#Retirement Party Chapter 3

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter Three - Smoke and Whiskey

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco, cannabis), plus-sized reader, female reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me.

~3.2k

When you go back inside, you wind up wedged between John and Ghost on the bigger couch. Johnny’s stretched out on the smaller one, and Gaz claimed the chair that you’d been sitting in earlier, leaving you with no other option. Neither of them makes any effort to give you more space, even though they could. Ghost’s leg is pressed against yours from thigh to ankle, and John’s pinky finger keeps finding your thigh when he rests his tumbler against his knee. You want to curl up properly, tuck your feet up underneath yourself, but you can't without pressing even closer to at least one of them. At least Ghost isn’t quite as intimidating without his mask on.

After a while, Gaz and Ghost go out for a cigarette. The chair looks inviting, and you’d like to get a little space, but Price’s arm drops around your shoulders casually, pulling you in a little closer to his side. “Relax,” he says against the top of your head. “You’re alright, doll.”

The door opens again. “Soap, we’ve got a spliff, you want?” Gaz asks.

Johnny picks himself off the other couch, grinning. “Aye. An’ then cake?”

“Fuckin’ forgot about cake,” Ghost says. “Hey doll, d’you want some of this? Cap?”

“Who rolled it?” John asks. “Because I’m not smoking one of Gaz’s joints ever again.”

“Oh fuck off, Price, I can roll just fine.”

John looks at you and shakes his head slightly. “He really can’t.”

“I can roll,” you say. “I always do with my friends.”

You can see the calculation running behind John's eyes as he adds new information to what he knows and assumes about you. You want to laugh. You almost do. Most people take one look at you, with your big doe eyes and round face and and sunny disposition and think that you're some innocent little thing. Sure, you tend to live life with your arms open, and that might come across as naive to some, but you're not inexperienced by any means. You're nearly thirty years old, you're by no means a child.

"Let's see, then," he says. "Box on the coffee table has everything."

"Does tha' mean we can smoke inside again?" Soap asks. "It's startin' ta get pure Baltic out here."

John looks at you expectantly. "Up to you, doll."

"It's not my house."

He hums. "You're stayin' a while. Might as well be. It's important that you're comfortable."

You slide to the floor and reach for the box. "Well. You'd better open a window or two. But I don't mind."

Making a fuss over the semantics isn't worth doing. You probably are staying a while. Even if John really won't force you, you'll still need his cooperation to get all your stuff loaded back into the van, and all four of them are likely headed for hangovers.

John tells them to open the windows, and leans forward to watch you break up slightly sticky buds into the grinder. He brushes your hair behind your shoulders for you, and when you tip your head back to look at him, there's something in his eyes that makes your ears warm.

Johnny drops down to the floor on the other side of the table, a crumpled looking joint hanging out of his mouth. You can see what John means about not wanting to smoke it.

"You want a drink, doll?" Gaz asks. "More tea?"

You twist to look at him, hanging over the back of the couch, that handsome face smiling. "Have you got pop? Wouldn't mind a ginger ale."

"Got irn bru too," Soap suggests. "Ye've got some Scot in ye, aye?"

"Yes."

"Didja want more?"

You level an unimpressed look at him across the table. "I should've seen that one coming."

"I'd like to see ye com--"

"That'll do, Soap," John says firmly. "She's not goin' to have sex with you."

"Might feel a bit better if she did," Soap says, shrugging. "Ah'm just sayin'."

"You're not saying anything." Gaz sets an unopened can of ginger ale on the table next to you. "If you're gagging for it, we'll take care of you in a bit."

"And if you don't behave yourself you're not goin' to get anything," John rumbles from behind you. "She's been good. Surprised none of you have been slapped."

"Just the once." Gaz snags the joint from Johnny and sits back in the chair.

Ghost snorts. "What did you do?"

"Surprised her picking her up. My own fault."

You lean back and hold up the neat joint you've been rolling, hooking your arm over John's knee. He sets his whiskey to the side and takes it, holding it up for an inspection. "Nice work, doll," he says warmly. “Got a bit of a wild streak to you, eh?”

The praise makes you glow, despite yourself, and you laugh aloud at the second part, a real laugh, not nervous or bitter. All four of them shift their attention to you at the sound, snapping a tension you hadn’t noticed until you felt it’s absence. It’s important to them that you feel comfortable, and your genuine laughter is the first sign that you’re on your way. They really did think that they’d done you a favour.

Insane. But almost sweet, in a fucked up, unsettling way.

You pluck the joint out of John’s fingers and meet his dark blue eyes evenly, not missing the hunger that sparks into existence. “Got a light?”

John pulls his lighter out of his pocket, a little awkward with you leaning on his other leg, and holds the dancing flame out for you. You have to lean in a little to get to it, so you do, your eyes still locked on his as you inhale, the slight sizzle of paper and weed igniting clear in the otherwise silent room. You can hear the way his breath catches too, taken by surprise yet again. You offer the joint back to him, holding in a lungful of smoke.

“Shite,” Johnny hisses, breaking the heavy silence. “Yer absolutely sure ye dinnae want your cunt licked?”

You blow smoke at him from across the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take long before drowsy complacency overtakes you. Curling up against John’s leg, your arm still hooked over his leg, you let conversation wash over your awareness, not paying enough attention to pick out one thing or another. John’s hand settles on your head, fingers threading into your dark hair, combing through soft strands idly. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded but still plenty aware, a funny smile twisting the edges of his mouth upwards. He has nice lips under that bristling moustache of his, not as thin as you would have expected. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he speaks to the others,

He takes a sip of whiskey, and you follow the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way the tip of his tongue darting across his lips. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s watching you study him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’ve been there, you don’t feel scared. Just dozy and content, like a cat curled up next to a fireplace. “I’m alright,” you admit. “It’s been a strange day.”

His fingers flex, not quite gripping your hair, just holding you in place with the lightest pressure, encouraging you to keep facing him rather than turning away. “I imagine so.” His hand glides along to your ear, his thumb grazing over the shell, sending shivers down your spine. “It won’t be so strange tomorrow.”

“No more surprises planned?”

John glances up, looking at each of his men in turn, and then back to you. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“We do have cake, though,” Soap says. “Ye want some, bonnie?”

“Yes please.” You only turn to look at Soap for a moment before John is gently coaxing you back, curling his fingers around your jaw. Can he feel the way your heart leaps into your throat, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings? It’s hard to look John in the eye, but harder still to pull yourself away. His touch leaves burning traces behind, and you’re all too aware of your body and the way you respond to him. It’s all too much, too soon and too strange.

He catches your hand when you try to brush his away. “Why don’t you come on back up here, doll?” he asks. “Be more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m happy down here.” You tuck your knees to your chest, looping your arms around your legs, extricating yourself from his sphere of influence just a little. You’re still pressed up against his calf, but you don’t need to go that far, you just need to face forward so you won’t get pinned under that blue stare again.

John has a certain gravity, a magnetism that you can’t help but be drawn in by. It would be all too easy to sink into his arms, but the idea that you’d been given to him still bothers you, like a persistent, sharp little stone in your shoe, ruining what might have been something.

You perk up some when Soap hands you a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. It's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but it tastes incredible, rich dark chocolate and an icing that had so much whiskey in it that your teeth feel funny after a few bites.

"This is really good, Johnny," you tell him. "If the whole military thing doesn't work out, you could consider becoming a baker."

"Thanks, hen. And dinnae think I havena considered it. Gettin' closer to packin' it in awl the time. Just cannae leave Gaz until he's got a good team watchin' his back."

"We've got some good sergeants," Gaz says. "Nitro's got real promise."

"Shivs too. Little devil," Ghost adds. "You need a door smasher though. Those girls are tough as 'ell, but some occasions call for a big boot."

"Aye, ye'd say that, bein' the biggest fuckin' boot the Queen's army has ever seen."

"King now," John points out.

"Oh, fuck if I care which poncy arsed Windsor is sittin' in the big chair."

"Bloody leeches," Ghost agrees.

"I've got Sanderson in mind." Gaz winks at you, like you're in on some secret.

"Gary Sanderson? Is he no' dead?"

"No! Turns out he locked himself in a cryo chamber when the bomb went off. That facility was full of 'em, all kinds of experimental tech. It was finally safe to take a team in and we found him. Nitro started calling him Roach, and it's stuck."

"He's a damn good soldier. Be good for the taskforce," Price agrees. "Would've picked him ten years ago."

"Well, he's had a nice long nap, and he's hopping mad about missing so much. He'll make a good doorsmasher," Gaz says.

"How about that Lucky kid? Nitro’s brother.” Price asks. “He looked pretty promising. Unless his luck ran out.”

Gaz hums, licking frosting off his fork. “He’s a good kid, but his problem is that as soon as Nitro’s around he lets her do all his thinking for him. Splits her focus.”

You sigh, setting your half-finished slice of cake down on the table in front of you, and climb to your feet, wincing at the ache of not moving for so long. You edge between Ghost’s knees and the coffee table and skirt around the edge of the couch wordlessly. No one stops you, and there’s no falter to their conversation despite the eyes that follow you until you disappear upstairs to use the washroom.

As you wash your hands, you stare at your own face in the mirror. You look pretty, even with your eyeliner a little smudged, and your lipstick faded to nothing. The buzz of THC is your system makes you giggle. Pretty enough to kidnap, even.

You think about it for a long moment, and then take your makeup off and braid your hair back so you can wash your face properly, and brush your teeth too. All the weirdness of the day is catching up, and all you want to do is sleep it off. The low buzz of their voices carries up the stairs when you step out into the hallway again, seemingly unbothered by your absence. There's no reason for you to say goodnight-- you don't owe them any kind of civility. But you still hesitate.

Long enough that John appears at the bottom of the stairs. "You alright, doll?" He asks. "Comin' back down?" The stairs creak slightly under his weight as he starts coming up towards you.

"I was thinking-- I'm just tired, is all. It's been a long day."

He stops two steps down, so he's still looking up at you. "I understand. We can talk more in the morning."

"I'm sure there's a lot to discuss."

"If you say so. Already told you most of what I needed to tell."

"Just most?"

He nods, and beckons you closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face. You take one halting step toward him, and then another, until you stand right at the top of the stairs. His big hands catch yours, holding you in place when he moves one step up, taller than you once more.

You stare up at him, and your breathing is turned shallow, your heartbeat rapid and heady. His eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans close, the tip of his nose skimming yours, as if he means to kiss you. Like a deer pinned under the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck, you stand frozen, unsure if you even want to move, or if you welcome the inevitable collision.

He smells like smoke and whiskey when he speaks, his lips so close to yours you can feel the soft brush of breath on your skin. "Forgot to tell you how good you look in my shirt," he purrs. "Been thinkin' to say so all night."

Heat licks across your cheeks, his words waking something dangerous in your core, something that wants his hands on you more than anything else. It’s unfair, what he does to you already, barely more than a stranger, and you want him to be a good man so you can indulge that desire without fear of consequence. It’s been such a long time since someone looked at you the way he looks at you now, an almost indescribable fondness that you haven’t even begun to earn.

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say lamely. “Thank you for lending it to me.” You don’t mention that it smells very pleasantly like him, and how it’s been a bit difficult to keep yourself from sniffing at the flannel all evening.

“You’re welcome to anything I have,” he says, and you know he means it.

“I hope that includes your bed,” you say jokingly, trying (and failing) to diffuse the intensity in his eyes. “Because I think that’s where I’m headed now.”

“Of course it does.” His thumb rubs across your knuckles, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You shake, all nerves, worried that he’ll close the distance and kiss you, but he just taps his forehead against yours instead, eyes smiling. “Off you go, sweet thing. You give us a shout if we get too loud, eh?”

You swallow nervously and nod, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, John.”

"Goodnight, doll.”

You quickly shut yourself into the other room, flicking on the light while you strip down to your panties and wrap the flannel shirt around yourself again, and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a bizarre day, and the room feels strange, too open and too dark, but it still doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

Hours later, you wake at the sound of the door opening and clicking shut again. You sit up before you’re fully alert, dreams shredding apart and solidifying into reality as you blink away sleep.

“Shh, s’just me,” John’s voice comes out of the darkness, slurring slightly. You can’t see anything in the darkness, until he crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting in a little light from the waxing moon outside. He turns towards her, his big frame silhouetted against the scant light, humming. “Bloody hell, you’re a pretty little thing.” The soft clink of his belt buckle is far too loud in the quiet room, as is the rustle of his clothes as he strips down to his boxers.

“John, what are you doing?” you ask nervously.

“Coming to bed,” he says, like it’s obvious. “M’too old to sleep on the floor, and Gaz is on the big couch.”

“Oh. I’ll move then. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” You throw back the sheets and swing your legs onto the floor.

“No, no, stay right where you are.” He swoops over and grips your legs gently, lifting them up and back onto the bed. He smells strongly of whiskey and mint toothpaste, and the clinging remnants of cigar smoke. “We can share tonight. Get things set up better tomorrow.”

“John…”

He slides into bed beside you and easily pulls you close, strong arms wrapping around you tightly, rolling so you’re half on top of him, one hand cradling your back and the other on your waist. “Yeah, doll?” he asks.

“John, we can’t— I can’t sleep like this.”

“Shh, just give me a minute to hold my pretty girl.” He nuzzles against the top of your head. “I’m gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

"You're drunk," you say, holding the flimsy excuse out for him, hoping that he'll take it. You don't want to think about him meaning it. It makes going home look all the more unlikely.

"A little," he admits. His hand drifts lower, fingers dipping below the soft lace of your panties to dig into soft skin around your hip. He groans. "You're perfect. Sweet and soft, so damn beautiful. I'll make you happy. I'll give you anything you want, if you stay with me."

"John! Stop that, we can talk later, just go to sleep."

"I know this all started wrong, doll. The lads got carried away. But this is right. You feel that too, don't you? We'll have to come up with a better story for our kids, hm? Something proper romantic." He kisses the top of your head, humming happily.

"Our kids?" you squeak. "Jesus, John, you can't be serious."

"Course I am. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

Well, at least now you know he's just as delusional as the rest of them. "You don't even know if I want kids."

"You do," he says confidently. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're drunk," you say firmly. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles. "You didn't say I'm wrong."

You push away and roll over so you don't have to look right at him. Even in the darkness, you're certain that your face betrays more than you'd like. It was none of his business if you wanted kids. You certainly weren't going to have them with him. "Go to sleep," you repeat.

"Yes ma'am," he says, looping his arms around you again, tugging you close to his chest. "Goodnight, doll."

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#cod mw fanfiction #cave writing #John Price x Reader #x reader #dark fic #This chapter was so hard to write so I'm sorry if it's not as good #but the good news is that the next chapter is already finished! So I'll post it tomorrow #John you are so awful I hate you what is wrong with you #Also: I have like 4k of two lil Nitro fics because she captured my heart so we have that to look forward to as well #Anyway enjoy! #Retirement Party #Retirement Party Chapter 3 #Initially forgot a readmore lmao

[gurugirl]

Can We Start Over?

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him?

A/N: This will be a 5 part series, commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you so much my dear!!). This is an enemies to lovers story with a twist. Reader is plus sized 🖤 I'll update chapter summaries as we get further into the series (I don't want to give too much away!).

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst, cheating mentions

Part 1: The Winter Ball (10k words)

part 1 sneak peek

You meet Harry at your boss's retirement party and your night ends with a bang.

Part 2: The Job Offer (9k words)

You can't stop thinking about what happened the night you met Harry and how much you hate him. But then you get some really good news about a new job. Except there's a catch.

Part 3: The Mistake (9.5k words)

Things are a little hot and cold with Harry but then when you learn the truth about what happened that first night it feels like everything changes. But maybe it's a mistake to allow yourself to feel anything more for him.

Part 4: The Exit Strategy (9K words)

part 4 sneak peek

It's hard for Harry to overcome not feeling a bit hurt after you left him the way you did but there are bigger issues you need to tackle, like the fact that Harry's doing something shady as well as figuring out how you feel about him.

Part 5: The Coincidence (12.7k words)

part 5 sneak peek

Things have changed for you and Harry but when you see him at a meeting, you are taken by surprise. It feels like destiny. Maybe this time things will work out for you two.

#new tumblr series coming next week! #harry styles #harry styles smut #harrystyles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #firstpost #plus size reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles x yn #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry smut #harry #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #boss!harry #commissioned work

[dellalyra]

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 - 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

2 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 - 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥.

pixie says: it’s here. this took so long because i was determined to get it just right, since this will be the final ‘pixie’s canon’ chapter of family formations (there will be more extra chapters and side stories, don’t worry! our fav family aren’t going anywhere yet). as always, mdni. request open.

“Akio, baby! Come put your shoes on!” You call into the playroom where your almost 3-year-old son sits playing with his toys. He toddles out toward you, bright smile showing off his tiny pearly teeth and bright blue eyes gleaming with excitement. He sits on the floor and pulls his white and blue sneakers onto his feet (the wrong feet, but you’ll fix it for him). You try to comb the mess of his wild, snowy white hair into a bun but eventually resign yourself to the fact that taming it is impossible.

“Mama, we go party now?” He asks.

“Yeah, baby. We’re going to see Yuuta for his birthday! Are you excited?” You say, slipping on your own sneakers (they match your sons).

“So so excited! Will there be cake, mama?”

“Of course, there will, sweet boy! Okay, you ready? Yuuta’s present is in the car, let’s go.” You take his hand and load him and the bundle in your arms into your Land Rover. Your beautiful baby pink Cadillac sat in the garage, retired - it became a special occasion car after you realised the back seat couldn’t handle a car seat - an issue you never had with -

A thought you’d rather not go through with.

“Mama, Uncle soso be at party?” Akio asks from the back seat.

Of course - his focus is his beloved uncle soso. Not that you blame him.

“He will, baby. He’s expecting lots of cuddles.”

He squirms and squeals with excitement. Clingy, affectionate - just like his dad.

His father.

God, you miss him.

After a while of singing along to the music in the car, you pull up to the school. You spin yourself out of the driver’s seat and retrieve your son, the bundle, and the wrapped box from the back seat. He immediately runs off in the direction of the dorm common room kitchen without a second thought for his poor mother.

It’s okay though.

He’s safe.

He rounds a corner, and you see a pair of arms clad in black scoop him off the ground as he squeals and thrashes around, attempting to escape the iron hold of his captor’s arms.

“Lemme go! Lemme down!” He shrieks and giggles as raspberries are blown into his little belly.

“Never. You have been captured and the only way to be freed is if you tell me who your favourite person is.” The captor demands of the three-year-old.

“You! You, my favourite! Lemme down!” Akio giggles, now being held by the ankle's upside down.

“Well, you paid your ransom. Off you go - I gotta find my next target.” He sets the boy down and he immediately runs off, screaming for his uncle soso.

Then - the culprit sets his sights on you.

“Well, what do we have here? Hey there, pretty lady.” The man says.

“Hey handsome, come here often?” Your reply, batting your eyelashes.

“Oh, between 9am and 3pm on weekdays. You?” He smirks, flashing you a dazzling smile.

“Me too, but I have a few months off at the moment.” You wink.

“Explains why this place seems so dull without an angel like you to brighten it up.” He kisses the back of your hand.

“Well - I have more important things to be doing right now, I’m afraid pretty boy.” You smirk.

“Oh? What could be more important than working with a superstar like me?” He winks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Well, nursing said superstar’s child for one.” You laugh.

And with that, your husband laughs. Heartily and deeply happy sounds which warm you from the inside. He bends down so he’s face level with your neck.

“Hey cupcake, you got a smile for papa?” He asks, taking the bundle from your arms.

The bundle - being your 5-month-old daughter.

The baby gurgles in delight at the sight of her dad and smiles a gummy smile - her mood elevated because of her well-timed nap in the car.

“You look beautiful, princess.” He says, kissing your forehead.

“Oh, hush you, you’ll make me blush.” You giggle, but you will admit the blue ripped mom jeans and white cable knit sweater match your husband perfectly, and you always glowed around him. As for him, he doesn’t understand how you get more beautiful every day. When he says your car pull up, and you step out of it holding his baby girl in one arm and leading his little boy with the other - he thinks back to the day he saw you in the courtyard for the first time, all smiles, and shiny eyes.

After 12 years, countless battles, many stray kids, too many heartbreaks and carrying two of his children you still manage to knock the wind out of him by just existing. The pretty girl you were now a powerful, beautiful woman and every curve and inch custom made to drive him insane, especially the view of your jeans as you bend to fix your shoe (part of the reason he’s knocked you up twice). Your strength and courage, and pure devotion to the ones you love, and fiercely bold protectiveness drive him to the brink of madness with the weight of his love for you daily.

You on the other hand, watch your husband pressing kisses to your daughter’s chubby cheeks, as he wraps his arm around your waist and leads you inside. This man, who has almost given everything to protect you all, who has gifted you with a love so pure and whole that you almost lost yourself by almost losing him - you are one person. One without the other just cannot exist, two souls meshed to create a fortress of love, warmth, and happiness. Your eyes trace his face, as otherworldly beautiful as ever, eyes crinkled with a smile at the baby in his arms. His hair but your eyes. You think he’s only gotten more beautiful since you met, all those boyish edges sharpened into those of a man - a beacon of love, and strength. Powerful muscles (part of the reason you now had two kids by him) threaten to pop through his black T-shirt and you attempt not to drool, but he catches it anyway. Smirking, and whispering filthy things about how your ass looks in your jeans making him wanna find a babysitter and skip the party to have your own. You flush and nip his jawline, a promise for more to come later.

Just as you nibble his skin, a loud shout comes from the doorway.

“Hey guys! How are you?! I know I only saw you both yesterday, but I missed you guys!”

A shock of pink hair calls out, and before he can barrel toward you is held back by his collar.

“Chill out, Yuuji. You don’t even know if the babies asleep or not.”

The ever-present raven-haired boy pops up behind him, lurking in the shadow as always.

Your eldest son, your blessing.

