fuckin' dripping, babygirl. Gonna squirt all over Daddy? Is that it? You gettin' close."
Homelander's head fell back against the wall; Billy could hear the small thud. How he still had enough of his wits to not slam it back so hard he went through the wall was beyond him. Cunt's self control was so ingrained it was a downright sad business. Though Billy really preferred to live, most days.
He gave it his all, tongue-punching the cunt's hole until his jaw ached because he needed to feel him break, he needed it more than he needed to come. He grinned when he could feel the first small contractions in the muscle, the way Homelander's body began to seize. His muscles started trembling where Billy was holding on.
"Come for Daddy."
"Fffuck!" The supe broke above him. Billy was wise to pull his tongue out before that happened, but did push his thumb into Homelander's perineum for some extra stimulation.
There was a hand in his hair again, but it felt downright weak, barely grasping.
Homelander's leg slipped off him tiredly, and the supe blinked at him with mild confusion, glassy-eyed and dopey, but apprehensive. Billy was almost sure he mirrored the expression.
He hadn't even orgasmed himself, but there was a sort of mental clarity barreling towards him like a train, and he really, really wanted to close his eyes before the headlights of that thing hit him.
Homelander took the decision from him because when Billy did blink, the pile of clothes on the floor and the entire supe had vanished into thin air.
He sat on the floor for a good half an hour before his aching knees forced him to get up and he managed to wipe his mouth with fingers that were just a bit too unsteady.
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dracoxsworld · 1 year
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Harry Potter During Sex
18+ content, minors pls do not interact ⚠️
Warnings: Sexual Content, sub and dom harry. Mentions of anxiety and insecurities
Click here for my masterlist
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I am truthfully a Harry Potter person in my heart I LOVE this boy.
Harry is honestly baby.
Touch starved bc obviously but that’s okay
Will literally beg for your touch, even when you’re busy.
“Baby..please? I miss your pretty hands around my cock.”
Of course you couldn’t resist after that. You’re not a monster.
“I missed your pretty mouth too.. Please don’t make me wait will you?”
not into the mommy shit, more so begs for you like you’re royalty and he’s not worthy of it.
But can be very dom too.
boob guy. 100%
Always plays with them, touches them, likes watching them bounce when you’re riding him. kisses then, leaves hickeys etc.
Loves your ass, too.
One time you surprised him by wearing very short athletic type shorts in gryffindor colors with “Potter” on your arse.
Boy went fucking crazy, practically drooled. Immediately slammed you against the wall, grabbing your ass and attacking your neck with his lips.
“Fuck baby, do you see what you do to me?” He grumbles in your ear as his hardening dick starts to rub on your soaking wet clit. Eventually, one hand makes its way towards your clit, starting to rub little circles. You cry his name.
You like dressing up for him, like wearing his cape from his uniform for quidditch, with nothing but a bralette and lacey panties underneath.
Very very jealous very easily because our boy can be a tad insecure sometimes.
Cedric hit on you during yule ball once, you looked over in harry’s direction as he was gabbing with ron about Merlin-knows-what. You gave him an “i’m uncomfortable and don’t know what to do” look. He immediately came over and took your arm and said “I think y/n looks a bit tired, Cedric. I better take her off to bed”
“Actually Harry, I was about to do that myself.” Cedric replied, shaking his arm around your waist. You immediately stumble at his touch, into Harry who places both hands on each side of your waist. “Actually she’ll be coming to bed with me” Harry said, rightening his grip on you.
Let’s just say Cedric probably heard your screams of Harry’s name from his dorm that night.
Eating you out is his favorite, I don’t make the rules. He loves giving you little kitten licks on your cunt, making you whine, giving you hickeys in your thighs and lower stomach etc.
“Harry..please, go back…” you’ll beg him, he’ll smirk, licking down your stomach, burying himself back into your pussy.
He def tongue fucks you, loves the taste of your cum, will lick you clean <3 only the best for his girl.
Dude is packing. I mean seriously. The girth? Absolutely destroys your guts. You see stars.
“Was..was I good princess?” he always asks, making sure he made you feel good
“Harry I can only see stars” you said, out of breath, nails still in his back.
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gabessquishytum · 16 days
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Really truly love wallflower dream having just a giant cock. Also this is a dream who already dated calliope who definitely taught him how to use it.
But he’s so awkward and withdrawn that hob gets the idea that dream is a virgin.
And hob, his coworker, is really very interested in him.
Hob always flirts with dream. He sits on Dream’s desk so that his skirt rids up and Dream can see where his stockings clip into his garters. He brings Dream coffee “just because” and is very gentle and sweet, assuming that Dream needs to be wooed.
So at a work event when hob finally makes a move, he expects dream to be timid. Instead, dream puts down his drink, lays a hand on the small of hob’s back and guides him out.
At Dream’s place, before hob can even start to tell Dream they can take it slow, dream has him pinned to the wall and is somehow working hob’s underwear off without removing his skirt or heels. From the very intense rimming hob gets to the very long rounds of intensely precise fucking, hob gets the picture very quickly that dream is no virgin.
Actually he’s going to wear hob’s arse out.
Oh he's a dark horse 👀 Hob is like, where were you hiding THAT giant monster all this time?? Dream’s dick is so big it bows down under it's own weight, even when he's rock hard. Hob has to reevaluate every assumption he's ever made. Because not only is it massive, Dream absolutely knows how to use it properly. Hob has been with plenty of men with big dicks and has often found them to be worse bed-partners because they simply presume that being big is enough and they don't need to work hard. But Dream is not like that.
He stretches Hob wide enough to get a whole hand inside, and it doesn't even hurt for a moment. Hob is so relaxed and pliant, and Dream is so generous with the lube. Not to mention, he makes Hob cum twice by absolutely assaulting his prostate with his long thin fingers. That's before he puts his cock anywhere near Hob’s hole. When he does fuck him for real, its like Hob can feel it all the way up to his chest. He's so full and so high on pleasure and so fucking content, he knows that he's never letting this incredible man walk away.
Afterwards Dream is blushing and apologising as he cleans Hob up (his cum-shot was very enthusiastic, and Hob got thoroughly splattered). He's back to the shy sweetheart that Hob knows and loves. Hob can't help but laugh and kiss him - again and again and again. Tomorrow he'll happily limp into work and stake his claim on Dream in front of everyone, but right now, all he wants is to show Dream that he's perfect. Just the way he is.
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brinabees · 8 months
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Wild and Eager
4.7k of dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader. 18+
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Summary: You’ve had a thing for your dad’s smuggling partner for years, despite (or maybe because of) his fearsome reputation. A deal gone wrong strands Joel at your apartment after curfew. Will this finally give you a chance to push the boundaries with your dad’s closest friend?
Set pre-show/game in the Boston QZ, Tess doesn’t exist, sorry Tess I love you. 
Content: 18+, unsafe sex, too many pet names, age difference
Notes: This is my first real go at fanfic, so be gentle with me! I also can’t be arsed to proofread, so sorry if there’s any mistakes.
Fucked. That’s what you were. Totally, irredeemably fucked. Why? Well, it’s all because of Joel Miller. Your dad’s favorite “business associate” (read: smuggling partner) and the most devastatingly sexy guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. He and your dad have similarly unsavory pasts, so when Joel first arrived at the Boston QZ he fit right in with him and his smuggler buddies. Most of the other guys your dad works with always give you the creeps, but not Joel, with his unruly, dark curls and surprisingly soft, brown eyes. No, Joel did not give you the creeps, despite what little you knew of his tumultuous past. As far as you’d gathered, he’d survived as a raider, killing indiscriminately and taking whatever he needed. Your dad had tried to shelter you from the worst of his own misdeeds, but you knew the truth. Your dad and his cohort were all the same, all comfortable taking any life that got in their way. 
