#i know mama blessed us with the boys before but i wanted to post all the schools together

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

#[peach is away.💌] #[peach queues.🧡] #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x female reader #nanami x ofc #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento angst #nanami angst #nanami hurt/comfort #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #jjk fluff

[tojiswhore-nanamisslut]

Can I Show You?

pairing: Toji x Reader

warnings: vaginal sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, Toji calls reader "good girl"

synopsis: Toji wants to show you how much he loves you in the only way he knows how.

word count: 5.5k i went off lmfao

a/n: This was so hard for me to write because I felt like the sex scenes were just so empty. I've been going back and forth with this fic for a month and I'm just gonna post it bc fuck it. Also I love Toji dearly and I really wanted to write something that showed a softer side to him.

————————————————

You're reading Megumi a bedtime story when you hear the front door open and close. 

“Papa!!” The little boy exclaimed excitedly. He quickly jumps out of his covers and slides off the bed backwards, his legs not quite long enough to reach the ground yet. He was only 3 after all. 

You smile warmly at your son's enthusiasm and can't help your own giddiness at your husband coming home. 

You close the book and follow Megumi's path out to the front room. 

“Hey son,” Toji picks Megumi up in his arms, “did you take care of Mama while I was gone?” Toji asks, glancing over at where your body was resting against the wall. 

“Yes!! I always take care of Mama!” Megumi replied. 

“Good, I'm glad.” At that Toji walked over to you, a small smile on his face as he bent down to give you a quick kiss on the lips. 

You looked up at him, “Welcome home. We missed you.”

His eyes softened as he looked between you and Megumi, “I missed you guys too. I'm happy to be home.” 

Normally, Toji was home in time for dinner, but since the holidays were coming up he'd been picking up extra shifts to afford gifts. 

“We were in the middle of reading a bedtime story if you'd like to join?” You ask. 

Before Toji could reply Megumi was bouncing excitedly in his arms, “Yeah!! Want Papa too!”

Toji smiles, “All right.” 

Once Megumi is settled back in bed with the both of you sitting on either side of him, you begin to read. As you do, Toji can’t help but to take it all in. A wife. A son. A job. A home. He doesn't know how he got so lucky. 

He looks over at you as you read, his loving wife, with a soul so pure he felt like he tainted it just by being near you. What did you see in him? How could you love someone like him?

He looks down at the little boy tucked under his blankets. His son, who has your eyes and kindness. How could something so perfect be half of him? He didn’t think he was good for anything but ending lives, but here sat a life that he helped create. His blessing. 

Looking between you both, Toji felt like he didn't deserve either of you. He never imagined in a million years that he would have this. A normal life. Not with the way he used to live. And he especially never thought he'd be a father. With how shitty his upbringing was he was afraid he would fuck up whatever kid he had. But with your guidance, and a lot of self-help books, you were both making it work. He would do anything for this family. It was his only one, as far as he was concerned. 

After you finished the book you both gave Megumi a kiss goodnight and retreated to your own room. 

As soon as the door closed, Toji's hands were on you, gently cupping your face. You gazed into his green eyes and in them you saw nothing but adoration and devotion. He's come such a long way since you first met him. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He asks. 

You giggle, “Yes, you love me a lot. You say it all the time.”

At that he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, “I love you more than that. I don't...I don't know how to convey how much I love you.” Toji didn’t know love until he met you. All he knew was abuse and hatred and resentment. How could he properly express how much love he felt for your family and what you've built? He could tell you he loves you every hour of every day for the rest of your lives and it wouldn’t be enough. You and Megumi meant everything to him. He doesn't know what he would do, who he would be, without the two of you. 

His eyes open again and your heart aches at how desperate he looks. “The both of you mean everything to me. Everything.” 

You can feel how hard he's trying to get his feelings across to you, pleading with his eyes for you to understand. 

You respond by gently placing your hand over the one he has on your cheek, and placing your other hand directly over his heart, “I know, Toji. I know. We both know and we love you too. So very much.”

You both gaze into each other's eyes for a second longer and you hope he believes you. He's never felt worthy of your love. You knew about his past, he didn't hide it from you, but he changed his ways. For you. He started working on himself and got a regular 9-5 working on HVAC systems. He puts his entire self into your little family, or at least as much as he can. You can tell he's still hesitant about being a father. Like he's afraid he'll break Megumi. But you believe in him. 

“What did I do to deserve you.” He says and starts planting kisses all along your face. 

You giggle at his affection, “I could be asking myself that about you.”

He stops kissing you for a second and looks at you, “I definitely got the better end of the deal here sweetheart let's not kid ourselves.” And he goes back to kissing your jawline and down your neck. 

“You make me happy and feel loved. I couldn't ask for anything more.” The end of your sentence comes out breathy as Toji starts nibbling at a certain spot above your collarbone.

“Can I show you? Please, can I show you how much I love you?” He murmurs against your neck.

You nod. You know Toji has a hard time expressing himself with words, but his feelings are always evident in his actions. He likes to surprise you with flowers on random days of the week, with your favorite breakfast in bed on the weekend, with a foot rub or a back massage when you’re sore. But most telling of all is how much he’s changed. He went from being closed off and dangerous to a hard-working family man. It took a lot of work, but he met you at every step of the way in trying to better himself. You know him showing his love for you in this way is as much for you as it is for him. He needs you to know how he feels and this is one of the ways he knows how to do it.

With one last kiss to your forehead, Toji picks you up effortlessly and lays you gently on the bed, hovering over you as he brushes his lips against yours, looking into your eyes. This close you could see just how green they were. A dark green, like a dense forest lit up only by the light of a full moon. 

He planted a light kiss on your lips, not breaking eye contact, “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Toji”

He finally broke eye contact as he trailed light kisses down your jaw and to your neck and then across your collarbones and back up the other side of your neck and jaw. He was slow and thorough with his kisses, like he had all the time in the world. 

You closed your eyes to focus on the way his full lips felt on your sensitive skin. He hadn’t even really touched you yet but you were already feeling hot. Something about how slow and deliberate he was being was getting you worked up.

His lips were on yours once again, moving against them slowly. You felt his tongue lightly trace your bottom lip and you opened your mouth wider for him. His tongue in your mouth immediately found your own and circled it before licking the roof of your mouth and inside of your cheeks. 

Your hands found their way into his hair, holding him to you as he continued to move his lips against yours. You couldn’t help the light moans that were escaping you, you wanted more, and you could tell he wanted more too by the way he looked at you after disconnecting your lips to breathe. His pupils were wide and his breath was warm against your swollen lips. 

He stroked your rosy cheek with one hand before pressing one last kiss to your lips and then hooking his arm behind your back, pulling you into a sitting position. 

He grabbed your shirt by the bottom hem and pulled it over you, followed by unhooking your bra and throwing them both to the side. 

He looked at your bare torso, your nipples beginning to harden from the sudden cold, “Beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” 

You couldn’t help but blush. 

“Lay back down for me.” He whispered to you and grabbed your hand and held your back in his other one, guiding you back down. 

When you were situated he got to work on removing your leggings and panties, leaving you naked.

He laid down next to you and kissed you softly, hand cupping your face, but then slowly running down the length of your body, his featherlight touch making you shiver. He passed his hand over your sternum, then down your stomach before angling towards your hip and then rubbing down your thigh towards your knee before retracing his steps up the other side of your body. He was avoiding your erogenous zones which was starting to drive you crazy. You wanted him to touch you goddamn it. You could already feel the wetness gathering between your thighs as his languid movements made your pussy pulse. 

“Toji I ne-”

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ll get there.” He whispered, cutting you off with a thick finger to your lips.

Despite his words, though, he did finally give you some relief. He moved down so he could take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth while his hand played with the other one. 

His tongue licked circles over your areolas, occasionally flicking your nipple. He moved to the other one to repeat the process. Each flick and roll of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure running through you. Toji was a master with his tongue and knew exactly what to do to make you feel good.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he continued to suck and lick and massage your breasts, squeezing your thighs together to get the stimulation you were desperate for. 

You let out a breathy sigh, holding his head close to your chest, enjoying the feel of his lips sucking on your nipple. He finally paused to look up at your relaxed face, “You’re beautiful.” He said as he caressed your cheek. 

You smiled and he leaned forward to kiss your lips again. As they moved against you, his hand once again traced down your body, but instead of deviating at your navel, it traced straight down to your mound. At the feeling of his hand trailing lower you opened your legs for him, eager for his touch to soothe the ache you felt. 

His middle finger traveled right over your clit, causing you to moan lightly, until it rested right at your entrance, with his ring and and index fingers right next to it on your pussy lips. 

He let out a sigh upon feeling how wet you were, his cock aching against his pants. But he wouldn’t give in to his own pleasure. Not yet. He needed to show you how he worshiped the ground you walked on. How he would do anything for you, no matter what it cost him. 

Looking at you through half-lidded eyes he gently pushed his finger into you, making you arch your back and moan. 

Finally you thought. 

His lips continued moving against yours as he started to move his finger, pumping it slowly in and out. You sighed against him, his thick finger giving you some relief but also making you want more. As if he could read your mind, he added another finger, scissoring them inside of you. 

“Ohhh” You moaned, arching your back again. The extra friction you felt from his added finger was just what you needed. 

Toji broke away from your lips and moved back down to your breasts, hooking his fingers inside of you at the same time he took a nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck” You let out a breathless sigh, burying your hands in his hair. 

He moved his fingers faster, hitting that sweet spot each time he pushed his fingers in.  A squelching sound filled the room as his fingers easily slipped in and out of you and he sighed against your nipples. Your pussy was drenching his fingers, he needed to taste you.

He gave your nipple one last suck before kissing his way down your body until his head rested between your legs. 

He saw how wet you were, the puddle forming under you as you squirmed and moaned from his ministrations. He bent his head down and breathed in your scent, letting out a low groan. What a perfect pussy, he thought. So wet and so beautiful and all his. His cock twitched at the thought of sliding into you, but he had a ways to go before he allowed himself to find any pleasure. He needed to make sure you understood how much he loved you first. 

With that he removed his fingers, sucking on them to taste you before peppering kisses on the inside of your thighs, causing you to whine and thrust your hips up. 

“Toji stop teasing me.” you said breathlessly. 

He looked at you through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes, “Anything for you.” 

And then his eyes fell back onto your dripping cunt before he dragged the tip of his tongue from the bottom of your entrance all the way to the top, licking up the wetness overflowing from you. 

“Haaaaah” you gave out a breathy sigh, relishing in the delicate touch of his tongue. 

He licked the length of your entrance a few more times before he moved up slightly to lick your clit.The light circles he was making had you stuttering. 

You once again put your hands in his hair, trying to hold him in place so you could grind your clit on his tongue. 

He let you, holding his tongue out flat and against you, giving you the stimulation you desired. 

“Oh Toji” you moaned as you moved your hips on his tongue. 

But before you could get carried away he closed his mouth, wrapping his arms around your thighs and holding you still so you couldn’t move anymore. You were about to complain until his lips latched around your clit and he started sucking, causing you to gasp. 

He alternated sucking and licking, making you moan loudly, “Oh Toji it feels so good.” 

He detached from your clit, “I know sweetheart, yer moans sound so good.” His voice was thick with desire.

He moved back down to your entrance, licking up the mixture of his saliva and your juices that were staining the bed. But this time, he kept rubbing your clit with his thumb while he prodded you with his tongue. The feel of his soft tongue against your folds had you moving your hips, desperate for more. He obliged, sticking his tongue in you and licking your walls. 

You moaned loudly, “Oh babyy, oh Toji, fuck.” You were gasping at how good it felt. His tongue started thrusting in and out of you as he continued rubbing circles on your clit. His lips were pushed up against yours, trying to get his tongue as deep into you as he could. You tasted salty and sweet. It was a taste he could never get tired of.

You could feel that familiar sensation building up in you and you arched your back, gasping and moaning, pulling his hair. He moaned in response, feeling your walls begin to tighten around his tongue and doing his best to maintain his rhythm with how much you were squirming. He tucked your thighs further against him to stabilize you.

The lewd noises of his moans and the wet sound of his tongue lapping into and against you pushed you further to the edge. 

“Toji, oh, oh Toji I’m gonna cum I’m gonna-”

You got cut off by your own release. Waves of pleasure wracked your body, causing you to buck your hips up in time with each one. 

Toji continued working you through your orgasm, never once disconnecting his lips or thumb, and moaning as his tongue was coated in your orgasm. 

When it was finally over you were laying there, limp and breathing hard with a layer of sweat on you. 

He finally looked up from your cunt, his chin and lips shimmering with your essence and then he licked his tongue around his mouth, all while keeping eye contact with you. You couldn’t help but blush. 

“Did you like that? Yer pussy tastes so good I could eat it every day for every meal and never get tired of it.”

You giggled, “I mean you already try almost every day so I don’t doubt if you didn’t have work that you would try for multiple times a day.”

Seeing your smile made a small one paint his own face. He kissed his way back up your body and as he came to be parallel to you, you slid your hand down to feel the thick bulge in his pants. 

He groaned at your touch, closing his eyes and putting his forehead on yours. 

After a second he gently grabbed your wrist and brought it to his mouth, lightly kissing from your wrist to the crook of your elbow, leaning over you to kiss up further to your shoulder and then your neck, sucking gently on the spot above your clavicle that caused you to tilt your head and moan. 

Your hand traveled up to hold his head as he sucked and nipped at your neck, your other hand traveling up his shirt to feel his muscled torso. His boner was pushed up against your thigh and you wanted to touch him. To give him some relief. So you trailed your hand back down his stomach, going for the waistband of his jeans before he once again grabbed your wrist and brought it to his lips, mimicking what he had just done to your other side. 

“Toji, I wanna touch you.” You pouted.

He pulled his face back to look at you, “I know sweetheart, but I want this to be about you right now. I want to focus everything I have on you. You come first. Always.” The deeper meaning behind his words was not lost on you, and your eyes softened, bringing your hand up to caress his cheek as your eyes landed on the scar on his lips. 

You trailed your fingers over his lips to trace it. You knew Toji endured a lot of trauma as a child. The fact that, despite it all, he could be so loving and tender, was amazing. 

You looked back into his vulnerable green eyes, “I love you. So much.”

His brows furrowed every so slightly, “I love you too, y/n. More than I could ever explain or even show you... But I’m trying.” And he looks at you with those pleading eyes again. 

You hold his cheek and lean in to kiss him, your lips moving to the harmony of your love. It’s slow and familiar. These lips have danced together a thousand times but still manage to leave you both breathless and lightheaded. Trying to convey with motion what you can’t with words. 

You break briefly, both panting against each other, and you’re once again squeezing your thighs together for stimulation. You wanted to feel him in you, to feel his body on yours as he moved with you. 

You look at him, “Toji.” And he can see what you want in your eyes. What you need. So he pulls back from you, allowing you to unbutton and unzip his pants as he takes off his shirt. He then helps you pull his pants off along with his boxers. His thick length springs out and your mouth waters. How badly you wanted to taste him, his tip coated in precum. But before you can bend your head down towards him, he’s pushing you back so he can hover over you, caging you in with his hardened, muscled arms. Your hair spread out on the pillow under you.

You can feel his dick resting on your mound, and then he starts moving back and forth, the friction making you moan. 

“I love you.” he says again, and you run your hands along his arms and torso before wrapping them around his neck, pulling him close to you as you simultaneously wrap your legs around his hips, “I know Toji. Now show me.”

His eyes widen slightly, and then he’s slowly pushing his tip into your entrance, causing you both to moan into each other. 

He takes it slow so you can get used to him, pushing just a little bit in at a time, each extra inch going in causing you both to moan, until he’s finally bottomed out, both of you breathing hard. 

He plants kisses all over your face, keeping himself still so you can adjust to him. He stretches you out in the best way. You feel so full, like you couldn’t possibly take any more.

He plants one more kiss on your lips before he slowly pulls out and thrust back in. You can’t help the loud groan that escapes you. This is what you’ve been wanting. His dick is so perfectly suited to hit you in all the right places and the way he moves his hips is divine. 