“Hi mom. Do you want me to take her?” He asks, and you can see the eager glint in his eyes as he stretches out his arms to Gojo who has your daughter which you know, in Megumi language, means ‘give me the baby or I’ll sulk.’

Gojo is engaged with cooing over her with Itadori who you’ve come to realise is obsessed with babies. Your husband hands your son your daughter, who’s sitting up in his arms, and squeals when she realises it’s her oldest brother holding her, and you melt a little when she lays her head on his shoulder.

“Hey Lil 'miss. Will we go find our brother?” He says, walking off with her and Yuuji, leaving Gojo to take your hand and lead you inside too.

Yuuji has grown, with him being 18 that’s not surprising. His baby face is fading, skin now lined with scars - battle scars well earned by a brave boy. He’s still not as tall as his boyfriend, but he somehow got even more broad and muscly, this was evidenced when he was helping you with the baby's nursery and just… picked up the crib. With one arm. Megumi soon insisted that he and Yuuji were tired and going to his room to ‘bed’ that night, after that show of casual strength.

Megumi - your darling boy, well, man. 18 now and tall and long limbed as ever, all sharp corners and piercing eyes. The months after the culling games were tough, on everyone. But Megumi - he suffered deeply. The mental scaring of almost killing his dad, hurting you and the torture of being trapped inside a psychopath for weeks on end - and most of all, of being in the body that killed his sister. You moved him and Yuuji back into your house, Nobara too because as much as she enjoyed her new relationship with Maki - she couldn’t sleep without knowing the boys were safe and near. She felt immeasurable guilt for not being with Yuuji and Megumi early in the Culling Games and for the injuries that Yuuji saw her almost succumb to. She spent most of her week at the cottage, and the other few days with her girlfriend - healing together.

On the really dark nights, you and Satoru would wake to pained sobs - sometimes Yuuji, who would wake thrashing, and sometimes Megumi would wake frozen in fear. Many nights, they would wake to the same noises from inside your own room. You two had each other, and you tried to stress the importance of relying on each other to all the kids. Recovery wasn’t linear, but it could be helped with love and care.

There were a few nights, you’d wake to being poked by Yuuji, a solemn look on his face and in turn you’d wake up Satoru, you’d nod to Yuuji who would leave the room and come back with a bundle of limbs in his arms. Some nights, Megumi would get so frozen with memories that all he wanted was to be with you and Satoru - so like you did when he was a little boy, you put him in between you both and fell back asleep. You always offered to Yuuji to stay, and sometimes he did - but most times he would go and curl up beside Nobara in her room. He knew Megumi was safe with you two, so he would stay with his platonic soulmate - ever the protector.

Satoru’s wounds healed, leaving scars, pink and shimmering on his pale skin which you took care to kiss every night, grateful for how hard he fought to come home to you.

Two weeks after Yuuji killed Kenjaku, and everything was over - you, Shoko, and Gojo all stood together on the plot of land behind the cottage, a nice, secluded space under a Sakura tree.

The earth was covered in snowdrops, a black marble slate sat on the ground, with gold lettering.

here sleeps suguru geto, our very best friend and deeply loved dad.

You all cried, the three of you the surviving members of your school years. Yet, a part of it was sweet. Finally, after all this time - Suguru was home. He was back where he belonged, the birthplace of the reformation of Jujutsu society, with his family, who wordlessly accepted him and his two girl's home – where he was happy before the darkness became too much.

You three built a bench beside the memorial that day too, with a smaller memorial sign for the twins, they never had a surname – so you wrote them as Nanako and Mimiko Geto. It had been years since you or Satoru had seen the girls, and even then, only Shoko knew about that day. The day you texted his number thinking it would be blocked, two weeks after the village massacre, and after he left Satoru outside of the KFC. You told him you had clothes, shoes, and toys for the girls. Satoru could not face him, so you went alone, a secret kept between you and Satoru and Shoko. You met him and the girls in a nice, quiet park. Most of them were things from when you were a child, collected from your mother’s house (you think she knew). You played with the girls for a while, looking at Suguru with pleading eyes as you introduced yourself to them as their Aunty Y/N - a sign to him that this could be fixed, he could come him – the elders could be dealt with. You knew it was a failure before you said it. If your boyfriend couldn’t bring him home, then you stood no chance. He smiled at you, sadly but thankful for the unspoken offer. The girls didn’t need to hear the anger or the truth. When it got dark, it was time to leave. You said goodbye. The final goodbye, and you knew it. You said ‘goodbye, onii-chan' and he responded in kind, then left. You did not see him again until that day in the alley.

Now, here, at the cottage; Shoko could sit for a smoke with him, Satoru could come to annoy him and so you could bring his nieces and nephews to say hello. Scattering his ashes by the cottage the family congregated within only felt right. You asked him to watch over you all.

There was no shortage of funerals after the war.

You, Satoru, Akio, and Megumi held a private memorial in your home for Tsumiki. There was no body to bury - so you set up a small garden of all her favourite flowers in the grounds of the cottage where you raised her, where she made flower crowns and played with her brother.

After that - was Nanami. You and Satoru and Yuuji warped to Malaysia after his cremation, to scatter his ashes on a quiet, secluded beach. You all drank a glass of whiskey on the beach before it was time to go home. After clearing out his apartment, you found a spare of his tie and folded it, placing it in a box with a pair of his glasses and his favourite whiskey glass - and you handed it to Yuuji. He was so deeply loved, by all of you - but Yuuji was his student, his prodigy.

It was decided that since most of the old Jujutsu Society was gone, it was time to restructure. Utahime took over Kyoto, Todo and Noritoshi now acting as teachers. In Tokyo, the job of principal was between you and Satoru. You quickly told him it should be him, without question, and you would become the lead teacher. Shoko was offered a teaching position but quickly scoffed at the notion, saying corpses were still more her style. You needed another teacher, apart from you and Yuuta, who was still training under you part time. So, you and Satoru mutually agreed that a perfect candidate was one Choso Kamo, who hastily agreed, happy to be able to stay close to his brother. Hakari would occasionally pop in, help out for days - and took over for you on maternity leave. Jujutsu society would change now. A complete restructure.

A reformation.

The new higher ups consisted of Satoru, you, Utahime, Noritoshi Kamo, Yuuta, Maki and Toge said he would step up the the plate in a few years time.

Everyone knew what happened to the old higher ups. Everyone knew who killed them.

Nobody sought retaliation.

Nobody mourned.

In the present, you stepped into the room decorated yesterday by you and Yuuji. A big banner with ‘Happy 20th Birthday!’ Was hung on the wall, with cakes and cupcakes and lots of snacks laid across the dining table. Music was playing from Maki’s speaker, who sat frowning, but letting Nobara place a party hat on her anyway. Panda is sneaking a cupcake in the back corner, and you pretend not to notice.

You look around the room, delighting in the sight of your husband and Yuuji blowing up balloons in a competition of who can get theirs the biggest (they both burst). Megumi is sitting beside them, smirk on his face as he lets his baby sister play with his long fingers and use them as a teething chew. You look around for Akio, who had sprinted inside to look for his ‘uncle soso.’ It didn’t take long to locate him, but it wasn’t by sight but rather by a delighted squeal and a giggle coming toward you.

“Mama! Uncle soso has sweeties! He say ask mama if I can share too?” A voice cries as it barrels into your leg.

You look toward the kitchen door and see a smiling Choso with a plate of mochi, looking fondly at the toddler on your leg.

“Okay, baby. Thank you for asking, and what do we say to Uncle Soso?” You say, picking him up to walk toward the favourite uncle.

“Tank you, uncle soso.” Your adorable little man says, holding his arms toward the man in signal of hoping to be transferred from your hip to his.

“You spoil that boy, Choso Kamo.” You say, not an ounce of anger in your voice.

“Maybe.” He smiles sheepish and shrugs, head peeking around your shoulder to look around.

“Are you looking for your goddaughter?” You ask.

“Where is she?” He perks up, and your reminded of a puppy hearing the word treat.

“Megumi has her. They’re with ‘toru and your brother.” You smile, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he walks toward the boys with Akio and the mochi in his arms.

A fatal mistake really.

He’s about to sit on a sofa with a plate of Mochi and two Gojo boys?

He won’t get any. But you think he’s okay with that.

After what you’ve come to call the war, Choso had become an indispensable part of the family. Loyal, kind, and caring - he fit in like a perfect puzzle piece. Easily making friends with Megumi (who he calls his brother-in-law), living easily as a comrade and trusted friend of your husband and easily melding into the baby brother you never had. Even though he’s about 120 years older than you.

When Akio arrived back in the country with your mother after the fighting had ceased, you and Satoru refused to let him out of your sight for weeks, Akio had protested but you had taken to having him sleep in your room until eventually you both felt safe enough to let the poor boy go back to his star-themed bedroom in peace.

That was until about 3am, when you woke up to the bedroom door opening and your husband coming in with a sleeping toddler in his arms. He needed him near, just like how he felt comforted by the soft snores coming from Megumi’s room. You said nothing, just smiled and scooted over so you wrap your little boy between you.

Megumi joined at 4am.

About 3 months after the final fight, you both put Akio to bed one night. Megumi had gone back to the dorms, recovering, and enjoying the idea of being just a student again. Satoru’s arm around your waist as you looked at his sleeping figure on his teddy bear print bedsheets. Wild white hair sticking in all directions a carbon copy of his dad.

“Princess?” He said, forehead on your hair.

“Yes, ‘toru.” You hoped he was going to say what you were also thinking.

“Let’s have another one.” He said, tilting your chin to look at him with those long fingers.

“Okay.” You smile and let him scoop you up and March you to your bedroom.

Six weeks later: there were two lines on the stick.

This time - Satoru hadn’t noticed. Maybe because his six eyes were still recovering, or maybe because the baby inside you had your cursed energy, so it just looked like yours. The day you did the test, you went to a bakery at lunchtime to grab some treats.

“I got some treats for breakfast tomorrow, since it’s a Saturday. Megumi is going out with Yuuji for breakfast, so he won’t be here.” You say, as Satoru comes back into the kitchen from putting Akio to bed.

You push the box toward him.

“Oh pastries! Are these mine?” He asks.

“Eh! No! There’s one each.” You laugh at him.

“Well then there’s two for me, because there’s four. One for Akio, one for you and two for me!” He claps.

“No, ‘toru. There’s one each.” You smile, wondering when he will catch on.

“But ‘Gumi won’t be here?” He asks, puzzled and eager.

“We still need four.” You smirk a little.

You see him frown and the cogs turn in his head? One for George the Cat? No…

His head snaps up.

“Wait! Princess…?” He takes the kitchen in one stride and kneels in front of you, and you nod, smiling.

“Really? You’re sure?” He asks, staring at your belly.

You think now is time for the best pun of your life. You reach into your pocket and take out the test.

“Positive.” You giggle, tears lining your lashes - and Satoru’s too.

He leans his head into your belly, tears soaking your shirt.

7 and a half months later, you went into labour during movie night. Megumi insisted on coming to the infirmary with you and Satoru in case anything happened. Yuuji and Nobara were on a mission, so you picked up your phone.

It barely rang once.

“Hey, Cho. We um… need a favour.” You speak.

“Is everyone alright?” The perpetually sleepy voice asks.

“Yeah, it’s just we need someone to watch Akio… I - um, well the baby’s coming.” You say, wincing through a contraction.

You all drive to the school, where Shoko is waiting to deliver your second child and Choso comes running out of his on-campus staff apartment, scooping up your son who was delighted at getting to see his Uncle Soso.

13 hours later, there was life.

New life. A beautiful, vibrant, fresh life. A beautiful little girl, perfect and tiny with a shock of pale white hair.

She cried. You cried. Satoru cried. Shoko cried.

Megumi went to collect Akio, and you asked him to bring Choso too after you and the baby were both cleaned up.

The toddler barrelled into the room, Megumi behind him.

“Baby sister! Baby sister! I want my baby sister! Oh, hi mama and papa, move - I want to see sister.” He mumbles - mind singularly focused on what he had been waiting for.

You laughed, and Satoru too. Megumi shrugged, after planting a kiss on your cheek and asking if you were okay (still a mama’s boy even at 18).

“It’s a joint sentiment.” Your eldest agrees with the bouncing toddler.

You scoot over on the bed, and Satoru (teary eyed) places a bundle into your arms. Megumi gingerly sits beside you on one side, and Satoru scoops Akio onto his lap on your other side.

“Boys, we’d like you to meet your baby sister. This - is Mirai.” You smile at them, both looking equally entranced.

“She’s… so tiny, and so pretty.” Megumi whispers.

“Papa - is she sleepin’?” Akio whispers.

As if on cue, the baby opens her eyes.

Akio gasps, looking to his dad for permission to get closer. Satoru nods with a note to be gentle with sister and mama. Your usually boisterous boy crawls to sit on your lap, putting his hand on his sisters.

“Hi baby sister.” He whispers. “I brother. Big brother. Like ‘Gumi my big brother. I keep baby sister safe, and will play with you, and let you have snacks and give you hugs and kisses. I Akio, but mama and papa call me Kio lots. They all things that ‘Gumi and Uncle soso say big brother do, and they are bestest big brothers to me and Jiji. (The name he has for Yuuji, who adores it).’

Holding your little girl in your arms, with all three of your boys looking at you both with so much love - you think that everything was worth it. For this moment, for this feeling and for this family. Every wound, every fight - it was for them. Everyone you lost, you know they’re looking at you all now from wherever they are and smiling and vowing to keep this family safe.

“Is Choso here?” You ask Megumi who has gingerly been passed the baby by Satoru.

“He’s outside, he wanted to wait until he was invited in.” He whispers, not sparing a glance at anything but his little sister.

You turn to Satoru, who nods and goes to open the door and usher the other man in.

You both placed the highest level of trust in Choso. Satoru being eternally grateful to the man for holding you back from running to his injured body when he fought Sukuna, for caring for Yuuji in his darkest days, for being a pillar of strength and support when you both needed it. For you, you felt like the support and friendship, and recognition as Y/N and Satoru that Choso gave you - not just the Six Eyes and the Dryad - was priceless. Plus - he’d never seen a newborn baby. He didn’t even know how babies were born. You and Satoru had to teach him a lot.

“Hi Choso. Thank you for minding this little squirt.” You say, nodding to Akio.

Choso just stood, speechless and slack jawed.

It reminded you of Yuuji when you first showed him an ultrasound of Akio.

Brothers.

“Uncle soso - this is baby sister! Look! She has fingers!” Akio says, crawling across you to point at the baby in Megumi’s arms.

He says nothing.

“D’ya wanna hold her, bud?” Satoru says, smiling at the dumbfounded man.

He just nods.

“Okay - arms out, keep her head secure.” Megumi says side eye and smirk to Satoru as he parrots the words his dad said to him when Akio was born.

The little girl is placed in Choso’s arms.

“She’s… so small.” He speaks.

“Takes after her mama.” Satoru says, kissing your head.

“Everyone is small to you, Jack the beanstalk.” You roll your eyes.

That day, you asked Yuuta and Choso to both be Mirai’s Godfathers. Choso silently took on the uncle role with Akio too - who had lost his own godfather not so long ago, his beloved Uncle Nanamin.

The door to the party room opened, too early to be the birthday boy and the sound of heels clicking alerted you to snap your head up.

“Koko!” You say, running and throwing your arms around you best friend.

“Jesus, you’re almost as bad as Sator - OOF.” Her complaint was quickly cut off by a white haired, 6ft5 man barrelling into her and shouting ‘Yay, Shoko!’ and no less than 5 seconds later her knees were encircled by smaller arms attached to a boy shouting ‘Aunty Koko!’.

Shoko resigns herself to being smothered by the Gojo’s and just huffs a hello.

“Mirai, Megs, you’re the best of the bunch.” She shrugs toward Megumi who’s still holding the baby.

“We love Aunty Koko! Don’t we, ‘kio?!” You and Satoru encourage.

“Aunty Koko!” He parrots, nuzzling her legs as she ruffles his hair.

“Alright kid, I love you too. Satoru, put this on the table.” She says, unceremoniously throwing a box terribly wrapped toward him.

She plonks down on the sofa with Megumi and Choso.

“What’s this, the emo convention?” She smirks and you, Satoru and Yuuji just burst out in hysterical laughter.

Nobara’s voice calls out.

“Guys! They’re here, they’re just pulling up now. Gojo-sensei, find somewhere to hide that you can fit!” She frantically shouts, dragging Maki into a corner with her.

You grab Megumi and Mirai, falling behind the kitchen door where Akio is in Satoru’s arms, both giggling.

The lights are turned off, and you can hear voices muffled from outside the door before it swings open.

“SURPRISE!” You all shout and sing, much to the alarm of the birthday boy who also screams.

“Oh my god! What is this?! What are you all doing here?! Toge, did you know about this?” Yuuta spills.

Toge just shrugs and smirks.

“Happy birthday, Senpai!” Says Yuuji, before almost breaking every bone in Yuuta’s body with a crushing hug.

“Happy birthday, Okkotsu.” Megumi nods, with a small smile and a bro hug.

“Happy birthday, shrimp.” Maki says, hugging her best friend.

“Happy birthday, Okkotsu! Your gifts are on the table!” From Nobara.

You, Satoru, the kids, Shoko and Choso watch as all the students clamour to greet the birthday boy before he somehow manages to make his way over to you all as Yuuji begins to dish out the immeasurable amount of food he’s made for the occasion.

“Sensei? Y/N? The babies too?! Hi babies!” He greets with a wide smile.

“Happy birthday, Yuuta!” Gojo says, wrapping him in a hug and picking him up off the ground.

“Happy 20th, honey.” You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday Yuuta!” Says Akio from Choso’s arms, where he doesn’t stay for long as he launches himself at Yuuta.

Mirai is babbling in your arms, and you presume she shares the sentiment of her big brother being an eerie mixture of her parents,

“Happy birthday, kid. Enjoy your 20s.” Shoko says, with a wink.

“Thank you, guys, this is amazing. I went to the arcade with Toge and I thought that would be that no wonder he insisted on playing more dance dance revolution!” He laughed.

After cakes had been eaten and candles blown out, gifts unwrapped and games won - everyone was sat around the room, about to watch a film.

Mirai was asleep on her dad’s chest, curled up with his arm supporting her. You were tucked into his other side, as he pressed kisses into the crown of your head. Megumi had his arm around Yuuji on your other side as he lay his feet on your lap. Nobara and Maki were cuddled up on the armchair, with Toge resting his head on Yuuta’s lap on the floor below. Akio had insisted on sitting with Uncle Soso and Aunty Koko on one of the other sofas, as he ate some cake.

You sighed and smiled, looking at the raven-haired boy, now all grown up on your left - happy, healing, safe and in love. He’s a man now, he’ll be 19 in just under a year and you find it crazy to think that was the age you and Satoru were when you adopted him and Tsumiki.

You look at Akio, curled into a blanket between his aunt and uncle, Shoko on the verge of sleep and Choso smiling at whatever nonsense Yuuji was talking. Your youngest son, your sweet copy of Satoru. You say all the best parts of you both in him, all bravery and kindness and endless love with added strength and loyalty, and every inch as clever as his elder brother too. His Snow White hair is long, tied in a little bun on top of his head and his bright, shiny blue eyes a copy and paste of his dad’s.

Then, there’s your little girl. The life brought into this world reigniting hope and joy in so many lives. The fruit of what you all fought for. Her chubby cheeks, rosy with teething snuggles into her father’s broad, strong chest as she drools all over him as she sleeps soundly. Where Akio is a Mama’s boy, Mirai is her papa’s girl. Her white curls are framing her perfect little face, with matching lashes laying across her sleeping face.

Then, there’s him.

Akio and Miria’s papa.

Megumi and Tsumiki’s adopted dad.

The new principal of Jujutsu High.

The man who shouldered the world for love.

Your husband.

Your soulmate.

Your ‘toru.

The light, love, and joy in your life since you were 16 years old. The man who you fall deeper in love with every day and the second part of your soul. Your heart, your lover, the fire in your veins. Two adopted kids, many unofficial kids and two copies of you both later, you’re both still here. Fighting your way to each other and for each other, and side by side building bonds deeper than gold. The sexiest, most beautiful man you have ever imagined existing. The love of your life. The way he looks at you, still flusters you.

You catch his eyes. 14 years, and a lifetime more.

He looks at you. His wife, his best friend, the missing piece of his heart. The most beautiful, hottest girl he’s ever seen with all his six eyes, the mother of his children and his right-hand woman. His rock, his crutch, his confidant and partner in crime. The woman he would shoulder the earth for. The new main teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. His love grows every day for you, something he didn’t think was possible. His princess.

You whisper you love him.

He replies he loves you too.

You were all chatting as the movie loaded, waiting for it to buffer.

“When the fuck is movie starting?!” Came a tiny voice.

All heads snapped to Akio, hands on his hips, staring at the screen.

“Who taught our son to swear?” Gojo breathes, holding back a laugh.

“Fuck’s sake.” You mutter, smiling - without thinking.

“Fuck’s sake.” Akio mimics.

“Ah, shit.” Gojo groans.

“Shit.” Parrots the toddler.

“Well, jury’s out but I think it might have been his parents.” Megumi smirks.

The room bursts into raucous laughter, and amidst it all the movie starts.