That’s why you typically kept your distance from anyone who worked with your dad, a distance your father was only too happy to enforce, always wanting to protect you. But, as soon as Joel came into the picture, you couldn’t help yourself. Suddenly, you’d linger outside closed doors when they were having important “business meetings,” hoping to catch the sound of Joel’s deep voice. He seemed to be a man of few words, but when he did speak, no one else dared interrupt or challenge him. You lived for those moments, when the whole room went quiet and you could take in the sound of him. When your dad and his buddies would hang out in the kitchen afterwards, drinking home-brewed beer and sharing stories of past triumphs, you found reasons to join them. Of course, your dad never liked you hanging around these men, and usually he ushered you out as soon as you’d gotten the glass of water you didn’t really need or the canned food you weren’t actually hungry for.
And so it went. Anytime Joel was over at your shitty QZ apartment, your world suddenly revolved around him. Catching glimpses of him, listening to him talk, finding any reason you could to be near him just for a little while. As far as you could tell, your infatuation wasn’t returned. Joel rarely spoke directly to you or even acknowledged your existence. Whenever you tried to catch his eye, he always found something else to look at. You figured he probably didn’t think twice about his partner’s young, sheltered daughter. 
So there you were. Totally infatuated and totally fucked. 
All that changed one night, when your dad and Joel burst into the apartment mere minutes before curfew. They both looked like they’d been through some serious shit, their clothes torn and their skin bruised. 
“What the hell happened to you two?” you asked.
“Deal went bad, don’t worry about it honey.” Your dad’s shutdown was as swift and final as always, and you knew you wouldn’t get anymore details from him about what really went down.
Your dad turned to Joel and clapped him on the back, thanking him for presumably saving his ass.
“Joel, it’s past curfew and with our luck today, I think trying to sneak past FEDRA maybe isn’t the smartest move. You can crash on our couch tonight,” your dad offered.
It was like a dream come true! Joel fucking Miller, in your apartment for a whole night. You felt giddy.
Your dad and Joel took turns cleaning themselves up in your single, cramped bathroom, before you all sat down to eat. Rations distribution hadn’t been kind that week, so all you had were a can each of baked beans and sliced peaches. Hardly a culinary match made in heaven, but it was all you had. The three of you ate in silence, all too preoccupied to hold a conversation. The two of them were likely thinking of their deal gone wrong, but you had other things on your mind. Well, other thing. All you could think of was Joel. How close he was sitting next to you at the small, round kitchen table, his knees nearly bumping yours. How he commanded the room with his presence even while not saying a thing. How he was covered in bruises and had a small cut on his left cheek, wounds you wanted so desperately to soothe. How he smelled, like leather and sweat and smoke. You wanted to bottle that smell and spray it on your pillow every night.
After you all finished eating, your father announced he was turning in early after his rough day and went to his bedroom. That left you and Joel alone. You’d never been alone with him before, and it practically made you gasp. You stood awkwardly from your seat at the table and then, feeling bold, brushed your hand over Joel’s shoulders as you passed him. A quick touch, easily dismissed as accidental, and yet, Joel’s hand immediately shot up and grabbed you roughly by the wrist. For a second, you both just stared at each other, the most eye contact you two had ever made. You felt a throbbing between your legs, induced purely by this one act. 
But, then Joel moved your hand off his shoulder and dropped it at your side. The loss of contact made you want to cry. You’d been too forward, touching him without preamble or permission, and now you’d gone and made it awkward for the both of you. You practically ran out of the kitchen to your room, where you grabbed an extra pillow and a spare blanket for Joel to use. 
“Here, you can use these, hopefully the couch isn’t too uncomfortable for you,” you said as you laid everything out on the couch. He grunted in what you assumed was thanks, and you turned around and went back to your room to get ready for bed. You didn’t know what was going on with you tonight, but even after the complete failure of the shoulder graze, you still felt driven to take advantage of this rare time alone with Joel. So, rather than dressing in your usual, frumpy flannel pajamas, you put on a baggy t-shirt and your sexiest pair of underwear. They were just plain black, but sexy was a relative term when you’re trying to find underwear in the apocalypse. You took a check look in the mirror, noting how the shirt was just a little bit too short to cover your whole ass cheeks. Perfect. 
You left your room and headed to the bathroom to brush your teeth, making sure to saunter right past where Joel was now sitting quietly on the couch. After you were finished, you asked him if he needed anything else before you went to bed.
For a long time he didn’t say a word, and you were about to turn on your heel and go right to bed, accepting that your meager attempt at seduction hadn’t done the job, when he finally spoke.
“I can’t have what I really need.”
Well, that stopped you in your tracks. What the hell did that mean? When he didn’t say anything more, you gathered your courage and asked, “and what is it that you really need?”
Joel stood, took one glance at your dad’s closed bedroom door, and walked over to you, stalking like a big cat hunting its prey. He crowded your space and then some, forcing you to step back until you felt your back hit the wall. You’d never been this close to him. His scent nearly overwhelmed you, and your breaths were coming in quick, sharp gasps. 
“What do I need? I need for my partner’s daughter to stop staring at me all the time.” Your heart fell. “I need her to stop trying to touch me. I need her to stop walking around in nothing but her panties like a slut.” At that, you gasped. 
“But most of all, I need this girl, but I can’t have her” he said, stepping closer, so close that your chest was touching his. Your heart stopped. Surely he wasn’t really saying he needed you, that was ridiculous. But the hard press of his erection against your lower stomach told a different story. 
You stayed that way for a while, chests rising and falling as you both breathed each other in. Finally you gathered enough courage to respond, “why can’t you have her? She’s right here for the taking.” He released a rough groan. 
“You know why baby girl. Can’t be messing around with my partner’s innocent little daughter.”
“One second I’m a slut, now I’m innocent, make up your mind.”
“You’re an innocent, acting like a slut to try and get what you want.”
“What we both want,” you argued. 
“Your dad would kill me. Rip my guts out and string them up as decoration.”
“So, you’re scared?” At that he growled. Good, you were getting him riled up, just like you wanted.
“Baby, I’m not scared of anyone, including your old man. I just can’t go messing up my business for a quick lay.” 
“Oh, so it’d be quick? How disappointing.” Another growl left his lips. He raised his arms, putting his hands on the wall on either side of your trembling body. 
“You better stop teasing me little girl”
“Or what, you’ll punish me?” This was going better than you could have dreamed. 
And then he slapped you. Right across the cheek, which now burned in his wake. As you recovered from the shock of it, you noticed Joel staring at your father’s door, as if he could will him to sleep through the noise. When no light turned on, no door opened, you could see him breathe a sigh of relief before turning his gaze back to you.
“See what you made me do? Almost made me wake your dad and have him catch us like this. Doubt I’d get a word out before he ripped me off you.” You didn’t disagree, your dad was exactly that protective. 
“Go to bed, baby girl,” he said, almost softly. But you shook your head at him.
“What about what I need?” You’re all I can think about some days, Joel.” You figured it was time to lay it all on the line. “I ache for you. Want you so bad it drives me crazy.”
He groaned audibly, before tipping his head down and resting his forehead against yours.