He does it again. And again and again until he’s built up a rhythm. In and out in and out. Slow but deep. A familiar squelching sound filling the air every time he pushes back into you. 

“Oh god Toji, oh fuck.” You moan as he continues his tender assault. 

“Yes sweetheart I know,” he breathes, “I know I know it’s so good.”

And he bends his head down to suck on your nipples again while one of his arms slips under your hips to angle you up slightly, allowing him to go deeper and hit that perfect spot that has you panting. His slow, long strokes allow you to feel every vein on his cock as they rub against your gummy walls. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through you.

You look down to watch his hips connect with yours, and when he pulls out you can see your slick glistening on his shaft. The hard muscles of his body tensing each time he pushes back in. 

He lets go of your nipple as he sees you watching, “Do I make you feel good?” he asks, moving to suck on your neck.

“Yes” you moan in response. 

“Good” he gives a shaky breath, kissing up your neck to connect back with your lips, “I love you” he says against them, thrusting in again and grunting. 

You can barely gasp out an ‘i love you too’ as you feel your high approaching. The way he’s making love to you, he’s telling you he loves you with his lips and his hips in unison. He’s going so slow but every stroke hits you in just the right spot and you can feel your body tensing. The slow build up coiling to an almost painful tension. 

“Oh, oh, mmmm Toji i’m, oh i’m gonna cum again Toji.” You cry. 

He keeps thrusting languidly into you, “Cum for me baby girl. Let me feel you.” He says, watching your face. He wants to see exactly how you look when you cum for him. 

At his words your body is wracked with its second orgrasm of the night. His thrusts slow down to an almost full stop as your pussy clamps down on him and he groans, doing his best to keep his own orgasm at bay.

You rock your hips up into him as your orgasm passes through you, nails biting into his back. You can’t help how loudly you moan, the tension finally releasing from your core and spilling all over him. You hold him tightly to you as you ride the waves of pleasure and milk his cock, crying out his name over and over the whole time. 

He has to bury his face in your neck so he can focus on not cumming but the way you’re moaning his name and spasming on his cock is testing his ability. 

When you’ve finally settled down, he pulls back from the crook of your neck to look at your fucked out face, “I love you.” he says as he plants a kiss on your cheek. But before you can respond he’s moving inside of you again, causing you to groan because you’re still feeling the lingering pleasure from your last orgasm. 

“I love you.” he says as his pace picks up again. Except he goes a bit harder this time and he bends your knees to your chest, putting you in a mating press. You let out a lewd moan at the new angle. He’s going in so deep you can feel his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. 

“You’re so beautiful y/n. I love you so much. So fucking much.” he whispers in his ear as he fucks you harder. You can hear his balls slapping against your ass, adding another sound to the symphony you were both creating. 

“Oh fuck Toji” you whine. 

“I know, baby. You take me so well. So goddamn well.” He grunts in your ear. You can barely focus your eyes, your mouth perpetually open as your breath is pushed out of you with each deep thrust. He’s bottoming out each time, using his body weight to keep your knees to your chest while his arms are on either side of you to hold himself up. Your cunt feels so full. There isn’t a single spot inside of you that his dick isn’t touching. That combined with his balls slapping against your ass have you panting again, the pleasure once again building in your core.

“Fuck Toji. Fuck, f-fuck.” you pant out as your finger nails dig into his back, trying to deal with the intense sensations and the rapid tightening as you climb towards another orgasm. 

Toji hovers over you, hips rutting against yours and watches your tits bounce with each firm thrust. You were a sight to behold. Such a beautiful woman and all his. All his to love and adore. 

“Cum for me again, y/n. Let me feel you again.” He breathes, moving to suck on your neck. After a few more deep thrusts you’re quickly cumming on him once more. Body tensing but unable to properly release the tension because of the position, causing you to just feel the full brunt of your orgasm. You start screaming his name when his lips find yours, swallowing your pleasure while your body convulses under him and he does his best to fuck you through it, moaning deeply into your mouth. Your pussy spasms around his dick, tightening and causing him to groan. The pleasure is blinding, you don’t feel anything except your orgasm as you body shakes and your pussy gushes and pulses around him. It takes a minute for you to finally come back to your senses and you realize Toji had released your legs and stopped moving inside you. 

“Did you cum?” You slur, breathless and fucked out. 

He looks at you, panting and pupils blown, “No. You told me to show you how much I love you. You think my love amounts to only a few orgasms?” And at that he lifts you up so you’re straddling his lap, dick never leaving you. 

You put your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself as he starts moving once again. 

“Tojiiii.” you whine, starting to feel overstimulated. 

“I know you have one more in you sweetheart.” He says as he takes one of your arms from around his neck and kisses and licks at your wrist. You groan because it does feel good but fuck you’re so spent already. 

“Don’t worry,” He puts your arm back over his shoulder, “Let me do everything.” And he grabs your hips in his big hands and lifts you off of him before bringing you back down. The angle with which he brings you back down causes your clit to rub against him and you moan at the spark of pleasure it ignites. Maybe you did have another one in you. 

“That’s my girl. Let me make you feel good, let me show you what you mean to me.” 

You moan at his words and lean against him, arms loosely wrapped around his neck as he fucks you onto him over and over, rubbing your clit against him each time. 

The new position isn’t as deep as the last one but the stimulation to your clit is making up for it. Your breathing is erratic and you let out quiet curses as the pleasure builds inside you.

Toji moans in your neck, feeling your tits dancing against his chest with each thrust and the fat of your ass jiggling under his hands. He won't be able to hold out this time and picks up the pace, pulling you down onto him harder and faster.

Both of you start moaning louder as you get closer to your final release. 

You’re like a ragdoll hanging against him, all you can do is moan as you begin to feel that tightness again. 

“Toji...Toji...” you moan weakly. His pace picks up even more as does his breathing, and your clit is getting even more friction now. Your body starts tensing and Toji’s moaning against your shoulder.

“Come on, y/n. One more. Mmm, y/n let me give you one more.” He grunts out. Trying to hold back. 

He moves you a few more times, sucking on that spot above your clavicle that you like and it leads to your undoing. You cling to him as you cry out, pussy spasming around his dick as you climax. The tightness along with your screams of pleasure and your body wrapped around him cause Toji to reach his high as well. 

He’s thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, cumming into you as deep as he can, whispering “I love you I love you I love you” through his whole orgasm, crushing your body against his as he holds you tight.

You both stay like that for a little bit, just holding each other and breathing hard. 

Toji catches his breath first, kissing your shoulder, “You okay?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, this man just fucked you senseless in the most tender way. You were more than okay. “Yeah.”

He pulled back, “What’s funny?” He asks with a small smile on his face. 

You look into his green eyes, “Nothing. I just love you.”

His eyes soften, “I love you too, y/n. So much.” And he kisses the inside of your arm that’s still resting on his shoulder. 

Toji starts leaning back to lay down on the bed, holding you close to his chest as he does. You lay there on him, listening to the sound of his heartbeat while he strokes your back. 

“Thank you.” Toji says quietly. 

“Huh?” You sit up slightly to look at him. You weren’t sure if you heard him correctly. 

He clears his throat, “thank you” he says a little more firmly. 

You sit up more now so you can look into his face, “Why are you thanking me?”

His hand continues to lightly stroke your back, “I wouldn’t have any of this if it wasn’t for you. This job, this home, Megumi...Everything that makes me happy is because of you.” He looks directly into your eyes as he says it, and you see how much he truly believes it. You wish Toji thought better of himself. You wish he could understand how much he meant to your family. That he could understand and see just how much Megumi and you loved him. You were thinking about how to get through to him when an idea crossed your mind.

You ran your hands up his chest and to his cheek, moving forward to kiss his scar, causing his soft cock to finally fall out of you. 

“I know you love me, Toji. And I know you love Megumi and our family and everything we’ve built together. It wasn’t all me though. You’ve grown into a man I’m proud to call my husband and become a father that Megumi adores. We love you, Toji. I love you...” You trail off briefly before meeting his eyes again, “Can I show you how much I do?” You ask, leaning forward to pepper kisses along his jaw. 

His eyes widened at your implication and he laughed, pulling you back to look at you, “How did I get so lucky?” And his lips were on yours again, dancing to the next song. 

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fics #jjk smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji x you #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader smut #my writing #soft!toji #soft!toji fics #soft!toji x reader

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 16 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Rough SEXXX. Restraints. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Woo, boy, y'all. Get yourselves ready, cuz the snowball is rollin' and the shit storm is comin'. This part is a little bit of everything--a little sweet, a little salty, a little smutty. It's what y'all deserve!

For the flashback, I had E's 1960 It Feels So Right playing in my head on repeat, so if you are one who likes music to set the mood, then you might give it a listen before/during/after you read that part!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Graceland, Christmas 1960

The mansion is finally quiet, or at least you’ve managed to find a quiet part of it in the midst of all the holiday revelry. Elvis loves Christmas, and this is his first one home in two years. And the first one without Gladys.

You had thought that maybe his grief would make the holiday a more solemn affair, but he’s gone in the opposite direction. It’s as though his loss has fueled him to make Christmas as joyful as humanly possible. Even though he’s been away filming for most of the month, he still directed the mansion should be decked out in all the Christmas finery for his return. And so it is.

You wish you were more in the spirit to enjoy it. Usually, you would be—Christmas is one of your favorite times of the year—but this year it sits heavy for you. Heavy because if all had gone well, you’d be sharing it with your newborn baby.

The thought brings you to tears again.

You’ve been hiding your grief as much as possible, sliding on a quaint smile, singing carols, and making cookies with the rest of them, but in these solitary moments, you grieve. You cannot help it. You know it’s futile and silly. How can you grieve someone who barely even existed, someone who was never born? And yet, here you are, alone, sitting in a quiet corner of the house at the piano, a couple of glasses too many of champagne in, being sad over what could have been.

So you begin to play. You know practically every carol and hymn by heart, so you just close your eyes and let the music take you away. It doesn’t erase your grief, but it does help you let it out in some way. You barely notice the tears rolling down your cheeks as you play Away In A Manger and What Child Is This?. You let the dramatic chords of O Holy Night linger in the air at the push of the pedals.

And after a bit of playing, that image of a baby in your arms feels fuzzy and faraway. Or maybe that’s the champagne. Maybe it’s both.

The air shifts. You notice it but play on anyway. You’re not sure how, but you are able to sense him, his presence, his essence, as it pushes in around you. But he remains quiet, and your eyes remain closed as your hands continue to fly over the keys.

Elvis does not interrupt, he only watches. You’re not sure why. You feel as though he barely speaks to you anymore. Yes, he is away and busy and all the usual excuses. But he used to seek you out when he returned. He’d bring you silly little trinkets and sing to you and tell you stupid, off-color jokes.

Now, since that horrible day in March, it’s as though an invisible wall has come between you two, and you don’t understand why. It’s nothing overt—he treats you kindly in the group and doesn’t outwardly ignore you. But something significant has changed, you swear it. Perhaps it is your ultimate failure as a woman that has turned him away. Or maybe with the explosion of his stardom since returning from Germany, he just doesn’t have time for you anymore. Maybe it has nothing to do with you at all; maybe he’s just a different man now.

Your tears of grief now include the loss of him, too. Losing your friend is heartbreaking in its own right, much less coupled with the loss of your child, of your fertility. It doesn’t help that Jack has been gone with Elvis on his travels and feels distant, too. You’d initially thought the space would be good for you two, but instead you just feel achingly lonely.

God, you wish you’d never been pregnant at all, as all it seemed to bring you is heartache.

You stop playing and open your eyes. The room is dim, lit only by one of the many Christmas trees in the house, but when you turn towards the door, Elvis is still there, his blue eyes shining with emotion as he leans in the doorway. The man looks ready to weep, which takes you by surprise, as he’s only shown enthusiasm and excitement since being home. You recognize the look though: it’s grief and melancholy, similar to your own.

Then Elvis looks at you unabashedly for a moment, almost like he is really, truly seeing you for the first time in months. The air sits heavy and silent. You don’t bother wiping the tears off your cheeks, though your heart races a bit. Must be the champagne, you think. It certainly isn’t the way he is looking at you now, how you are being laid bare and vulnerable by his intense gaze.

Something builds between you, though you are not exactly sure what, and he suddenly straightens and crosses the room to you. He towers over you now at the end of the piano bench and an overwhelming need to be near him comes over you. It’s as though you are both magnetized to each other, so when he holds out his hand, you cannot help but take it. The warmth of his hand surrounds yours as he pulls you up and into his waiting arms.

You fold into him, your arms tucked into your chest and your head buried into his collarbone as he wraps his arms around you. His spicy, distinct scent surrounds you and his warmth engulfs you and you cannot help the sob that escapes you at the comfort of it.

Elvis holds you close and lets you cry, and you feel his chest shudder and his breath hitch as though he is as emotional as you are. His mother, you think; he’s been hiding his grief as you’ve been hiding yours. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your temple as they run down his face and onto yours, and this prompts you to unfold your arms and wrap them around his torso, comforting him as he is comforting you.

He sways you, moving to the unheard music you assume is always playing in his mind, and pressed against him like this, you can feel the quick and steady beat of his heart pounding in his chest. You don’t remember the last time you were this close to him. He feels bigger, broader than the boy who went to Germany, but is no less Elvis. His sensitive spirit is the same after all.

You are not sure how long you sway there, crying in each other’s arms at your respective losses. But you know it’s more than just that. You know because as your tears start to ebb and you move back the slightest bit, he grabs your hand and pulls you in close, unwilling to part with you. He dances with you now, slowly pulling you back into his silent rhythm.

And you let him. You let his hand clasp yours and he draws it over his heart, holding it there. His heart beats quicker, you think. It’s too intimate now, the way his warm, damp cheek presses to yours, the saltiness of your tears mixing and binding your grief together. The air shifts again, still heavy and thick, but with a million unsaid words hanging there in the silence.

Your heart skips, flutters, and your breath catches. You’re not exactly sure what is happening. But you still let him hold you and sway you in slow circles. His hand splays hot on your lower back, burning through you, setting your body aflame in a way you don’t understand.

But you are a few glasses in and on a roller coaster of emotion and right now the feel of his strong, lean body pressed against yours makes you feel alive in a certain kind of way. You’ve been lonely and you’ve missed him more than you thought. It’s almost as if this is a silent plea for forgiveness from him.

Yes, that’s all it is.

You feel hyperaware of him and his closeness, so when Elvis nuzzles his head against the side of yours, you feel breathless. Your mouth pops open with a puff which, considering his proximity, he must feel, but he does not stop, and you cannot help the way you return the gesture in kind.

His breath is warm in your ear, and you can feel the softness of his lips brush against it, sending a decidedly inappropriate cascade of shivers dancing through you.

Oh, god.

Involuntarily, your hand contracts in his, your nails scraping lightly at his button-down shirt. Elvis presses your palm down onto his heart in response. You feel out of control, completely at his mercy, knowing this is too much, too close, too intimate but you can’t seem to stop, intoxicated by his strength, his affection, his essence.

Elvis’ still-damp cheek lingers against your own, and he presses his forehead gently to yours with a soft sigh. Then he pulls back slowly, just far enough to look at you, and you feel knocked over by his pure beauty. Honestly, you feel absolutely heady as you threaten to tip over and lose yourself in those churning, deep blue eyes of his. And, boy, they are churning, with things you can’t quite grasp. You watch as they search your face, his impossibly long lashes punctuating their every slow move. Holding your breath, your heart speeds up ever faster, and you wonder what it is he seeks in you.  

Your sadness and grief feel far away now as he plunders your soul, his gaze so alluring that you cannot even begin to piece through what is going on in any sort of logical way. You don’t understand any of it. All you know is you want more, and that feels forbidden in every way.

As if reading your thoughts somehow, his lips part. His eyes flutter down your face and land at your mouth. A shock runs through you as you think Elvis just might kiss you, and that terrifies you, not just because it would be crossing a line but because in this moment you want him to.

You want to feel his lips soft and sweet against you, then crushing into you. You want his body passionately pressed into yours as you cling to each other in the sparkling light of the Christmas tree. You want his large hands roaming your curves. You want to feel the strands of his dark hair between your fingers as you tug him closer. You want him to make you forget everything but the taste and feel of him.