It serves as background noise, a lullaby, a point of focus. A family made of many mismatched pieces - a pool of trust, of reliance, of hope and comfort - created and moulded in the image of a couple, of two sides of one coin, two halves of one whole: her ‘toru. His Princess.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #family formations extras #dad!gojo #anime #gojo imagine #mdni #jjk spoilers #jjk fanfic #jjk au

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

List (Sorted by Story Content)

sorry for spamming, just want to make a list sorted by the story content. As always, tyvm for reading!! :D

Fluff

My Heart Can Sleep When I'm With You (Ghost)(F)

Daisy Dukes (Ghost)(F)

Unexpected Encounter (Ghost)(F)

Simon Got a Flu (Ghost)(GN)

Nine things Simon Riley Might Annoy (intentionally or not) His Shorter Partner (Ghost)(GN)

Sleeping (truly) with Simon (Ghost)(GN)

Domestic Life with Retired Husband!Simon (Ghost)(GN)

Simon with A Gammy Reader (Ghost)(GN)

End This Repeating Dance (Ghost)(F)

Simon Taking Care of You When You Accidentally Injured Yourself (Ghost)(F)

Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me? (Ghost)(F)

Vampire AU Headcanons (TF141+König)(GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (TF141+König)(GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (TF141+König)(GN)

In Pairs - Price Soap Gaz Ghost (GN)

What Makes You Unique (TF141)(GN)

Cream Puffs (TF141)(GN)

Sweet Flavor of Your Lips (F)

Wild Pets: 1 1.5 (TF141)(F)

Tf141 with a Fragile Reader (TF141)(GN)

A Reader Who Sucks at Baking but Wants to Bake Them a Valentine’s Day Dessert (TF141)(F)

Gap Moe (Contradictory-Characteristic Cuteness) Reader (TF141)(GN)

Melt Down The Snow (TFT141)(GN)(🦈 Anon)

Some Thoughts about Demon!TF141 (GN)(Has Follow-up Chapters at NSFW but F!Reader)

No Tolerance!! + It’s Nice To Come Back Home (TF141)(F)(🦈 Anon)

Silly Moments between Simon and Reader (Ghost)(F)

TF141 men seeing you wearing face chain for party (F) (🦈 Anon)

Your Inviting Lips (Ghost)(GN)(anon ask)

TF141*Reader Fluff in Few Sentences (GN)

The True Me (Price)(GN)

Two-way Trap (Ghost)(F)(half-dark)

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions (Ghost)(GN)(evil 🐼 anon)

Simon Loves Your Adorable and Chubby Face (Ghost)(GN) (🦈 anon)

A Day of A Cute (and Silly) Couple (Ghost)(GN)(req)

Shower with Simon Riley (Ghost)(GN)(anon req)

Each Other’s Shelter (TF141)(F)(anon req)

TF141 with A Reader That Can Fall Asleep Anywhere and Anytime (GN)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader ch1 ch2 ch3

Angst

New Year Fireworks + We Both Broke Our Promise (Ghost)(F)

Bedtime Story (Ghost)(GN)

Palette (Ghost)(F)(Half-Angst)

Ex-bf!Simon Riley*F!Reader (Ghost)(F)

Regret Devouring Me (Soap)(GN)

Voicemails (Ghost)(F)

TF141*Reader Angst in Few Sentences (GN)

Always By Your Side (TF141)(GN)

Remember-me-not (Ghost)(GN)

The Last Dance (Ghost)(GN)

Not Dying Alone (TF141)(GN)

Grim Reaper!Ghost*Reader That’s Always Alone (GN)

Counting Down To Heaven (TF141)(GN)

Watch You From Afar (Price+Ghost)(GN)

NSFW

Bed All Day (Ghost) (GN)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor Series: Ghost (F)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor Series: Soap (F)

Spider Webs: 1 2 3 bonus chapter 1 (König)(F)

NSFW Alphabet (König)(F)

More About Demon!TF141 (F)(Anon Ask)

Demon!TF141 but Reader Becomes Demon Too (F)(Anon Ask)

Hurt and Comfort

Invincible (Ghost)(F)

Inhale Our Sorrow, Exhale Our Future (Ghost)(GN)

Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader with scars and hide their face (GN)

Husband!Simon with Car Crash Wife!Reader + Till It Blooms Again (Ghost)(F)(🐬anon)

How To Remember? (Price+Ghost)(F)

Hey, how are you? (Ghost)(F)

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

His Only Asylum (Ghost+König) + Bring Me to Heaven (Ghost)(F)

Perv!Simon Riley with Yandere!Reader (Ghost)(GN)

It Isn’t Fate Bringing Us Together (It’s Me): 1 2 (Ghost)(GN)

Spine Chill (TF141)(GN)

Special

Soulmate AU - Separate Endings (Ghost)(GN)(Has different Endings)

#cod imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost x you #soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz imagine #john price x reader #john price x you #price imagine #price x reader #price x you #konig x you #konig x reader #könig imagine #könig x you #könig x reader

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Final Word Count: 22.6k

Author's Note: Ta-da! I put a lot of work into this last chapter, like actually becoming the president for a couple hours, but I really wanted to make it worth everyone's time for sticking around and reading all the way through.

Thank you so much for following along! All the sweet comments from you guys never fails to make my day!

^//v//^

Cross posted on AO3

The Reveal

Almost three months.

It took almost three months for Leon's portrait to fully dry after it had been varnished. You'd checked it almost daily after the two month mark due to Leon's constant pestering. He was understandably antsy, and admittedly, you were too.

There was a lot of convincing involved, but you managed to keep the man at home while you transported the painting to the White House. He worried it would be damaged en-route. Such a little worry wart.

Setting up the painting's respective spot a column away from Chris and Claire's seemed very appropriate; tall, fake bushes sitting on either side of where it would be placed, a warm yellow bulb lighting up the inside of the decorative archway, and the patterned golden frame where the canvas would forever be now hung empty in that portrait hallway, waiting to be pieced together and completed.

The shiny gold placard had already been screwed onto the frame, words zapped on it via laser:

Leon S. Kennedy

USSTRATCOM Agent from 1998 - 2011

D.S.O. Agent from 2011 - 2017

You knew how long he'd been working as an agent, but it was still baffling nonetheless. Nearly 20 years of non-stop intense and usually very traumatizing work, what a feat.

Moving on, you'd worked out the plans for Leon's farewell party with the President and a few coordinators over the span of a few days, making sure to store the painting in a secure room for the time being. It was to stay covered with a violet piece of velvet cloth up until the reveal at the party, no one was allowed to see it besides you, the President, and the various security guards working the grounds.

After another two extra months of waiting, the farewell party was drawing near. There had to be enough time given for invitations to be sent out to people, wait for said people to RSVP, and allow travel time. And at this point, Leon was busting at the seams; extremely nervous, excited, and even a little scared at the prospect of it all.

Your words from that second painting session all those months ago never left his mind: "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

The man clung to that, doing his best to internalize it and mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He was hoping you were exaggerating, but from what Chris, Claire, and even Jill have told him about their experience after the fact, he knew deep down that you'd seen it all too well before.

What Leon failed to realize was that he wasn't alone anymore. Sure he had his friends to help, but he'd never had someone to come home to everyday.

During the last few sessions, he had asked to stay with you at your apartment, citing the potential aftermath of the party as reasoning. However, you really didn't need him to explain his reasoning, you would've let him. Even if he just felt like it, you would've welcomed him with opened arms.

Besides, he'd already been staying at your place for longer periods of time over the months. You'd visited his house a few times, but he made sure to whine and complain about how bare and boring it was. If you remember correctly, Leon had said, word for word, that your apartment "felt like a warm hug". With that, he shelled up with you in only a couple weeks before the painting had dried. He made special effort to learn your routine, wanting to give you the space that you needed while also maximizing his time spent with you.

Leon was an actual angel, you were wholeheartedly convinced. Some days you would come home after working on another painting to the man cooking dinner, having bought an expensive wine to share with you. When your hands would start to ache and your back and shoulders were sore from the long hours spent holding a paintbrush in an awkward hunched position, he would set aside anything he had going on just to give you all the massages, kisses, and love that you could ever want.

Nothing was ignored when it came to you and your wants and needs. Leon admitted awhile back that he felt guilty for intruding on your space, though you were very quick to shut that down. He was far from a burden, actually lining up more with a dream come true.

And just like he did with you, you spared nothing while getting to know the in's and out's of the man that occupied your mind, heart, and home. You learned his favorite meals, watched his favorite shows and movies with him, returning the massages when he would return from the gym, and paid extra attention to how he liked to be held at night. Who would've guessed that the Leon Kennedy loved to be the little spoon?

What you spent the most time on was making sure to listen when he suddenly went on tangents about his past. They really did haunt him. You would wake up in the middle of the night to him huddled at the top of the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head between his knees as he did his best to cry quietly. All you could do for him in those moments was pull him against your chest, gently rocking him back and forth while whispering sweet nothings, just until he felt either ready to talk or ready to fall back asleep. If he just wanted more comfort, then that's what he got, obviously.

He was only recently put on a couple medications to help him better manage his PTSD and anxiety since he really had to cut back on the alcohol in order to take them the way he needed. Definitely worth it to both you and him seeing as his nightmares lessened in intensity and frequency.

Now here you were, straightening out Leon's tie for him since his hands were failing him, nerves getting the better of him. He had taken his meds a few minutes ago, wanting to have the full effect during the party to combat any destructive behaviors during it, so it was no wonder his hands were still trembling.

"You're going to do so well, Leon." You smiled, giving him a gentle pat between his pecs after tucking his tie into his suit jacket. He was staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he stared at himself in the mirror. "You've made so much progress and I couldn't be any prouder."

He licked his dry lips before slowly looking down at you, giving you the best smile he could, which was really just him pulling his lips back tight. If it weren't for you constantly being around to encourage him and push him to get better, he would not be able to attend his own farewell party.

How had he managed to get so far without this level of love and care? Where would he even be without you? Hopefully later when his mind isn't racing a million miles per minute, Leon will be able to tell you just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Leon watched you in the mirror as you walked around to stand behind him, straightening out his suit jacket in random spots until deciding to just wrap your arms around his midriff, pressing the side of your face against his back with a content sigh. He brought his still-trembling hands up to hold onto your arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down across your soft skin.

His eyes settled back on his own face after staring at your arms linked around him, letting out a shaky sigh of his own as he attempted to just focus on this moment. You were perfect, ethereal, a true work of art. He wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

It took some time, about an hour, before Leon's medication was starting to kick in. You were definitely a big help, he couldn't give all the credit to his meds.

His relaxed demeanor wasn't easy to spot, the man was just naturally rigid, but you waited until he let you know that he was ready; ready to go to his farewell party, ready to see the portrait you painted for him, ready to put in the effort into accepting the next chapter in his life.

The drive to the White House was seamless, having been picked up in a blacked out SUV that held four personal guards, courtesy of the President. Leon wasn't going to complain, he actually kind of liked the pampering effect that came with being driven around by a dedicated entourage.

Almost all good feelings were drained from Leon when the car finally pulled up to the front of the White House where more guards stood waiting to escort the two of you inside. It was still early in the night, but the sun had set long ago, making for quite the beautiful atmosphere.

He could see numerous party attendees walking up the stairs, dressed up in their fanciest outfits for him. He held your hand the entire way up the stairs and into the entrance hall with a grip that was sure to leave your hand hurting. No matter, you could tell he needed you. That vice grip he had was well worth it for his comfort.

There were quite a few more people than either you or Leon expected. It seems as if all available agents, young, old, and retired, had been sent an invitation for tonight, along with quite a few high-ranking government workers. Luckily, this was a private event; no reporters, no news, only those who had been fortunate enough to be invited.

The first to spot you two was Chris who quickly made his way over to pull Leon into a bone-crushing hug, giving him a few solid pats on the back before letting go. Leon only reciprocated the hug with one hand, the other refusing to let go of yours, though his grip had loosened by now.

"Where's Claire?" Leon muttered, leaning to the side to scan over the sizeable crowd. "She's.." Chris turned around to also scan the crowd, squinting a bit as he looked. "She's somewhere. My wife is with her, her family, and Jill."

Leon pursed his lips with a curt nod, humming quietly in acknowledgement before standing straight again. He glanced down at where his hand held yours, squeezing it again for just a second as if to remind himself that you haven't gone anywhere.

Chris had turned back around to see the small gesture Leon gave to you, a coy smirk on his face. "What uhh... what's all this, huh?" He subtly pointed between you and the other man, voice lowered.

Leon cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear despite the volume in the hall. "... M'gonna save that for the-.. the speech." Chris just nodded, crossing his arms before slowly turning to look through the crowd again. "Alright, well, let me go find the family and bring them over before you're swarmed." And with that, Chris made his way back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, Leon had been spotted by the rest of the partygoers before Chris could return with everyone. Many pleasantries were repeated while also returning small talk with the people he recognized, which was a lot. You managed to avoid most of it, only being questioned a few times due to the rather obvious hold the man had on you. Despite having attended the last few parties like this, most people unable to recognize you as the artist. A blessing and a curse.

The next couple hours were spent eating finger foods, conversing with whoever, and enjoying the way Leon started to flow with the event. He soon found his way to Chris, Claire, their partners and kids, and Jill which really helped him loosen up. He needed the more familiar faces, having now let go of your hand fully to talk more animatedly with them. You made sure to stick by his side as long as you could, letting out a soft laugh every time you noticed his quick glances over to you to check if you're still there.

The time eventually did come for you to part with Leon, signaling a couple guards to follow you down a few hallways until reaching the room where the portrait sat, still covered with the violet cloth. The decision to keep it back here for so long was made by the President, wanting less of a sudden reveal and more of a build up.

Normally it would already be hanging in the entrance hall, covered and ready to be revealed, but not wanting to risk any potential damage, you were asked to hold off bringing it in until the President was ready to give the speech leading up to Leon's.

It'd been set in the golden frame rather quickly with the help from one of the guards that walked down with you. You had the guard to hold it up for you so you could give it one final good look before he was instructed to lead you back. After recovering, you took the portrait in both hands, holding it close as you were escorted back through the halls and into the main entrance hall.

By now everyone had directed their focus closer to the center of the back wall. Next to where the President stood, your own art easel was now set up. That was mostly as homage to you and it wasn't like anyone besides you would understand that it's yours, though Leon did pick up on that little feature. He'd been staring at the back of that thing for months, counted the various old streaks of paint on the pale wood over and over.

It made his farewell all the more personal, struggling to mask the feeling of the ever-growing pit in his stomach from the friends he was still standing next to.

The sound of a mic being tapped drew everyone's attention in to the President, the volume in the hall quieting to a whisper, soon completely silent as he began to speak into the mic;

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you to honor and pay tribute to a true hero, a dedicated public servant, and a loyal friend who has served our nation with unwavering dedication for the past 19 years. It is with great respect and admiration that I address you on this occasion, as we bid farewell to a remarkable agent who has exemplified the very best qualities of service and sacrifice." As the President spoke, Leon held his breath, hands gripping onto his suit jacket to keep from trembling again.

At this point, you'd silently walked along the side with the guards from before, bringing the covered portrait up to the front before carefully placing it on your easel. "Throughout this nation's history, these agents have played an essential role in ensuring the safety and security of our nation's people and have consistently placed their lives on the line to protect the sanctity of our democracy. And today, we acknowledge one agent who has done so with unparalleled devotion."

"This retiring agent has been a silent sentinel, ensuring the continuity of our democratic ideals. Through countless hours of training, vigilance, and selflessness, they have demonstrated a level of commitment that is nothing short of extraordinary. But beyond their exceptional professional duties, this agent has been a friend and a confidant to those of us privileged to work alongside them. They have been a source of strength, a steady hand in turbulent times, and a symbol of the unbreakable bond that can form within the ranks of those who dedicate their lives to service."

You positioned yourself opposite of the President, placing your hands behind your back to keep your posture tall as you now smiled at the crowd, subtly scanning for Leon. His eyes were already on you when you found him, and your smile only widened further.

It prompted his own nervous smile, toying with the buttons on his jacket while turning his attention back to the President, wanting to remain respectful to his, honestly, very flattering speech so far. You followed Leon's eyes, seemingly having the same idea to just watch and listen.

"The sacrifices made by our agents often go unnoticed by the public, and that is by design. Their commitment to duty is matched only by their humility. But today, we pause to recognize and celebrate this retiring agent's dedication, valor, and sacrifice." The President continued to address the attendees in the room, giving you a quick nod before returning his focus to everyone in the entrance hall.

The President outstretched his hand towards Leon standing in the crowd, now staring at him with a prideful yet relaxed look. "To Mr. Leon S. Kennedy, our retiring agent and loyal friend, thank you for your 19 years of dedicated service to our nation. May your retirement be filled with the peace and contentment that you so richly deserve. You leave behind a legacy of honor and courage that will never be forgotten." The crowd of attendees clapped and cheered briefly, causing Leon to reach his hand up to wipe across his face. A poor way to hide his red face. He's done that before, hasn't he?

Once the crowd quieted back down, the President finished his speech with a classic, "May God bless you, your family, and may God continue to bless the United States of America. Thank you" before the crowd picked back up cheering and clapping. You clapped along with them, laughing at Leon's flustered expression. He could barely hold back his smile, not really have expecting to be so well recognized for his service.

Leon's queue to make his way to the front was when the President walked over to stand next to you, making sure not to block the covered portrait from anyone's view. He'd recited this speech to you countless times, even more to himself when he was alone, but all those eyes staring at him were causing him to fumble. He messed around with the mic once he was standing in front of it, and that was your queue to walk over and stand next to him, placing a loving hand on his forearm.

That's all he needed, just a little extra encouragement from the person he relied on the most. His speech was short and straight to the point, never having been a man of professional word, yet he still managed to slip in some words of praise for you and all the help you provided him during his rough patch earlier in the year.

Neither you or Leon had outright said it to each other, let alone to anyone else, but hearing him announce to the entire hall of people that you were his girlfriend made your heart soar. Speaking about you calmed his nerves, and he wanted everyone to know just how lucky he felt, like he'd hoped for earlier.

He bent over slightly to whisper in your ear, covering the mic with his hand to make sure it didn't pick up his voice. "Now, why don't you go ahead and show us all that masterpiece you spent months working on?" Oh, now you were the flustered one, giggling nervously as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking over to where the painting sat on the easel.

"Ladies and gentleman," Leon's eyes followed you as he straightened his posture out, speaking into the mic once more with a wide smile gracing his features, "I'm honored to have the wonderful artist herself present my very own portrait to you." As he spoke, you carefully lifted the cloth from where it was draped over the painting, finally revealing the ever-awaited portrait to everyone.

Just like with Chris and Claire's, Leon was sat in that soft maroon chair, slightly off center, but his position was different with his right ankle rested atop his left knee, elbows on the arms of the chair while his hands rested in his lap, fingers interlaced. His smile was soft and partially crooked while he looked forward with relaxed eyes, a few strands of hair painted to sit in front of his brow. And to tie it all together, it had a lovely green background, a dark forest green as the base while a sage green was used to add texture. The vintage look had always been your favorite, and Leon fit it so perfectly. He was nearly timeless.

Many "ooo's" and "ahh's" were heard amongst the clapping from the crowd, along with a handshake from the President. Before you could turn to face Leon, you felt his arms slowly slink around you from underneath your arms, the weight of his head now pressing down on your shoulder. You could feel his grin when he tilted his head to kiss your jawline, beginning to gently rock you side to side. Getting to show off your work was always so rewarding, but just knowing Leon was handling everything so well was a feeling you'll truly never forget.

He was happy. That's all you ever wanted for him. The man has truly earned his portrait in that agent hall of fame.

The portrait was soon brought down to the aforementioned hall to be hung up and displayed for good, a few small groups trailing down to get a better look at it. Chris was the noisiest about it, telling Leon it looked like it belonged above a grand fireplace, to which said man agreed with.

Chris, Claire, Jill, and their respective families stared at it for quite some time alongside Leon and you. They all chatted while Leon stared quietly, taking in every little fine detail you'd added. You changed his position some, and did he really smile at you like that? He really did look lovestruck. Of course only he could tell that. Hopefully.

He surprised himself with how okay he felt after seeing the painting. You warned him multiple times that it would most likely be overwhelming and emotional, and while it was, it wasn't in a bad way. The most compelling thought he had right now was to just sweep you off your feet and smother you with love.

Leon asked one of the guards to take a picture of him with everyone, including you, in front of his portrait. Then, just a picture of you and him standing in front of it, easily becoming the background on his phone.

The party went on for only an hour or so more before people started to trickle out. You and Leon were some of the first to leave, saying all your thanks and goodbye's with hugs and handshakes.

The moment the two of you walked into your apartment he practically pounced on you before the door had shut, large hands gripping tight on your hips as he sloppily made out with you. He just had to show his gratitude for all your hard work.

Your lips tasted so sweet and your soft little moans were driving him wild, he couldn't help the groan that rumbled from his chest. Full blown sex had been held off by you, not wanting to rush him into anything while you helped him manage his problems. Honestly, he was glad you'd held off on him, because now that he was feeling like his own person again, it made waiting all the more fulfilling.

Leon hoisted you up into his arms after you'd kicked your heels off, holding onto the back of your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling against his lips as he carefully navigated around the short hallway and into the bedroom.

You looked so good splayed out on the bed for him, that beautiful dress you chose was insanely flattering on you. It had to go though, so after yanking off his jacket he made quick work of your dress, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before pulling it up and over your head. Your bra and panties didn't last either. He'd only gotten to see you naked a couple times before, but god, he'll never get tired of seeing you this way, acting all shy like you weren't his favorite view.

Leon was so eager to get his hands on you that he neglected to take off his suit, opting instead to hover over you and bury his face into your neck. He wasn't a good artist, but he loved to cover your neck in shades of red and purple like you were his own little painting, akin to leaving his signature all over you.

He only pulled away once you tugged on his hair, listening to your begs and pleas for him to get his clothes off. As much as he wanted to prolong this night and tease you, he couldn't hold himself back. He needed to feel your soft skin against his.

"So perfect." Leon mumbled against your skin, licking and kissing his way up your stomach and to your breasts after practically ripping off his clothes. His hands found their way back to your hips, pressing them firm against the bed to keep you from squirming away as he nipped at one of your nipples, pulling it into his mouth.

He moaned as he sucked and circled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes falling closed. The other couldn't stay neglected, so he brought one hand up to pinch and tug at your other nipple, sighing when he felt your body press against his as you arched at the sensation. He loved when your moans would pitch, so cute.