“You’re really that obsessed with me, huh?” His tone is bordering on mocking. But you had no more shame, nodding your head in affirmation immediately. “Bet you’re up late every night, stuffing those pretty little fingers into your cunt, wishing they were mine. Wishing they were my cock.” You nodded again, blushing.
“Want you so bad, ever since the first time I saw you,” you said breathily. You could see him raise his brows. You were barely 18 when he first came to the QZ.
“Naughty little girl, lusting after your dad’s friend for so long. Tell me, sweet thing, are you a virgin? Have you been saving yourself for this dick?”
You hadn’t. You’d had a one night stand with a childhood friend from just before the outbreak, who you happened to cross paths with after the world had already ended and you’d both grown into curious teens. You both seized the rare chance at some intimacy in this messed up world. But, would Joel be mad?
“No... I did it once, with a friend. I’m sorry Joel.” Your words were almost whispered, treading lightly with this beast of a man.
But his face softened a little at the sound of his name on your lips, and Joel brought his hand to your cheek almost gently. 
“No, pretty girl, don’t apologize. I’m not mad. Just means I gotta work a little harder to make sure you forget him,” he said with a smirk. You thought it wouldn’t actually take very much work for you to forget your single stumbling night in the dark... Not when Joel was like this, so hungry, so possessive. It made your core ache with need to see him so unleashed. He hadn’t even kissed you yet and he already had you panting with his words alone. “I like it when you say my name,” he whispered directly into your ear. His intentions of restraint were nearly forgotten in the depths of his need for you. 
“Joel. Can you kiss me already?” 
“I make the demands here, not you, baby girl. Don’t make me punish you, we can’t afford to wake your dad now, can we?” he said, throwing a glance at the still closed bedroom door. You nodded your head no. “Gotta have some privacy to do that,” he said with a wicked grin. You dearly hoped he’d let you find out what kind of punishment he had in mind for you. As much as you wanted to push his buttons, this really wasn’t the time for that kind of fun, so you resolved to let him lead. 
“I’m sorry Joel. I’ve just spent so long waiting for this.”
“I know, I know.” His hands landed on your hips and skimmed their way up your sides. You shivered at the gentle touch from such a rough man. His hands fell back to your hips and suddenly he was gripping you tightly, so tight you thought you might find bruises the next day. It was only a fraction of his true strength, you knew, and the thought of that made you so wet. Between his dirty words and his captivating hands, you knew you had likely soaked your underwear. 
And then, finally, finally, he was kissing you. His lips came down on yours with a bruising intensity, as he brought one hand up to cup the back of your neck. You released a moan at finally getting what you wanted, no, needed, so badly. Joel fucking Miller was kissing you. And he was kissing you well, slipping his tongue between your lips and tangling it with yours. You felt emboldened enough to slip your hands around his waist, sliding one down to grab at his ass. He grunted in surprised approval. 
Suddenly, he pulled his lips from yours and grabbed you by the shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. He sat down and gestured for you to climb into his lap, and like a good girl you proceeded to straddle him. You could feel his hardness pressed right against your core and you were dying for more. No one had ever made you feel like this. You ground your hips down into his, drawing moans from you both. One of Joel’s hands on your hip guides you to press even harder into him, while the other reaches up to toy with your breast. He cups his hand around it and squeezes gently, before bringing two fingers to pinch at your nipple through your shirt. You gasp in pleasure at the slight pain.
Feeling wild and eager to please, you brought your own hands down to the hem of your shirt, knocking his hands aside so you could pull it off over your head. You knew it was a stupid risk, that your dad could wake up and come outside at any moment, catching you straddling his best friend in nothing but your panties. You almost thought Joel would chastise you for taking the lead again, but he was too busy staring at the bounty of your tits revealed right in front of his face. That look alone made it worth the risk of getting caught.
He nuzzled his face between your breasts, inhaling deeply through his nose. You gazed down at him in awe, still half unbelieving that this was really happening. He turned his head from side to side, his nose and lips touching each breast in turn, a sort of gentle motorboat. He seemed to luxuriate in the scent and feel of you, finally getting to revel in this forbidden fruit. He’d noticed you right away when he first came to the QZ, the shy but mischievous daughter of his new smuggling partner. Noticed you, and promptly filed you away in his mind as “untouchable.” 
Well, he was certainly touching you now. His hands roamed across your back and then down to grip your ass, while his mouth began leaving open mouthed kisses on your sternum. 
He pulled away just long enough to say, “Lemme see how bad you need me, pretty girl,” and then his lips were at your nipple and his fingers fell to the top of your panties. Sucking and biting at your sensitive nub, he simultaneously slipped his hand into the waistband of your underwear and down to your dripping pussy. He gathered the moisture there with his fingers, before taking them out and bringing them to his mouth. He slipped two fingers into his mouth and tasted your essence, his gaze never leaving yours. 
“Fuck, you taste so damned sweet. If we had the time and the privacy, I’d lay you down and eat you out like a feast, really make ya scream.”
“Joel, please,” you begged breathlessly. “I need you so bad.”
“Aw, does my sweet baby girl need her cunt stuffed full of my dick? Is she really just a cock hungry little whore?” 
Your already inflamed cheeks flushed even redder at his words, but you nodded your head, too far gone to care about anything as silly as dignity. You had wanted this man for years and now finally you were going to fuck him. Who needs dignity when you’ve got dreams coming true right in front of you? 
“Get up, darlin’, and take off those panties for me”
You practically leaped off his lap with eagerness and immediately slipped off your panties. You dangled them loosely from one hand, putting the other on your hip as you watched Joel take his time. He leisurely unbuckled his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, slipping them down low just low enough to allow him to free himself from his briefs. Your mouth hangs open at the sight of him, long and impressively thick, with a pronounced head even wider than the shaft, a slick of precum already trickling out. You were by no means an expert, but you pretty much thought Joel Miller’s dick was fucking perfect. You were so busy staring, you barely noticed when Joel reached forward and snatched your panties right out of your hand, before bringing them up to his nose and inhaling deeply. He groaned at the scent of you and then dropped your panties to the couch in favor of grabbing you by the hips and bringing you back down to straddle him, skin to skin. 
You could feel the hard length of him nestled right against your pussy, lightly nudging your clit in a way that made you want to fall apart for him already. You rose up to allow him access to your entrance, but Joel quickly pulled you back down, muttering, “Not yet, baby girl, gotta get you ready for me first.”
“I’m ready now, Joel, please,” you whined. But he just gave you a dismissing look and directed your hips back far enough to give him access to your dripping cunt. Without preamble he inserted one finger deep inside you, making you moan. “More, I need more Joel.” Not one to disappoint, he added another finger, pumping both in and out of you at a steady pace, curling them towards your g-spot. Your head fell to his shoulder as you writhed in pleasure, and Joel’s lips found your neck, suckling lightly. “No marks, Joel, my dad’ll see,” you managed to get out while his fingers continued driving you towards oblivion. 
“Gotta mark what’s mine, baby. But fine, I’ll just have to mark you somewhere a little more private.” With that, his lips made their way to the underside of one of your breasts, sucking harder and nibbling lightly with his teeth. “I’m the only one who gets to see you here, got it? You’re mine now.” You nodded fervently, tipping your head back to look him in the eye once more. “My best friend’s daughter, all mine, practically begging for my cock.”
“Give it to me Joel, I’m ready, I need it.” His fingers pumped more furiously in and out of you.
“Fuck, baby, is that right? You ready for me?”
“Yes, yes, god, please!” you begged, louder than you should have given your dad was sleeping only a door away. 