These wants flash through you in an instant, shocking your system because he is so close that you almost can taste him and panic shoots through you. Never have you let your thoughts truly drift to that place with him, and opening that door feels very dangerous. Suddenly, with a wave of absolute certainty, an intuition you cannot explain at all exclaims that Elvis wants you more than anything in this world.

And that makes you gasp and pull away.

That cannot possibly be true. Nothing about the way he’s acted this past year supports that but something inside you screams that it’s real. It makes no sense. None of it makes any sense.

Elvis blinks and shakes his head as though snapping himself out of a daze. His hand falls from your waist, the spell broken. The soulful look in his eyes flashes with what almost seems like hurt, then apology, then regret. Without a single word, he turns and leaves.

Your heart plummets for reasons you don’t understand.

You must be confused. You are drunk. You are emotional. You couldn’t possibly have read the situation correctly. And yet the feelings awakened in your body surprise you and the look in his eyes haunts you as you sink back onto the piano bench, left alone in the silence.

*

Your eyes pop open at the memory. You had been very drunk that night and hadn’t remembered that moment until this very minute, yet another hidden facet of your long and suddenly complex relationship with your friend making itself known. Elvis had continued to keep his distance from you after that Christmas and had never even alluded to such an intimate moment happening, so you’d had no reason to think anything strange had happened at all. In hindsight, it seems awfully significant and feels like yet another thing he’s keeping from you.

Running it through your mind again, you swear he’d almost kissed you that night or at least had wanted to, which is shocking to you because 1960 was a long time ago. Still more shocking was that certainty you’d had about him wanting you more than anything, which couldn’t possibly be true.

Could it?

You shake off the thought. Emotions were high for both of you that night, and he obviously had thought better of it, but still…that prickle at the back of your mind keeps gnawing at you, those pieces of the puzzle attempting to slot into place. Maybe if you weren’t so damn tired and emotionally spent, you’d be able to figure out what your mind is trying to tell you. Maybe if your body wasn’t still aching with the memory of losing your child and almost dying, you’d be able to think clearly.

And your conversation with Sandy also sits uneasily in your mind. Running away ain’t gonna solve anything, her voice echoes in your head. You wish you had the strength she hoped you did, the strength to tell Jack to fuck off, to tell Elvis how you really feel, but it all feels so overwhelmingly insurmountable that you can barely even entertain the thought.

Heart pounding and wheels turning, you know sleep is out of the question and sit up in the bed. You get up and busy yourself instead. You feel as though you are racing the clock. It doesn’t take long to pack your bag, and while you are not frantic, you are determined. Mentally, you are ready to go. You have to go.

Unfortunately, things are not working out as you hoped they would. When the concierge calls you back with your fight arrangements, he informs you that there are no flights out of Vegas until 7:30am tomorrow morning. It being a Sunday night and with such short notice, there were no seats headed back east to be had. You thank him and reply that of course the morning flight would be acceptable before you set the receiver back on the hook and let out an aggravated scream.

You need out now. You are half inclined to rent a car and drive back to Memphis, but you know that is a terrible idea for a variety of reasons, namely being that you had no idea how to get to Memphis from here and being alone on the road for so long with no preparation sounded dangerous.

Fine, you think, I can make it through the night. I should tell Elvis in person anyway.

The thought makes your stomach churn because you know he will not be happy with this development. You’d rather not see the look on his face, but you also know it is the right thing to do. You just need to steel yourself to see your decision through and not be swayed by his charms.

Easier said than done.

And it doesn’t help that you are running on fumes and adrenaline. With everything that happened last night, the only sleep you’ve had was on the roof and that was short-lived and filled with nightmares. You took a shower after getting back to the room, but your mind is spinning too much to sleep, plagued with returning memories and creeping doubt.

You decide to get ready for the show as originally planned. It’ll be easier to gain access to Elvis between shows to talk if you do so. You dress accordingly, carefully putting on your makeup and doing your hair up nicely to give yourself as much confidence as possible. After repacking your toiletries, you grab your clutch and see the silky pink scarf folded neatly inside.

It takes only a moment for you to decide to put it around your neck. It’ll guarantee that Elvis will make time to see you, and you try not to shiver at the fact that the last time you wore this scarf, it led to a decidedly different outcome than it will tonight. The thought sends both warmth to your core and dread into your heart. You don’t want to leave him.

But I have to.

You shift your thoughts instead to Red, wondering and fearing whatever he might have planned. You don’t know if he is planning to sit on the information he gleaned from your leaving Elvis’ suite this morning, or if he is looking to cause mayhem immediately, though considering Jack has not burst in angrily, you don’t think anything has been said yet.

Either way, you have to warn E, and you have to get the hell out before the shit hits the fan.

The afternoon quickly turns to evening, and you pump yourself up on the way downstairs, despite the nausea in your stomach, the exhaustion in your body, and the ache in your heart. Now that you are somewhat a part of the show, it is easy to get backstage, and while you’re not sure how you are going to be able to wait the few hours the show will take, you continually remind yourself that this is what you must do. You have no choice.

But I do, I do have a choice, a pesky little voice chimes in. Stay.

Shut up.

By the time Elvis makes his way backstage, you feel like you’re about to jump out of your skin. The way his bright eyes light up when he sees you and then how they flash heat when he sees the pink silk knotted around your neck fills you with both desire and anxiety. Being near him weakens your resolve because his charismatic energy rolls over you even from this distance, and he just looks so damn good in that white suit of his, but you knew that this would test you. You force what you hope is a normal a smile, but you see a look of confusion flash over his pretty face before his usual pre-show nerves take over. But he does not come over to you, for which you are grateful.

The show begins with the usual fanfare, and you are surprised that even with everything going on in your head (or perhaps because of it), you still get swept up in the music, still sing the parts quietly that you have so diligently practiced. Regret hits you from another angle, one you did not anticipate. In leaving Vegas, you’ll also be leaving this—the show, the music.

Doubt creeps in in earnest throughout the show, putting your nerves even more on edge. You don’t really want to leave this opportunity, but the problem is you don’t think you have the fortitude to stay and to be able to resist Elvis.

The curtain closes and Elvis is surrounded, soaked with sweat, riding that post-show high that makes him nearly glow from the inside out. He wipes his face with the towel someone has draped over him, and you watch as he pulls Jerry aside with a glint in his eye, presumably to arrange your meet with him. But Jerry leans back and whispers something into E’s ear and that handsome face clouds with dark emotion. Then Elvis finds you past the crowd and his eyes lock on and you know. You know he knows by the hurt and angry look in his piercing blue eyes.

Sandy.

Goddammit.

As Elvis stalks over to you, pushing through musicians and instruments, it’s evident that Sandy has betrayed you. She told Jerry. And whether she meant for him to tell Elvis, you do not know, but your heart speeds up as Elvis crosses the backstage area in long, quick strides, with a wounded and feral look in his eyes that frightens you. It is not at all the same as the jealousy from the night prior; no, this is damage done on another scale.

You cannot help but back up as he approaches, nearly falling back over your chair, but he is on you in an instant, grabbing your arm firmly with one hand and your waist with the other, seemingly uncaring of the confused looks of his entourage that has been left behind so uncharacteristically. Luckily, Jack is nowhere to been seen, but you catch Red’s smirk before Elvis manhandles you into the hallway.

He doesn’t speak, not yet, though you see his brewing temper play over his face. Your heart drops because it is so obvious how you’ve truly hurt him, and he practically carries you back to the dressing room so quickly that you barely have time to register what that means. Once inside, he releases you and you tumble forward before he slams the door with too much force and flicks the lock.

As you straighten, you attempt to brace yourself for what you think you know is coming. Your nerves are on pins and needles, and you can’t help the lightheaded feeling that comes over you as you watch him fume. His chest heaves with both the exertion from his performance and his building fury, which makes for a dangerous combination.

You realize too late that perhaps you didn’t think this through.

“Is it true?” Elvis growls, rounding on you. “Are you trying to leave?” The pain is palpable in his stormy eyes and is layered with indignation.

The words catch in your throat. You finally force yourself to nod, attempting to find your voice in the meantime.

“What the fuck, y/n? What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” his voice raises, as he paces the room like a caged animal. His eyes are icy now, glaring at you in such a way that you feel it to your toes. His white suit clings to him with the moisture of his sweat, which gleams off his tan skin, distracting you.

You finally find your voice. “I’m leaving, Elvis. For my sake and for yours,” you breathe out. Your heart threatens to shatter at the words.

“The fuck you are,” he flips back at you.

“Excuse me?” you huff.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, honey,” he points at you sternly.

“That’s not up to you,” you sputter, blinking rapidly.

“The hell it ain’t,” he glares.

Elvis’ eyes flash and he advances towards you. Your heart thunders in your ears and you counter backwards until he has your back against the wall. He grabs your chin with his hand, his rings cutting into you.

“I thought I fucked some sense into you last night, but it seems I fucked it out of you instead,” he purrs dark and low, but it is laced with threat.

You hold back a groan at his words. The sound of his voice and the look on his gorgeous face as he rakes his eyes over you sends both dread and heat through you all at once. You should have known he’d put up a fight. This is why you’d wanted to leave right away. Resisting him feels insane and futile.  

“E, Red knows. He caught me coming out of your room this morning, and I just know he’s gonna make trouble,” you ramble out, trying to skirt around him. He boxes you in with his arms.

“Fuck Red. I’ll take care of him,” Elvis spits, eyes flashing but barely giving it a second thought because his sole focus is you. Then you see him eyeing his scarf around your neck. Wordlessly, slowly, he unties it, his calloused fingers brushing the skin of your neck and making you shiver. “Now tell me why you’re really leavin’, honey,” he commands, but the lilt in pitch betrays his sensitivity to those who know him well enough. And you do.

Oh, god, the way his smokey eyes bore into you, intoxicate you, has you frozen and your mouth dry. All the words you prepared to say are gone in an instant. You can’t tell him everything (you can’t), but his hurt and his need to dominate you because of it drives his actions, and you know he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

“Hmm,” he shakes his head, a darkness overcoming him. “Guess I gotta find another way to get it out of you. Give me your hands,” he orders. You are caught in his gaze and feel powerless to deny him. Begrudgingly, you obey, holding out your hands.

You watch as he ties one end of the silky scarf to your left wrist. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Your brow furrows in confusion as he pulls your arms up, and it is then that you notice the bar, which must be used as a clothing rack, attached to the wall above your head.

Your eyes widen and your heart thunders in your chest. “Elvis, what’re you doing?” you squeak out as he wraps the scarf over the bar and attaches it tightly to your other wrist. Your arms are loose and your feet remain planted on the floor, as the bar is not that high up, but you are effectively trapped.

“Well, honey, you keep tryin’ to run away from me and I need answers,” he glowers, amusement playing under his anger.

“Goddammit, this isn’t funny, let me go!” you say shrilly, yanking your arms but only succeeding in making the scarf tighter around your wrists.

“No, you’re right, it ain’t funny at all. Were you just gonna steal away in the dead of night without talkin’ to me?” he asks, the hurt back in his voice.

“No, I…no, that’s not what I wanted…” But it is almost what you did, and he seems to know it.

His eyes flash with realization at your unspoken words, then narrow as he moves closer. You look away, shamed. He grabs your chin again, his rings cold against your skin, and forces you to look at him.

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.” He says it like a pleading promise and a stark demand all at once.

Oh, Jesus, it makes you ache for him in every way. You can feel your resolve crumbling around you, all your reasons for leaving melting into a puddle at your feet.

“We can’t Elvis. We can’t keep doing this. I’m losing my mind,” you say but Elvis has his head buried in your neck now, his lips and tongue dragging across your skin and setting your entire body aflame. Resisting him is like resisting gravity—an impossible feat.

“Why would you do this to me, lil’ mama?” he whispers in your ear, his hand brushing away your hair so his breath tickles against you. The sensation immediately has your body at attention, like a switch has been flipped. Your nerves tingle, your nipples stand at attention with just the temptation of that raspy baritone.

Despite yourself, despite the angel on your shoulder screaming at you, once again, that this is a bad idea, your mouth pops open with a sigh. His other hand cups your cheek as his lips travel over your face, so close that those long, dark lashes brush against you in their wake. This sends another thrill of sensation through you.

It’s agonizing that you can’t touch him, which you know is exactly the point.

Elvis presses you against the wall, and his thumb is dragging slowly over your bottom lip. It takes everything you have to not disintegrate right there and then. The way he makes you feel—it’s like you have no sense of reality when around him like this. He is your drug of choice. And you keep coming back to him again and again.

“Tell me why you don’t want me,” he asks in a boyish whisper, his bedroom eyes deadly serious, filled with anger and hurt and need and lust. All for you. Only Elvis could look so entirely innocent and completely sinful all at once.

His words cut you, as you think he intended. You wish you could make him understand, but your breathing is fast, too fast. You are dizzy from the scent of him, all sweat and musk. He’s dripping with it. Your eyes roll back.

“Dammit, E, of course I want you,” you breathe, “but when we get caught, which we are seconds away from, I’m the one who’s life blows up. I’m the one who’ll have to face the consequences. It all comes back on me, and…I don’t have anything without Jack.” You can’t let yourself forget it.

The way Elvis looks at you now is fierce. He grabs both of your cheeks roughly, his hands like fire against them.

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

The sentiment hits you sideways, flooring you. He’s staring at you so intensely you feel completely gone, weak. There is nothing else but him.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes seductively, nuzzling your nose. “Let me be your everything.”

Oh, sweet lord…

“Elvis…” His name escapes you like a hushed prayer. You are defenseless against him, your heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird, stealing your breath away completely.

The temptation of what he is saying is so strong that you want to give in to him immediately. It’s almost everything you want to hear, which is the problem. You think he’ll say anything to get what he wants. You love him, but you know he’s a master at manipulation—it’s how he’s so damn good at his craft. It’s how he so effectively hypnotizes the masses. You think half the time he doesn’t even realize what’s he’s doing, but knowing him as you do, you know he is too shrewd for ignorance.

But part of you refuses to believe him, what he’s saying, even now. Part of you is still reeling from the pain and the fear of your recently uncovered memories. And the fact is, he is still hiding things from you, and you are still married to Jack.

Elvis bows his head, his soft lips now mere millimeters from yours, his hot breath mingling with the heat of your own. But he does not close the gap. He’s waiting, waiting for you to decide. He’s impatient, nearly shaking with anticipation.

You came here to end it, you did (didn’t I?), but he’s like the sun, pulling you into his orbit. Desperate, you find your voice, doing your best to be strong.

“Elvis, I am still married. You know as well as I do how complicated it is with Jack, and he’s not going to take kindly to this when he finds out. And he will. We both know he will. He’s your friend. You can’t have it both ways, and neither can I. But I can’t be near you without wanting you, so something’s gotta give. That’s why I have to go. That, and all the secrets, the lies…It’s tearing me apart inside,” you plead with him. And I know you’re keeping something from me, but those words don’t make it out of your mouth.

His brow furrows and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Then something significant shifts, that dark look clouding his eyes once more.

“Jack ain’t shit. Fuck him. And, baby, I’ll tear your marriage to shreds and throw it in the trash, just like that,” Elvis snarls, snapping his fingers in your face, his endless eyes burning into yours. His vehemence has you shaking, your eyes going big. “I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to pay off. I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

Holy shit.

A shocked beat, your breath held in a pause before it quickens again. Elvis is choosing you over Jack. Elvis wants you to end your marriage for him (or more accurately, wants to end it for you). This means that he is much more serious about this, about you, than you thought. Your heart plummets into your stomach and warmth blossoms over your body. You are both elated and terrified by what he is asking of you. All words escape you.

“Still need a little more convincing, huh?” His lip curls into a smirk, sending a coil of desire into your belly. Pushing you up against the wall, he grinds his hips into you, your arms straining against their bonds. You know now that this is his way, his way of proving to you the truth of his words. A whimper escapes your lips, causing him to grin even more. He has you right where he wants you, which is infuriating and exhilarating.