His cock was pressed against the inside of your thigh, rutting against it when you would tug at his hair. Once he decided your nipples had enough attention, he sat up and grabbed the backs of your knees to place around his waist. The new position offered Leon the perfect opportunity to drag his leaking cock through your folds, pressing it down with his thumb so the tip would nudge your clit with every slow thrust forward.

You were so wet, so delicate. He could've fucked you right then, slid right into that juicy little pussy, but he needed to take care of you first. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Reluctantly, the man pulled his dick away from you, letting out a poorly concealed whine at the loss. He ran his hands up your thighs before moving one hand so he could circle your clit with his thumb, the other hand back on your hip to keep you steady.

"L-eon~!" You brokenly moaned out, pleading to him with your watery eyes. You needed more; his fingers, his cock, anything. He couldn't say no to that, stopping his assault on your clit to drag his middle and ring finger through your drenched folds to wet them properly. He brought your right leg to sit over his shoulder, hand gripping the top of your thigh as he leaned forward, studying your face closely as he gently teased the outside of your slit with his middle finger.

He moaned with you as he slid his finger in, keeping his eyes trained on you as he started to tentatively thrust his finger in and out. "Yeah?" Leon whispered, licking his lips as you barely managed to nod. "Yeeeaah, there's my girl..." The rumble in his voice was music to your ears.

His ring finger was soon slid in next to his middle finger, switching between scissoring you and making a partial 'come here' motion with them. After only a couple minutes you were leaking all over his hand and the bed, the wet sounds of your pussy mixed with your moans making his cock jerk and drip with precum. Leon clenched his teeth as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck off your juices. He let out an audible sigh after swallowing, repositioning his dick to slide through your folds a couple more times before nudging your hole with the tip.

"Look at me, baby..." Leon's hushed demand brought you to open your eyes, if only half way. He made eye contact with you before leaning forward further to kiss you, all the while finally pushing into you. He soaked in your gasp, his eyebrows furrowing as you tensed up. "Relax.. let me in~..."

"It's only me.." He panted, tilting his head to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes shut again. "It's only me, baby..." he repeated this a few more times as he eased his cock inside of you, the stretch only stinging for a moment before it turned to pleasure. He filled you perfectly, you could feel every bit of him, especially with his right hand adding a bit of pressure to your stomach.

Leon sat still for a minute to give you time to adjust, taking the way you moved your hips as a sign to move. He pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slowly thrusting back in. He managed to choke out a quiet "Fuck-.." when you clenched around him. "Taking me so well.. such a big girl~.."

He always knew just how to talk to you, making sure to take his time buttering you up. You were putty in his hands, and between his words and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside of you, you could barely think.

It didn't take long for him to start to lose his composure, the sound of wet skin slapping together filling the room as his thrusts intensified. "All mine. All for me." The grip he had on your thigh was sure to leave a bruise, but that was the last thing on your mind.

The hand he had pressing on your stomach moved further down so he could circle your clit with his thumb again, jaw tight as he looked from your blissed out expression to where his hand was playing with you. "Oh fuck! That's it!" Leon growled, eyes glued to your cunt as he plunged in and out of it. "Cream this dick, mamas~... Cum on my cock so I can fill this pretty pussy up.."

The way you gasped and moaned when you came was enough to warrant a noise complaint, but screw your neighbors. You needed this just as much Leon did.

"Oohhh fuck yeah.. Milk me, baby~... shit-" Leon's thrusts stuttered to a stop while pressed flush against you, abs flexing as he pumped ropes of cum into you. Once you managed to open your eyes, all you could do was stare at the man, flushed pink and sweaty, sitting between your legs. Both of you moaned in tandem as he pulled out, Leon groaning to himself as he watched his cum drip from your pussy. Truly a work of art meant for his eyes only.

He leaned over you again to plant a quick kiss on your lips, chuckling when he felt you smile. "Let me go grab something to clean you up, okay?" You could only nod in response, reaching your hand up to caress the side of his face before he stood up from the bed. He walked across the hall into the bathroom, wetting a soft rag with warm water before making his way back over to you.

Leon made sure to be gentle when cleaning you, the warmth from the rag soothing your tender skin. You were able to sit up on your elbows and watch him, using his gentle touches as a way to calm your still racing heart.

After wiping himself off with the rag, he tossed it over in the general direction of your laundry basket. It was a problem for later. Right now, he wanted lay back on the bed and pull you up so you could lay on top of him. Along with just how nice it felt to hold you, he loved the weight of you on him. So that's what he did, pulling you onto him after laying on the bed, running his fingers though your hair on the back of your head.

"Leon." You muttered against his collarbone. His eyebrows raised, yet his eyes were closed. "Mm?" His right eye peaked open when he felt you giggle. "What?"

"I love you." His fingers paused their ministrations at your words. You lifted your head up to look at him, growing worried with his shocked expression. "Sorry, is that too-" you choked on your words, stopped mid-sentence by Leon's arms suddenly squeezing the breath out of you with a very tight hug. He pulled you up just a little further so he could smush his lips against yours.

"I love you too!" He breathed out excitedly. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you!" You tapped his arm and he immediately relaxed his grip, mumbling a small, "Sorry, my bad.." when you took in a deep breath.

"You're adorable, Leon." You shook your head with a smile, brushing the hair from his face to give him a much gentler kiss before settling you head back against his chest with a quiet sigh.

Leon was still a tough man, but you made him soft. Only ever soft for you.

Side note: I totally forgot to add in the pussy eating i am so sorry. i thought i did but it was literally just a thought that never manifested 😭

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @mi-zer-y @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason)

#daily dose of dilf #he's not a dad in this #but that doesn't mean he's not a dilf #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #resident evil fic #resident evil death island #leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy x reader smut

[sunny44]

What about us?

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x ex!Reader

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, sadness, breakup, co-parenting and maybe more

Summary: Where Lewis hasn't been himself lately.

Next Chapter

Lewis and I met when I was working in the media department at Mercedes, I wouldn't say we fell in love at first, but he was definitely the guy I loved most in my life.

But unfortunately not everything we love stays in our lives forever.

We dated for 3 years and then when 2021 came, he was so devastated that the title was taken away from him that our relationship didn’t last.

He was so out of himself that u didn’t recognized him anymore, I seem like the man I love was taken away from me when he lost that day.

So that when we decided to go in separated ways.

But 3 months after i found out that u was pregnant with our daughter and we had to get our path together again. He said to me the day I told him about my pregnancy that I saved him for making the stupidest mistake of his life because he was about to retire from formula 1.

The internet already new that we weren’t together anymore but they just discovered my pregnancy when he posted about it.

We obviously will have a connection for the rest of our lives and I am extremely happy that we manage to be in good terms or co-parenting would have been harder.

I would be lying if I said it was easy because it wasn’t, the fact that we are separated makes Harley's schedule and routine harder than would be if we were together.

Today is Harley’s 3th birthday and I’m was going crazy with everything, she wanted a formula 1 themed party and it was all thanks to her father who got her addicted to the sport.

So here I was running around my apartment to decorate everything while she was with Sebastian and his wife.

Kika is here with Pierre and the other boys helping me with the party.

Lately he was kind of absent, he obviously came to see Harley but when I tried to talk to him, Lewis answered as little as possible and my messages he didn't even answer.

I had been trying to get him to help me with her birthday but now I was worried that he wouldn't come.

I hope he is only busy now in the afternoon because I will kill him if he doesn't show up.

We live in Monaco so some of the drivers came since they are all passionate about Harley.

This includes George, Pierre, Sebastian, Charles, Carlos, Daniel, Max and Lando.

Max and Lewis were not biggest fans of each other, far from it, but Benjamin his son was best friends with Harley so we met occasionally. And above all they treated each other with respect so we had an acceptable relationship for the sake of our children.

And Lewis hated that Harley adored Uncle Max.

The party had been going on for two hours and nothing came of him, I didn't know whether to be worried or angry.

"Mommy, where's Daddy?"

"I don't know my love, he should be here soon." She agrees a little discouraged but runs to where Ben and Max were.

"Anthony do you know where Lewis is?" I asked his father who was talking to my parents.

"I don't know darling, he said he would be a little late but he would come." I sighed in frustration. "I'll try to call him."

"Thank you."

He left to try to call his son and I went off to try to concentrate on distracting Harley with play.

…

He appeared in the middle of the party and I sighed with relief when I saw him coming through the door with Angela with him, Harley ran up to her father and I was happy to see her smile.

"How nice of you to come." I hugged Angela and she smiled.

"You've done well with the decorations." She said and I thanked her. "Can I talk to you? I want to take advantage of the fact that he's distracted by her."

I looked at the two of them and Harley was talking non-stop and he was listening attentively.

"Sure." We went into the kitchen where no one was around. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure, I'm a bit worried about him."

"What happened?"

"I arrived at his apartment today and everything was a mess and he was asleep on the sofa." I was surprised because he rarely slept during the day and his apartment was always spotless. "I tried to talk to him but you know how he is, Lewis doesn't open up easily but he ended up saying that he wasn't happy and that he missed you both a lot."

"But we're always here."

"I think he misses a family." I sighed because I understood his feeling. "You know that he loves you both more than anything in the world and I remember when you were together he was planning to marry you, have children and have you live in a more secluded house so that you wouldn't be swallowed up by the media but from one moment to the next his plan became just a dream."

"I understand."

"And the only thing that's kept him going over the last few years is that little girl and the fact that you're her mother because that's what's kept you in his life. But he hasn't been the same for a while."

"I've noticed that he's been acting strange lately, he doesn't talk to me directly and avoids me whenever he can."

"Because he knows that you know him like the back of your hand and that you would know what was wrong with him." She takes my hand. "I'm not telling you this because I want you to feel guilty or anything, but I wanted to ask you to talk to him and try to help him in any way you can."

"All right, I'll talk to him after the party."

...

I said goodbye to the last few people and the only ones that were still around was Max, Ben and Lewis

"Buddy it's about time we go home." He says trying to talk the boy off the trampoline.

"Not yet Daddy, wait a little longer." He says short of breath from jumping around.

"If you don't mind I can take him to your apartment later."

"All right, thanks." He said goodbye and went home.

They kept jumping on the trampoline while Lewis was inside grabbing the trash.

After 10 minutes Bem said he was tired and i asked Lewis to watch Harley while I take him to his father and when I came back I could hear them in her room.

"I've missed you so much, Daddy." She says, already lying on her bed.

"I missed you too baby bear." She smiles tiredly and closes her eyes. He kisses her forehead and stays there for a few more minutes until he sees that she's asleep.

"Hey." He smiles as soon as he sees me outside her room. "I'm sorry I couldn't help, I got caught up with some work stuff."

He was lying but I knew it was juts for me not to worry about him.

"It's okay, I sorted it out." He smiled and went back into the living room. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Maybe because I know you better than you think." He sighs. "You don't have to tell me what it is, but I want you to know that I care about you."

"It's just that everything's been a bit too much lately."

"What do you mean?"

"The constant pressure at work, the media, the fact that I'm not there for you two every day. Everything." He turns to me. "I just don't know how much I can take anymore."

"Lewis..."

"I miss you, and I miss us, I miss Harley and this feeling that I'm good at what I do has been haunting me."

"But you are good."

"Apparently not so much because I can't even stand on the podium." I sighed. "I don't expect you to understand but I don't think I want to do this anymore."

"What do you want to do then?" He looks at me. "You know that Harley and I don't care if you're a driver or not, we care about you too much to worry about whether you're still in Formula 1 or not."

"It's just that I've lived this for so long that I just wish I could be with you every day without worrying about having to catch a flight to the other side of the world."

"I understand and I'll support you in whatever you decide.

"Thank you." I sat down on the sofa and nudged him to sit next to me, which he did, resting his head on my shoulder. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"I know, I love you too."

"But I love you in a way that..."

"I know, and I love you the same way." He looks at me. "I understood what you meant from the start."

"And what does that mean for us?"

"I don't know but we don't need to find out today, we have plenty of time." He smiles and we lie down on the sofa.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername instagram post

Liked by @lewishamilton, @susiewolf, @cherlesleclerc and others 293629

@yourusername I still can believe my baby is turning 3 years old today.

I’m so happy that I’m your mama and that I’m able to watch you grow and turn into this beautiful little girl.

I can’t imagine my life without you and I’m grateful for having you in my life.

Thank you @lewishamilton for making me a mama and for giving me the best gift anyone could ever give me.

Happy birthday sweet girl, mama loves you so much 🩵.

Comments have been disabled

Guys I have so many ideias for another chapters of Lewis being Harleys dad so if you guys want to read the next chapters let me know so I’ll tag you guys.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 #f1 instagram au #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton art #lewis hamilton fanart #lewis hamilton edit #lewis hamilton wallpaper #lewis hamilton icons #lewis hamilton headers #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton instagram au #lewis hamilton aesthetic #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton social media au #lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton lockscreen #lewis hamilton masterlist #lewis hamilton blurb #lh44 #mercedes amg f1 #mercedes amg petronas

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 5: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter five of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Drinking, Drug Use, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Possible spoilers for season three.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

*************************

Present Day

"Hey'ya Kitten!" Legend smiles wide when he opens the front door of his apartment. "Where have you been baby? How's retirement?" He leans forward for a kiss and you turn your cheek to the side.

Always the flirt.

"Exciting. Is it alright if I come in?"

"Of course! I always have time for my favorite hero." He ushers you into his home.

It was one day after Agent Butcher and Hughie had dropped by your apartment looking for information on Soldier Boy. One sleepless night later you realized that the only way you were going to find Countess was through Legend. And despite his flirtatious attitude, you liked your former handler.

The apartment looks the same as it always has. Memorabilia from what he thought was the good old days hangs on the walls, a black leather couch sags in the center of the living room, and a red faded high backed armchair stands in the corner like a silent guardian. The smell of old cologne, pot, and alcohol soaks through the air and into your nose as you turn to examine the inhabitant.

Legend looks decidedly older. Sometimes you forgot that you didn't age the same way other people did, but then you'd meet someone from the past and it would remind you all over again. He's wearing the same smoking jacket with patched elbows, sunglasses, and ascot, that you saw him wearing over ten years ago. But Legend was classic.

"You hurt my feelings by not calling." He breezes having a seat on one of the couches, and fluffing more of the offensive smell through your nose, but you don't make a face. "What's it been ten years?"

"Something like that." You smile tightly and sit down on the armchair.

It wasn't that you didn't like seeing Legend. He might have been a crazy son of a bitch, but he was a good handler. He knew everything about everyone and he helped you get through Ben's death, not to mention he helped you create your new life when you broke away from Payback.

"You want some?" Legend holds out a mirror where a single white line of cocaine sits. "Or are you still sober?"

"I never did cocaine. And yeah, I'm still trying to stay on the wagon."

"Don't know how you do it."

"Me either." You say it partly to yourself, because it was true. You didn't know how you got through the past 40 years without a drink. Before, it wasn't that you partied as hard as Ben or the others did. It was more the drinking than drugs you imbibed in. Yes, you'd smoked the occasional blunt, but you didn't want to lose control if you tried anything stronger. You didn't like losing control, you prided yourself on keeping it together.

Ben had lost control more than once, and each time he'd show up at your apartment just like he had when he was a kid and he was hiding from his father, falling asleep beside you like nothing had changed. You never understood how he could be so vulnerable when it was just the two of you, but when he was in public he was different. Sometimes you hated that, because in those quiet moments you saw the boy you fell in love with, but when you were out in public you saw the man he became.

You remember all the times he lost control. The worst was when he threw a car through a house when trying to stop some kids in the street and killed an older man. Ben hadn't gone to the funeral, but you had. You sat on the back pew and watched the family mourn. Only a little boy in the front row had noticed you, and you had offered a kind smile, before walking back through the streets and leaving an envelope of cash in the family's mailbox. You knew the money couldn't replace the person they lost, but you couldn't think of anything else to do.

"So, are you here because you want to come out of retirement?" Legend snorts the line on the mirror without looking up. "Might be a good thing."

You laugh to yourself. "I like retirement too much to go back to Vought. Too wild out there nowadays with the supervillains and all that Compound V bullshit." You lean back in the armchair, crossing your legs in front of you.

"I could make you a star!" He looks up at you. "You're still as sexy as ever."

"And you're still a dirty old man." You tease, rolling your eyes at him and earning a chortle from Legend.  "I don't think my powers are cutesy enough for television. I’m not like Starlight.” You snort thinking about the current blonde member of The Seven that had become America’s Sweetheart, a title that you were happy you never wore.

"Who said anything about your powers babe? It's all about the body."

"Legend-"

"Fine, fine." He shakes his head. "I saw your last art show, very nice. Bought something for the country house."

"That's very kind of you." You smile with pride. Your last show had been a series you titled "Moods of the Forest," which meant that you had camped out under the stars for a solid month up North drinking in the silence of the woods. It was a nice way for you to clear your head and catch up on your reading, but it had done little to ease the thoughts of the past. "Those were some of my favorites. It was hard to part with them."

"You're very talented." He compliments.

"Thank You. I'd hope so. I've been painting for almost 90 years." Your memory flashes back to when Ben gave you paint for your birthday and the months that followed as you practiced. All the days you spent painting in the park and along the streets of Philadelphia, sometimes with Ben following behind and teasing you, but you knew he loved how much you were painting, loved how much you enjoyed the gift. The happiness and warmth of the memories is doused by a bucket of cold water as you remember the last time you saw him. The echo of the last words you spoke to him and the words he shouted at you ringing in your ears.

The chill sobers you and makes you remember why you were here talking to Legend.

"I have something important to ask you." You look up at Legend. "Do you know where Crimson Countess is?"

Legend doesn't answer immediately. The spike of his pulse with the mention of Countess' name is loud in your ears. "Did you want a scotch? I think I need one." He avoids your gaze.

"Legend-"

He stands from the couch and moves over to the table in the corner that has a collection of multicolored bottles that you wish you could drink from, but you restrain yourself. You hear the sound of the glass being poured and as he turns he takes a sip as if rousing the courage to tell you.

"Y/n if this is you finally going after her, now might not be the best time." He swirls the glass in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides. "I thought you were past all that-"

"It's not like that I-“  Your lips press together in a tight line, considering your next words. "Some men came to my apartment the other day looking for me. They were asking me about Ben."

"You told them you were dead right? The story we came up with?" Legend looks worried.

"Yeah. Don't think they bought it." You shrug.

"Did they give you their names?"

"They said they were with the CIA. Agent Butcher and a guy named Hughie-"

"Butcher? Dark hair, British accent, asshole?" Legend's glass pauses half-way to his mouth.

"Yeah. How did you-"

Legend sighs. "He used to be with the CIA, was on a task force that was used to hunt down supes. I helped them find a few over the years."

"Hunt them down?"

"Butcher's got a bone to pick with supes. Homelander especially." Legend sits back on the couch nursing his scotch.

At the mention of Vought’s most popular hero you pause. You didn’t know too much about Homelander, just that he emerged as Vought’s Golden Boy a few years after Ben died and he was supposed to be indestructible. You wondered if he was as indestructible as you.

“Homelander?”

“Did something to his wife.” Legend waves a hand like it doesn’t matter. "But they were asking you about Soldier Boy?"

"Yeah, they wanted to know about the relationship I had with him and how he died-" You foot taps against the ground, fighting the urge to pour yourself a drink.

Legend looks worried. "Maybe you should get out of town for a few days-"

"What?"

Can Butcher really be that dangerous? He didn't seem like much the other day and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle me. Most supes couldn't.

"Not because of Butcher, he's a dick, but I mean everything with Soldier Boy." Legend takes a sip from the glass. "If you start thinking about him again, you're going to be in the same place you were last time."

Deep down you know he's right, ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up on your doorstep, Ben was all you thought about. The hole you dug yourself into when you and Ben fought and then he died was deep and dark, and it was already beginning to open under your feet.

You didn’t know if talking to Countess would help close it, but maybe you needed closure, maybe you needed to hear it from her how he died. The last thing you wanted was to go to Stan Edgar. He'd already shown up once, but you thought you had convinced him with your story. Occasionally he would show up to one of your art shows, browsing through the canvases, and asking you about the inspiration of them. You never liked when he showed up in your life, because after all these years he hadn't changed, he was still a snake obsessed with power and being on top.

"I know." You sigh, clutching your hands together in your lap. "But I want to talk to her. Maybe it's time. There was always something that unsettled me about how Ben died and she's the one who saw it. Plus Noir isn’t very talkative these days, Gunpowder is dead, and I’d rather drink cyanide than listen to those two TNT idiots.”

Learning that Gunpowder was dead was a shock. You'd lost contact with him, but you thought it was suspicious that he died so soon before Butcher and Hughie came to see you. You knew that Gunpowder was still doing his rounds in the gun expos and conventions, boasting about the good all days and preaching about the dangers of gun control.

It was ironic for him to be against it when you'd personally seen him kill several people who pissed him off and for no good reason.

If anything he shouldn't be allowed near a gun.

When you knew him he was still a kid, but even then he was already adopting the ridiculous macho attitude that Ben had.

Must have stuck.

"I still don’t think it's a good idea." Legend finishes his glass of Scotch. "But let me find it.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me kitten. I don't think I'm doing you a favor." He grunts moving through the apartment, while your eyes trace the photos. Several of them were of Ben at movie premieres, another showed the whole Payback team, and finally just Ben and Legend. He was wearing his ridiculous helmet, the one you used to tease him about. You always thought it was a shame that they covered up his handsome face.

You had a box of photos under your bed that held similar images, but most of yours were of Ben and you not wearing your supe suits. The ones from your childhood needed to be handled with care, but you enjoyed looking at them, before you saw the hardness in Ben's eyes and the set of his jaw. Those early photos showed you the boy you fell in love with.

"Here." He hands you a slip of paper that holds his untidy scrawl as you stand from the chair.

"Thank you." You turn to go, but stop. "Should I be worried about Butcher?"

"I'd stay out of his way. He kills supes for fun."

"But if Ben's already dead then what does he want?"

Legend shrugs. "Can't be good."

"Great."