Suddenly he was wrapping his arms around you and flipping you over, crushing you into the couch cushions with the weight of his body. Then he sat back, admiration in his eyes as he gazed down at you. He fisted his dick with one hand and began to rub the head up and down your wet slit. Everytime he grazed your clit, your entire body seemed to jolt with pleasure. 
“Joel, I swear to god if you don’t put it in right now I’m going to tell dad you were fucking with his little girl.” You’d had enough of his teasing.
“What did I say about giving me orders? Naughty little thing, I really will have to punish you next time.”
“Next time? How’s about you get the first time going before you start worrying about that,” you let out with a giggle. 
“Fine, little minx, I’ll give you what you need so badly.” And then he was notching himself at your entrance before pushing in completely in a single, rough thrust. You felt so utterly full. 
“Fuck, Joel, your cock is so good...” You were babbling nearly incoherently by then. When he began thrusting in long, deep strokes, you could feel the head of his cock drag across the most delicious spot inside of you, over and over. You could feel yourself building towards climax already. 
“Tell me, did that boy make you come?” Joel asked as if he already knew the answer.
“No, no, I’ll only come for you Joel, it’s always been you.”
Joel picked up the pace, slamming into you rough and fast with every thrust of his hips. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room, all worries about waking your sleeping father forgotten. Still inside you, Joel sat back on his knees and reached his hands around to cup your ass, lifting it into the air so he could piston his hips into yours even faster. 
“This ass is all mine, pretty girl,” he said as he kneaded your cheeks with his hands. “Wanna see my girl come for me, but only when I say so.” He took one hand off your ass in favor of stroking his fingers across your clit, rubbing little circles. You could feel your peak approaching, but held yourself back from falling over the edge. You wanted to be good for him.
“Joel, please, I’m so close.” Your words came out in a soft whimper.
“Alright baby girl, come all over this cock.” His words were all you needed, and suddenly you were freefalling into an ocean of pure pleasure. This put any climax you’d ever given yourself to shame. Joel just kept fucking you through it, still stroking your clit as you fell apart around him. 
You came back to yourself slowly while Joel continued to hold you up and fuck you like a rag doll. You could tell he was no longer concerned with your pleasure, fucking you just like he wanted regardless of your oversensitized pussy. It turned you on, to see him so lost to his own desires; a predator gone feral. 
“Come inside me, please Joel I need you to fill me up.” You weren’t quite sure where that reckless desire came from. You knew you’d regret it in the morning, but at that moment you were too lost to pleasure to care. 
“Fuck, filthy girl, you know I shouldn’t.” But you couldn’t stop begging for it, desperate to feel the hot rush of his seed spilling inside you. “Just this once, wild girl,” he grunted out. He couldn’t deny the thought of coming deep inside you turned him on to no end. 
His thrusts began to lose their consistent rhythm, though they remained rough and deep. With a last guttural moan, he thrust in once, twice, three more times and then you could feel the warm rush of his cum inside of you. It felt so right, even though it was a stupid risk, even though it was your dad’s off-limits friend. 
Joel shuddered one last time before letting go of you, your ass hitting the couch as his softening cock slipped out of you. He gazed down at your used pussy, a devilish grin crossing his face as he watched a trickle of his cum leak out of you. Not wanting any to go to waste, you brought your hand down to your cunt and swiped through the mess you found there. After scooping up some cum, you brought your fingers up to your mouth and licked them clean, making a show of it. 
“Fuck me, you perfect, naughty little thing,” Joel muttered almost to himself. As you both came down from the high of your lovemaking, you remembered where you were and both glanced in panic at your dad’s bedroom door. Thankfully, there were no signs of his waking, and you silently thanked the universe that he was such a heavy sleeper. Joel tucked his cock back into his briefs, pulling his jeans back up around his hips.
As you both sat side by side on the couch, Joel rested his head in his hands and whispered, “Fuck, we should not have done that.” That had your head snapping up instantly. He regretted the best sexual experience of your life?
“What happened to there being a next time?” you said timidly, trying to hold in your emotions which would surely only scare him away. But you felt like he was ripping your heart out of your chest. 
“That was just dirty talk, darlin’, you’ve gotta forget about this. This, us, can’t happen again.”
“Why not?” You could hear the desperation creeping into your voice but were powerless to hold it in. 
“You know why baby girl, can’t go fucking my partner’s innocent little daughter, let alone knocking her up.” You knew you were stupid for thinking it, but you’d really hoped he might see you as something more than just his friend’s daughter. But there it was. All you were to him was a quick forbidden fuck, never to be revisited. 
“Fine,” you said, glancing down at your still naked body. Suddenly you were cold, the Boston chill seeping back into your bones. You picked your shirt up off the floor and tugged it over your head before standing and searching the couch for your panties. “Where the fuck did my underwear go? The least you can do is help me look for them. If dad finds them he’ll have some fucking questions.” But Joel just shrugged his shoulders, glancing around half-heartedly.
You knew you were about 5 seconds from breaking down and you didn’t want him to see you cry, so you gave up looking for your underwear and stormed off to your bedroom, shutting the door and climbing into bed. As hot tears began to flow from your eyes, you realized you could still feel his cum dripping out of you.
______________________________________________________________
Back in the living room, Joel still sat on the couch, thinking about what the fuck he’s just done. He fucked his best friend’s little girl. Fucked her hard. Came inside of her. And fucking loved every forbidden second of it. Jesus christ he was so fucked. Despite his harsh dismissal of you, his own resolve was crumbling as fast as it had when he’d seen you in nothing but that shirt and those panties. Those panties that he now slipped out of his pocket and brought to his nose once more, inhaling your musk. 
Yeah, he was fucked. 
204 notes · View notes
blubushie · 27 days
Note
What are the things you Like and Dislike about Sniper? (Valve's Sniper and the fans' interpretation of Sniper)
I've got no issue with canon Sniper and love canon Sniper. I'm so sorry anon, you've woken the dog. Ignore me as I proceed to bark angrily for the next half-hour, because I have many issues with fanon Sniper.
But first I'll start with what I like about fanon Sniper. I love how everyone has their own little twist to him, even if most I don't agree with. I love how I can see how authors and artists have interacted with people and the scope of experiences they've heard about off how they write Sniper. I like that I can make judgements on people off how they treat his character (not in a "they make bad things happen to him" kinda way, but in a "how does this person handle Sniper's being adopted" kinda way). I like that I can use Sniper as a looking glass into the author/artist. I'm sure this applies to other characters too, but looking through Sniper just comes easier to me because I suppose I can put myself in his shoes? Iunno.
Now that that's over with, please allow your actual resident bushman and professional sniper to get on his soapbox, thank you.
List of shit I hate about fanon Sniper:
Fandom constantly referring to him as a Kiwi, completely ignoring his entire character arc in the comics where he realises that he is in fact Australian and that the two people who raised him all his life are in fact his "real" parents. The fandom needs to re-assess how they view adoptees/migrants and their relationship to their adopted culture, especially when they show no interest in assimilating into their birth culture and have no knowledge/experience of it. This is such an issue to me that I, someone who emigrated to Australia when I was two years old and grew up Australian despite being born in another country, will just outright block people who call Sniper a Kiwi cuz I already know how you're going to see and view me before we even get to talking.
I don't like how half the fandom twinkifies him. There I said it. On the other hand, I don't like the other half of the fandom often makes him very muscular. Do you not know what lean muscle looks like?