Elvis gets close, his full lips so tantalizingly near that you can almost taste their pillowy sweetness, but he still does not kiss you, only tempts you as his breath blends with yours. As much as you want to, you do not submit, you do not close the gap, your stubbornness and lingering doubt dampening your near-consuming desire.

All your churning emotions of the past few days keep you silent. Confusion, fear, anger, shock, love—all of it only fuels your passion for him, a love so consuming it eats you alive. But you also don’t want him to have the satisfaction of you giving into him. He’s right: he does usually get what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy on him.

Elvis watches your reaction carefully as he yanks your dress up over your hips. Then he groans, a deep, carnal sound as he grinds into you once more, his arousal evident and the metal of his ornate belt biting against your pelvis. You bite your lip to keep from making the noises that threaten to escape you, but your breathing is starting to become even more labored. There is an element of calculated control in his flaming eyes, combined with power and need. He doesn’t let you look away.

Elvis grabs the back of one of your thighs, pulling it up to his hip, running his hand over your bare flesh from your knee up to your panties, his fingers dancing just under the elastic. You hold back the hiss that wants to escape you. God, you want to touch him, to claw at his bare chest, but the scarf holds you fast and you grip its strong silk for dear life.

When he lets go just long enough to pull the zipper of his fly, pulling out his cock, your eyes widen, then fall closed. You feel as he tugs your underwear to the side, his fingers swiping through your folds. You bite your lip at the feel of his fingers prodding at you so roughly. But with your churning emotions desperately trying to keep your desire at bay, you are not nearly wet enough to take him yet.

“Look at me,” he demands, and you do. You are powerless not to.

Reaching his hand up, he looks you right in the eye as he spits in it, then reaches down to cover his cock, lubricating it fully. You gulp. A shiver of anticipation races down your spine. Taking a long moment to gather more saliva, he spits in his hand again before snaking it between your thighs to smear your pussy with it, watching your reaction carefully. You can’t help but moan at the sensation of the warm slick.

True to his word, nothing stops him from taking what he wants as he brusquely lifts your legs around his waist and enters you with a quick, hard thrust and a deep grunt.

You gasp loudly at how Elvis fills you so completely, both with surprise and with pain of the pleasurable sort. You are so tight, too tight, and while your arousal pools, it has not yet coated your walls, making his saliva the only lubrication to ease the friction. You claw at the silk scarf, trying to push back against the wall in retreat, but he chases you, pausing for only a moment as you attempt to adjust to him. He starts rocking into you, but his thrusts are not gentle—they are powerful, claiming. You continue to hold back the noises that want to escape your mouth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pleasure.

“Why ya gotta be so fuckin’ stubborn, baby? You really makin’ me take you this damn hard to remind ya just who ya belong to?” he growls seductively into your ear as he drives into you harder. Your head falls back onto the wall and your eyes flutter. This shouldn’t be so satisfying, but you can’t deny how it makes you feel, how he makes you feel. Your arousal pools around him at his words, at his audacity, and it gives you away as he slides more easily in and out of you. Then that damn lip of his dares to curl up again into a knowing smile.

His baritone rumbles in your ear as he fucks you more vigorously, each thrust punctuating his words, as if driving them deeply into your body and mind. “I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight after this little stunt of yours, honey, not for one damn minute. In fact,” he chuckles darkly, “you’re going on stage with me for the rest of my shows, starting tonight. Your debut performance.”

You can’t hold back your choked gasp at that.

“You’re all mine now.” Elvis’ hand comes up and wraps around your throat, just tight enough to let you know he means it. “Now, be a good girl and say it for me.”

Your brain fights against him—possession is not love! Sex is not love! it screams at you—and you don’t want to give him this, but you know the truth of it: you are his. You’ve been his for a while now. And you relish in it. You want so desperately for it to be more than that, but you are too weary of denying yourself of the obvious.

“I’m…y-yours,” you gasp out. He fucks it out of you.

The corner of his mouth briefly lifts in satisfaction before returning to his relentless railing of you and his ongoing, heated diatribe: “You’ll stay in my room, my bed, and we’ll fuck whenever we damn please, honey. I don’t care who fuckin’ knows. Let Jack try and come for you…see what happens,” he threatens, grunting as his thrusts become more erratic.

You don’t even recognize the moan that comes from you at that. The fact that he will take Jack head on for you sends an inexplicable rush through your system. The coil in your belly tightens rapidly now, but Elvis is too far ahead of you, too consumed with his lust and his need to claim you as his own.

“Tell me you’ll stay,” he says in your ear. It comes out more needy, breathless, pleading, than you think he intended, which tugs at your heart, telling you what you need to know, at least for now.

You have no choice, not anymore. Neither your heart nor Elvis’ will allow it.

“I’ll stay,” you whisper, finally conceding.

“There’s my girl,” he groans, then plunges in so deep and fast that the wind is knocked out of you. You both cry out as he pulses again and again, filling and coating you with his need, his teeth digging into your shoulder as he climaxes.

You both gasp for breath, him from his release, you from the shock of his words as they settle within you. After a moment of recovery, he unceremoniously pulls out of you, sets you gently back on the ground, and unties your hands. Your legs feel wobbly and your hands tingle with a burning sensation, rubbed a little raw at the wrists. Elvis kisses each wrist softly, making that unrelieved coil in your belly cinch even tighter as he wraps the scarf around your neck. You wince at the pins and needles in your arms as you shake them to regain circulation.

You wait to see what he has in store for you next, but he just looks a little jaded, uncharacteristically making no effort to alleviate your need. He turns and walks all the way back into the bathroom, and you follow silently.

You look at him questioningly in the mirror as he cleans off, that coil in your belly poised and ready, but unfed. He’s never left you unsatisfied before. But you also don’t want to push him right now. Things still feel too tenuous.

He finally acknowledges you in the mirror, looking over your mussed and flustered state and immediately gleaning the reason for your hovering. “Honey…I’ll deal with you later,” Elvis tuts in a reprimanding tone, his left eyebrow raising, his blues still chilly towards you.

He’s being petty, but you suppose you deserve that to an extent. You resist the urge to pout, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing against the sweaty heat of his back. You want him to forgive you, want to be in his warmth, want him to love you as you love him. But for now, you’ll accept the relief of not having to leave him.

Let me take care of you…Let me be your everything.

The memory of his words sends warmth radiating through your chest, even if he just said it to get you to stay. Even if he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. And you are.

Elvis doesn’t move for a moment, just letting you cling to him. Then he turns, bringing you close, and he finally kisses you, his pliant lips pressing hard and fierce and wanting against yours.

“Don’t ever try to leave me like that again, baby,” he says, pulling away, looking deeply into your eyes. He is trying, you think, to be as possessive and demanding as before, but the edge of his anger has been tempered, quelled, and has turned into something more imploring. Then, with that quintessentially Elvispuppy-dog look on his face, he blinks slowly and quietly adds, “I need you,” as though just realizing it himself.

And, with that, you realize for the first time that despite all your doubts, despite what he is hiding from you, despite every obstacle that wants to pile against you, the shitstorm that is coming is still going to hit hard, but it will hit you two together.

*

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[urlocalmagicalcat]

The hyperfixation hit me so hard last night that I gave in and made random GHS headcanons that spewed out of my head naturally

(note: this post might be really long so press the “keep reading” to get into headcanons)

(note 2: if you’re confused on why I keep referring to Neko Zombie with she/her pronouns it’s because I and our step-sibling personally headcanon Neko Zombie as trans fem with she/her pronouns)

Chef usually babysits all of the kids when he’s not working in the kitchen and prepping up the food. He babysits James, Roulette Boy, and My Son most of the time. Cactus Girl doesn’t need babysitting though as she’s too old for that and instead babysits the younger ones.

James, My Son, Lost Doll, and Mummy Dog are best friends, they love hanging out together. However Lost Doll doesn’t hang around the guys as much though whenever her front side (Lost Doll) is active but whenever Katie is active, that’s when she hangs around them.

Cactus Gunman loves gardening 24/7, he also teaches it to Lost Doll and Cactus Girl. Cactus Girl isn’t as great as her brother when it comes to gardening but Lost Doll is wayyyy better than her.

Bonsai Kabuki and Cactus Gunman are buddies as well, he usually vents to Bonsai a ton related to his emotions and feelings since it’s very hard for him to deal and cope with them. Bonsai always gives the best advice and help to Gunman.

Speaking of Bonsai Kabuki, he technically adopted Sleepy Sheep. I said what I said.

Despite the whole friend group, Sleepy Sheep and Lost Doll are best friends for life compared to than the other kids she’s friends with in the hotel.

Clock Master, Mummy Papa, Cactus Gunman, and Catherine are drinking buddies. Cactus Gunman doesn’t drink as heavily compared to the other three but he still drinks with them anyways.

Gregory is highly protective over Chef, always worried about the fire on his head going out, Gregory usually checks up on him most of the days in the hotel. Gregory is especially worried about James pranking Chef, putting him out so he’s always on edge whenever Chef isn’t close by or whenever Gregory doesn’t know where Chef is.

Poor Conductor loves playing songs that were used within kabuki performances and shows for Bonsai, just for Bonsai to perform and dance to. It makes them both happy and gives Sleepy Sheep an excellent show to watch! (btw Poor Conductor and Bonsai are dating and are both Sleepy Sheep’s adoptive dads)

Neko Zombie loves poetry and loves making poetry as well! She likes to share them with Angel Dog and Cactus Gunman

Neko Zombie and Gregory use to be childhood friends back then, before the existence of Gregory House, Gregory was forced by his Mama to kill Neko Zombie behind her back and behind the two’s friendship, Gregory was hesitant to kill his childhood friend but Mama, with her dark wicked magic, took control of Gregory’s body and murdered her in the deep dark woods where the two would run off to, to escape their painful truths of their realities. Years after the Gregory family was banished from reality, Mama built the family’s safe haven and inter-dimensional realm to protect yet harm her bloodline and to taunt anyone that associated with the family. She built it right near, and yet, on top of where Neko Zombie was murdered and buried. Gregory, one night, full of dread and guilt, decided to dig Neko’s body back up and stitch up all of her body parts that were decaying and falling out, wanting to bring back his old friend… She was luckily brought back to life by a blessing but it cost Gregory everything. Neko Zombie lashed out at him, not knowing the true intent and reason why Gregory killed her in the first place, Gregory tried to explain the best that he could but he kept fumbling up on his words. The whole situation got even worse as Mama entered the room and lashed out on both of them before protecting her son and lashed out heavily onto Neko Zombie for all of this. Cursing her and blaming her for the reason why the family was banished from reality in the first place. Before Neko Zombie could do anything, she was forced into isolation into a prison like room in the hotel and was heavily chained up forever. However as time went on, as the hotel obtained new souls and new residents trapped within Gregory House, everything started wearing off. Gregory secretly removed all of the chains, only leaving one chain left on Neko Zombie’s body, the chain that’s trapped around her left foot and letting her free-roam the house from time to time. Neko Zombie still doesn’t have any kind feelings towards him at all and Gregory has to pretend to hate her although he secretly yet obviously feels horrible for what has happened to her, trying to owe up to his mistakes to her, wanting the both of them to be friends again. However, the chance of that happening again is very much non-existence, even despite Gregory’s hopes and dreams.

How come Neko Zombie stopped fighting against Gregory and his Mama? Simple. She knows that once someone is stuck within this nightmarish dimension of a hotel that there’s no chance of escaping Gregory House. She knows that, being the first resident of the hotel, there’s no more hope for her. She’s stuck here forever and ever…

(note 3: keep in mind I wrote this part when our night meds were kicking in last night, so please excuse me if it seems sloppy)

The Gregory family was banished from reality for a few things, the most well-known reasons were; dark magic, various murder cases, and Mama’s whole soul stealing thing to stay eternally young forever. The one who banished the family from reality as a whole was Death himself! Death was disgusted by what Mama has done and what her bloodline has done that he had to kick them out of reality. But the problem is that, Mama, being ever so powerful now, took advantage of Death’s abilities and decided to create an inter-dimensional that leads hopeless, mentally unwell into stumbling their way to Gregory House. Trapping them within the hotel, and harvesting the person’s soul from being in the hotel for quote on quote “being there for too long” for Mama to feast on.

Death and Frog Fortune Teller were and still are close friends even after Mama punished Death by making his best friend become apart of the hotel’s residence.

Death feels bad for Gregory and James being related to Mama, he knows that Gregory didn’t want this in the first place but had to do anything to survive, meanwhile he knows that James secretly hates Mama which he has all respect for but also feels bad that James will never get to truly remember or know his parents (Gregory’s son and his son’s wife) at all. The only reason why he had to banish the whole family is out of safety reasons and because the affects of what Mama has done to reality might rub off on the both of them and bring more havoc into every single living things’ lives and might destroy reality even further as we know it.

#Thanks for actually reading this if you did- I was pretty passionate about writing these headcanons even when our night meds kicked in. #Having really passionate headcanons about one of our favorite interests and about our current hyperfixation gives me so much serotonin tbh. #Our GHS headcanons… our favorite headcanons ever… - 🎡 #(🎡) marz/nep #gregory horror posting #gregory horror show #ghs #gregory horror show headcanons #ghs headcanons

[sadattemptofawriter]

Dual Natur (Tommy Shelby x female! OC)

Summery: Life in Birmingham is hard for every unfortunate soul that lives in it, but it is especially difficult for women. And if that woman has noan of her own and no family to call her own than life is difficult in even more convoluted ways. If that woman is fair of face than she has little choice to become a whore. Minerva knows this and tired of constant unwanted attentions she, hatches a plan. A plan that if done right will ensure her an honorable job with decent wages and if undone will most likely get her killed. But she is willing to try anything to avoid prostitution.

One day, Minerva Griffin made a point to show herself leaving her home, moving out and leaving it for someone else. So that her brother, Byron Griffin can come and stay. Byron Griffin who is a scrawny lad, but eager to work with a funny girlish way about him. .

Note: this was originally meant to be a reader insert series but I got carried away with choosing names. I chose Byron for the male persona and then the rest just came poring down. But if you want to, you can read it as a reader insert. I didn't include much of any physical depictions. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other. 

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. Your media consumption is your own responsibility

Chapter 2: the boy, the horse and the grave he dug

Once finally alone in my small rental room, I felt a pressure I hadn't noticed lift off of me. I leaned against my door and the old damned thing whines. I slide down and sit there, my muddy dress pooling around me. I felt tired, exhausted, scared but most of all exited.

The moment I thought of the words that had earlier left my mouth my heart begins to race like a wild Dutch warmblood. I had set in motion a dangerous plan that I hadn't even completely thought through. Was it perhaps desperation? Or was it my devilish Irish blood singing to me? Who knows. My mama always said I was good as gold, then again she never saw me ride wild bucking stalions bareback. Nor did she ever see me wrestling in horseshit with my brothers. My father, who did see me do all that, and often helped me get away with it, always shook his head and would say "Minerva, you devil child, you'll drive me to an early grave. Or a bloody divorce if you keep coming home covered in mud." My brothers, bless their soul in heaven, used to laugh and say we were all seven brothers.

Won't be a bad idea. To be their seventh brother.

I sigh and gather my resolve, pushing myself off the ground and poured myself a glass of water. I sit down on the old creaky chair and try to gather my wits about me. Tonight is going to be a long and exhausting night.

"Think minerva, think. Make a list. You're good at those. Make a list of the things to do." I tell myself. I look around to find a piece of paper and a pencil to write down the list. I find an old, small pencil I had laying around but no paper. So, I resort to pick up an old book. A copy of Lord Byron's poetry that belonged to my second oldest brother, Elliot, who had always been the scholar of the family. He had been studying literature and poetry in a prominent university before the war. And now he'll never finish his degree. He'll never sing me those poetries. And I will never again hear him rant about the genius that was Jane Austen's Emma. I would never be able to throw a pillow at him and yell for him to shut up so I could take an afternoon nap.