"Just be careful." Legend puts his hand on your shoulder. "I know that everything that happened with Soldier Boy really threw you-"

"I know. But I have to know. I have to hear what she has to say." You sigh looking up at him. It touched your heart that he cared so much. Legend never got close to his clients in the past, but for some reason he was always more willing to help you. It was him that talked you out of the hole when Ben died.

"Okay."

"It was good to see you. Take care of yourself." You try not to see the weariness in his eyes, the way the wrinkles have grown and stretched over the years, how the gray of his hair has spread. One listen with your supe hearing meant that you could hear his blood pumping through his veins, but it wasn’t at the same vigor as it once was. It was difficult to see age on the people you knew, the day that you and Ben both figured out that you weren't aging anymore had been bittersweet. You were happy that Ben wouldn’t die either, but it meant you’d lose your family. However, Ben’s inability to age meant that you weren't alone.

You frown to yourself. Sometimes you’d thought that meant something, that the universe finally threw you a bone and it was some cosmic sign that you and Ben were supposed to be together-

What a crock of shit.

But despite his death the past few years you hadn't been alone even though you had expected it.

"Good to see you too kitten. Don't be a stranger."

When you finally make it to the street below, you kick your leg over your motorcycle, but pause.

I could just go home and work on my pieces for my next show. Go home and pretend those men never showed up and forget all about Ben. The guilt and anger that rises with his name is familiar, but you brush it away. This might be the only chance I have of finding out what happened to him. You think about Countess and the scrap of paper in your pocket. But it won't be easy.

***********************

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, but not required. Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister

#jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #the boys amazon #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fic #the boys series #the boys season 3

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Masterlist

Hello! I'm Catie (27 she/her)! Baldur's Gate 3 single-handedly brought me out of a 10 year fanfic writing hiatus and the brain rot is deep in my brain. Mostly SFW works, but I have some NSFW sprinkled throughout, but it's all marked accordingly.

Thanks for visiting!

Complete master list for all of my fanfics are below. They can be read on Tumblr through the links below or can be read on AO3 here if you prefer! Currently all for Baldur's Gate 3, but could include more if I ever get out of the chokehold this game has me in.

For the time being, all Astarion fics are posted in my chronological order. I tend to stray a bit from canon with those and with it being my Tav, the backstory is in the first one. When I get more written for Halsin and other characters it'll be the same.

Thank you so much for reading!

Current wip

Astarion

Simply Transactional (Completed): Astarion x Named Tav (Tavriel) Astarion and Tav have an unexpected run-in one night in a clearing. After revealing part of her past, Tav realizes her relationship with Astarion might simply be a transactions for both parties. Pre-confession Astarion. Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Come Back to Me (Completed): Astarion x Named Tav (Tavriel) After an attack in the Shadow Cursed Lands, Tavriel is exposed to the toxins of fear inducing mushroom spores, causing her already weakened mind to relive the traumatic horrors of her past. Astarion and Halsin are forced to work quickly to cure her mind of the spores before the effects remain with her permanently. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Halsin

New Life Shall Prosper (Completed): Halsin x Gender Neutral Reader Months after the fall of the Absolute, you and Halsin have carved a happy life for yourselves within Thaniel's Realm, making a safe haven for all. A life full of hope and prosperity, only enhanced once you discover the very real possibility that you are with child. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Indulgence (Completed): Halsin X Gender Neutral Reader Halsin has always struggled with indulging in the more pleasurable aspects of life. However, with the shadow curse lifted and your group now on the road to Baldur's Gate, you and Halsin find time to indulge in a bit of fun and a sweet treat before retiring for the evening. Indulgence, Something Sweeter NSFW

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav #astarion #halsin #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #spawn astarion #astarion fanfic #fanfic #fanfics #ao3 fanfic #astarion x named tav #halsin x gender neutral reader #halsin x reader #reader x halsin #daddy halsin #halsin romance #astarion romance #halsin fluff #astarion fluff #astarion fanfiction #Halsin fanfiction

[gentrychild]

Did you already have this ending planned from the beginning or did you have other ideas?

The ending was planned since the very beginning and very little details changed. It was always going to be Izuku dying at Kamino and using that to chase the Plot in the afterlife to make it go through complete cessation of existence. And I had always planned for the very last scene of the fic to be Toga from another world, in front of Izuku's grave then almost getting hit by a truck.

There are two things that changed compared to what I had planned.

First, as I said, there was supposed to be a moment where Izuku willingly goes on a rooftop to show that he had conquered his fear of them. I decided against it for several reasons: 1. it felt like a final scene and I didn't want that to be the final scene, I wanted to show Toga and that Izuku was indeed Izuku all along. 2. It would have cut the flow of the epilogue if I tried to place it anyway. 3. I realized that I didn't quite like it because Izuku's fear of rooftops would be stronger after his little adventure in the place between worlds. He will need time and support to control it, and he will never fully get rid of it.

Second, Izuku wasn't supposed to rest in that cabin in the mountains for two weeks. He was supposed to be there for the whole thing, to catch the LoV and put them on the path of rehabilitation, be there for both his dads' retirement party, meet several other villains and so on. And I decided that no. Izuku has been running around since the first chapter and it's impossible to keep such rhythm forever. At some point, your body forces you to rest and it's a good thing.

#Also a commenter asked me if Izuku's best friend in the other world was always supposed to be Toga #As they thought that Uraraka made more sense #And yes I confirm that from Day 1 this was Toga #raadsc fic

[bonefall]

in the nightcloud summary post- "They'd barely settled in before Nightstar and Crookedstar turned on them, attacking to try and drive them out AGAIN." is this a typo, or is nightpelt in charge of shadowclan during this attack?

Not a typo and also COMPLETELY canon! That is not a BB addition, that happens in the book!

Fire and Ice, chapter 30:

"Fireheart skidded to a halt, reeling at the sight that greeted him in the camp clearing. Last time he’d been here, in search of the scent trail that would lead them to the missing Clan, the place had been deserted and silent. Now the clearing swarmed with writhing, screeching, fighting cats. Onewhisker had been right—the WindClan cats were hopelessly outnumbered. A fresh party of ShadowClan and RiverClan warriors waited at the edge of the clearing, but WindClan could spare no backup group. The whole Clan was fighting, apprentices and elders, warriors and queens."

ShadowClan and RiverClan team up after Fireheart fetches them home, to try and drive WindClan out a second time. It's explicit how horrifying this is, how the battered clan is hopelessly outnumbered, and how the invaders have a backup reserve of reinforcements while WindClan is fighting tooth and nail.

He even sees a ShadowClan tom BATTERING Morningflower, a nursing queen who's trying to defend Gorsekit.

"Fireheart heard Runningwind yowl for help. The tabby warrior was grappling desperately with Nightstar, ShadowClan’s treacherous leader. Fireheart darted through the throng to Runningwind’s side. Without pausing to think, Fireheart leaped, grabbing Nightstar from behind. The black warrior howled in rage as Fireheart pulled him backward and sank his claws deep into Nightstar’s fur. He had fought side by side with this warrior only a few moons ago to help him drive out Brokenstar. Now he sank his teeth into Nightstar’s shoulder with the same ferocity he had used against the former ShadowClan leader."

I could talk about how interesting this battle is, and all of the little interactions between various warriors (my girlie Leopardfur gets another mini bossfight <3), but the bottom line is that this moment means a lot to me. I want to FRAME it in BB.

BB!Nightstar, at the end of the day, isn't principled. He is no radical. BB!Brokenstar is infamously overhauled, and the biggest part of that is that he's a reflection of Clan Culture. He's a manifested curse, which was only broken because BLUESTAR and her new philosophy are different.

If it wasn't for her and Fire Alone, the Clans were doomed to end the way that Ripplestar had seen born on the night of his death. Self-concerned and violent, blinded by their pride, ripping each other apart and letting the others fall one by one

But Nightstar just thinks Brokenstar went too far. He has no objection to honor, or the Warrior Code, you see. Stealing kits and driving Clans out of their territories is what's unacceptable. Not keeping what you already own; and certainly not the concept of violently winning land in furious battles.

He became leader because he appeals to the two "divided halves" of the Clan. Deerfoot the Rebel is too controversial for those who enjoyed Brokenstar's methods, but old, wise Nightpelt who only retired because of asthma, he's a good compromise. At first.

Power has a mind of its own. You know what Brokenstar did? He promised these cats glory. He let them fight how they please. ShadowClan HATES WindClan, they've been fighting for generations. Appealing to those cats means letting them do whatever they want, and what they want is MURDER.

So Nightstar keeps appealing to them, alienating Deerfoot and his group, causing him to appeal even harder to ShadowClan's other half. Thus, he ends up in the same position Brokenstar was in, with Downwind's blood on his hands, only this time... Runningnose holds a grudge against the little weasel who caused the death of his beloved leader, biding his time to clear the Clan of all the traitors who stood against Brokenstar.

He tried to make allies out of cats who were ALWAYS going to hate him. Power drove him towards becoming what he had previously opposed. In the end, he paid for it.

#BB!Nightstar #Better Bones AU #BB!TPB

[crash-and-cure]

If I Were You Part 4 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Elvis is here. Elvis is here and you have to deal with the tight rope that will be navigating his presence in your life both inside and outside of the party.

Note: Fun fact, this party was orignally meant to be a retirement party for reader’s dad, though in a certain part I couldn’t figure out a way to make it not seem as though Elvis wasn’t confessing his love for reader’s dad, so I switched it to an anniversary party (My original outline was insane, at one point there was an Elvis impersonator that was scrapped within the hour of me putting that idea in my notes). I know this one came out a lot earlier than the last one but that was because I was working on both of them at the same time with the intention of posting them as one. But then I went off the deep end and so they became 2 big parts rather than 1 insanely large part. That being said don’t expect the next part to be out for a while at least, becuase yes there will be at least one other chapter (please note I said the exact same thing two chapters ago). So please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for the final chapter(s?) of this story and the upcoming one shots.

Word Count: 14.5K

Warnings: Oh boy get ready for this one. Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. Dubious consent in some areas. Inappropriate relationship with Therapist (Which should go without saying). Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), Daddy Kink, Praise kink, cum eating, and oral sex (m. recieving). Also brief depictions of choking and a nightmare sequence featuring implied drowning. Depictions parental abuse that include parentification, favoritism, as well as emotional neglect and abandonment. Also mentions of Elvis' mommy issues, and more exploration readers daddy issues. Period typical misogyny depicted. Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, emotional manipulation, uses of coercion, grabbing that leads to bruising and verbal mistreament. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 5

My Masterlist

He of course has the gall to look amazing right before he ruins your life, his suit almost entirely black which only serves to highlight the bold red scarf that draws your greedy eyes to his open shirt. The scarf itself you’re horrified to recognize, not because you’ve seen it on him before but because it’s almost the exact shade of red you’re currently wearing. His eyes give you a once over before his face breaks into that devastating grin of his, and the dress that previously made you feel dowdy now leaves you feeling exposed. 

As he approaches you make an attempt to back away only to be halted by bodies that obstruct any escape. You can feel the beginning of a panic attack as he advances, the crowd parting as though he were Moses himself. You genuinely fear that your heart will leap out your chest as he gets within spitting distance and he spreads his arms while loudly declaring “Now if it ain’t my favorite Doctor.” 

Before you can fully pass out from the lack of oxygen going to your brain, you finally see that he’s not looking at you. No… he’s looking past you. “And if it ain’t my favorite patient,” you hear your father say from behind you, all but shoving you out of the way to grasp Elvis’ hand and shake it vigorously. “So glad to see you could make it.”

“Other plans fell through, and I wasn't about to let the night go to waste. That reminds me though,” he looks back to one of the Mafia members who hands him a bottle of wine. “Now I know you said no more gifts, but I ain’t ever ‘bouta show up to a party empty handed,” he said handing off the bottle to you father. You catch a glimpse at the label, and you’re just barely able to suppress your gasp once you recognize it. Your father apparently takes it as his cue to make introductions.

“You remember my boy over here,” he said, patting your brother on the shoulder. “And my beautiful wife, and this,” nudging you forward, causing you to stumble slightly. “This is my lovely daughter, Y/N.”

“Um… Hello…” you say trying not to meet his eyes, so that he won’t know how rattled you truly are. “Pleasure to meet you um… Elvis,” you stick out your trembling hand. Your hope that he wouldn’t see how truly shaken up you were over his presence is quickly dashed when you seemingly jump ten feet in the air upon feeling his lips at the back of your hand. 

“Pleasures all mine Ms. Y/N,” he says and you feel his lips brush against your hand. 

You’re unsure whether he’s this committed to pretending he doesn't know you or if he’s purposefully baiting you, but as you all but rip your hand out of his, you can’t help your next response. “Actually it’s Dr. Y/N,” you say in your most self-assured tone that you could muster at the moment. 

You feel the eyes of the party turn from Elvis to you as though everyone is prepared for god to strike you down for having the audacity to correct him. Your mother especially has told you off for how gauche it was to correct people on your title, as though she herself doesn’t correct people when they use the wrong title for your father and Danny. You can feel all of their gazes, your family’s especially, and you truly believe you’re going to suffocate under all the looks, and you wonder how Elvis can not only stand it but build a career off of it.

You’re only saved from this scrutiny by Elvis’ boisterous laugh, and suddenly your impudence toward the king of rock and roll went from blasphemous to downright charming as everyone within earshot followed suit. “A whole family a doctors,” he states while looking at your father. “You must be so proud, Doc.”

Your father is quick to recover from the apparent shock to his system and wraps his arm around your shoulders, though his tight fist tells you that he hasn’t forgotten how rude you just were to Elvis. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said, bringing you closer to him. “Proudest moment of my life was seeing both of them get their degrees. This one especially” he says while ruffling your hair. “You don’t see a lot of girls becomin’ doctors, and I’m so proud that my little princess here did the impossible and became one of ‘em.”

This is news to you. 

“I gotta daughter myself. Can’t say I don’t love the sound of a Dr. Presley,” he says unabashedly, looking straight at you. 

That is also news to you.

You feel your heart leap into your throat at that comment. You’re contemplating letting yourself collapse to escape this situation, you wouldn’t be the first woman to do that in his presence and you’re about 60% sure that at least one of your family members would watch over you in such an event and Elvis wouldn’t be able to spirit you away. But you are already pushing your luck with that earlier comment, and the last thing you want to do is be the cause of another scene tonight. So you instead take the next best course of action, and you decide to run.

“Oh excuse me, can you hold that thought for a moment. I think I see my date over there,” you point to nowhere in particular, “I’ll be right back.” You don’t wait for any sort of dismissal as you make a quick exit from this conversation. Once you feel that you are away from watching eyes you pick up the pace, and once you’re out the front door you all but sprint to your car. 

You can’t do this anymore. You have to get away otherwise, you're liable to explode from the sheer stress this entire situation is causing you. You’re leaving, and damn whatever consequences may come.

That fire within you is quickly stamped out when you turn the key in the ignition determined to leave, only to be met with silence. You test it a few more times again only to be met with the same result. Finally you give up and rest your head against the steering wheel while you scream in frustration. You have to fight back tears, as now going back inside is inevitable, and you do not want to have anyone seeing you now when you look as much of a mess you are on the outside as you are on the inside. You nearly jump out your skin when you hear a knock coming from your window, and you look over only to see a familiar blonde.

“Do I even need to ask?” you say tiredly, after opening your car door, part to talk to him, mostly in the hopes the cool night air will steady you somewhat before you go back inside. Jerry offers you a cigarette, and with the way he looks at you, it truly feels like the last offering before the firing line. 

“He… he sent me out here to make sure you don’t do something stupid.” he says, which while an answer is far from comforting. 

“Do they know?” you ask and he only gives you a questioning look. “The rest of you guys, I mean. About how I met him?”

“Hell most of ‘em don’t even know he was still in therapy after San Diego.”

“Tell me something. Was it one of you or him personally?” you say, but as you see his hesitation in raising a cigarette to his mouth, you back track. You doubt either answer will make you feel better. 

“Look Doc,” he says, solemnly lighting up. “You gotta understand this ‘bout us. We all love him, but before Priscilla convinced him to go to rehab, we spent years just watchin’ him die. And now we can’t really say no to him, no matter how off the walls it looks from the outside, ‘cuz we gotta make it up to him somehow.”

“But why?” you ask. “If you saw how he was hurting himself, why didn’t you step in earlier? You do realize that more than likely it was the fact that nobody was saying no to him that kept enabling him?”

“You don’t think we tried?” he says bitingly, smoke seeping out his mouth. “That’s the thing about Elvis, even when you say no, that just means he’s gonna look for someone else to say yes. ‘Till you came along.” he says, using the cigarette to point at you. 

“Oh yes, he’s really respecting my refusal,” you say sarcastically, thrusting your hand toward your childhood home as Elvis is no doubt laughing and mingling with the family you never wanted him to meet.

He goes quiet after that, letting a heavy silence fall between the two of you, and you feel somewhat vindicated by his clear discomfort at this whole thing. 

“Would it really be so bad, Y/N? I mean most women would kill to be where you are right now,” he says after some time. 

“Most women don’t have as much to lose to be with him.”

“Maybe, but I know that you’re good for him,” he says pleadingly. “And I think he could be good for you if you let him.”

“What the hell do you even know about me?” you say venomously. 

“Doc listen… I don’t agree with how he’s going about this,” Jerry says, his hands thrown up defensively. “But I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him so… so…”

“Focused?” you finish. 

“Exactly.” 

Being the object of his focus is an intense thing to experience, and it’s something you didn’t fully appreciate until now. When you first started working with him, it was just the two of you alone together in your office and you had nothing to compare it to. The two of you were there for him and to help him get better. And then when you started to become further immersed in his world the focus was still on him, but back there he made it clear: He’s here for you and only for you.

You look down at your feet at this point and you notice the bruise he left on your inner thigh just barely peeking out from the hem of your dress, “What’s he planning Jerry?” you barely manage to whisper.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Either.”

“I’m serious Jerry,” you say with no doubt a crazed look in your eyes. “What the hell am I up against? Proposal? Asking me out in front of everybody? Exposing the relationship here and now? What?”

Jerry takes a long apathetic drag off of his cigarette, before taking an equally long smoky sigh. “I can’t speak for those other things, but I do know that all in all he’s pretty private, so I doubt it’s the last one.” 

“...but not impossible?”

“Is anything impossible for him?” he says as he lets the cigarette fall before stomping it out and turning around to head back inside. And you’re once again left alone with your thoughts.

Elvis Presley truly does live on another planet than the rest. That not only he can live in this fantasy but bring people in as well. That’s what truly disturbs you about him. You’ve learned that even the most rational seeming people can fall prey to the likes of him and even your awareness hasn’t been able to shield you entirely from being just as affected by him. 

And even knowing this doesn’t stop you from making your way back into the house, back into his orbit.

When you return to the foyer, you don’t need to try too hard to figure out where Elvis is in the house, as you can see many partygoers hovering around the den trying and failing to not look like they're waiting for an opening as Red and Sonny act as bouncers to the door. You speed walk past that entrance resolved to make yourself scarce until the end of the party. Evidently you’re not fast enough as Elvis calls your name, and you hope that people mistake your expression as being starstruck instead of being terrified. 

“Why don’t you come in here? From the sounds of things, you probably got some interestin’ stories to tell,” Elvis says. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that?” You say, looking around and praying for something that will get you out of here. 

“Nonsense. Come sit over here,” he says, patting the coffee table in front of him. You glance at your parents, expecting some type of protest on their part. But nothing comes, if anything they are all too eager to follow his lead, so you concede and make your way into the room. You walk in with the same eagerness as you would walking into a lion’s den, and you take stock as to who was deemed worthy enough to sit with the King. You can make out most of the Memphis Mafia members and your immediate family alongside some of the more prominent friends of your father, all of which has you on edge. 

You sit down in front of him, while he sits comfortably in your fathers armchair. The same armchair where your fathers episodes typically take place and where you used to sit with him for hours at a time in your youth. Your father has always been overly protective of that chair and hated when anyone took it, so to not only see Elvis sit in it with ease, but to see your father stand beside and even look glad that he is there is mind-boggling to you. Admittedly the image of him in your fathers spot, is making it a little harder to breathe.

To your horror Elvis notices, “Aaahhh, you don’t gotta be like that lil’ one, I’m just a man like any other.” His tone is comforting, but you can see a mischievous glint in his eyes, telling you how much he is enjoying your humiliation. “Here drink this,” offering his own wine glass. “It’ll help you simmer down.” With all eyes in the room on you, you shakily accept the all too familiar wine. 

As you drink, he looks toward your parents and askes with an amused huff if you’re a fan. Your mother jumps at the opportunity, “Oh the biggest. This one was always beggin’ us to let her go to your shows when she was real young. I even remember her crying when you got drafted.” This causes you to do a double-take. You’re not sure if she’s knowingly lying in an effort to add something to the conversation, if she’s conflating you with your brother who was the fan or if she genuinely doesn’t know you that well. You share a look with Danny, who undoubtedly has the same thought as you, but gives an expression telling you not to contradict your mother. 

It is at this point that you realize that the odd energy surrounding the two of you is not going unnoticed by the rest. You almost have to admire how bold it is to make a grand entrance to someone else’s party, and then proceed to shamelessly flirt with the host’s daughter. No doubt that is how the rest of the party is interpreting this interaction. Elvis, clearly aware of the audience and the part he’s playing in all of this, leans forward, and says teasingly “So I guess this is a dream come true for you.”

A nightmare really. “Yes,” you say looking down, humiliation burning your face, and desperately wishing you were anywhere else right now. “Speaking of drafted” you squeak out in an attempt to shift focus away from you. “I don’t think you’ve heard my dad’s stories from the war.” 

If there’s one thing you can rely on is your father’s willingness to tell war stories. He can go on and on for hours about the men he saved during the war, you suspect so he doesn't have to focus on the men he couldn’t. It has the desired effect and your father begins to regale those around you to the tale of one soldier who everybody thought was beyond saving but he refused to give up on him, and how in the end he was able to save that man. As you think about the fact that you’ve no doubt heard this same story more than a hundred times all through your life, you glance at Elvis, you see he’s been keeping his eyes firmly on you. The unease you feel due to his gaze and the revelation of where you got your fervent need to save him, has you refilling your glass more than once. 