I don't like how the fandom calls him "stinky" or says he's unhygienic. None of the fandom understands how well animals can smell and how much of a successful hunt depends on animals not being able to smell you. You know what makes animals flee fastest? The smell of smoke and the smell of human body odour. If you're upwind of your target they are going to smell you and flee. Sniper, professional hunter for yonks, would not fucken stink considering it'd make him a completely useless hunter. He'd shower daily, wear scent cover (NOT deodorant--Sniper would not smell good, he just would not have a scent at all). Also none of the fandom understands how important hygiene is in the bush. Sniper is not walking around covered in dirt and such. He would be very clean and practise good hygiene because if you don't stay clean you end up smelly (ruining his chances of a successful hunt) and/or end up sick--especially with skin problems.
I don't like how the fandom has generally accepted out-of-characters traits as canon. For example, Sniper being "shy". Reclusive DOES NOT EQUAL SHY. He's a fucken assassin, does the fandom not understand how that works? Shy people do not get hired. No one is going to hire a hitman who's quaking in his boots because a client looked at him a little too long or applied a little too much social pressure. Sniper would be more than capable of blending into his surroundings when needed, such as a crowd, if it means making his hit or getting where he needs to go to make said hit. Sniper would be capable of lying to cover his arse on the spot and making it believable. Sniper would be able to manage being flirted with in public and play it off cooly--though privately is a different matter, so go wild with that all you like. There is a major difference between someone not caring for the company of other people and someone who gets shy or nervous around them. Professionals have standards, and Sniper would keep his shit together for the sake of getting his mark.
He wouldn't smoke cannabis. Whether it's because he just doesn't care for the high, whether it's because it doesn't do much for him, whether it's because THC in particular makes him anxious (you know that man is paranoid, all hitmen are)--the bottom line is that the smoke of cannabis clings to your clothes like nothing else, it takes forever to get the smell out, and yeah sure you can mask it with other smells but the issue is that Sniper, as a hunter, cannot be smelt by anything he's hunting. And you know what scent cover DOESN'T conceal? Cannabis. (Sauce: I have tried.) I could defo see him doing edibles though. But why do you think he's doing shrooms, ay? Because shrooms don't leave a smell.
None of the fandom knows how sniping actually works. Just. At all. I've seen horrendous fucking takes. He is not "feeling it." He is not cracking off a shot at 1200yd a second after taking aim. That's not how this works, that's not how any of this works. DO ANY OF YOU KNOW WHAT ELEVATION OR WINDAGE IS?
Sniper would not be bothered by the cold. A camper has SO LITTLE INSULATION (I live in one!!) and the outback gets BELOW FREEZING AT NIGHT IN WINTER. Sniper would be well-adjusted to handling extreme temperatures at BOTH ENDS of the temperature range. He might be a little more susceptible to cold because he's experienced less of it, but he would not be shivering at fucking 15c/60f. It's also fucken cold during the day in winter because it's the outback and there's no trees to trap the heat in. Temperatures fluctuate wildly, and bushmen need to be highly adaptable or you die.
Not Sniper-specific but the fandom also doesn't understand jack shit about weapons. You clean them after you use them. That's not a clip, it's a MAGAZINE--yes there is a difference. YOU ARE NOT PUTTING A DIRTY SWORD INTO ITS SCABBARD. That's not how revolvers work. No, that either. That's a double-action, you don't have to cock the hammer to fire it. That's a single-action, you do need to cock the hammer to fire it. Bolt-action rifles don't have hammers. You don't rack a bolt, you cycle it, you rack a slide on a semiautomatic pistol or a pump-action shotgun. I'm hitting you with my old man bitching cane.
Continuing from the above point: people who draw Sniper with his finger on the trigger of his rifle/any firearm when he should not have finger on the trigger of a firearm. YOU ONLY PUT YOUR FINGER ON THE TRIGGER WHEN YOU ARE READY TO SHOOT. TRIGGER DISCIPLINE, PEOPLE. IT SAVES LIVES.
Most of the fandom has no idea what the fuck they're talking about or doing with this bloke (or his job, or lifestyle, or where he comes from) and it shows. There, I said it.
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beatnikfreakiswriting · 9 months
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been writing a bit of my retired!Dream story today...
Dream is ravenous, he realises, as he stands to inspect the biscuits Hob has brought back. 
“Hey, put your eyes back in your head,” Hob says, holding the box out of his reach. “Go sit at the table. I’ll make tea, and we can have biscuits too.” 
Dream obeys, sitting down at the table and trying not to stare at Hob while he moves aimlessly about the kitchen. Pottering, that is what Hob has called it. Humanity seems to involve a lot of pointless activity around and about one’s actual purpose. 
“I like it,” Hob says, still in his striped pyjamas. “Takes me a while to wake up in the morning, so it’s nice to put the coffee on, read the news, poke about ’til I’m ready for the day. Do Wordle. Stare into the fridge without knowing what I actually want to eat. Check Twitter, see Elon’s being a pillock again, close Twitter. Pretend to tend the window boxes.”
“I do not understand,” Dream says, hearing that confused tone he seems to use far too often now. “Would it not be better to simply do the things you need to do before your day needs to begin?”
“Pretty joyless take,” Hob says, and for a second Dream is affronted. But Hob is giving him that cheeky grin he first saw in June 1389, and it is very hard to remain insulted. “D’you never ditz about in your castle?” 
Now he is affronted. “I have never been described as ‘ditzing’ anywhere.” 
“Terribly sorry,” Hob says, in a tone of voice that does nothing to convey this sentiment. “Well, for us lowly humans, there’s joy to be taken in just living. Not rushing from A to B, but seeing what happens if you just potter about A for a bit, maybe seeing what C’s like.” 
“And this… is something I ought to do, as a human?” 
Hob is giving him a strange look. Perhaps one would call it wistful. “I know lots of humans who haven’t learned the lesson, to be honest with you. Not usually the happier ones, though.”
“Still getting used to hunger, right?” Hob asks, with enough of a balance between amusement and kindness that Dream does not feel himself bristle. “Tough one.” He slides a small, willow-patterned plate of biscuits across to Dream, who knows, somewhere, that he ought not to inhale them at the speed he currently desires. Hob doesn’t seem to care, though, tugging his own small plate to himself, and biting into one of the biscuits, a shower of icing raining down on the china. “Aw, fuck yeah, I love these biscuits,” he says, contentedly, through a mouthful of shortbread. “One of my favourite things about coming up here.” 
Dream eats another biscuit. They are buttery and short, crumbling in his mouth, with a fragrance from the lemon and lavender that is very appealing. The icing is crunchy, and sweet, yet still floral. Dream likes these biscuits. 
“I’d tell you you’ll ruin your dinner,” Hob says, easily, “but I’m guessing you’re still absolutely starving, aren’t you?” 
Dream feels his cheeks colour. “I am afraid so.” 
Hob clicks his tongue sympathetically. “No need to feel bad about it. You’ll get used to it sooner or later.”
“Has this been your life, Hob? A constant wave sweeping you away from what you had known, forcing you to learn anew?” 
“Yes, and no,” Hob says, consideringly. He licks his finger, pressing it into the shards of icing littering his plate, and licking it clean. “Sorry, awful habit. Once a peasant, always a peasant,” he says, smiling guiltily. Dream has no concept of whether or not this is poor etiquette. “Well, there’s an example for you. At heart I think I’m still the same man I was in 1389: I still love a good drink, a laugh with mates, a decent fuck. Still resolutely distrustful of the monarchy. Still can’t bloody stand mushrooms.” He takes a sip of his tea. “And sometimes, especially if I’ve had one too many, if I wake up to the sunlight there’s a bit of me that thinks I’ve fallen asleep in the orchard and my Da’s going to skelp my arse for not bringing the sheep in.” Dream allows himself a laugh. Hob is easy to be around. “But honestly, it’s easy enough. I guess it helps that I’ve always had a fascination for change. Actively thrown myself at it enough times!” 