I open the last page of the book, an empty page where I can write down my list. "First things first. What I need. Men's clothes, a hair cut, an acceptable identity. I'll probably make that based on my brothers. Then I need to throw away my feminine things, just in case anyone would come inside. The men's clothes I can purchase from...the Chinese. yes." I roll the old pencil in my hands as I rack my brain for more details. If I really want this to work than everything has to be flawless. Thanks mother, for my obsession with planning and making lists, you'll save my ass in this a great deal. "I'll have to throw away, or sell. Yes, sell away some of my belongings. Most of them. A man has no use for skirts and heels. And no hair pins."

I suddenly recall my hair. In the past two years, I've had neglected my hair that was once in the latest fashion of the time, was now longer and has lost its style. I should cut it short. In men's style? Ideally. But who would do it for me? Too risky to go to anyone with it. I'll just cut it with scissors as short as I can.

But what if I need a pass as a woman? Public baths and washrooms. I can't always pass as a man. I'll keep it short enough to hide under a hat. A peaked cap. But long enough to still pass as a woman when needed.

With the thought of playing both a woman and a man, like a double agent, excitement and thrill bubbled through me and gave me a full body shiver. I giggled, for the first time in two years. I giggled with pure joy and thrill. Like when as a young girl, me and my brothers would take the horses out without permission. Would ride young stallions that haven't been broken yet. I felt like I was scheming another prank with my brothers.

Once satisfied with all the planning, I quickly got to work. Seperating all my arguably few belongings into two piles. Those to keep and those to discard.

The pile of to keep items was small. It included two items I would never throw away. Whatever risk it may bring me.

My father's pocket watch, the only thing that reached home from France. It wasn't all that cheap but by no means something so expensive that would raise eyebrows. Inside it, there was an engraving, done sloppily and sharply by yours truly as a young girl days before my father departed. "Father, you make me completely and perfectly incandescently happy." I had taken the quote from Elliot's copy of pride and prejudice. It was all done in haste and secrecy, meant as a surprise to my father. I wish I had seen his face as he'd seen it.

Second item on the pile was my violin. That was risky to own. It was definitely expensive with intricate designs. It had my initials carved on it. I could never get rid of it. Never. A gift from my mother once my teacher deemed me proficient enough at the instrument. I used to play at family functions and tea parties. I used to play to cheer up my mother while the men were away. I hadn't played since last I played at their graves.

The rest of the pile, were little nicknaks, each from one of my brothers. A fountain pen that didn't write anymore belonging to my eldest brother Christopher who was my father's secretary and kept the books of our horse training business. and the Lord Byron's poetry book from Elliot. On the early pages I could read his hand writing where he had taken notes, third was the weirdest item I owned. A pair of riding gloves, black with silver buttons and blue ribbons around the wrists, they once belinged to Joseph, my third oldest brother, he had them decorated with ribbons so I, the girl, could wear them easily every time I missed him or wished to go riding with him.

Then came Oscar, the fourth eldest brother, the casanova, the ladies man, the socialite. The man who singlehandedly would repopulate London given the chance. I thought the slew of bastards and broken hearts would be the only thing he would leave behind for me and mother once he went to France. But no, he left something more. He left me his tie and a matching handkerchief from his most expensive suit. They were shiny and a rich Navy blue with a sort of peacock feathers patterns on it. He used to wear it with an emerald decoration that was gifted to him from on of his lady conquests. I used to call her the victory number 56 as a joke. He was the only one we had a body to bury of. We buried him in his best suit but not his best tie, I hold that to my heart and cry when I miss his improper jokes or his drunken snickers.

The gift left by Robert, my fifth brother was by far the most jarring. He had been estranged from the family. After a rather nasty fight with our mother, something about our grandfather looking down on us or something, I had been to young to remember that. Nevertheless, he had walked out on us for most of the years and only made up once war started. They came together all sons and father to live one month happily before going all to war. God knows what he had done, where he had been, with whome he had associated himself while away. I only know the night before his departure he hid a loaded gun along with a handful of bullets hidden inside a bunny doll for me. I no longer had the bunny, but the gun I kept.

There must have been a reason why he thought perhaps I may need it. And I will take his judgement to heart. Because in the last month that he came home to use, I learned he was the smartest, most perceptive man in all of London.

The final nicknak junk that was on the pile, was a flask. A men's booz flask belonging to Liam. The last brother. He had just turned eighteen when he got on the train. Just turned a man. His face still held that boyish roundness, that softness in the eyes. And they told me, he had become a tunller just like Christopher and my father. And I had wept, wept that he had not returned to me. Not even his lifeless husk for me to cry over.

Reminiscence over and done with, I placed one single green set of feminine clothes and placed the rest on the get rid of pile. "Maybe I'll add one more. A casual one too." I tell myself. And place another set, floral and colorful, on the pile as well. Everything else must be throne out. Sold off and replaced with simpler, manlyer items.

No skirts or blouses, no little jewelry that I had allowed myself, no hair pins that were The only joy I allowed myself. No little tapity shoes, with little bows on them and no feminine sheer socks. Nothing.

Minerva Griffin was gone. She had gone to the country to live with relatives. She was, is, effectively dead and done with.

Thinking of a profile for the fictional character of Byron I drank more tea. I need to be prepared. Best lies are the once as close to the truth. Byron William Griffin, age... Eighteen, or nineteen. From the country. Father and brothers dead and here to find work to send money home. Is good with horses and... That should be enough for now. Decent enough with numbers and what not.

-------------------

I left earlier than ever, the sun barely out but I was already up and leaving towards the Chinese. To both sell away and buy.

It was easier than I thought, in a place like Birmingham, with a few well woven lies I manage to change my entire life. "I need them for a relative." I said. "He's a young man, still a boy." I said.

Everything I own now lies in an old used military duffle bag I bought off of a drunk man desperate for more gin. And all that I no longer own, sits in a pawnshop traded for a total of ten pounds.

Ten pounds and seven shillings. That's a lot of money for this kind of place. I can rent a room near the factories and if I live sensibly and modestly, I won't have money troubles for quite some time.

I try to ignore the nagging voice that says there was once a time I bought a pair of shoes twice this much. But it's been over two years and those shoes were the first things I sold away. So what does it even matter.

Getting a hair cut was harder than I thought. Getting it short enough to pass as a guy with unkept hair, making sure it could be both feminine and masculine. Leading a double life would be hard. But with any and all difficulties, I took sewing scissors and in essence, brutalized my hair beyond recognition.

------------------------------------------------

It was barely noon and all unfortunate souls of Small heath factory workers were busy as any day with taxing jobs, shedding blood sweat and a slew of slurs and getting paid for it.

There was no exceptions in Charlie Strong's yard. He worked hard and he worked his men harders. Curly, fussed over every little thing in his stable and muttered furiously under his breath.

On the other side of the yard, at a dingy old table out in the shaded open sat John and Arthur Shelby, enjoying an undisturbed drink of whiskey.

They were mid laugh over some dirty joke John had said about some woman, when some fool had the audacity to open the gates to the yard and walk in.

He was a young boy, a brat of no more than eighteen. He was short and a bit lanky. Small in all accounts. Hell, even his face was distinctly unmanly. High cheeks, round jaw. He looked more like a girl or something. And he walked slowly, asured but respectful. His head held high and showed a tuft of messy hair peaking out of his dark brown peaked cap. He was new. Neither John nor Arthur had met the boy befoe. And with subtle side glancee, they confirmed it.

He didn't look threatening. He was smaller than John and they doubted a lad that looked like a dry branch would be able to do anything.

"Who're ye?" Arthur asked. Looking as menacing as ever. In fact just to make sure, he did his best to be even more intimidating than any other day.

***

"Name's Byron Griffin." I said exactly as I had rehearsed all night and all hours of early morning.

"Byron Griffin?" Hollard a voice from on the other side of the yard. And once I turned my head I saw Mr. Curly practically running at me. For a brief moment I worried he might run me over.

"So you're here." This was Mr. Charlie Strong himself. Walking slow but with long strong military like trides. Meaning business.

"Yes sir." I courtly said. Best way to earn points with old men was manners and respect. That was universal between all classes.

"Your cousin said you coming here for work." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. But one that prompted explanations and brief introduction.

"Yes sir. Minerva Griffin's my cousin. She left to stay with my mom and I came here for work."

"There no work at ye own place?" He asked.

"None that would make a nineteenth year old work." I lied. This was tricky. There no reason for them not to give me a job, there no reason why they would pass up an able bodied young man at any job.

I internally prayed to God that they would buy my blatant lie.

"You worked with horses before?" Mr Strong asked leaning against a large tool.

"Yes. Me father was a horse trainer. Me and me brothers, we... We always helped around. Learned the tricks of the trade. "

He nodded, his eyes still narrow and sharp like a hound waiting for a small sign he should rip me apart and spit out my bones. Slowly he pointed to Mr. curly and without taking his eyes off of me said "Take him to the stables Curly. See if he really does know the....tricks of the trade." He dragged the last words as if he didn't believe me. I would have been insulted if anyone treated me like this in London. And if I was Minerva Griffin. But I'm not. I'm Byron Griffin, a nineteen year old from the country. I have nothing to my name here, other than an alleged cousin.

"Of course." I courtly reply. I truly have not much to contribute to the conversation. These men here are my only chance of proper employment that could use my knowledge, without me resorting to prostitution, that by all accounts is still on the table if this goes wrong.

Mr. Curly walked fast and frantic towards the large wooden building I assume to be an attempt of the stables. It was by no means the stable of my father's business. It wasn't by no means fancy and highclass but it was still much better than what ever this is.

I don't make a comment, as it would be very impolite but I subtly make a note that if this works I would have to start some renovation plan.

"Say, lad. You said you worked with horses. What breed you like best, eh? " his question seems innocent but even his horse like skittishness, could not overshadow his subtle wisdom that seemed burried deep under stutters and nerves.

"I may say this 'cause of meself but I prefer colored ponies. mix blood. They're always stronger. " I smile a little. To witch he nodded approvingly. I suppose that ment I had said the right thing.

"You mixed lad? " he tilts his head as he opens the door to the stables that give me nightmares.

"Irish father. Originally from Glasgow. British mother from London." I answer honestly. Best lies are always closest to the truth. Easier to remember.

"How'd ye end up in the country then?"

"Me dad didn't agree with his family's ways. They were IRA and me mother, left the altar for me dad. They started from nothing in the country with one mule. Then they had twenty horses... "

"Twenty horses? " I nod and he seems to take in the thoughts of that many horses in as a wonder far out of reach. "What happened to them?"

"The war ." I said. And refused to say any more. I walk forward to check the horses kept there and do my best to pass whatever test they have in mind.

"This one's mouth seems bruised from the bit. Sometimes jokies pull to hard. I suggest putting Vaseline or olive oil to reduce friction. I'm sure you already were thinking of it."

Mr. Curly turns his entirely large body around to look at me and it's obvious he has to bend his neck quite a lot to actually be fully facing me. "Trot is a two-beat gait for the horse – true or false?"

"True." I say. Tilting my head to the side and pat the horse's body and check it's muscles and hoof. More as a show of my skill than a habit.

"And what saddle do you prefer?" He asked.

"I've worked with all saddles and each have their own use. But I prefer english saddle... To be honest, if it wasn't bad for the horse's back in the long term I would have gone bareback only." He only humms in response.

Without prompt, just to showcase my skills, I casually begin to medically examine the large black horse. Name bones and muscle, say one or two tidbits about some breeds I simply liked.

And then I picked up the foot to check the horse shoes. "That's not good."

This instantly peaks Mr. Curly's attention and he too bends to see what had shocked me.

"This is bad. Very bad. " I say again.

" what? What you see?" He demands to know.

"Look here, it's an abscess. See how soft and squishy it became? It's full of infection. full if puss. I'm surprised he can walk." I press the bottom of the hoof and watch as it goes in a bit.

"Oh no. It's bad. So bad. Very. Bad. No good. He has a race coming soon. I... I gotta tell Tommy. I have to tell Tommy. How, how did this happen? It's no good. No good at all." Mr. Curly, became frantic and panicky much like the way he was the night before. He was shaking and his arms flew around.

"My guess is that the problem started while shoe changing. Could a pebble have gone in there and made a wound?" I try to say, but he's already running out of the stable yelling for a Tommy.

Thomas Shelby I assume.

I take another look at the hoof and try to remember the process of hoof restoration, and changing horse shoes.

"The fuck yer doing?" I hear him before I see him. He grabbed me before I can let go of the hoof and he practically lifted me up and slammed me against the wall. And only then I manage to look at the eyes of Arthur Shelby.

Behind him I vaugly see the other men plus a new one huddling around the hoof. Mr. Curly fretting still like a terrified horse, Mr. Strong seemed swearing at an absent member and his shit work and a new man, Tommy Shelby I persumed was attentively checking the horse. But soon enough, my vision is blocked by the younger looking man - John Shelby - I persumed and he places his razor cap at my face.

I feel the cold sharpness of the small razor at my cheak. A small pressure, stinging and the wetbess of my blood sliding across my face. I try to move away to no avail.

"Don't fucking move laddy less you want me to blind you for good." John Shelby snarles at me.

Fear and panic clench my stomach in ways I have never felt before. I must have been a bit slow to panic, either due to shock and being unprepared or simply because I have lost the emotional depth to appropriately react. Considering I am thinking about this, I would say option two. But now that I have some time to look at my.... Assailants? Captors? In the eye, I feel the impending doom of my mutilation or murder. My stomach turns and twist and I feel my legs grow cold and limp. I pray to God I may not faint.

I do as John Shelby said, and stand as still as I can. I try to rein in my breath so not even a hitch would cost me my eyes. Seeing as how I am practically dangling midair by a very lethal veteran man who happens to be in a gang, I have no other choice to resign myself to my fate. Not like I can do anything.

Note to self, get a blade for myself if I survived this mess.

"Put him down boys." I hear the handsome Birmingham accent drawl of Mr. Tommy Shelby. He was not as tall and menacing as his first brother Arthur nor did he radiated vigor and violent vitality like his younger brother John. Yet, with each step he takes towards me I feel the blistering cold of winter seep into my bones. Like taking a bath in freezing ocean water. His face, calm and controlled resembled the brewing of storm clouds.

"Curly here, " he points towards Mr. Curly who is now being calmed down by Mr. Strong. "He tells me you came here for a job as his assistance and in once casual inspection found that my horse has a bad hoof."

I nod once. They have let me go, I am now speaking with Tommy Shelby. I am in presence of the devil himself. I very rarely get tongue tied, that is a skill learned from spending days in high society parties. But now... Now, words seem to fail me and my voice chokes in on itself.

"Come here, come here." He says. His voice calm but his Strong hand that grabbed into my collar vibrated with barely contained violence.

He pulled me and I let out a yelp of shock. "Ok. Ok. No need to pull. Jesus Christ,I'm not fighting ye." I let out in frustration. I bend by the horse and pick up the hoof again. "See here." I push again into the abscess and watch as my finger goes slightly in. "I suspect the problem comes from under the horseshoe. It was done wrong and something must've injured the hoof. A crack maybe."

"Fuck." He let's go of me and let's out a slew of slurs that will put sailors to shame. "Curly, call Reggie and tell him he's a dead man. He fucked up my horse and I'm gonna fuck him up."

"Tommy, we can't find anyone new soon enough to fix this." Arthur Shelby says from where he stands hands now holding a flask.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. " the youngest Shelby brother seems to be even more vibrantly violent now. Which is never good. No man should look that gleeful with the impending mutilation looming over.

My mama said I was good as gold. And my father said I was a devil child. And I'm sure he was more right that my mother because in one instant my devilish Irish blood sings a nasty songs in my veins.

And once again I open my mouth to dig myself a whole. "I can fix it." Fuck me and my mouth that never shuts up.

"What you say?" The icy blues of Tommy Shelby pierce my own eyes like a hail of bullets.

"I... I am young but I've worked with horses plenty. I've fixed hoofs and changed horseshoe before. There won't be any races for this one for some time and that's nothing anyone can fix but I can fix him."

"Explain." He ordered. His voice carrying such a comand you'd think it was his god given right to boss everyone around. Like he was a young arrogant god amongs mere mortals. A king with his slaves. Well, that was Tommy Shelby. He isn't the boogy man of adults for nothing.