When your father finished his story, you hear beside you, “Oh Y/N, where’s your friend Mark?” Your mother asks this innocently as you take a sip, and you try to refrain from choking on the wine. You’re not so shocked at the question itself but the fact that your mother is calling him your friend, when typically she’s the one to insist on referring to him as your boyfriend, despite all of your protests. The fact that she surreptitiously takes a glance at Elvis, is all the confirmation you need to tell you that it was by design.

“Oh yes umm… I thought I saw him, but it was somebody else.” You say trying to act as dismissively as possible, even though you feel so humiliated. 

“Oh that’s too bad,” she says, clearly not feeling bad at all. “Well I'm sure he’ll be here soon.” You give a tight lip smile to your mother, as you steal a glance at Elvis who is trying to hide his grin behind his glass. 

“Yes, it’s a real shame,” you say. 

“Well it’s his loss, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.” Elvis pipes in, his gaze focused on you alone. You look away in apparent shyness, though in reality you’re trying to figure out who to bring in to steer the conversation away once again. That is until Elvis says “So tell me Y/N, where’s the prettiest girl in all of Memphis been hiding this whole time?” and you choke. 

“Oh this one, when she doesn’t have her nose buried in books, she’s working at her own practice,” your father pipes in. “You’d never know it, but she’s one of the hardest workers I’ve ever known. She got her degrees early and opened up her practice only two years out of school. And she insisted on doing it all by herself.”

That’s not true, you think to yourself. Your father refused to pay for your last two years of undergrad, and you had to practically beg on your knees for the funds they had set aside for a hypothetical wedding of yours to fund your practice. Despite the feeling of being more akin to a lamb being offered up for slaughter, and the backhandedness at the comment itself, you're happy, as that was the nicest thing your father has said about you in years. 

Though to be fair it’s one of the only things he said about you in years, you tell yourself which immediately brings your mood back down.

“Sounds like she takes care of business.” Elvis says, leaving everyone in the room practically in stitches, but he does see your somber expression, and in his only act of mercy this whole night he changes the subject. “So Mrs. Y/L/N how’d ya’ like the spa today?”

How did he- Of course he did.

“Oh. My. Goodness. It was wonderful, I’ve never felt better in my life,” your mother gushes. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout it. Ain’t nothin’ but a phone call to get you spots. Who’d you end up takin’ anyway?'' he asks.

“Oh Y/N, of course,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Aaahhh, shoulda known for myself,” he says, reaching over to lift your chin up. “You’re practically glowin’.”

“Um yes, thank you,” you feel your face burn, and he grins at your discomfort.

That’s how the rest of the night proceeds, he would blatantly flirt with you, you would bashfully recoil, everyone would titter at the scene, and you would change the subject. When he figured out what you were doing, he ended up shifting gears and asking questions about you to your parents right in front of you, which only made you burn. What irked you the most was when he referred to your father as Doc, not because your automatic response to that was to look at him, not even at the sly look he gave when he noticed. No. It was that slight pang of something, you refuse to call jealousy, that you felt in the briefest of moments as though it were a pet name he was using on somebody else.

You know that you don’t have to put up with this and that nothing is keeping you in this room, so you could leave at any time. But you’re too afraid of what he might say when you’re out of earshot. There’s also no guarantee he wouldn’t follow you, and from the way everyone is still so enraptured by him, it’s almost certain that they would all accompany.

The only one who seems to have gotten over Elvis’ presence appears to be your brother. You can’t exactly blame him as he had grown up without your father for most of his childhood and upon his return, he very much craved the attention of the stranger that returned. Growing up the two of you had seemingly always had a designated time and place where one of you would receive your fathers love and attention. For you it was privately where you were more akin to an emotional crutch, and that was only when you were younger, whereas for your brother it was publicly where he could be shown off and bragged about like a trophy. Now intentionally or unintentionally, Elvis has seemingly usurped his place as your father only had praise and admiration to sing for him. 

At some point in the night your sister-in-law asks you to hold your baby nephew while she runs to the bathroom, and you're left at a loss. Not because you’re inexperienced with babies, but because of how Elvis looks at you as you hold the infant. This is truly the moment that you pray everyone misses in this night, the way he goes a bit slack-jawed at the image of you right now only to be swiftly replaced with a look of hunger in his eyes. This, coupled with that Dr. Presley comment earlier, has you worried beyond belief of your hopes for his affection to wane. 

You had hoped that eventually the novelty of having you would wear off, especially given the prospect of the upcoming world tour, and as terribly as it made you feel, you secretly wished this energy would ultimately find a new target. Now you realize, if anything, having you has only reinforced his feelings toward you.

Danny interrupts your inner spiral as he stands at the center of the room and clinks his glass. He picks up his son from your arms and makes a speech about your parents relationship and how wonderful and beautiful it is. He especially takes the time to thank your father for teaching him all the ways to be a successful man and how he’s going to impart all that he learned from your father on to his own son. You hope for your nephew’s sake that he doesn’t. Eventually he wraps up his speech and passes it on to you to continue the toast. 

You had maybe recited the speech you were going to make for your parents ten times yesterday, but your muddled thoughts aren’t letting you concentrate, not to mention all the wine you’d been downing since Elvis had arrived. Maybe a sentence or two in do you realize that you’re going to have to compress your speech as the only thing worse than a slurring, erratic speech is a long one. So you end it by thanking your parents for giving you the kind of fairytale love and life to aspire to, and how you wish to find yours someday, and you purposefully avoid looking at Elvis. While everyone decides to kindly ignore your faux pas and politely clap to your words, your father is having none of that and quickly “suggests” you go lay down upstairs for the time being. Before you can get defensive and tell him that you’re not a child that can be sent to her room because he said so, you hear clinking glass from across the room. 

You close your eyes, as you know exactly who it is before he even opens his mouth.

“If y’all don’t mind, I’d like to say a few words ‘bout the happy couple,” he said, grinning when he’s met with sounds of approval. “Now I only been knowin’ Dr. Y/L/N here for the last few months now. But goddamn 40 years… that tells you all ya’ need to know about ‘em. Love is a beautiful thing,” he pauses to look directly at you by this point. “But it’s also work. Like Y/N said, love is what makes life worth livin’ at the end of the day. So when ya’ find it, you gotta grab it, and hold onto it with both hands.”

You feel as though you’re going to suffocate at this point, with all the eyes moving back and forth between you and him. Typically you’re able to talk yourself down from the idea that people know about the two of you, but now you’re petrified as you can see the gears in some peoples heads turning as he’s no longer even trying to hide who exactly he’s looking at. 

“The fact that these two, been able to make it work this long is truly inspirin’ to me. The life and beautiful family they made together is a dream most people could only wish for, but the fact they made it happen is absolutely wonderful. I always believed that there was such a thing as soulmates, and I truly believe we’re in the presence of some tonight,” his are eyes only on you by now, no longer entertaining the rest of the crowd with his attention. “Now I wanna raise a toast for these two, to the past forty years,” he says, lifting his glass upwards, with every single person following suit. “And…” he pauses, his eyes boring into yours, making sure you’re watching. “The next forty years to come.” 

You’re going to be sick, the wine you gulped down not enough to settle your stomach. Everyone is so quick to fawn over Elvis or your parents, you’re able to slip past everyone undetected and make your way upstairs. Wanting to be as far from the party as possible, you find yourself in the upstairs master bathroom, where you proceed to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. 

Dolly, your dad’s beautiful black labrador, was apparently locked in here so as not to disturb the guests downstairs. You appreciate her efforts in comforting you by laying her head in your lap and nipping at your hands in an effort to get you to pet her, however this inner turmoil you feel is not something that can be eased with playing with a dog. Eventually she gives up and wanders out, and that makes you cry even harder because how fucked up do you have to be that an emotional support dog gives up on you?

Why you? Why is he doing this to you? Months? Months!? He’s been your fathers patient and you only learn this now. Why would he hold onto this for so long other than to spring it on you at the worst time? Does he take it as a challenge everytime you push back, to further ingrain himself in your life?

You had opened yourself up to him, letting him in on the complicated dynamic between you and your father, because of all that you knew about him and his mother. Now he’s weaponized that knowledge to further entangle himself in your life. What scared you most was the fact that this was undoubtedly meticulously planned on his part. You could excuse that first week as more taking advantage of the opportunity with the chaos that followed that session, but now there’s no denying how capable he is of thinking things through. You never doubted his intelligence, but you never could have imagined how it would shine through. 

And for what? What does he gain from this? To show you how he has your parents' approval? To corner you into a situation where you couldn’t be as closed off as you normally are due to an audience? To demonstrate to you how he is seemingly a viable option for you as a surrogate father figure? In one fell swoop he was somehow able to accomplish all of this.

You sit there and weep for a while, truly believing that you’ve hit rock bottom. But as you start to settle down you hear a very distinct voice coming from your parents bedroom, and you realize that rock bottom has a basement. As you rinse out your mouth, you can only hope that he at least gave enough time between the two of you coming up here.

You find him sitting in your parents bed furiously petting and praising Dolly, not even acknowledging you, which affects you more than you would like to admit. You whistle to get Dolly’s attention and when you point to the bathroom she obediently walks back in. 

“You know that rope was there for a reason,” you say bitterly, still facing the door.

“What’s the point a bein’ famous if you can’t cross some lines?” he says with the most self-satisfied smirk you’ve ever seen. 

You thump your head on the bathroom door, “Ok, I walked into that one.” And he only responds with a deep chuckle at your frustration as you hear him coming closer to you.

“What did you do to Mark?” 

“Oh you know how cars can be sometimes,” he says dismissively, though you can hear that slight edge in his tone as he boxes you into the door. The hands roaming your body and the kisses on your neck make it evident why he truly came up here. “Something as simple as a pulled wire and it don’t start.” He uses one hand to move your head to look directly at him. “Sometimes it’s somethin’ big, like all four tires bein’ slashed.”

It’s odd, he no longer tries to mask his downright terrifying behavior to you. It’s because he’s so sure that you can do nothing about it, you think furiously. 

As he begins to gently pull down the zipper on your dress, you’re painfully reminded of the party downstairs as you hear someone’s laugh down below. You decide to just give in and hope that you’ll be able to satisfy him before anyone can come looking for either of you. “Now I answered your question,” he says, dragging the red material down before his fingers lightly trail back up your abdomen and pull your bra above your breasts. “You gotta answer mine,” you shiver at his raspy baritone as well as the cool night air hitting your nipples.

That pleasure is almost immediately replaced by fear as you feel his large hand take a firm hold of your neck and he gives a small squeeze for emphasis. “Why the fuck did you lie to me ‘bout where you were gonna be tonight?” he all but growls, and for as frightened as you are, you can’t help the shot of pleasure that races to your core. 

“I…I,” you stutter, fear stealing your words. “I didn’t want them to meet you.” Your honesty is evidently unappreciated as you feel the ever so subtle increase in his grip, briefly cutting off your air. You want to say that you don’t think he would kill you, but if he’s proven anything tonight, it’s that you don’t know him as well as you would like to believe. 

“And why is that?” he hisses in your ear, loosening his hold slightly.

“Because…because…” your mind scrambles for what has the potential to be your last words, trying to figure out what could possibly save you through the lack of oxygen. You fear that this may be the end until you see a photo on your parents wall; that of them and your brother at his graduation ceremony, all of them with grins that actually reached their eyes for once. All at once you have an answer that is not entirely untrue. “You… you saw how my parents were. I was afraid that they would try to take advantage of you. I’m so sorry Elvis.” your apology punctuated by your tears streaming down your face.

He takes in your words, and you’re terrified that it wasn’t a good enough answer until he finally releases his grip on your throat, and you’re finally able to take a shaky breath in relief. “Still tryin’ ta look out for me,” he purrs into your ear as he’s turning you around and planting a filthy kiss on you. Still unsteady on your feet you wrap your arms around his head as he guides the two of you backwards until his knees hit the bed. “Baby, you gotta come talk and talk to me ‘bout these things. You told me once that communication is key and all that.” 

“I’m sorry daddy,” you mumble into his chest, and you feel him rumble in approval at your words. 

“Well,” he says as he unbuckles his belt. “Show daddy how sorry you are.”

Your mouth goes dry as you look down and see he’s already standing at full mast. You doubt you’ll never not have this reaction every time you see how big he is, and you don’t need to be told twice as you drop to your knees. Though you do give yourself pause as you glance back over at the door, worried that anyone could walk in at any moment, but then you feel a hand underneath your chin and his ocean blue eyes draw you out once more as he tells you not to worry about the outside world, only him.

You gather as much spit as you can muster before you ease him into your mouth. You immediately start bobbing your head up and down his cock, praying he finishes quickly so that he can go back down without raising too much suspicion. 

“Take your time darlin’, I ain’t goin’ nowhere” he purrs, putting his hand on your head as he’s still deep in your throat. “I need to know how sorry you really are.” As much as you want to make this quick in order to avoid anybody walking in, you oblige and continue at a more languid pace. You’ve done this enough to know just how to tease him and prolong this but also as a sort of punishment for how achingly empty you feel without him. 

You try to justify your next action as you being efficient and wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, and not because you actually enjoy this. But as your fingers circle around your clit while you have a mouthful of his cock, even you realize how hollow those words sound.

“Hands where I can see ‘em darlin. I’m still upset with you.” he says, and you quickly pull your hand out of your panties and place it back on his thigh. You’re humiliated that he had noticed, but that is promptly replaced by longing as he takes your still glistening fingers and places them in his mouth giving a slight groan as he tastes you. “God I missed that taste,” he rasps. He brushes some of your fly aways out of your face, “I ain’t ever going that long without it again,” he promises.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of you at his words, nor the way your thighs clench together in an attempt to keep yourself from dripping everywhere. He evidently appreciates your enthusiasm as he forces your head all the way down and you're finally given that salty taste you’ve been seeking.

You swallow every bit of him, you say to avoid leaving evidence, definitely not because you enjoy the salty taste of him. Nor because you enjoy that purr he always gives after you show him you’re now empty mouth. 

“Come up here and show your daddy some love,” he says in that deep baritone of his and your wine and cum addled brain has no choice but to comply. You should be more worried at the prospect of being caught and make this quick but as you crawl onto the bed with him and you see the way his eyes roll back into his head at the feeling of your wet panties brush against his sensitive cock. You feel powerful in a way you haven’t felt in months, so as you move the offending material away to fully sink down onto him, you put your hands over his mouth to hold in his groans. He merely quirks an eyebrow as he looks at you and you feel him bite his lip, apparently willing to listen to you.

You hate to admit this but you missed this feeling of being so full of him. You should never have experienced this in the first place, but now that you have, you wonder how you ever lived without it before. You take a moment to fully enjoy this feeling of being so complete, before you continue to grind down on him. 

In the months since you’ve been with him, you’ve learned he has a particular love for your nipples, and rather than overanalyze it you choose to relish in it as he takes one in his mouth. You throw your head back but you have to bite down on your lip as some pathetic little whimpers escape from you as you do your best to not broadcast to everyone downstairs what the two of you are doing.

“Ahh look how good you take me baby,” he says, lifting the hem of your dress up to get a better look at the two of you joined together. And the sight is too much for you as you pick up your pace and essentially bounce on top of him, mesmerized as you watch him disappear into you. And before too long you finally cum, and your forced bite down hard on his shoulder to hold back what would have undoubtedly been a scream. 

You relish in him as well as he snaps his hips upward, determined to finish once again, making the lingering aftershocks all the more powerful. And finally he lets out a strained groan and you feel him painting your walls. You bring him as close as you can manage in that moment, and you find yourself lost once again his fantasy that this could be the way things always could be. 

“I love you so much Y/N.” you hear him mumble against your skin.

Your eyes snap at that and you’re pulled back into reality upon hearing his words. This is the first time he’s ever said that and you're frozen, barely able to breath in that moment let alone speak. But that’s ultimately for the better, for as much as you want to respond you know you can’t without saying the worst possible thing. 

“Mama you gotta say it back.”

You do love him. You love him and you shouldn’t and you hate yourself for that. And you hate him just as much for forcing these feelings on you. 

“Please Y/N, I need to hear you say it,” he begs, and you hear the slight quiver in his voice.

It’s those words that break you and you're now fully weeping, frustrated that he’s offering his love, but you’re burdened with the knowledge of how misplaced that love is. You remove yourself from him as you sob, guilt making it hard to look at him let alone touch him. 

“Elvis I can’t love you,” you’re finally able to choke through your tears. 

“Can’t?” he says with a hint of a crazed smile on his lips.

“What?”

“You said can’t not that you don’t.”

“Because it’s wrong Elvis!”

“If it’s about your job you don’t gotta worry about that, you can quit and I’ll take care of you. You don’t gotta worry mama.” he says trying to kiss away your tears. “You said it yourself, that there ain’t nothin’ wrong with how we feel, and that we should feel comfortable in expressin’ them.” 

You hate it. You hate when he quotes you on something you said just to turn it around on you. This frustration alongside your uncertainty and humiliation is what finally breaks you, and you’re no longer thinking about tact anymore. He’s in your house, he’s in your head, he’s in your heart. You cannot let this go on any longer. “It’s wrong because you don’t actually love me!” you all but shout, “You just miss your mother.” When you realize what you had just said you slap your hands to cover your mouth as though that will take back what you had said. So scared you are of his reaction, you close your eyes and wait for the inevitable blow-up.

“And what about it?”

That truly takes you aback, as you were prepared for any other reaction from him besides seeming acceptance. 

 “Ain’t it normal? That our folks shape what we look for in who we wanna be with.” he said, taking your face in his hand. “Baby, you asked me once what I missed most ‘bout my mama. And I found all that and more in you.” 

“Elvis, do you even realize how fucked up that sounds?” you say ripping his hands away from you. 

“You wanna talk to me ‘bout fucked up?” he says with a derisive snort, before taking your jaw and forcing you to look at him for what he had to say next. “I ain’t the one that just sucked a man off in her own daddy’s bed.” 

Your eyes widen at that statement, and you feel all the blood drain out of your face. He lets go, and you feel yourself fall back onto your parents bed, your knees suddenly unable to support you. He just looks at you with the slightest smirk on his face knowing he’s well and truly rocked you to your core. 

You hurt him beyond belief with your refusal to admit say that you love him, and he paid you back in kind. 

“Baby, either we’re both fucked up or neither of us are,” he says in an unsettlingly calm tenor, as he readjusts your dress for you. “I’ll see you monday mama,” he whispers against your cheek, before taking off and you feel yourself sink onto the mattress truly numb to the tears that fall down your face. 

You don’t know how long you lay there curled in a fetal position in your parents bed before they arrive. You feel like a child seeking comfort after a nightmare, only this is one you can’t easily wake up from. Your mother seeing you in clear distress acts immediately and goes to your side, but your eyes follow your father. He was never one who knew how to handle any of your negative emotions, and as a result he quickly strides to the bathroom, opens the door for Dolly and just as quickly leaves you alone with your mother. You’re thankful for the small mercy you were given. What Elvis said, it definitely struck a sensitive nerve you didn’t even realize was there. You can’t even bear the thought of having to face your father so soon after hearing that.  

“Oh sweetie,” your mother says cloyingly, while rubbing your back. “I understand why you’re upset.”

No you don’t. “You do?”

“Of course,” she said so sure of herself. “I know I would be upset if my date stood me up, especially for an important event like tonight.”

Despite her flaws and her inability to protect you from becoming your fathers emotional crutch for most of your childhood, you empathize with her to an extent. You’re hardly qualified to deal with your father’s condition as you are right now, you could hardly expect a young woman who spent most of her married life away from her husband to be able to handle this. In any case you at the very least appreciate her concern and her willingness to jump into what she believes to be a simple situation. 

“Yeah, he… he really hurt me tonight,” you say in a small voice. For what feels like the first time tonight, you’re not lying to her, and you’re overcome by all your emotions at once.

“Oh I know sweetheart,” using her baby voice with you, wiping your tears away. You try to even out your ragged breathing, as best as you could as she continues. “Though I can think of one good thing to come from tonight,” a small mischievous smile adorns her face.

“What?”

“I think Elvis likes you~” she whispers in your ear, as though you were both schoolgirls. 

“Ma,” you say in protest.

“No. No. I’m serious,” she says, trying to stifle her grin. “You shoulda seen how that man kept looking over at you. And now don’t be mad, but I may have let it slip that you ain’t that serious ‘bout Mark.” 

“Mama you shouldn't have done that,” you say exhaustedly.

“Oh hush you,” she answers, swatting at the air. “He was the one askin’, and I’m not ‘bout to be rude to a guest askin’ questions.” 

“You know your daddy and I only want what’s best for you,” she says while raking her nails down your back. “From what I've been hearin’ he’s got a type now, and you fit the bill perfectly. Hell, maybe your daddy can slip him your number. Who knows, maybe he’s in mighty need of a therapist.”

You have no idea. “Ma, don’t even joke about that,” you say in what you think to be a severe tone. You’re caught between wanting to laugh or wanting to cry over the fact that even your own mother didn’t recognize you when you were with him. Who are you becoming?

She only laughs at you. “Alright. Alright. You’re still sad about Mark.” she says while pulling you into a hug. She holds you there for a while and despite your limp state you still relish in it all the same. Eventually she kisses your forehead and says, “Tell you what though, why don’t you go sleep it off in your room. And in the morning I'll make your favorite.”

You already know you’ve extended your welcome in this room, so you eventually stumble your way to the door. “Might even extend an invitation over to Graceland while I’m at it,” she teases when you’re at the door.