Dream smiles. He has seen Hob throw himself at all kind of changes over the past six centuries. It is one of the things he has always admired about Hob, he realises. He has never been good at change, himself.
“So I don’t find myself missing, I dunno, riding horses everywhere. I adapted pretty fucking quick to the automobile — had a Ford Model T as soon as I could get one in Britain — and honestly, I loved it when computers started popping up everywhere. Technology got fun really quickly on that front. I was gonna show you my ridiculous mobile in 1989, though I doubt you’d have cared.” 
Dream makes a noise that could be interpreted in many ways, finishing his biscuit. Hob knows, somehow, that it’s disparaging, and cheerily raises two fingers to him. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve learned now what does and doesn’t impress you, mate.”
Dream has found he likes Hob calling him this. It is easy to be Hob Gadling’s mate. 
“It’s a funny one, though,” Hob says, breaking his last biscuit in two and giving Dream the other half. “I don’t subscribe to the ‘modernity is awful’ mindset, because, frankly, I can’t fuckin’ count the ways that things are better than they were even fifty years ago. Christ, not having little kids die of preventable diseases before they’re weaned? People able to marry whoever they love?” Hob shakes his head, with the experience of a man who has lived at the side of uncountable horrors and tragedies. “And honestly, I got used to it pretty quickly when I could walk down the road holding another bloke’s hand, quicker than you’d think. But as much as I’m used to how things are now, I do find myself missing how little things were.” 
“Like the stars.”
Hob gives him a warm smile. “Yeah. Being able to walk half an hour out of town and just being in the countryside with no one about you but the birds. God, I miss the forests. So few of ‘em left, now. There's a special kinda quiet you only get in a proper deep forest. Flew all the way to Japan in the 80s to get a taste of — what’s it called… shinrin-yoku.” He sighs, remembering. “Fuckin’ blissful, I tell you.” 
“So, it’s not like I’m getting swept away: I learn, and I learn pretty fast. I think that’s humans, honestly. One of the reasons I can’t fuckin’ stand people saying ‘oh, they’re old, they can’t help being racist’, or whatever — I’m fuckin’ six hundred and seventy-two, and I managed to get my head around trans rights pretty easily…” Dream has noticed that when Hob talks to him like this his accent shifts, just slightly. Not into the broad, peasant’s accent with which he’d first heard Hob speak, but something just a little more like it, some of the vowels slightly altered, the phonemes at the end of certain words cut short. It is… flattering, that Hob is so relaxed around him. 
“Anyway. I’m not getting swept away. I get used to things pretty easily. But I do still miss stuff, even if I’m not expecting it to be around any more.” 
Dream nods. “This is. Comforting.” 
Hob smiles at him. “You’ll get used to things. I promise.” 
For some reason, Dream finds it easy to believe him.
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drinkcrywrite · 2 years
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DERRY GIRLS APPRECIATION WEEK
↳Day 3/7: Favourite Season: Season One
ID under cut
[image description: 6 large gifs from Derry girls each made of 8 smaller gifs. Each large gif is from one episode of season one of Derry Girls. Gif 1: 8 gifs from episode one of Derry Girls. All the gifs are coloured red.  1: A gif panning back showing the "You Are Now Entering Free Derry" sign.  2: A gif of a soldier entering the schoolbus holding a gun.  3: A gif of Erin speaking furiously. Caption reads, "I am going to ram that so far up your arse!"  4: A gif of Ma Mary looking stern. Caption reads, "Gerry, pass me the wooden spoon."  5: A gif of Orla speaking to Erin off-screen. Caption reads, "Sure, what a pair of knickers between cousins?"  6: A gif of the five kids in Sister Michael's office looking upset. Red uppercase writing with a white outline over the middle of the gif reads, "PILOT".  7: A gif of Michelle giving the middle finger. Caption reads, "Ach, Jenny, mull this over!"  8: A gif of the kids in detention, turning to look angrily at James who continues to pee into a trashcan. Gif 2: 8 gifs from episode 2 of Derry Girls. All the gifs are coloured orange.  1: A gif of the notice board that Michelle stole.  2: A gif of Michelle holding a platter of flaming shot glasses. Caption reads, "Sláinte, motherfuckers!"  3: A gif of Clare talking to Erin off-screen. Caption reads, "No, according to my ma, we're actually quite poor."  4: A gif of Aunt Sarah and Uncle Colm on the television, giving an interview about his home invasion.  5: A gif of Orla wearing yellow gloves, getting ready to clean. Caption reads, "It's worse than slave labour. We're not even getting paid."  6: A gif of the kids walking confidently down the street. Orange uppercase writing with a white outline over the middle of the gif reads, "THE CHIP SHOP".  7: A gif of Erin, Clare, and Michelle throwing alcohol on the fire to try and put it out.  8: A gif of Erin looking upset. Caption reads, "It's still sticky. How is it still sticky?" Gif 3: 8 gifs from episode 3 of Derry Girls. All the gifs are coloured yellow.  1: A gif of Gerry looking bewildered. Caption reads, "I think he's saying he wants to dig up the wee dead dog's grave."  2: A gif of the newspaper who's headline reads, "Wicked Hoax".  3: A gif of Orla looking side to side with her hands clasped in prayer.  4: A gif of Michelle putting her hand to her mouth to faux discreetly speak. Caption reads, "I remember that James was being a dick."  5: A gif of the statue crying.  6: A gif of the kids posing for pictures for the newspaper. Yellow uppercase writing with a white outline over the middle of the gif reads, "THE MIRACLE".  7: A close up of Clare looking distraught. Caption reads, "What's become of us?"  8: A gif of Erin and Ma Mary arguing in the hallway. Caption reads, "I can , and I will." Gif 4: 8 gifs from episode 4 of Derry Girls. All the gifs are coloured green.  1: A gif of the sign in church that says "We Welcome The Children Of Chernobyl".  2: A gif of Clive on his knees speaking emphatically to Clare. Caption reads, "Whatever you do, don't slag off the Pope.  3: A gif of Erin responding condescendinly to Katya.  4: A gif of Sister Michael speaking to the congregation. Caption reads, "Or some sort of wok at the very least."  5: A gif of Orla speaking to the others off-screen. Caption reads, "And I really like the fact she glows in the dark."  6: A gif of the kids entering Erin's bedroom. Green uppercase writing with a white outline over the middle of the gif reads, "THE UKRANIAN".  7: A gif of Aunt Sarah and Gerry in church as Sarah takes change from the collection plate. Caption reads, "I'm gonna give them a whole fiver? That's definitely happening."  8: A gif of Michelle with one hand making a circle and the other suggestively sticking her finger in and out of it before Erin knocks her hands down. Gif 5: 8 gifs from episode 5 of Derry Girls. All the gifs are coloured blue.  1: A gif of Erin speaking angrily to Orla off-screen. Caption reads, "Or, you know, acknowledge our right to exist."  2: A gif of the family sitting at a diner booth. Erin dramatically slides under the table.  3: A gif of Gerry in the car looking skywards. Caption reads, "False alarm there, St. Anthony. Sorry for disturbing you."  4: A gif of Mary speaking to Diedre off-screen. Caption reads, "I mean, if anything, the gay thing sort of cancels out the English thing."  5: A gif of James angrily yelling. Caption reads, "Because sometimes I feel like I've gone through the fucking looking glass!"  6: A gif of the kids standing on the side of the road. Blue uppercase writing with a white outline over the middle of the gif reads, "THE TRIP".  7: A gif of the stowaway leaping into the open trunk of a car as it drives away.  8: A gif of Gerry seeing the rifles spray-painted on the bathroom wall. Gif 6: 8 gifs from episode 6 of Derry Girls. All the gifs are coloured purple.  1: A gif of the kids handing out the school newspaper by the bus.  2: A gif of Michelle speaking on the school stairs as she tried to convince everyone she's the lesbian.  3: A gif of Orla speaking the the family in the kitchen. Caption reads, "I just don't understand what they eat?"  4: A gif of Sister Michael speaking to the newspaper team before turning away. Caption reads, "I know, but I'm bored now, so it looks like I probably will."  5: A gif of Erin yelling from the classroom doorway. Caption reads, "My people are shit hot. Do you hear me? Shit hot!".  6: A gif of the kids dancing onstage. Purple uppercase writing with a white outline over the middle of the gif reads, "THE TALENT SHOW"  7: A gif of Gerry and Granda Joe watching the bombing on the TV. Jow puts his hand on Derry shoulder.  8: A gif of Clare with her hand on her hip speaking angrily to Erin. Caption reads, "'Not interested in you like that.' Look at the state of you."]