"Well, we have to take off the horseshoe, chip away the hoof until we can find were the abscess is, empty it and then find where and what is lodged in it. I suspect a pebble or a nail. Maybe a metal share based on the state of the yard."

"State of the yard? The fuck you mean by that?" Mr. Strong snaps, but by the looks of it he doesn't seem very angry at me.

"Well this is a yard, and near factories. There are metal shards bound to be laying around. It is a possibility that one could have been lodged in there." I explain trying not to further insupt the man's working place.

Tommy Shelby regarded me with a calculating stared, smoking deep and hard as his eyes held mine in search of something I hoped he found and dreaded to find. Finally seemingly satisfied with what he did or did not find he nods once.

"Alright. Mr...? "

"Byron, Mr Shelby. I'm Byron Griffin." I introduce.

"Alright, Mr. Byron Griffin. You will fix my horse's foot. If I am satisfied with the job you've done, you'll have a permanent employment here with a payment we will discuss at the time of your employment. If you fail me, Mr. Griffin. You will die. " He says as if he's talking about what he had for dinner. His voice, despite his ominous words was soft, calculated and all business. There was a sickly pleasantness to it that made me wish for death.

This man was dangerous. And not for the same reasons as his brothers or the drunks in the streets. This man will be my undoing.

And I have dug myself a whole so deep, I may not be able to climb out of it.

"I'll start immediately, Mr. Shelby." I say with a respectful bow of my head.

I keep my head down until they leave and only dare to look up once the door is shut behind me. There I see myself alone with Mr. Curly, who is bringing out a familiar tool box out for me.

"Be gentle with him, alright. He's an energetic one. Hell get over exited." The large Duck draft in shape of a man says.

"I'll be as gentle as I can. He won't notice a thing. I promise." I comoly to the wishes of a man who's gentleness reminded me of Robert's innate tenderness for animals.

I set to work, ignoring the beginnings of hunger, anxiety of failure and the swinging swords of Damocles. Or the swinging razor of Shelby in this case.

"It's a long way out of this grave. A hell of me own making." I mutter.

#tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy Shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #polly gray #michael gray #finn shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #dual nature #sadattemptofawriter

[weirdlet]

Tuesday Game: Glory

A brief flashback/montage of when your character’s favorite sin was either first indulged, or in fact became their favorite.

I had initially said Vanity, before I really knew how wildly it was going to affect our characters, and before I’d really figured out that Glory was trans.  Now I figure, he jokes that his sin is Vanity as a cover to the fact that it’s really Wrath.

   A devil-child flaps up into the rigging, hair snarled around a comb, little fingers clinging to the spars so that even if Uncle or one of the aunties wanted to climb up after her, there’d be no pulling her from her hiding place without teasing her out like a burr.

“There’s no hiding what you are!” auntie Alys shouts- thin and sharp, a reed men like to break without knowing that her inner pith will have her standing true long after they are gone.

“An exotic around here would bring in the kind of money your mama could retire on- all of us could!”

Wicked child, devil-child, she puts out her forked tongue and hisses, then wraps her wings around herself like a dragon, tiny selfish thing.  There’s no hiding what she is.  No farmer looking for an extra pair of hands for her, no tanner’s apprenticeship or cabin-boy’s post.  Can’t waste looks like these on calluses and windburn when a gold-painted chain and fake runes make a concubus for the night- or they will when she’s a little older.

   The first man who puts a hand on her loses it.

Uncle finds him a position as cabin-boy after that- practically gives him away.

   “There’s no hiding what you are!”

Killer.

Worse, killer of someone just important enough that their body dumped in the canal got *attention* rather than just a shrug.  The guards have bitten hands and lashed faces, and that’s why he’s dumped into the Proving Ground- the one source of entertainment the people stuck on this rock, jailed and jailers alike, have.

The captain had sailed on without him the day of his arrest- no hiding what he was.  Too visible to risk sneaking him out, too known of a crime to be caught ameliorating with bribes and favors.  

Again.

The crowd roars, and his opposite grips a knife made of glass and rope.  Hell-kin that he is, his horns and nails and teeth are considered to be enough.

His wings, snapped open and taut like sails in a storm, carry him like a falcon diving despite the chain at his ankle.

Might as well give the people what they want.  No hiding what he is, after all.

   “There’s no hiding what you are,” the blessed man says, thumbing tears off his cellmate’s face.  The soft glow has faded, a king’s ransom of divine glory spent in a prison cell, by and on tattooed criminals.

The young man spits out leather, pierced through from biting during his trials, and breathes deep and easy with barely a stretch of new-healed skin.  A flat blank canvas awaits him when he looks down, his own to show off what *he* cares to display to the world.

“You’re perfect.”

He’ll get his first new scar there tomorrow.

   The lie comes easy after all this time.  Painted up in bright colors and jingling metal, swaggering up with an easy grin full of sharp teeth- people take it at face value when he says his favorite sin is Vanity.  When really, what throbs below the surface, what’s kept him alive all these years is 

Wrath.

#I think this works

[babykentthegent]

Baby Kent Four-ever

Time seems to be moving faster than a freight train, as our little Boo continues developing each and every day. We keep saying he can't possibly get any cuter and then he still manages to prove us wrong. This has to be the most fun stage yet as he becomes more and more aware of his surroundings and of us. Rob has sure had his hands full and he still has six weeks of leave before he returns to work. Watching him father Kent has been beyond fun and I know Kent is enjoying every minute he gets to spend with his dada.

This kid is full of energy and he's so dang strong! He prefers to stand (assisted of course) over sitting. He just locks his legs and will do it all day if you let him. We are in trouble! Once he's walking, we are doomed. He loves bouncing in his car or just playing with you. He still loves to laugh and is honestly one of the happiest babies I've ever seen. He's still sleeping through the night, sucks down a bottle like there's no tomorrow, and likes to turn his neck to follow you every which way.

We spent the last month catching up with old friends and really making the effort to expose Kent to different places and people. So far, he seems to love making new friends. He'll let just about anyone hold him and doesn't fuss. He's also becoming more and more aware, even having giggled the other day when the dogs looked at him. My brother got us a diaper bag that pulls out into a changing table/bed. I call it his little baby tent for Kent. It has sure come in handy for outings! Kent is also extremely aware of girls. In his tummy time book, one of the pages has an image of a little toddler girl and it's the page he pays the most attention to. When he met back up with his friend Mina, he was all smiles. Such a flirt, this one! I have a feeling he's going to be a little ladies man.

Kent has really been bonding with Rob. He loves being dad's little sidekick and they have even managed to go on a couple daddy/son outings, just the two of them. We can tell that Kent knows who we are, but he also treats the two of us slightly differently. It's funny how even a baby can develop unique relationship dynamics with different people in his life. Dad is his protector and he always looks like he feels safe in his arms. When he's with me, he acts exactly how little boys do with their mamas. Like little angels that want to be babied (pun intended).

We are so grateful and feel so blessed for all of the love we continue to receive. We even had several close friends in Japan ship over some wonderful presents for Kent. We can't wait to take him to Japan one day and show him the life we once lived. I can already imagine all of my previous students just gushing over his cuteness. One day, son. We shall go!

This face is just too much for me to handle. The way his ears pop out, his beautiful mystery colored eyes (we're still banking on green), and his big kissable lips. This kid is a looker for sure, and while we can't take any credit for it, we sure do think he's the cutest kid in the whole world!

This should be no surprise to those that know me, but I have been going a little nuts with the Fall attire. I couldn't help myself! Kent is going to be wearing all pumpkins until the last leaf drops. And yes...I already bought our entire family's Halloween costumes. I have been waiting for the moment of being a mama when I could voluntell my family what theme we'd all be going as(dogs and all). No spoilers, but I'll be sure to include photos in a future post.

Well, that's about it for now. We definitely have our hands full with this cutie, but we wouldn't change it for the world. Every day with him is a huge blessing and we are loving every minute of it.

[purple-tulips-and-honey-bees]

okay, so for my own person enjoyment, I've decided I want a metal gear oc, and I want to post it somewhere. if you happen to stumble upon this, hi :)

(tw // stabbing, descriptive(?) blood splatters)

so, the oc's name is Amiir. he's moroccan, and roughly the same age as Raiden. the only problem is that he's white as snow, as Mistral would say. his parents say they found him on their doorstep in a basket one morning, and they were afraid he'd died because he wasn't crying or anything. they took him in, and since there was no name on the basket, they named him Amiir, the same way they'd always wanted to name their child, but couldn't, because the mother was infertile. the couple considered Amiir a blessing and never looked for his birth parents.

as a boy, Amiir did a lot of exploring, inside and outside. when he wasn't frolicking in a field or swimming in a random creek somewhere, he was at home, where he always had his nose in a book. through his love of reading, he stumbled upon christianity, which he would later adopt as his religion as an adult (this becomes semi-important later).

Amiir was raised to be a gentleman, always helping his mother around the house and bringing game home in the evenings by the age of eight. with the help of his father, they would skin and process the animals for his mother to cook along with the loaf of bread he picked up every afternoon. his parents loved him very much, and they never forced things on him or treated him badly.

he never went to school, as if the government knew about him, they might take him away, and his parents didn't want that, so they taught him what they could at home. his mother taught him to read and count, while his father taught him simple sciences and some history when he wasn't working. sometimes this proved difficult, as Amiir had trouble sitting still for too long.

on a warm, autumn night, similar to the one he was dropped off on, Amiir was sound asleep in bed. his parents were still awake in the living room, laughing and talking as blessed couples do. little did they know, outside the warm, tiny house, a strange man lurked. he had been coming for some time now, getting used to the feel and schedule of the house. he felt tonight was the night. tonight was the night he would finally take that boy for himself.

he crept to the front door, stepping quietly as to not alert anyone. as he put his hand on the doorknob, he realized it was already open. easier for him, he thought. he swung the door wide open in a flash, pulling a long, double-bladed sword from his side. he pointed it at the defenseless couple quickly, stopping the mother short from a blood curdling scream.

"where's the boy?" he asked loudly, loud enough that said boy stirred in his sleep.

"what boy? you mean our son?!" the husband asked, pulling his shivering wife behind him as much as he could on their sofa. this further woke Amiir from his rest.

"yes, yes, the boy! he's important! special, even..." the man said, twirling the blade and giggling like a madman.

"you can't have our son!" the women trembled, peeking out from behind her beloved. this had done it. Amiir was now awake, and wandering down the hallway to see what this commotion was all about.

he stumbled into the living room's doorway, leaning on it heavily and rubbing his eyes. his button up ducky pajamas were wrinkled severely.

"mama...? pa...? what's happening?"he muttered, finally opening his eyes to unveil the scene. his mama, scared, cowered behind his pa, who was yelling at him to go back to his room. the strange man smiled at him wickedly before lowering the sword and walking towards him slowly.

"hey kiddo... long time no see, huh?" he laughed, the smile devilishly wide now.

Amiir stood there for a moment, frozen in place with his mouth open, before screaming, "no! I don't know you!" he turned and ran as instinct completely took over, his pa's survival training coursing through him. the man walked quicker, gaining on the small boy.

as Amiir skidded into his room, pure red took over his vision as he grabbed the hunting knife he got as a gift two years ago. two sets of footsteps echoed in the hall, one faster and louder than he other. a loud thud from the hallway had the boy running back, knife in hand, mind corrupt with thoughts of his parents' safety.

his first ever prayer to God was that his parents weren't hurt. to this day, he doesn't know why he prayed then.

the hallway revealed Amiir's pa wrestling with the intruder, all muscle and veins and sweat. him and his mama watched as he slowly lost the upper hand in the fight, age wracking his bones as he breathed heavily. the man finally got a good grasp on his shoulders and turned them over completely, now kneeling over the father. he picked his sword up off the ground and grinned wildly as he pulled it back, ready to slit the other man's throat. the only problem is that his back was facing Amiir.

the red came back as Amiir rushed forward, screaming something unintelligible as his mother's eyes widened with realization. the intruder let out a heart-wrenching scream as the hunting knife was plunged into his back and removed over and over again. Amiir was brutally stabbing him, even after the light had left his eyes and his body laid limp on his father's. he only stopped when his mother's screams started.

"Amiir!" she was yelling, "what have you done?!" she sounded disgusted, scared, distraught; any and every negative emotion.

"I..." the boy started, but quickly trailed off. oh God, what had he done? did he stab this man? he didn't remember doing that. but he wouldn't have a knife in his hand, leaning over the body if it wasn't him, right?

the blood was the worst part, and what he still shudders to think about today. it truly was everywhere. on the man, on the knife, on his pa, on him. it had pooled on the floor and started sinking into the carpet. it had sprayed on the walls and on his face when he'd slashed a major artery. he swears he could taste it on his lips. it drenched his and his father's shirts. his favorite pajamas would never be worn again.

the iron-ey smell made him want to throw up, but the circumstances didn't even allow him to move. was he breathing? did he die too, just like the man? he didn't know. his ears rang as the gravity of what he'd done set in.

"I killed this man. this mess is my fault. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to..." he thought.

"I... I'm sorry..." was the first thing he muttered after breaking out of the shock that kept him in place. he slumped over and dropped the knife in terror as he began to cry.

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I didn't mean to... I don't know what happened..."

he started to stutter and shake as he sobbed and begged for forgiveness from his parents. he kept saying he was sorry, that he didn't mean to, that it was an accident. eventually, through his sobs, he threw up, right there in the hallway. smells and fluids mixed below him, all a product of his own monstrous doings.

his parents, after finally regaining a sliver of their humanity, reacted to the gruesome scene in front of them.

"Amiir..." his mother stuttered out as his father picked him up. blood ran down his body as he stood, making a bigger mess of the once beautiful, beige carpet.

"let's just get you cleaned up..." his father said solemnly, taking the boy to the bathroom. Amiir cried into his neck as his mother continued to stand in the hallway, tears pricking her eyes.

in the bathroom, his father stripped him of his pajamas and put him the tub, starting the water and making sure it was a nice temperature before plugging the drain. slowly but surely, the water turned more and more pink as it kept filling up. Amiir couldn't stand to look at the bloody water, so he looked up as he continued to cry. he was full on bawling at this point, his breathing rough as he still begged for forgiveness.

after turning the water off, his father finally spoke up.

"look, son... I'm not going to tell you that what you did wasn't bad, because it was. it was awful, and a crime, and you should feel terrible. you should be crying the way you are now," he said, soaking the blood on the boy's body up with a bath sponge. Amiir cried impossibly harder as he felt berated by his father.

"but, I should thank you," he finished. Amiir looked up at him for the first time since the affair.

"you're not angry with me?" he asked through his tears, trying his best to calm down now. he still sniffled and sobbed.

"not angry, but not happy either. I just wanted you to know that if you hadn't done that, he would have killed me. blood was going to be spilled one way or another tonight," his father claimed. Amiir nodded and went quiet at the thought. then, they wandered.

what if that guy had a family? what if this is how he provided for them? what if he didn't have a choice?

the waterworks started up again as he let his father continue to clean him up. the blood was still all over his face, and drying now. his tears left tracks through the overwhelming red.

Amiir, at only ten years old, had just brutally murdered a man in cold blood. as young as he was, he knew he never wanted to kill again.

(note: being as light as he is, we can assume Amiir's real parents are american)

#metal gear oc

[7-oh-ta1]

Byakudan High School Character Profiles from 2U!

#i know mama blessed us with the boys before but i wanted to post all the schools together #corpse party #yuuya kizami #kensuke kurosaki #tohko kirisaki #masato fukuroi #mitsuki yamamoto #kai shimada #emi urabe #ryosuke katayama #tomohiro ohkawa

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's [23-08-2021 - 29-08-2021] reading log is here! I read a lot again this week and I feel like it's a lovely variety of fics. Most fics are Stucky like usual, but there's at least one other ship. I am constantly amazed by the talent people have in this fandom! There was one fic I read on Tumblr that I can't seem to find unfortunately, but when I do I'll make sure to reblog and rec it 💕

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

When life gives you lemons by moonthejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 40k words, Mature] (12/15 chapters available)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

The Masseur and the Assassin by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 17k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes needed a vacation from his job. What he found was a happy ending.