You simply close the door behind you, not responding. You blindly make your way to your childhood bedroom and collapse on to the bed relishing the silky feel of your pillowcase on your face. You just want tonight to come to an end and you’re far too drained emotionally to even contemplate what you’re going to do moving forward. You feel a small smile arise when you breathe in the soothing, vaguely citrusy, scent of your pillow, and your eyes snap open, as you remember you didn’t have silk sheets in this house. You don’t even need to turn on the light to figure out what it is, and you simply bunch up the scarf and throw it on to the nightstand, now more irate than conflicted over his antics. 

And what do you do about it? You ask yourself. He’s done this so many times, and your only response is to compromise. Despite how upset you are with him, you’re somehow able to fall asleep with his scent lingering on your pillow.

You’re not someone who ever put much stock into the concept of dreaming beyond a reflection of a person’s subconscious emotional state. So it’s not too surprising that your nightmares would do just that as well. You find yourself standing in front of a pitch black body of water you’ve never seen before and you hear a child screaming for help. You’re lucid enough to recognize this for what it is, and that in and of itself is your own personal hell. The feeling of knowing there is a trap before you but also knowing there is no way forward than through there. 

You know this is a trap the moment you feel your feet touch the lake and you're barely able to lift it to take the next step in the viscous substance. But you keep going determined that if you can get that kid out then this will all be over. The closer you get the less frantic he starts sounding but you can’t stop yourself from trekking forward determined to see this through to the end at this point. 

And at a certain point he starts singing and you know already that you’re not being called: You’re being lured.

Suddenly his voice stops all together and you fear the worst. Until the voice returns just behind your ear alongside strong arms that wrap around you. Before you can even scream, your mouth fills with oil and you’re unable to make noise anymore. 

You know you should try something. Anything really; writhe, kick, thrash, hell even bite something to fight your way back to the surface. But somehow you don’t, and not even because your muscles won’t respond to you. 

No. 

You simply don’t want to. 

And you know why. 

Because in spite of the fact that you can feel the liquid entering your ears, you still, clear as a bell, hear his melodic voice.

And as you feel your breath leave your lungs, you simply reach behind you to bring him closer.

It is that very real lull in your breathing that wrenches you back to the land of the waking, as you fight for oxygen because clearly not enough is going to your head.

You’re horrified at the dream, but more so at your very physical reaction to it. You’re gasping for breath, tears stream down your face, and sweat beads at your brow. But most worryingly is that feeling you get when you shift your legs ever so slightly. 

You didn’t wake up in a cold sweat. 

You woke up wet.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream in the last few months, but it is the first time you’ve responded like this. Once you settle your breathing somewhat you finally take note of the fact that the sun is nowhere in sight meaning you at best got a few hours of sleep. Despite your resolve to do so you can’t fall back asleep. Still that ache between your legs is not something you can easily ignore. 

You give in but try to think of anything besides him, though all that does is make the act feel cold and almost clinical, leaving you only more frustrated. Eventually you look over to the nightstand, and see his scarf in the minimal light of the morning. Its mere presence taunts you, until you take a hold of it and breathe in his heady masculine scent, and that’s when you finally accept what you need.

That’s how you find yourself biting down on the scarf to muffle your whines, relishing in his essence as one hand rubs the ends of the cool fabric on your sensitive nipples and the other desperately rubs your clit. You don’t even bother with penetration because you know you can’t fill yourself as well as he can. It’s on that thought you finally peak, your hips involuntarily rising and falling, and you can almost feel your entrance intermittently clench, still desperate for someone who’s not here. 

As you come down from your high, your euphoria is quickly replaced by worry, not so much over the act itself, but over the fact that you physically couldn’t come without him in mind. There is no getting around this anymore. You are addicted to him, just as much as he is addicted to you.

How stupid could you be that you really thought you could try to teach him what a healthy relationship looks like by being in one with him. He’s hurt you. He’s actively causing you stress and grief over your career. And yet that doesn’t do anything to quell the ache in your chest at the prospect that you have to end this.

The fact that you’re hurting him just as much by being with him doesn’t help either. And that only further feeds your guilt over being so emotionally invested into his well being in spite of all he’s done to hurt you. And so on and so forth do you stew in a seemingly endless cycle of grief, rage, and shame all surrounding Elvis, until your mother knocks on your door a few hours later.  

True to her word, your mother does make your favorite breakfast, and you're roped into helping clean up. You don’t fault her as it looks like a lot of work and your father has, thankfully, made himself scarce. You stick close to her while you clean up and she patters on and on about family drama and church gossip that you missed the night before. You meanwhile spend that time in your head just reflecting on the night before and having an internal spiral. 

What Elvis said couldn’t be possible, could it? Because if that’s true, what does that say about you? Did you come into this field as some sort of voyeur that wished to gawk at the lives of people like you under a professional veneer and pacify yourself at the thought that you’re not as bad as them?

Or worse. Did you come into this job searching for a suitable father figure? Subconsciously looking for one that would attach himself to you, and by sheer chance that happened to be Elvis? 

Are you even good at your job? You ignored much of Elvis’ alarming behavior long before the relationship turned sexual. Did you have blinders on only in regards to him, or did you do this with all of your patients? Some patients did on occasion cross boundaries, but you were always able to remain firm with them.

It’s these thoughts that have you eventually leaving your parents home and driving like a mad woman to one place.

“Am I bad for my job?”

“...Well hello to you as well, Y/N.” Mark says dryly as he opens his front door.

“Sorry… um hi.” 

“That’s better.” he sighs. “I have no business being snippy with you right now. I’m so sorry about missing last night, but my tires got slashed and I had to handle it,” you internally cringe at that knowing the reason why, and you feel that in some twisted way it was all your fault. “Would you like to come inside, and discuss what’s got you so worked up?” He says stepping back and gesturing for you to come inside.

You walk in and silently seat yourself on the sofa, while he disappears into his kitchen and you can hear him shuffling around until he returns with two mugs. He places one in front of you before sitting opposite of you and taking a sip. 

“What’s this about Y/N? Is this about seeing your parents again?” So he’s apparently decided to get right into it.

“No… Yes… Kinda, I don’t know.” you say defeated. “It’s just something one of my patients said to me recently. I…” you let out a long sigh, before taking a drink of the coffee in front of you. “I fear I myself have a codependent personality, and I… I don’t know subconsciously specialized in this very topic as some sick form of denial or normalization. That no matter how bad I may personally be, I could take comfort in the fact that I was not as bad as them. And I don’t know, something about seeing my father yesterday somehow reinforced those doubts that I’m some kind of hypocritical gawker of my patients.”

Even though you know that this isn’t a session, you find it odd to be on the other side of this. You know without giving him the full context he won’t be able to properly help you, but you know you can’t without facing serious repercussions. 

“Your… contentious relationship with your father is something that I believe does affect your relationships. But not in the way you fear. When we were together I felt that you were distant emotionally, and you were very reluctant to be vulnerable with me. But in contrast you did want me to be as open as possible, which was hard to do without that reciprocity.” 

“...Why am I just hearing this now?” 

“I’m gonna be honest, I wanted to bring it up. But I felt like the last thing you wanted to hear from your colleague, let alone your ex, was that you needed to see someone about your issues. Especially considering it’s hard to frame that in a way that doesn’t make it sound so… Freudian.”

You want to argue, but instead you sigh in defeat. Objectively you know he’s right, as he’s one of your closest friends and confidantes, yet even you can admit one of the things that made you incompatible with him, was how tight-lipped you were about your feelings. Hell, he didn’t even know about your issues with your father, until about a year after the two of you had broken up for the last time. Which makes it all the more striking that you’ve been so open with Elvis in comparison. 

“Now… about this patient.” he starts, snapping you back to the conversation at hand.

“I’m not here to discuss them.”

“Yes you are,” he says, putting down his mug. “Y/N, I’ve known you for years, and you’re not one to so easily be shaken. So forgive me if I find it hard to believe that one thing a single patient had said would affect you to this point.”

“I…” you start, but quickly deflate as what was the point of even coming here if you weren’t going to be honest with him, if not yourself? “I fear in this case, I’ve become a little too emotionally… invested in this particular patient,” which is as vague as you can get while still describing the situation. “And due to that I’ve most definitely crossed some ethical boundaries that I shouldn't have.”

He gapes at your confession before clearing his throat. “Y/N, this… this happens to the best of us. Some patients may have similar experiences and so we uninten-”

“You don’t understand Mark,” you nearly sob, “What I’ve done, it warrants nothing less than my license being revoked and… and…” you begin to hyperventilate at what possibly awaits in your future. It’s not as though you haven’t imagined the worst case scenario, but this is the first time you’ve had to verbalize that possibility. And even still you're not able to fully express what you fear, because your greatest fear isn’t just that you’ll lose your job, or that he'll get bored and let  you go eventually. It’s that he won’t.

You bury your head between your knees as you try to calm yourself. Mark crosses over and rubs a comforting hand on your back, which only makes you weep, because all you can think about is how you wish Elvis was the one to comfort you right now. All your resentment, both for Elvis and yourself, your frustration and your anguish comes out all at once and you cry for at least twenty minutes. What a pathetic image you must make right now, sobbing your eyes out over a man, on the precipice of being unemployed due to your own actions in your ex-boyfriends house.

Eventually when you’re able to pull yourself together enough, Mark finally says something. “I’m not gonna ask what this boundary crossing entailed, but here’s the thing Y/N. Whatever ethical boundaries you crossed with this patient, I think you’ve built up the possible punishment as being worse than it actually would be.” This gives you pause as he continues, “The secret you’ve been trying to keep, it’s not worth the emotional turmoil it’s causing you.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Y/N, I’ve heard enough cases where the therapist in question should have definitely had their license removed. However they were able to appeal to the board and simply got slapped with a probationary period so long as the accusations didn’t delve into criminal territory and they cut all ties with the patient in question. Not to mention these were all men, so more than likely the board is going to go easier on you because you’re a woman.” He throws his hands up defensively at that statement. “I’m not saying I necessarily agree with them, I’m just pointing out the reality of the situation.”

“...These men in question, what did they do that you feel warranted their licenses being removed.” You suspect what he may be hinting at, but no matter how much you don’t want to hear it you have to confirm for yourself.

“I’m talking full on sexual relationships with patients. Which yes typically would call for immediate license removal, but these men were able to get away with it due to the fact that they reported themselves, which at the very least did display some level of remorse. Even if it was as a means of getting ahead of the patients reporting them.” He looks at you solemnly, “If it’s a matter of reputation you’re worried about, these cases tend to be handled as quietly as possible, names rarely even being used if no criminal charges are filed.”

As he says those words, the tightness in your chest that has been a near constant presence for months begins to alleviate somewhat. How… how did you miss this? If what he’s saying is true then you can walk. You can walk away and not have to lose everything. There is the small chance of him going public in an effort to ruin you, but with his pride, you doubt he would want any of this being known. You have a way out now, and when you realize that it makes you… sad. 

Shame and guilt washes through you, because you know what you are doing is wrong and the fact that you feel distressed that you won’t be able to continue to do the bad thing, is definitive proof as to how terrible a person. You know that you have to end the conversation now because if he’s already bringing up those types of therapists, you fear that he may already have an inkling as to how involved you are with Elvis. You hang your head not wanting to see if he’s figured it out or not, and you gaze into your now cold coffee, just barely able to make out your own reflection. But even with a clear picture you doubt you would be able to recognize yourself.

“Look Y/N, I don’t deal with patients as consistently as you do. But I do know that in this field, attachment is not as uncommon as we would like. Especially with the type of patients you specialize in. That being said, the very nature of our field makes it hard for us to not become attached to some degree. But it’s the level of that connection that defines how well we are able to do our job. If you have become so attached to this particular patient that something they say will affect you this much, you won’t be able to treat them properly, and you definitely won’t be able to treat your other patients properly.” 

You nod solemnly at that before letting out a long sigh. “Thank you Mark, I-I really needed to hear that. You’ve… you’ve definitely given me a lot to think about,” you sigh, putting down your coffee with unsteady hands.

“Of course.” He smiles, before a pensive look comes over his face and he catches your shoulder. “Out of respect for our friendship, I’m not gonna report this, but understand that this is the last I want to personally hear about this situation until you’ve taken proper action.”

“Meaning until I’ve reported myself and cut ties with the patient.” you question, completely drained from the madness that has been the last two days.

“Meaning until you’ve done what you think you can live with, whatever that may be.” he says while pulling you into a hug. For all that you had to hold back, you feel some pressure lift from your shoulders now that someone knows to some extent what has been making you act the way you have been.

You can reflect on why you essentially needed Mark’s permission to break it off with him at a later time, but right now you’re going to use the momentum in order to officially purge Elvis from your life.

Once you’re back in your apartment, you immediately get to work removing any and all physical evidence of his influence in your life. You pack up all the clothes, all the jewelry, all the records, and every other gift you can find, you even go so far as to remove a lightbulb he had replaced for you. In the end you’re left with a gutted apartment and a painful visual reminder as to how much of an impact he’s left in your life in such a short amount of time. 

You’re almost grateful at the sound of your phone ringing, as it pulled you out of your thoughts before you could dwell on that observation for too long. As you lift the receiver off the hook you realize how late it is and that the chances of this being a normal phone call are slim. Hesitant though you may be, you still commit to answering.

“You’re a remarkably hard woman to get a hold of Ms. Y/L/N,” a voice answers in an accent you can’t quite place, though the man sounds vaguely European. You’re completely caught off guard by the man's use of your last name, as you don’t recognize the voice and you hope against all logic that for once, this not be Elvis related. But you’re not that lucky and you know it.

“Dr.”

“What?”

“It’s actually Dr. Y/L/N. And may I ask who this is?” 

“You’re speaking to the man that gave the world Elvis Presley of course.” 

You realize all at once who you’re talking to. How could you not? He’s not only been the villain of the media but he’s been the proverbial boogeyman in your office. You had never met the man, nor heard him speak, but you’ve heard the very worst about him from Elvis himself, so you already don’t have a favorable opinion. But you can’t act on those feelings without giving yourself away as having some connection to him. 

“Uhm… Ok. I-I don’t know what that has to do with why you’re calling me?” You say, willing your voice not to betray how shaken he has you. In the back of your mind you never feared being confronted by your patients' abusers as you always told yourself that if this were to ever occur you would be a bulwark for your patients. A pillar of strength and self assurance that those that did them harm had no power over you, therefore no power over them. But now with all that you have to lose you find your palms are clammy and your knees quite literally shaking. 

“Don’t play coy with me girl,” he says in a voice so vile it has your skin crawling. “Now I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout therapy, but I think even I would a heard about this radical new treatment of shrinks fucking their patients to make them right in the head. But only the best and newest for the King of Rock and Roll I suppose.”  

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, as this is the first time you’ve been directly accused for your repeated misconduct. “I think you have me confused for someone else,” you say in a small defeated voice. In spite of the fact that you know you’re made, you still hold on to the smallest sliver of hope that playing dumb will somehow get you out of this mess. 

“I know exactly who I am talking to Ms. Y/L/N.”

And it’s with that final misuse of your title that you start seeing red. “You obviously don’t, as I’ve told you before, Mr. Parker, it’s Dr. Y/L/N. Unlike you I take pride in my title because I've actually earned it. And do you know how I earned it?” you say all the pent up rage at your situation of the last few months finally coming out, and being directed at a man who both does and doesn’t deserve it. “From studying the likes of you and how you operate as nothing more than a parasite that is determined to suck the life out of vulnerable people. You go through life believing we’re all simply puppets for you to control, but here’s the reality you refuse to accept, you have no authority over him, and you sure as hell hold no authority over me.” Your chest is heaving at this point, the smallest ray of pride finally shining on you after all these months of shame. All too quickly though, all the wind is knocked out of your sails, as you hear him do an almost full belly laugh at your tirade through the phone.

“Quite the spitfire, ain’t you? I can see why you remind him of his Mama.” That hits you like a punch to the gut, because that observation on his mother didn’t exist in Wilson’s notes. Only yours. How could he have accessed those? 

“She ain’t ever had a nice thing to say about me either,” he continues on, emboldened by your stunned silence. “But it’s you and me who are the same, ain’t we? Choosing his schedule, his medical doctor, hell his family even. Of course the only difference is I ain’t ever get into bed with the boy. The other girls ain’t never had nothin’ between the ears that I had to worry ‘bout. But you… you’re different. You came along with your snooty degree and your cockamamy talks about feelin’s, and you think you can take everything I worked so hard to build.” 

“I don’t think you understand Mr. Parker,” you say sternly. “Even if I was his therapist and even if I was doing all that you're accusing me of, after all I’ve heard you done to that man, what does this have to do with you? As far as I know from what the news has been saying, you’re his former manager, who abused and exploited the man for almost twenty years.”

“It is a shame really, his ability to be so easily influenced by outsiders,” he says, ignoring your denials and not even trying to refute your statements. “Truly he’s incapable of being left to his own devices for too long. And the fact that he now latched himself on to his shrink of all people proves my point, he needs someone else to be in charge of him. Now there are of course legal routes to go through with that, but I don't think we need to do all that, especially when you’re now in his ear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“His daddy, a good friend of mine, would of course be appointed guardian and of course with his hands full taking care of his son, someone’s going to have to take care of the business side of things. In spite of all that ugly business months ago, he loves his son and would no doubt be happy to step in.”

You’ve heard of such circumstances where an adult is deemed unfit to take care of themselves, and all financial assets, medical decisions, and power of attorney are handed over to a family member with the understanding that they will have the interest of the person in mind. Elvis’ next of kin wouldn’t be his young daughter, it would be his father. Vernon, whom you never met personally, but the last thing you heard about him was that his role in the company had been reduced significantly, to the bare minimum monthly stipend and almost no contact with his son.

“Nothing about his mental state would deem that necessary and he’s a grown man capable of making his own decisions.” you assert, more to yourself rather than Parker.

“And where have those decisions led him? Sleeping with his therapist speaks volumes as to how unwell he is in the head. Not to mention all the other crazy stunts he’s been pulling in the last few years when he was givin’ away cars and shootin’ TV’s. He even tried to put a hit out on one a Priscilla’s boyfriends, and he only gave up on that idea because he went to rehab. No doubt any judge will just take one look at all that and know that this boy can’t take care of himself. Especially when he don’t know who to trust.”

“And he can trust you!?” 

“He can trust that I want him to make money, so that I can make money,” your stomach roils and your jaw drops at this statement, truly astounded and rendered speechless by the audacity of this man. But you know that it’s not the money, it's the power that Parker wants back. You realize that this is why he went to you rather than Elvis, he wants to control him and he believes he can do so vicariously through you. He doesn’t realize how little control you have anymore. 

“I take it, you know exactly what a situation like that would mean?” he says smugly over the phone. “I am not an unkind man Ms. Y/L/N, and I know you just wanted to help him. But perhaps you can start helping yourself. I made that boy what he is today, and I want back in. And I know you’re the key to that goal. You’re going to preach the benefits of forgiveness to him or whatever the hell story you need to spin, and once you get that done, I can work the rest.” He says slowly, emphasizing every single word of his sentence, as though you were stupid.

“I would never in a million yea-”

“You probably thought the same thing about sleeping with a patient. And yet you did just that,” he tuts as though you were simply a naughty child. With the way you’re rendered silent while looking at your feet, you have serious doubts that you aren’t. “If your fancy degree can tell me one thing, it’s that you’re not a stupid girl. And from the song one of his buddies’ been singin’, you want out.”

“Who?”

“It don’t matter who,” he states gravely. “What matters is that the only way you can get out is if I can get him to let you go. I’m a man who always gets what he wants, and in either case I will. The only thing you need to worry about is if you will be on my side or in my way.”

“You’re not gonna get away with this!” you shout, but you’re only met with the sound of the dial tone. Elvis had described how in his worst interactions with Parker he was prone to fits of destructive rage, and you have never sympathized more with him than after this single encounter with the man as you throw the receiver to the ground. 

But you don’t have the luxury at being righteously angry at him because at the end of the day this is all a result of your pride and stubbornness. You should have let Elvis go long ago, you should have turned yourself in long ago and now the relationship will not only hurt you but devastate him. There was no reason it had to have gotten to this point.

It’s ironic really, you wanted to be the hero of this story, who helped a troubled man out of this dark place, only to get just as lost in that place with him. It hits you like a semi what those dreams meant now. But unlike those dreams you’re given the awful choice now of who will be the one to get out. You are so far from the heroine of this story, you are in a position where you have to decide whether or not you’re going to become the villain. 

No… It’s choosing how you’re going to be the villain, as either option is going to hurt him in the long run. Unless…

As the idea forms in your head, you surprise even yourself how you don’t feel the onset of a panic attack, instead you feel an almost unsettling sense of calm. This dreadful feeling of finality washes over you, keeping you grounded to the moment, because no matter how much you had tried to prevent this, this shoe was meant to drop eventually. But that doesn’t mean you're going to let that asshole be the one that comes out on top of it in the end. As you pick your phone back up to make the call, you know that this is the end for you, but it doesn’t have to be the end for him.

You would think that it's lucky that he’s the one that picks up, were it not for the fact that this night has you truly believing you’ve tapped any luck of yours dry. You don’t leave a alot of room for him to speak, you just tell him to meet you in your office as soon as he can. He sounds perturbed but intrigued and he agrees to be there.

As you sit in your office, you once again see your doctorate degree. You know that save for proven academic dishonesty, your old university can’t revoke your degree, but you idly wonder if they would make an exception once they hear how monumentally you’ve messed up. You hang your head in shame as you prepare yourself to face the future.

You hear him enter your office, though with your head in your hand you’re too ashamed to look at him fully. You ignore his questions and simply slide the document toward him. 

“Baby what’s this about?” He said, grabbing the papers. 

“That's the file needed to make a complaint against a licensed psychiatrist in the state of Tennessee,” you say, absolutely sure of the steps that must be taken to protect him. “If you need, I can give you the number of the board of psychologists to file the complaint directly to them.”

“Darlin’ you’re scarin’ me. Why would I do that?” Sounding even more confused.

“Elvis, I-I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice quivering. You steel yourself as you take a deep breath and open your no doubt bloodshot eyes again. “I don't know how… or who, but… Parker got a hold of me.”