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knotsnuffles · 4 months
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Prongsfoot prompt: James has a nightmare that leaves him shaken the next day, though he tries to play it off. It was actually a brain-meltingly hot sex dream involving him and Sirius (possibly with James bottoming/subbing) that James' Very Heterosexual waking mind refuses to accept as anything but a nightmare.
James "nightmare sex dream" Potter coming right up!!!
---
James wakes up sticky. Sweat and semen, pillowcase adhered to his face with his own drool. He snakes a shaking hand down to touch his cock—there’s heat still throbbing low in his gut, and he’s still half hard, tender. Merlin’s beard, he thinks, throat tight. He hasn’t come in his pants since he was twelve and only starting to have wet dreams. Worse thing that ever happens anymore is waking up hard and disgruntled and having to wank about it in order to go back to sleep.
But this….this. This was more than his usual disconnected dreams of faceless grinding or snogging pretty girls—this was vivid. Acute. Specific.
Increasingly uncomfortable as he becomes increasingly aware, James rolls over and reaches for his glasses through the drapes around his bed, putting them on so that the folds of the canopy come into stark, moonlit detail. He peers at Sirius’s bed through the crack in the curtains, chewing the inside of his cheek. His best mate is still fast asleep. He can hear his slow, deep breaths, and he tries to let them lull him back to sleep, but given the circumstances, they only make his heart pound harder.
Because his dream. His sex dream. His nightmare— it was about Sirius.
Sirius on top of him, Knocking his knees apart with the breadth of his body, shoving a burning hand down the seat of his pants to grope his arse—paw it apart. Touch him there with hungry, questing fingertips—
James shudders. His spent prick twitches, but he ignores that part, and instead focuses on the weird, shaky wave of sensation racing down his spine and coursing through his gut. An almost nausea. Disgust, he decides. He’s definitely disgusted.
In the next bed over, Sirius lets out a sigh that wheedles into a groan before rolling over heavily, the mattress squeaking under him. He does that about a half dozen times a night—whenever they share a bed James wakes up with the lurch and always rolls over to follow Sirius, finding his body in the dark, semi-conscious but magnetically drawn. Thank fuck he wasn’t sharing a bed with Sirius tonight—how would he have explained—
He shuts his eyes so tightly stars explode behind them, forcing the images out of his mind. Sirius’s slickhot tongue in his mouth, his other hand--the one not in his pants mauling James like he owned him-- making a fist in his hair. The creak of his leather jacket worn over robes rucked open, so the smattering of chest hair in the hollow between his pectorals was visible, shining with sweat—
A pillow over James's head, a harsh, punishing grit of his teeth. It was just a nightmare. It didn’t mean anything. He’d forget it in the morning.
So, James mops himself clean with his pants which he kicks to a shameful ball at the foot of the bed, and then, he forces himself back into the fold of uneasy, but at least blissfully empty, sleep.
—-
James looks haggard when they wake, and Sirius notices. He notices everything about James.
“Alright, mate?” he asks, stepping across the cold floorboards between their beds to hip check his best friend, who is in his socks and trousers and nothing else, moving with a leaden sort of stiffness, like he’s sore. Normally he’d anticipate the impact of their bodies and hop deftly away, but this time he just lets himself get hit, startled. He capsizes clumsily back into his bed. “Quit,” he snaps, raking a hand through his messy hair and casting a stormy, dark look in Sirius’s direction before wrenching himself to his feet. “Not in the mood.”
“Oh, touchy little Prongs this morning, are we?” Sirius fires back, not allowing the hurt to touch his voice, even though it blooms between his lungs all the same. It's just--James is so rarely cross with him. With the others, sure, but not with him. “What, did Wormtail’s snoring keep you up past your bedtime?”
“No,” James harrumphs, ignoring Peter’s subsequent hey! from the next bed over. “I had a bad dream, if you must know.”
Sirius frowns, dropping the act and hopping into James’s bed, legs crossed. It is very unlike James to mention a dream at all, least of all one so disturbing it actually affects him the following morning. He doesn’t buy it. “Hey,” he says quietly, low enough the other boys in the dormitories won’t hear. Maybe something happened to James's parents--they're getting up there in age, after all. “Did you get bad news? Everything alright at home?”
James doesn’t say anything for a moment, he only continues dressing mechanically, expression pinched, face pale. The suspense is unbearable—Sirius has never been the most patient person. “Oy,” he says, reaching out with a foot to kick James gently in the backside. “Prongs, what is going on with—”
James reels around so quickly he nearly topples over, eye hard and flashing and—angry. “Don’t touch me,” he says. “I’m fine, alright? I just slept rotten and now my best mate is pestering me before I've even had my morning cuppa.”
“Fine,” Sirius says, sliding from James’s mattress and holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you alone.”
He turns on his heel, and can feel James’s gaze burning into his back, boring twin holes there, right through him. He notices it--he notices everything about James.
—-
It’s one of those nightmares James just can’t shake. He keeps thinking about it, the sensations keep haunting him. The smell of Sirius’s hair and the weight of his body and the flashing white crescent moon of his laughing, kissing mouth. It doesn’t help matters that Real Sirius knows something is up and keeps shooting him too-cutting looks over breakfast and in class. Like he knows. Like he can see the filth and horror James and Dream-Sirius got up to last night.
Ignoring him doesn’t help. James is so used to being able to look Sirius in the eye or throw an arm around his neck or lean into him or consult him to gossip about whatever that the absence of such a solid cornerstone has him in an even worse mood. Yes, Sirius is right next to him as usual, but obnoxiously, James misses him. Misses talking to him every second of every day. Misses locking eyes with him two hundred times per lesson to tacitly exchange information when they can't talk.
By lunch he caves, making am impatiently defeated sound in his throat and turning abruptly to Sirius, who is trying his hardest to peel an orange in one single, unbroken strip. “I’m sorry I snapped at you this morning,” he says, letting his eyes linger on the dangerous topography of Sirius’s hands—blunt nails, a little grimy from always mucking around in engine guts. Deft pale fingers. Broad knuckles under the slide of skin. Touching an orange, not James.