The Words Breathe by buckbarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

All Steve has to do is keep his promise. When he doesn’t, Bucky gets mouthy.

Soft by this_wayward_life @wayward-lives [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

The last time he'd seen Bucky he'd looked unhealthy, with pallid skin and greasy, lanky hair. Now, Bucky shone; his hair was thick and silky, his skin a deep bronze from spending so much time outside. He was softer, too; the hard muscle that used to cover him was now replaced by soft fat, his body still strong, but in a more mundane way. His thighs were thicker, his ass plumper, and when he'd pulled Steve into the river Steve had noticed the pudge on his stomach.

Seeing Bucky so happy, well-fed and shining, was a bit of a kick in the face. For all the years they'd known each other, he'd never seen Bucky so... care-free. Now that Bucky was putting on weight, his middle soft and his body malleable, it sent a bolt of arousal through Steve every time he noticed the curves of Bucky's body.

Or: Bucky put on a bit of weight in Wakanda, and Steve is Not Coping.

🌻 Revive Another Side of Me by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Steve’s never lived in a world without Bucky, and he’s not living now. It takes them a while, much too long, to get that awaited rest, a little slice of peace after the dust has settled.Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are inseparable, history remembers. But they’re not men of the past quite yet.

🌻 imagine being loved by me by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s probably one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not Natasha

The ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen. Steve Rogers is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set to captain america’s bitch. Not at all.

Hey, the first message says. It’s Steve.

🌻 JB’s Complete Lube Services by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

People just didn’t approach Captain America and proposition him. Although, sometimes Steve wished they would; even the pinnacle of virtue and justice needed to get dicked down from time to time.

Or, the one where Steve has the hots for a mechanic and decides to be proactive in getting that dick.

If it had to be someone by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky had known since he was a child that he didn’t have a choice in who he married, but he’d thought he had more time before the day arrived.

Miscalculations by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Ransom Drysdale/Reader, 6k words, Explicit]

Ransom tries to get you to sleep with him by less than honorable means. You give him what he wants, just not how he wants it.

How to Seduce a Writer by obsessivereader [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

What's a determined master strategist going to do when the oblivious writer he's trying to woo keeps missing all the clues?

He doesn’t think it’s because he hadn’t signaled his own interest to Bucky. He’s pretty much done everything short of hitting Bucky over the head with semaphore flags by this point. There’s no way Bucky could’ve missed them. Unless… There’d been that one link he’d stumbled upon when he’d googled ‘how to talk to a writer’. It’d been written by a writer, who’d been candid about how oblivious writers could be, and how someone could go about seducing one. An idea starts to form. It’s ridiculous, but at this point, he’s willing to go with ridiculous, since subtle wasn’t getting him anywhere.

🌻 Pod Bless America by Deisderium @deisderium [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

take a bite by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 7k words, Mature]

"I’d never let anyone freeze to death.” Steve gives a big sigh and flutters his lashes. “All that blood gone to waste.”

Bucky’s lips turn down and his nose scrunches up a little. “I want to be grossed out, but…”

“But you get it.” Steve gives him a pointed look. “Vampires aren’t the only ones who can appreciate how juicy blood is.”

*

Or: Vampire Steve saves newly-turned werewolf Bucky from a snowstorm.

Leaving the Shield Behind by BuckyAboveEverything [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

“So, on one hand, we have Steve Rogers - hunk, genius, animal lover. Buys you waffles and overpriced coffee. 100% wholesome all-American boy.”

“And, on the other hand, we have Capsicle – twink, smart-ass, fanboy. Reads your stories and sends you fanart. Possibly a pervert or a serial killer.”

Bucky groaned.

“I am 100% certain I am 0% sure of what to do."

Bucky Barnes, full-time copywriter and free-time fanfic writer, struggles to choose between two equally-attractive suitors, only to find that he doesn’t have to after all.

* Based on a true story *

Cap's Book Corner by Neche [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Recluse Author Bucky Barns stumbles into fanboy Steve Rogers bookstore one day...

Cat Nap by galwednesday @galwednesday [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky’s problems. The balding agent he’d seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority.

Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back.

at any given moment by honeypuffed [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky find out that everyone thinks they're sleeping together.

Brought to Brightness by eyres [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

🌻 Nokken Wood by leveragehunters @leveragehunters [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

When Sam's friend needs a house-sitter for his place in the country, Steve jumps at the chance. Six months rent-free to do nothing but draw and paint and wander the countryside, looking for inspiration? It was like a dream. But when he gets lost in a storm and nearly falls into a pond he starts to rethink the whole like a dream aspect of life in the country. And when a red-eyed, sharp-clawed, silver-fanged creature rises out of the darkness, Steve is one hundred percent certain the dream's morphed into a nightmare.

...until it gives him a cup of tea.

(Inspired partly by this prompt a supernatural creature is supposed to scare you but instead it gives you a cup of tea and a blanket because you're having a bad day and you keep coming back and partly by this painting.)

Professional Pride by galwednesday [Stucky, 700 words, Teen]

Bucky is having a very good day, until he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America.

“Oh shit,” he blurts before he can stop himself, and Captain America blinks at him. “Hey, hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Here, at New York’s Pride parade, surrounded by thousands of happy screaming people wearing rainbows and sometimes not much else. What is he doing here? Is he on guard duty or something? Was he just on a mission and happened to be passing by on his way back?

He’s in uniform but with the cowl loose around his neck, so when he rubs the back of his head it fluffs up his matted hair. “I, uh. I saw one of your–temporary tattoos?” Captain fucking America says, like it’s a question.

The A-bridged Guide to Trolling by galwednesday [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I don’t have any money.”

Oh no, now the girl looked upset. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite the oh shit oh shit oh shit looping through his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”

The girl frowned at him. “Like what?”

Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”

(Fantasy AU in which Steve is a hedge witch with a green thumb, Bucky is a bridge troll who's new in town, and knock-knock jokes are a viable form of currency.)

It's a bittersweet ending (if you know what I mean) by relenafanel [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I’ll see you around, Steve,” Bucky answers with a smirk, moving away from the counter with a wink.

Steve watches him go. Bucky’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans coated in something to give the appearance of leather. It’s impossible to not watch him go.

stuck on you by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!) by castiowl [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Clint looked thoughtfully at the flyer. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”

Bucky frowned. “Have you met Steve Rogers?”

no way out but through by hollimichele [Stucky, 9k words, Teen]

Steve never sees it coming.

you got blood on your hands (and i know it's mine) by nighimpossible [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Bucky refuses to see Steve after his deprogramming.

Like What You See by daisymondays [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

For all the time Bucky’s spent fantasizing about meeting Captain America, he’d never imagined it would be while posing nude in front of a drawing class.

🌻 A Real Boy by itsnotbleak [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat.

It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

Amapola by chaya [Stucky, 830 words, Teen]

Total fluff. Bucky's recovering nicely. Steve's oblivious. Sometimes it's best to set aside subtlety for action.

Knocking Boots With Sugar by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave.

Rogers and Associate by roe87 @jro616 [Stucky, 7k words, Teen]

When they first meet, Bucky is a hooker and Steve is a cop. She's been arrested, but Steve lets her off.

Years pass and they maintain a casual friendship, seeing each other out on the streets most nights.

Though he later makes detective, Steve loses faith in the system and quits his job.

He wants to set up as a private investigator, and he asks Bucky if she'd be his assistant.

Just in time by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky knew the apartment he was renting was old fashioned, but walking in the front door and finding himself transported back to 1938 was not on the list of things he had prepared himself for.

🌻 You Like What's in My Head by dontcallmebree [Stucky, 15k words, Explicit] (with art by @kocuria)

Bucky can’t decide if Steve’s a tough nut to crack or incredibly easy. The timbre of his voice, a low and almost amused, “Sure, kid,” when Bucky asks for a drink feels like something gripping him on the back of his neck.

He thinks this might be one of those moments in life he’ll pinpoint in the future and either curse at for dooming himself, or remember fondly with pride.

He’s right. Bucky Barnes blunders through falling in love with Commander Rogers and tries to find a deeper meaning behind the expensive gifts and thorough fucking.

Can I Sit Here? by BuckyFrickenBarnes [Stucky, 962 words, General]

Bucky has unusual methods for getting rid of his writer's block.

Or, Bucky needs that table.

Workplace Romance by BuckyFricken Barnes [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Bucky is under the impression that his boss hates him.

Or,

Steve needs to get better at dealing with his feelings.

🌻 1-800-MAYTAG by Miss Plum @misspluckyplum [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

Bucky just wants to get some housework done. It gets out of hand fast. Silly little fluff and smut romp with snarky stucky boys.

Eyes of the Forest by Lordelannette [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit] (2/8 chapters available)

When Omega Bucky Barnes comes to Eagle Lake, it was in search of wolves, a creature that had not been seen in the area for decades.

What he finds instead is Steve Rogers, a handsome, though quiet Alpha who seems to be everywhere in the forest.

#r's reading log #my reading log #fic rec #stucky #stucky fic rec #fic recs #stevebucky #long post

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

BTS scenario: Yoongi finds you after 1,871 days (1)

Summary: It takes 1,871 days for Yoongi to find you. Five years, one month, and four days. He’s turned over every house in your village, every pack in your province, and chased your family to every distant home you have before arriving to a quaint apartment in the middle of Seoul. Warnings/Notes: The continuation to Yoongi’s part in this scenario drabble. Please read because it might not sense if you don’t lol. No warnings as of now. 

Word Count: 1,500+ words READ PART TWO HERE

It takes 1,871 days for Yoongi to find you.

Five years, one month, and four days. He’s turned over every house in your village, every pack in your province, and chased your family to every distant home you have before arriving to a quaint apartment in the middle of Seoul.

Inside the car and behind the tinted windows, Yoongi stares up to your apartment. It’s small, but it comes with a balcony where clothes hang to dry. He recognizes a familiar red blouse, and a blue jumper.

What he doesn’t recognize are these: a small pair of shorts, a school uniform, and a plain shirt - all in a size of perfect for a child.

1,871 days is a long time but you split it like this: the time before Yongho and the time after Yongho.

It didn’t take long for you to leave the pack after that night with Yoongi. You knew then that if you drag your feet, you’ll never be able to leave. So, with your family’s promise and blessing, you packed your bags, your savings, and your heart and boarded the next plane out of the country.

You didn’t think Yoongi would look for you (but you hoped, desperately, sometimes even too much) but still, you took serious precautions. Running away with an alpha’s child is not a slight offense regardless of the reason.

With no family and no friends, you hunkered down in the outskirts of Taipei. You watched summer turn to fall, and then by winter, your arms are warmed by the small bundle of joy that is your son.

Yongho is a precious boy, with your nose and lips, and Yoongi’s feline eyes. He’s curious, energetic, and affectionate, and not a day goes by that you’re not thankful for his presence.

When he turned three, and with no new news of Yoongi coming from your family, you opted to return to your homeland to finish your post-graduate studies. You never planned on hiding Yongho from his father forever, but for years after you left, your family urged you not to reveal yourself.

The pack has splintered, stay hidden until everything settles. They are invoking the old law.

And so you did, however, now, circumstances have changed.

“Yongho, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Yoongi watches a few steps behind you as you kneel down to your child’s height. Even with your crouching form, he still couldn’t see his son’s features. He’s small for his age, he muses, just like he was in his youth.

Yoongi hears a sound of high-pitched approval from his child, before your lips curve into a familiar smile.

“Good,” you say, “Why don’t you change clothes and then you can join us in the kitchen?”

The little boy scampers away with a giggle and you silently turn to Yoongi, leading him to the kitchen.

Your apartment isn’t small, but it’s not large either. The kitchen is quaint with herbs growing on the small window by the sink. Yoongi smells the leftover scents of bacon, milk, and eggs from the air mixed with the tea you placed in front of him.

For a while, it’s silent and Yoongi takes care to observe you.

It’s been five years but somehow, the difference startles him. Though your features remained the same, there’s a certain hardness to it now, like a polished sword - a calm protective air.

“Mama! I’m ready!”

Your scent immediately spikes with warmth as you hear your son’s steps down the stairs. You turn in your chair, catching him so readily in your arms.

“I combed my hair too, see?” Yongho peers up to you with a smile, one of his front teeth missing. Smiling fondly, you touch his hair lightly. “I see that, my love, good job.”

Yongho grins before turning and glancing at the man with his eyes, sitting at the other end of your dining table. His smile wobbles at the seriousness in the man’s face but he perseveres. He’s a guest, mama said.

Seeing that Yoongi has caught your son’s attention, you clear your throat. You’ve never lied about your son’s father ever since he first asked about it when he was three, and so this conversation shouldn’t be hard.

“Yongho, this is Yoongi, your father.”

The secondary gender’s characteristics manifests early into puberty. However, with the advancement of science and technology, people have found a way to determine an individual’s secondary gender as early as they’re 6 months old.

You tried avoiding these tests for Yongho to give him a shot at a regular, unburdened childhood but it became unavoidable when you tried to enroll him to his first pre-school class.

It had taken all of your family’s dwindling connections to scrub the records clean but even that isn’t enough to keep the news from reaching the elders ears.

Your son, little Y/L/N Yongho, is the rarest of them all - a male omega.

And so you called Yoongi. It’s less of him finding you, and more of you allowing yourself to be found. With nothing left to possibly do, you reached out to the only one you think can help.

Things have settled quite quickly, your son is young, forgiving and eager. At the sight of his father, he quickly warmed up and you watched Yoongi struggle faintly at the overwhelming energy of your pup.

They spent the whole day in his room, watching movie after movie, and playing with every toy Yongho owns. He even showed his father his drawings, most of which were of the town you lived in Taiwan.

“So that’s where you went.” Yoongi observes, finger touching the crayon drawing of you and Yongho making pineapple cakes.

The sun has already set and Yongho’s knocked out in his room. The two of you are once again across each other, on the other sides of your mahogany kitchen table.

“Yes,” you respond calmly, “We stayed there for three years.”

Yoongi breathes, closes his eyes and tries not to think of you, heavily pregnant and alone. There’s time to discuss the past, but that’s not today. Still, he couldn’t help the bitterness seep into his voice, not after he’s known what he missed for five years.

A son, a beautiful son.

“Had I known you’re craving pineapple cakes, we would’ve sent for it.”

I looked for you, he wants to say, I nearly went mad, looking for you.

You let out a pained chuckle, “Funny. I actually couldn’t stand it when I was pregnant. Yongho loves them though.”

“Why am I here?” Yoongi cuts, his alpha rearing its head. That’s our blood she hid, it snarls, our seed, our son - she took him away!

Wordlessly, you took out a red envelope from under your seat. The familiar seal of the pack elders broken into two. You slide it towards Yoongi and watch as he reads it contents.

You watch as his eyes grow sharper and his jaw clench reading the request of the elders. He too, has changed, you observe. The wild energy you’ve associated with him is gone, perhaps veiled under the surface.

After all, an omega’s chosen alpha should be a man of discipline.

“They can’t do this,” Yoongi grits out. “It’s against the law to take a child from their family.”

You shake your head, nights poured over the texts of your youth heavy on your mind, “The pack only recognizes families of mated individuals.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker at your unmarked neck and his alpha curls into himself. Unmarked. Our son’s mother is unmarked, it whimpers. Before he could speak, you continue on.

“I’ve read the books, and sought advice from the Wong pack of Taipei, there are two ways to avoid this—“

Marriage, Yoongi thinks, and the box in his pocket suddenly weighs a ton. He’s carried it around for five years, hoping to find you. 

“—but since mating is out of question—“ a flash of the old you passes in your eyes, and Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but you don’t stop.

“— I’ve invoked the ancient law.” You pause, taking a deep breathe. “A month from now, I’ll be battling the primary alpha of the pack for the custody of our child.”

Yoongi gasps. The primary alpha… is Jeon Jungkook, one of their strongest and most devoted to the omega. He’ll tear you apart if she so asks.

Yoongi startles when you push your chair back, standing suddenly in front of him. Your eyes are brimming with unshed tears, but your back is straight, as you kneel down- your forehead to the ground, a few inches from his feet.