The concern in his face drops and is quickly taken over by a fury you’ve never seen in him before. He stands up and immediately begins to stalk around the room, restless and enraged like a caged lion as he all but roars “What did that sonuvabitch want?! What did he tell you?!” 

“Elvis…”

“That old toad ain’t never spout anythin’ but lies! I swear if I ever see him again, I’m gon-”

“Elvis he knows!” you shout. You’ve never raised your voice to him, so he's taken aback and you continue. “He knows about us, and he’s threatening to go public with it if I don’t get him back in. And if he goes to the media, then he’s going to use this as a reason as to why you should be under a conservatorship.”

“What the fuck is a conservatorship?!”

You swallow the bile in your mouth as you tell him what that would entail for him, and how either way Parker finds a way back in. “Elvis this is why you have to be the one to report me, because then it’ll at the very least demonstrate how you are capable of looking out for yourself.”

You expected more rage. You expected belligerence. Hell you were even prepared for denial. What you weren’t ready for was the quiet. Elvis, who's someone almost constantly in motion, falls back into his seat, completely frozen. His face is devoid of all color and his breathing is coming in short bursts, but it's his eyes that frighten you the most. It’s the look you’ve become all too familiar with as it’s the almost exactly the same thousand yard stare you’ve seen in your fathers eyes hundreds of times. Acting on instinct alone, you crossover to him, drop to your knees and bring your hands to his face to try your best to ground him. 

You beg, you bargain, you even resort to kissing him all over his face in an effort to bring him back to you, until eventually you feel the tears start to fall down his face. It’s like a floodgate has been open as he leans forward and you hear him break into heart-breaking wails on your shoulder. You’re no stranger to people crying in your office, not even to men crying in your office, but this is a new experience with Elvis. His full body, wracking sobs are a devastating thing to hear, and you can’t help the tears that fall from you as you hold onto him. You cry even harder as he begins to whimper how much he loves you and how sorry he is that he got you into this mess.

“I-I’ll go back,” your head snaps up at this. “Y/N, I’ll go back to him, if that’s what I gotta do.”

“Elvis, please…” you sob. 

“He’s still got his goddamn claws in me!” He shouts in your face, and seeing your fear he dials it back with a softer tone. “But he ain’t gon’ get them in you Y/N. I-I can’t lose you too.”

“No Elvis, listen,” you plead, taking his hands and all but begging on your knees. “If you report me, and we stop, then he-”

“Then he can still go public and paint me as a fuckin’ headcase,” he says disheartened, as he seems to accept his fate.

You, on the other hand, are having trouble wrapping your head around how you could have overlooked something so crucial. He’s right, you think, Nothing can stop Parker from going public at any moment. Unless…

Suddenly a new idea strikes, and you gather yourself for what you have to say next, “Not if you get ahead of the story.”

“What?”

“If you get to the press before Parker, then you’re the one who controls the narrative. Parker is a known crook so anything he has to say about it will be seen as him desperately trying to be a part of the story.” you try to reason.

He looks at you and you can hear the gears shifting in his head as he thinks of this suggestion. In spite of his tear stricken expression, a small smile begins to form until it abruptly drops, “Baby… if I do that, then ain't you gonna lose your-”

“I know,” you cut him off, attempting to sound as neutral about the whole thing as possible. You’re trying to remain a bulwark for his sake, because the last thing you want is for him to feel guilty for the situation you created. “It’s alright Elvis. If you go back to him, you’re going to die.” You’re not sure what makes you so certain, but you’ve never been so sure about anything else you’ve said to him. “I-I couldn’t live with myself if you went back to him because of me,” you speak truthfully, though your bottom lip quivers. “This is-” you choke, but quickly recover. “This is the best way to ensure that he doesn’t have anything over your head.” 

And just like that everything you’ve built, everything you’ve worked for will be dashed away. You could have potentially survived a private investigation, but being thrust into the spotlight on an international, no global, scale and your actions of the past year being put under the microscope. There is simply no way, whatever story Elvis comes up with, the psychology community at large will have to put up a hard line as to acceptable behavior and they will do everything in their power to disown you. 

All those sleepless nights spent studying, all the money you saved, and all the estranged relationships. You’ve put everything you are into building up this practice and all of it is being thrown away to save one patient. 

Let’s hope he’s worth it.

“You’re comin’ with me,” he states, taking your shaky hand in his. 

“Elvis, no…” you half-heartedly protest, but it seems that the last twenty-four hours have taken all the fight out of you, as your grip on his hand tightens because even you recognize you don’t want to let go. You’re fucked anyway you spin it, so whatever story he spins about your relationship is out of your hands anymore.

“Yes you are,” he states, putting his hands underneath your face and bringing you to look into his eyes. His cerulean pools bore into yours, and you know you’re done for. “Baby, I promise you right now. I’m gon’ take care of you, and you’re gonna take care of me.” he breathes out caressing your cheek. You lean in further and you resent how easily you submit to his touch, how you’ve both literally and metaphorically put your life into this unstable man's hands. You see one corner of his mouth curl into an relieved grin as he says, “Our life’s gonna be perfect. You know why?”

You know for a fact it’s not (at least not for you), but you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Because I’m your girl” you answer in a small voice, while a few tears fall out of the corner of your eyes. 

“That’s right mama,” he says, brushing away your tears, his mind fully lost in the fantasy you’ve helped make a reality. “You’re always gon’ be my bestest girl.”

Tags

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz  @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2  @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates ​ @immi547

#elvis #elvis x reader #elvis 2022 #austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin!elvis #yandere austin!elvis x reader #yandere elvis presley #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #yandere elvis #yandere #austin!elvis x reader

[sentientcave]

Hey friends! I'm Charlie (They/He/Sometimes She) and sometimes I write things! This is an adult only space please, so Minors Do Not Interact. I'm too old to want to deal with kids on here. I will also block blank and ageless blogs. Get into the tumblr spirit gang. If you aren't reblogging what are you even doing here? Tumblr relies on a collaborative spirit and you can aid in that with a very easy low commitment activity that also makes you not look like a bot. Cool!

~Master List~

Two Graves - Phillip Graves is haunted by the memory of his older brother

Fuck-ass Mohawk - Johnny likes it when you're mean to him (And Ghost does too)

And They Were Roommates

Fem!Soap x Fem Reader - You're looking for a roommate, and Jaime Mactavish figures she's the right woman for the job.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Fantasy AU - A princess in self-imposed exile is forced to come home to face the man who took her father's crown and the life she left behind. 141 x Reader.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You. (Dark fic! Read the content warnings)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Sparrowverse

Fics in an extended original character universe. I'll get around to posting Sparrow one of these days.

Cherry Bomb - Nikolai meets one of his Aunt's old school friends and tries not to fall in love.

You Drive Me Wild - Nikolai and Helena meet again three years later

WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEE

Snippets and previews of things in the works

Rugby - Rugby Again - More Rugby - The Righteous Hand - Impound - More Impound - Sparrow - TNT - Lucky Bunny

#Cave Writing

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

List (Sorted by Characters)

list sorted by story content

fics rec 1

Hello, I’m HalloHello. Thanks for reading!

This is a side blog so I can’t leave likes or follow others with this blog I’m so stupid I’m sorry :(

Simon "Ghost" Riley

New Year Fireworks + We Both Broke Our Promise (F)

Invincible (F)

My Heart Can Sleep When I'm with You (F)

Daisy Dukes - 1 2 (F)

His Only Asylum + Bring Me to Heaven (F, 18+, gore and knife)

Bed All Day (GN) (18+)

Inhale Our Sorrow, Exhale Our Future (GN)

Bedtime Story (F)

Unexpected Encounter (F)

Ghost*Reader with Scars and Hide Their Face (GN)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor!Reader (F) (18+)

Husband!Simon with Car Crash Wife!Reader (F)

Simon Got a Flu (GN)

Nine things Simon Riley Might Annoy (intentionally or not) His Shorter Partner (GN)

Sleeping (truly) with Simon (GN)

Domestic Life with Retired Husband!Simon (GN)

Simon with A Gammy Reader (GN)

Perv!Simon Riley with Yandere!Reader (GN)

It Isn’t Fate Bringing Us Together (It’s Me) - 1 2 (Dark Fiction, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)(GN)

Palette (F)

Ex-bf!Simon Riley*F!Reader (F)

End This Repeating Dance (GN)

Silly Moments between Simon and Reader (F)

Simon Taking Care of You When You Accidentally Injured Yourself (F)

Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me? (F)

Soulmate AU - Separate Endings (GN)

How To Remember? (F)

Voicemails (F)

Your Inviting Lips (GN)(anon ask)

Remember-me-not (GN)

The Last Dance (GN)

Two-way Trap (F)

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions (GN)(evil 🐼 anon)

Simon Loves Your Chubby and Adorable Face (GN)(🦈 anon)

A Day of A Cute (and Silly) Couple (GN)(req)

Hey, how are you? (F)

Grim Reaper!Ghost*Reader That’s Always Alone (GN)

Shower with Simon Riley (GN)(anon req)

Watch You From Afar (GN)

Till It Blooms Again (F)(🐬anon)

John “Soap” MacTavish

Smut Challenge - Neighbor!Reader (F) (18+)

Regret Devouring Me (GN)

John Price

How To Remember? (F)

The True Me (GN)

Watch You From Afar (GN)

König

Spider Webs - 1 2 3 bonus chapter 1 (F) (18+)

His Only Asylum (F, 18+, gore and knife)

NSFW Alphabet (F, 18+)

Vampire AU Headcanons (GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (GN)

TF141

In Pairs - Price Soap Gaz Ghost (GN)

What Makes You Unique (GN)

Cream Puffs (GN)

Sweet Flavor of Your Lips (F)

Vampire AU Headcanons (GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (GN)

Wild Pets - 1 1.5 (F)

Tf141 with a Fragile Reader (GN)

Tf141 with a Reader Who Sucks at Baking but Wants to Bake Them a Valentine’s Day Dessert (F)

Tf141 with gap moe (contradictory-characteristic cuteness) reader (GN)

Melt Down The Snow (GN) (🦈 anon)

Some Thoughts about Demon!TF141 (GN)

More About Demon!TF141 (F) (18+) (anon req)

Demon!TF141 but Reader Becomes Demon Too (F) (anon req)

No Tolerance!! + It's Nice To Come Back Home (F) (🦈 Anon)

TF141 men seeing you wearing face chain for party (F) (🦈 Anon)

TF141*Reader Angst in Few Sentences (GN)

Always By Your Side (GN)

TF141*Reader Fluff in Few Sentences (GN)

Not Dying Alone (GN)

Counting Down To Heaven (GN)

Each Other’s Shelter (F)

TF141 with A Reader That Can Fall Asleep Anywhere and Anytime (GN)

Spine Chill (GN)

Mafia!Tf141*F!Reader ch1 ch2 ch3

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #cod imagine #price x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #könig x reader #price x you #soap x you #gaz x you #cod x reader #cod x you

[ravensinthedaylight]

Whatever Means Necessary Masterlist - Wandanat x Daughter!Reader KateBishop x Maximoff!Reader

Summery: When Wanda arrives back after being snapped, she discovers that you, her daughter, sacrificed yourself in order to obtain the soul stone so that your mother’s girlfriend, Natasha, wouldn’t have to. Wanda’s devastated and lost, and so is Nat. A few months after her and Natasha call it quits and Wanda takes a trip to Westview, the small town she had planned on moving to with your eleven-year-old self when she retired. Wanda just wants you back, she’s willing to do whatever is necessary. 

Notes: Reader is eleven when Thanos snaps and sixteen when she dies.

Requests: Open

The Westview Anomaly:

Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience - A mother and her daughter move to the sleepy town of Westview, and they both struggle to conceal their powers form  Y/N’s new friend, Kate and Kate’s grandparents when they come for dinner.

Don’t Touch that Dial - Y/N and Wanda struggle to fit in, the mother of the duo decides to volunteer the two of them for the communities talent show.

Now in Colour - It’s that time of year where Y/N’s birthday party has rolled around! Wanda invites some people from the neighbourhood. Kate brings a gift.

We Interrupt this Programme: The Avengers are confused as to why the small town of Westview is getting the newly formed S.W.O.R.D so worried, so they decide to check it out for themselves. Natasha can’t believe her eyes when she sees her former daughter figure on the old fashioned TV, but her heartbreaks even more when she sees her former lover, Wanda Maximoff.

On a Very Special Episode - Wanda addresses Y/N’s worries when she grows suspicious of the neighbour’s strange behaviour. Kate realises the dept of her feelings.

All-New Halloween Spooktacular! - On Halloween Y/N decides to visit the outskirts of Westview. She doesn’t understand what she finds. But Wanda does. And it angers her.

Breaking the Fourth Wall - Y/N start to finally piece everything together. And she makes unusual alliances

Previously On - Wanda embarks on a troubling journey revisiting her past for insight to her presence and future. Y/N on the other hand take a deep dive into hers and find out what exactly happened before Westview. Kate remembers, also.

The Series Final - Wanda and Kate actually gets to say goodbye this time, but Wanda promises Y/N that it’s not the end.

Multiverse of Madness:

Chapter One:

Chapter Two:

Chapter Three:

Oneshots:

Requests are open

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THIS FIC’S TAGLIST

Taglist:

​@wackymcstupid @battleg03 @griffin-girl-r @natashasnoodle @tynix @violetromanova @blackwidow-3 @simp-erformarvelwomen @mythixmagic  @coollemonsaresour @mskitkatbubbles @evanswife1918 @lizlil  @katethewriter @milanator @g-athenaathens @wandanotsosure 

#wanda maximoff daughter #wandanat x daughter #mama!wanda #wanda maximoff x child!reader #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #wandanat daughter #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x teen!reader #wandas daughter #wanda daughter #y/n maximoff #avengers x child!reader #avengers x teen!reader #vormir #mcu fic #westview #wandanat #wandanat x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff #mama!nat #Mama!Natasha #mama nat x teen reader #mama!natasharomanoff #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x you

[thelighthousestale]

Querencia - A sanctuary where you feel safe

The time Lily, James, and Harry spent as a family in their little house in the West Country was far too brief, but it was overfilled with love, laughter, and, above all, life.

Moments of Lily and James at Godric’s Hollow told in five parts for @mppmaraudergirl's 'Alight With Happiness Fest'.

March 23 -  Chapter 1: The House in Godric’s Hollow

March 24 - Chapter 2: A Summer in the Garden

March 25 - Chapter 3: Recovery in the Bedroom

March 26 - Chapter 4: Building A Nursery

March 27 -  Chapter 5: The Party in the Sitting Room

Preview:

Most students had long retired to their dormitories, seeking rest after a day filled with classes and magical studies. Even Sirius and the others had gone up to the dorm hours ago, but James and Lily were still sitting by the dying fire in the Gryffindor common room. The crackling of the remaining flames provided a soothing background to their whispered conversation and shared laughter.  James had begun to dread leaving Lily at night. A pang of sadness would tug at his heart as he kissed her goodnight and made his solitary way to his dormitory. The once-familiar climb of the stairs now felt unusually long and empty, devoid of the warmth that Lily surrounded herself with—his best nights of sleep lately had been the rare times when he and Lily accidentally fell asleep together on the couch in the common room, waking up as Gryffindor students made their way noisily to breakfast. Lily was nestled between James' legs as they lay on the couch, his arms wrapped around her. “Lil?” James played with a strand of her red hair between his fingers. He liked the way it seemed to glow in the light of the fire. “Yeah, James?” “What are you thinking about? For after Hogwarts?”

#harry potter fanfiction #lily evans #james potter #jily #jily fanfiction #alight with happiness jily fest

[triptychgrip]

Viktor's (post-canon) turmoil around Yuuri's retirement

I've often thought about how Viktor might handle the realities around Yuuri's eventual retirement from competition, both from a coach standpoint, as well as a partner standpoint.

I'd imagine that his idealized version could be summed up by the following thoughts:

1) "Wow! My darling Yuuri (and beloved husband) has so much to be proud of!"

2) *Runs through an internal list of Yuuri's many accomplishments, including his gold medal win at the 2018 PyeongChang Olympic Games, which will probably be followed by another gold medal at the 2022 Beijing Games*

3) "He's come so far, by way of his own tenacity and hard work, as well as the strength he derives from the relationship we have on and off the ice. I feel so privileged to support him as we navigate this next chapter of our lives."

4) "I can't wait to partner with Phichit to co-plan a retirement party that is perfectly fitting with his tastes (i.e. as much as I'd really like to invite the entire country of Japan to attend, as well as hold a week-long parade in Hasetsu marked by 20 feet tall floats of Yuuri in every single one of his Free Skate program costumes over the years, I'll exercise restraint)"

But the reality?

I honestly think Viktor would be a mess, and there's a good chance that such a big change in their lives would trigger his own insecurities.

I have some pretty bleak headcanons around Viktor's past, and believe he probably has some form of complex PTSD from childhood emotional neglect/trauma. Perhaps he was able to blunt a lot of this pain through avoidance (i.e. immersing himself totally and completely into the impossibly high demands of an elite figure skating career), but he's likely had to work on healing by way of being in a serious, long-term relationship with Yuuri.

But no matter how much healing we've done, trauma can manifest in surprising and disconcerting ways.

In thinking about the end of his tenure as Yuuri's coach, it could very well be that Viktor starts to panic. When he's no longer in such a role, will he still be 'useful' to Yuuri?

Will he still be able to hold his husband's interest? What will happen if Yuuri suddenly finds him boring when their lives don't involve the high-pace rigor of competition and training anymore? Could he forget how to "surprise" him?

Thinking about this transitional period in their lives motivated me to write a 55K Viktor POV story set during the summer before Yuuri's impending retirement (right after the 2022 Beijing Olympic Games). While it has a somewhat crack-y premise (i.e. Viktor convinces Yuuri to become his pole-dancing "coach"), you'll find that this story contains some major feels as it pertains to Viktor trusting Yuuri with his insecurities.

It's part of my larger 2018/2022 Olympic Games fic series, but I think it can still be enjoyed even without having read the other parts of the series (and in the beginning author's note, I relay some important context that'll help folks if they haven't read the main fic).

Below is an excerpt from Chapter 2, when in attempting to inform their friends that Yuuri will become his pole-dancing coach, Yuuri's drunkenness leads everyone to misunderstand, thinking that 1) he's planning on becoming Viktor's skating coach and 2) that Viktor is "unretiring", lol.

Note of context & content warning: 1) Yuuri and Viktor now live in Fukuoka, Japan, and Viktor coaches both Yuuri and Yurio (Yura) at the same rink as Minami Kenjirou and 2) this excerpt contains mentions of alcohol consumption

I hope it piques your interest!

----

Yuuri was now blinking at Ryuichi, looking puzzled. Without warning, he slapped his hand down on the table, making a good number of them jump.

“I’m gonna be Vitya’s coach!” he crowed, his eyes growing huge and sparkly.

Instantly, Viktor was reminded of that life-changing Sochi banquet night when the love of his life had humped his thigh while begging for him to come to Hasetsu.

Pffffftttttt!

A spray of sake just narrowly missed Yuuri, but, unfortunately, Niko and Kenjirou weren’t able to escape Yura’s spewing.

Sharp yelps and choice swears overlapped, and a few seconds of confusion ensued, during which time nobody seemed to know where to direct their attention.

“Viktor-sensei, you’re coming back to competition?” Izumi shrieked in his direction, while patting at Niko’s face with some napkins. (Actually, she was missing completely and patting her shoulder instead, as she didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off of him).

“What the fuck, geezer, don’t tell me you’ve finally lost it?!” Yurio spluttered next, staring daggers at him.

He seemed largely unbothered by the fact that Kenjirou was using the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe his face.

“You’re like a million years old, there’s no way you can do this,” his student continued, heatedly. “But more importantly: LIKE HELL YOU WILL, YOU’RE MY FUCKING COACH NOW. There’ll be none of this double-duty nonsense that you tried to pull four years ago!”

“Oooh, I hadn’t given much thought to competitions yet,” Yuuri then interjected, with a blissful, silly grin, while Ryuichi gaped at him.

He looked a bit horrified, as if Yuuri had suddenly announced that he found katsudon repulsive.

Viktor let his heart-shaped smile take over his face, thoroughly enjoying their friends’ shocked reactions to his husband’s drunken miscommunication. It wasn’t as if he was reluctant for them to find out that the ‘coaching’ Yuuri had mentioned was in reference to pole-dancing, and not figure skating. After all, his spouse’s local popularity as a pole instructor was hardly a secret, and Viktor knew for a fact that if they had more time in their schedules, both Izumi and Wakaba would be interested in taking some classes. Rather, it was simply more fun to see what the reactions to his “unretiring” were.

He half-expected Yura to FaceTime Yakov somewhere in the next twenty seconds, begging their former coach to rage at him until he saw sense.

“Yuuri-senpai, you know I think the absolute world of you,” Kenjirou began, still patting his face while gesturing emphatically in his idol’s direction. “But isn’t this a bad idea? Are you really sure you want to coach Viktor-sensei? You’re not even retired yet!”

Yuuri’s vacant, silly grin disappeared, and he appeared to give up on trying to fish out the lemon slice from his shochu cocktail.

The glint of determination that Viktor so adored began to dance fiercely in his dark eyes, and Kenjirou gulped, looking appropriately intimidated.

“Oh, I see, you don’t think I’m up to the task? You think I’m just a softie, that I’ll go easy on him because I love him?” Yuuri asked, sharply, his words having lost that soft, hazy patina of inebriation.

At this accusation, Kenjirou’s eyes widened, but before he could correct this assumption, Yuuri went on, locking eyes not only with Kenjirou, but with each of their friends, who were staring at him, looking wary. Even the ever-stoic Otabek looked a bit unnerved.

#yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanfiction #my writing #victuuri #viktuuri #post canon yuri on ice #katsuki yuuri #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #victor nikiforov #yuri plisetsky