Sirius looks at him for a few moments with an inscrutable twist to his mouth before it releases into an easy grin. “No harm done, mate,” he says, returning to his peeling job. “Must have been a hell of a dream.”
Hell. “Yeah,” James says, pushing some peas fruitlessly around his plate with a fork while Remus and Peter regard them from across the table with palpable expressions of relief written into their faces. Mum and dad are back together is the energy they exude, and normally this would not bother James, but today…”yeah, it was.”
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darthstitch · 1 year
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That Goddamn Fishbowl
Let's talk about Dream and that "fishbowl."
From a story and plot perspective, Dream's imprisonment starts off his story arc. This is where we first get to meet the King of Dreams, an entity imprisoned by a greedy, avaricious man who just wanted power, prestige and wealth. The comics don't even give Roderick Burgess a conveniently dead son to humanize him. He's just an asshole who wants to get one up on Aleister Crowley, a real person who was pretty well known in occult circles as "the wickedest man in the world."
I've seen some fans like to rationalize this as Desire's attempt to get the stick out of Dream's arse, knock him down a few pegs, stop him from becoming a complete monster. That the fishbowl was a "timeout" that was "good" for Dream and led to his character growth. So Desire had a point, right? Maybe Desire wasn't so bad after all.
People still continued to dream, right? Maybe Dream wasn't really needed to perform his function. Desire is the stronger of the two, after all, at the end of the Sandman series, Dream breaks. Dream as Morpheus comes to realize that in order for him to change, he should just die. The universe doesn't need Morpheus - they needed a Dream who was young, still capable of hope, a clean slate - hence, the rise of Daniel Hall as Dream - a pure, literal white knight who could lead the Dreaming better than Morpheus ever could.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA FUCK. NO.
The tragedy of Desire, to be honest, is this. Dream is the third eldest of the Endless for a reason. He is absolutely more powerful than Desire because dreams are where desires originate, where they are shaped and given form. It's not a coincidence that Destruction is fourth eldest after Dream, that just as Dream defines Reality, Destruction defines Creation, the logical next step when you're inspired to imagine and wonder. That's what Desire can't accept, because they're just as proud and as arrogant as Dream is, and ultimately, they're even more cruel and less self-aware.
If this was a bid for Dream's attention, then it's even more sad and pathetic. Dream loved Desire once and trusted them completely. And then Desire destroyed that love, affection and trust by messing around with Kilalla of the Glow and laughing in Dream's face about it. Was Kilalla a good match for Dream? Absolutely the hell not - she did not understand who Dream truly was, but she'd eagerly "traded up" when the star Sto-Oa courted her, dropping poor Dream like a hot potato. Could the relationship have developed better, given time and space to communicate? Maybe - they were still dating when all of this happened. We'll never know because Desire stomped all over that relationship and broke Dream's heart. It started off Dream's long string of disaster romances, where he could never trust and give into his desires in a healthy fashion, always afraid that his sibling was meddling and messing shit up.
The ironic thing is I can see that Alianora had to be Desire's attempt at a peace offering, but how would Dream accept that, knowing that this particular sibling just loved to fuck with his head? That he'd been manipulated and deceived before?
Dream is flawed but it's not impossible to talk to him. Death proves it when she points out how much of an asshole he had been to Nada. Death doesn't imprison Dream in a fishbowl to get him to calm his tits down and listen - instead, she literally helps him to make a friend in Hob Gadling. One mortal turned immortal - imagine that, you can actually drive home a point and make your little brother learn a lesson without emotional and physical abuse. Amazing!
There is nothing good about Dream's time in the fishbowl. The TV show only shows us the death of Jessamy - who absolutely did not deserve to die trying to save her lord - and Unity, who had spent her life in dreams and was actually raped and impregnated by Desire in a twisted plot to get Dream to spill family blood. The comics makes it clear that thousands of people died because of the sleepy sickness - little stories like the one of Ellie Marsden, Daniel Bustamonte and Stefan Wasserman. They didn't deserve this bullshit.
Ultimately, the Sandman is a tragic tale. Dream of the Endless attempts to change - to try and be a better ruler, a better friend, a better brother, lover, husband and parent. In the comics, many of his relationships and failings are repaired and fixed - Nada is freed from hell, Calliope is freed from Richard Madoc and closure is reached with her, Dream makes it to his meeting with Hob and calls him friend, Orpheus is finally set free from his living death. But it now has the sense of a person quietly closing out his affairs, having realized how terrible and unlovable and unworthy he is. That it's time to set down his crown and his powers and pass it on to someone worthy. It's a long suicide note, accomplished with the elegance and flair that Dream is known for, but it is suicide. Morpheus is dead. A wake is held for him. And his remains are set off in a Viking-style funeral - on a wooden boat set to sail straight into the heart of a star.
The last time we see Dream as Morpheus, he is with his brother Destruction, appearing one more time to Hob Gadling, in the same way dead loved ones appear to say a final farewell.
Where is Morpheus now? The text isn't clear, really. We are invited to imagine. Perhaps he is wandering between the stars and universes with his brother, free at last from function and duty. After all, there are many versions of Dream in the multiverse, and this version of Morpheus is just one of them. Perhaps he is now human, getting to grow old and creaky like the rest of us, living a mortal lifetime, ready to greet his sister when his time comes.
Maybe he's just some writer named Neil, grumpily answering inane asks in his Tumblr inbox.
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bitterkarella · 7 months
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Midnight Pals: BBC
[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children JK Rowling: today we begin our biggessssst challenge Jesse Singal: bigger than convincing our terf legion that men have a special bone that makes them good at chess? JK Rowling: no that was remarkably easssy actually
JK Rowling: today we rehabilitate graham lineham Singal: b-but mommy! Singal: graham lineham is the one terf too toxic for the BBC Rowling: isss he? Rowling: the whole point of the BBC is to launder terfsss Rowling: itsss time they ssstarted doing their job!
Rowling: maybe if we cleaned him up a little Graham Lineham: FECK ARSE [vomits] Rowling: we could try teaching him a few sssimple phrasses Rowling: enough that he could move out of my basssement
Rowling: will you not just give it a go graham [pointing at  blackboard on which is written "yes" and "I am being silenced for my views"] Lineham: y-y-y Rowling: yesss! yessss! keep going!! Lineham: [inarticulate slurs] Rowling: Rowling: better
Rowling: come on graham i know you can do it Lineham: [inarticulate slurs] Rowling: graham if you sssay the line, there will be a little treat in it for you Lineham: [inarticulate slurs]? Rowling: yesss Rowling: sssay the line Rowling: and you can sssleep in your racecar bed
Rowling: finally! now graham is ready for hissss big debut on the BBC Lineham: [inarticulate slurs] Singal: golly mommy he sounds the same! Rowling: Rowling: yeah well Rowling: they can fix it in possst
BBC Announcer: welcome to the BBC, coming up is Part 8 of Sir Nigel Hemmingwedge St. Plonkington's 12 part documentary on the St. Slurryshire cheesemonger guild, followed by Are You Being Served? and the Brexit is Going Great report BBC Announcer: but first some light revisionism
BBC Announcer: joining us is graham lineham who has some views worth considering Lineham: [vomits] FECK ARSE Lineham: [inarticulate slurs] JK Rowling: what graham meansss issss we jussst have sssome concernsss Rowling: and you BETTER consssider them
Rowling: real nice sstudio you got here, BBC Rowling: be a real shame if ssomething were to happen to it Rowling: like, sssay, you had to film another cormoran ssstrike ssseries here BBC Announcer: no no! anything but that! we'll consider your concerns! Rowling: sssee that you do
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