“Min Yoongi, alpha of the Min family, father of my son, my former betrothed — for all that we were and we cannot be, I beseech you.”

Yoongi’s alpha is snarling inside his head, confused, scared, angry at your thoughtless decision and his own thoughtlessness that lead you here. It’s a visceral reaction - an alpha doesn’t bow to another alpha, but here you are.  Everything for your son. 

“If I lose, take our son. He needs your name.”

END NOTES: Well, this got out of hand. There’s a lot unsaid between these two and a lot of time passed by between the them in the drabble and this one. Let me know what you think! I’m thinking of where to bring the other hyungline members’ plotlines still.  Hearts are great but comments and reblogs will reach a lot more readers. Let’s spread the love!  Should I continue Yoongi’s story? What do you think will happen? TAG LIST: @justmewondering-recs @cloudbuffalo @blushingatyou @aroseharder @neverthefirstchoice @xanny91 @sugaaddiction @flirtygerty​ @darkskin-buttercup​

#thetruthuntoldnet #bangtanarmynet #yoongi x reader #alpha yoongi #alpha reader #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook cameo #daddy yoongi #hidden child trope #ABO dynamics #BTS Alpha #bts angst #yoongi angst #bts fanfiction #bts scenario

[i8jisoo]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 ⇉ skz with pregnant!reader

seungmin x reader | part seven of dad!skz

↬ genre; fluff & angst

↬ warnings; obviously pregnancy, talk of sex/condoms, talk of morning sickness, cursing, child-birth

↬ notes; i feel like my mental health is getting worse and it has been really hard to be positive but i finished this awhile ago, never posted it! just thought to post it today since i just reached 500 followers,, tysm everyone for the support on my posts and following me for content,, i’m waiting for enhypen debut rnnn, it’s really one of the only things keeping me happy n ready. my bias is jungwon :) he’s so adorable n cute i can’t wait + i hope to start writing for enhypen soon when i feel better,, ty guys <3

the night was a one night stand

seungmin had no plans to see you after, you already gone by the morning so it made no different what he wanted afterwards

so with his number in your phone, you decided that texting him would be the best

you texted him your address, asking him to meet with you after u addressed who you were

the best maybe after twelve, seeing as how from nine to eleven you would be occupied with the toilet bowl, the morning sickness really weighing on you

hes there, ready to talk, looking great

ur just there in a t-shirt and sweatpants with slightly messy hair

you seat him on ur couch, pacing in the kitchen before actually beginning to talk

“it broke, or maybe you forgot. i don’t know but you, you got me pregnant.”

i honestly see seungmin being really innocent in this and he’s just made a bad decision which resulted in a baby

“wh-what? no, i used.. i..”

it dawns on him that he can’t remember slipping on a condom before

he’s turned white as a sheet, probably feeling more ill than you

he does the math, figuring you’re around two months, you’re not that far along obviously

“we don’t have to do this, you hardly know me.”

hes shaking his head quickly, “nono, i wanna.. i may never get this chance again. i might not ever meet someone again, so, if it’s with you? i’m fine with that.”

seungmin was there for the next appointment, fully supportive and stepping up

hes scared but so excited

he also moves out of the dorms, raising flags, but he keeps assuring everyone that he was just getting a change of scenery

he claims he got a dog but uh, there isn’t one

he actually moves in with u, an apartment that wasn’t too far away from the dorms and he will time to time spend the night if they need him to

ur actually really understanding of his career and u admire his adjustment

late night with him where u two go to a twenty-four hour convenience store and buy every junk food possible

u also acquired strange cravings such a pineapple and cream cheese or kimchi and chocolate sauce

that night however u rly had a craving for cheese and cheese only

it doesn’t last however, from three to five you are in the bathroom hunched over

he?? isnt?? actually?? the worst partner to get pregnant from a one stand with?????????????????????????????????????????

he’s pretty much a sweetheart

bless everyones heart though when they find out about you

“this is my friend, we are.. having a uh, baby!”

haha surprise...

u swore that jisung’s breath was lost when he said that

chan is fucken freaking out about this

“we’re gonna be uncles!”

everybody screaming and cheering which was a good sign

ur days are average and u guys just act like friends

friends having a baby lmfao

it’s a fine line between dating and not dating

seungmin reaaalllyy likes you but he has this bit of guilt in him for getting you pregnant

ur the one who uprooted your life and ur gonna have a kid for the rest of ur life with him and he’s still living his and doing what he loves

seungmin heart eyes motherfucker when u come to a concert, just there to see him n see what he does for a living

u guys get this cute ass picture of everyone lmfao i just imagine the boys and seungmin standing around and posing with ur small bump

he doesn’t get to go to every single appointment, so his first appointment he went to was when you were around six and a half months

he’s super excited and just super nervous

so many expecting moms its crazy

when your name is called and you two go back, he’s jumping out of his seat and going back with you

the doctor applies the gel on your stomach, the rounded bump sticking out prominently

his hand clasps around yours, fingers laced with yours and he gives you a warm smile

the screen flickers on and theres your baby

it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen

he can clearly see the legs and arms, theres the head!!! he can make out the toes and fingers

then u guys get to hear the heartbeat together

it’s so strong and he just,, wow.. this is real 😣

ur bearing his child, your guys’ baby,, he can hardly believe it

then the doctor asks if u two want to know the gender

“yeah.” 🥺🥺🥺

ofc u could’ve known before but u didn’t know if seungmin wanted to find out or wait n u just would feel guilty if u went ahead

he was rly trying to be as involved as possible, he had a busy schedule and u two weren’t even dating and this whole thing was happening secretly

they turn the monitor for you two to look at, pointing around

“there they are, we have a baby boy.”

seungmin is so taken aback, this all is so .. unreal for him

he’s ready to get the disc with ur ultrasound footage n the heartbeat but also the ultrasound photos 🥺 he’s so in love with your baby boy

u two are just sitting in the office after, ur wiping off ur belly n he’s just like

“i’m in love with you. you and our son — i know, we agreed to co-parenting and no feelings but,” his voice is so strained n he’s just so fragile n so utterly raw, “i couldn’t help it.”

ur fact at first is just frozen and slightly shocked

then ur like 😮🥺😣

“no, cause i was thinking the same exact thing.”

that seals the deal for u two pretty much, ur both emotional wrecks in the exam room

theres the boyfriend and girlfriend dynamic now — seungmin and you sleeping cuddled together

it wasn’t like you two didn’t cuddle before,, but it would usually end up with seungmin silently creeping out of bed or you softly removing his arm or you leaving him gently

u rely on him more, the final trimester hard on you and ur so exhausted and hurting

u two getting the nursery ready together which actually consists of u sitting down rather than actually doing anything

though u will have to teach this boy how to put away bibs and fold baby clothes

u two are young and u both have a lot of explaining to do to your own families, but they are supportive

they r more than happy to teach u two about children and giving tips on these things

blue nursery with lil teddy bears around and its just the cutest, props to room designer seungmin 🤓

baby boy is so stubborn, you’re past your due date and you both want him out

you two try a shit ton of things

name it all: pineapple, spicy foods, raspberry tea, daily walks around the block, literally everything

everything except for the obvious that had been recommended by your obgyn

sex.

both of you two hadn’t really explored in the topic of sex or anything of the sort, it was slightly awkward

you’re five days overdue now, which now you couldn’t even care

“please..! they said it works, even our ob said so!”

he is so cautious about this, but begrudgingly decides to proceed with this idea

he’s so sweet 🥺 but maybe a little too sweet because next thing you know is that two short hours later ur water breaks and u are in labor!!!!

both of you are vv nervous

his hyungs are right there to calm him down, asking you if ur okay and if u need anything

they rly adore their lil minnies baby mama & their lil nephew

seungmin is big daddy deffo

he’s so attached to u 🥺 it hurts to see u in so much pain and he can’t do much to take it away, but he will kiss ur forehead and wipe ur tears away

he personally finds u so angelic as u are quite literally coated in sweat and nearly breaking his hand

it’s finally over, you and seungmin both turning to the tiny baby that just came into the world, both of u crying while laughing at the beet red baby

theres your little baby boy in your arms, squirming at the new coldness and trying to move around in the blanket

all of the boys come in, excited to meet the baby

in amazement you made this adorable, small baby after one night

this experience was everything and more to you both, so glad you weren’t as careful one night and now had the greatest gift given to you: your small son who slept soundly in your arms

©️ maysdiors 2020 :: all rights reserved. do not repost my work on tumblr or other platforms.

#stray kids #skz #pregnant!reader #hyunjin #hyunjin angst #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #mom!reader #dad!skz #dad!straykids #bangchan x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids fuff #skz angst #skz fluff #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #i.n x reader #stray kids au #skz au #stray kids series #skz series #jisung x reader #dad!seungmin #seungmin x pregnant!reader #dad!hyunjin #hyunjin x pregnant!reader

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

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Hi! First of all, thank you so much for running this blog, It's become one of three reasons why I haven't yet committed arson (I jest but the Feeling is true). [Hee, hee, hee.] I have a rec for you! It's called "wholesome life usurp immediately" by comfect on ao3 and it's. So good. It's unfinished but the author updates it literally every other day if not faster! It's a lovely fic, I hope you enjoy it. 🌻

Wholesome Life Usurp Immediately

by Comfect (T, 55k, yunmeng sibs, qingli, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: Wen Qing examines Jiang Yanli at Cloud Recesses and has a cure for her poor cultivation.

Now there are Three Prides of Yunmeng.

Everything kind of fixes itself from there.

~*~

hello mojo!! I would really like to recommend standing still (but we keep going) by lwjromantics!! it's really good!!

standing still (but we keep going)

by lwjromantics (justfantaestic) (T, 5k, wangxian)

Summary: Lan Wangji supposed that if having to take care of little A-Yuan and Mo Xuanyu and having to look at the reminders of Wei Ying in their habits and mannerisms was punishment for his actions, he would willingly take it and flay his own back open.

— There are children in the Burial Mounds.

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hii mojo! I just read this cute fic and I loved it so I wanted to rec it :) 

Word Up, Talk the Talk

by Larryissocute (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary:  It wouldn’t have been a problem (it really wouldn’t) if they weren’t best friends. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what good deeds he did in his past life to be blessed with Lan Wangji as a friend nor does he know what evil things he did to be cursed with being only a friend to Lan Wangji.

Or the one where Wei Wuxian kisses Lan Wangji and then runs away.

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Hey! Love your account — and proud of you for taking the hiatus you needed.  [Lol - it was really nice!]  Idk if you take fic recommendations, but I'd love to rec Roots by ardenrabbit. Fantastic characterization, I really love it!

Roots

by ardenrabbit (E, 46k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  After Wei Wuxian's duel with Jiang Cheng, he finds that stab wounds aren't so trivial when he doesn't have a core to heal them. He wakes to find Lan Zhan in the Burial Mounds with him, already beloved by the Wens and making himself at home. When Lan Zhan tells him that he wants to stay and offers more help than Wei Wuxian knows how to accept, he fears that it's only too good to be true.

Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying is doing the right thing, and he couldn't live with himself if he let him do it alone. For everything Wei Ying has sacrificed, Lan Wangji is determined to give something back to him.

Hanguang-Jun has turned his back on the clans to join the Yiling Wens and their demonic cultivator leader, and every clan has a different opinion on the matter.

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Hello! I wanted to rec a fic on ao3 called "Restoration" by jelenedra. It's complete, an alternate universe of the sunshot campaign told nonlinearly. It has strong fairy tale and fae elements, with a touch of mystery. Bit of a fix it. Some delightful one liners, and the final ending imagery is just LOVELY. The fic deserves much more love. There's also some YilingWei, wwx not raised by Jiang, and sentient Burial Mounds elements. Enchanting read that keeps you enthralled and curious and intrigued.

Restoration

by jelenedra (M, 85k, wangxian)

Summary:  They say he was thrown into Luanzang Gang by the man who killed his parents; they say that he is an immortal cultivator who had been in a deep trance until the Wen sect disturbed his rest and incurred his wrath; they say that he is the fierce corpse of a cultivator who had somehow regained his mind and his spiritual powers.

When Lan Wangji sees him for the first time, he understands why people talk.

Meng Yao wants safety. Xue Yang wants vengeance. The Sunshot Campaign wants victory. Yiling Laozu provides, for a price.

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I usually read all your recommendations. Thanks for gathering all good recs of wangxian. I am in love with every single story your recommend especially the favorites. [I’m so glad!]  I just wanted to suggest a fic i came across while searching for phoenix!wwx. Its a new story I think as author has published it today. The first chapter was very interesting that i thought ill recommend it you and know your opinion. The legendary phoenix and his dragon -Devipriya and Hidden Path to Love by ShadowTenshiV

Hidden Path to Love

by ShadowTenshiV (G, 78k, wangxian)

Summary:  Wei Ying is a servant working at the Gusu Lan castle. One day he enters through a secret passage way connected to the library where he meets a Lan for the first time. He may have left quite an impression, gaining the other´s attention and slowly becoming friends. They would like to become something more, but a servant can´t be with a prince, but maybe his secret can change that.

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hello mojo! i was wondering if I could make a fic rec? it’s called “and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow” by izanyas. it used to be on ao3 but the author has since moved it to eir own website and has started posting updates there. i was wondering if this could also act as a signal boost bc some old readers on ao3 might not have known that it is now on another website.   Author's been through a tough time so I think it deserves a lot more love.

For new readers, please mind the warnings in the prologue and the beginning of each chapter! it’s omegaverse and a very heavy read as it deals with (possible spoiler) off-screen rape that results in an unwanted pregnancy, as well as secondary gender oppression which runs deep, but for people who can bear it the writing, worldbuilding, and emotions are truly spectacular.

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow

by izanyas (E, 270k, wangxian, WIP, link is to WordPress rather than AO3)

Summary: Cangse Sanren was the first of her kind to become a cultivator. Talented, passionate, free-spirited, she bested everything that ever came her way until the very end.

Jiang Fengmian refuses to see her son deprived of that same freedom.

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Hello Mojo! I dunno if this's been recced before, but here's another ficrec for you? It's complete, on ao3, "The Third Young Master of Qishan Wen" by KouriArashi. It's 'if wwx was raised by dafan wen, but gets recognized as 3rd heir due to his skill' scenario. Some really nice banter and characterization. Wwx and lz get together before the sunshot campaign. Story follows the live action but diverges into au, and does some cool callbacks to original canon. Love Meng Yao in this!  [Oh, I know KouriArashi from my last fandom, I love her works!]

❤️The Third Young Master of the Qishan Wen

by KouriArashi (T, 139k, wangxian, my post)

Summary:  The fic where Wei Wuxian is adopted by the Dafan Mountain Wens instead of the Yunmeng Jiang.

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Hi Mojo! I can count the number of times I’ve spoken on Tumblr on one hand (I’m shy heh) but I found this fic that I think you and others would really like? I’m a sucker for emotional hurt/comfort and this was just too sweet for me not to share (did I go through 20 pages of bookmarks just to make sure you don’t already have it? Maybe …) [Aww, you can do a sidebar search in the bookmarks for the author’s name.  But I hope you found other good fics by carding through the whole catalog!]  It’s “Close Your Soft Eyes” by timetoboldlygo! I also wanna say thank you for all the hard work you put into this blog! It’s a treasure beyond compare. :D [Thank you so much!]

Close Your Soft Eyes

by timetoboldlygo (G, 12k, wangxian)

Summary:  When Lan Wangji woke, the first thing he noticed was the slip of paper, folded and tucked between his index and middle fingers, not Wei Wuxian’s absence. His fingers trembled as he unfurled the paper. A donkey with a little smile beamed down at him.

-

On the nights that Wei Wuxian was gone, Lan Wangji woke to gifts on his pillow.

~*~

Hey Mojo! I love your blog it is beyond awesome! [Thank you!]  I was wondering if you would consider reading JaenysBloodcourt series "A Bond to Takes us home"? The summary is weird but I like the fics and would love to hear your opinion on LWJ POV (it's part 2). Part one is Mingxian but part two (Wangxian) reads as a standalone for the most part. Anyways, thank you for all your hard work! <3 [I’ll put it on my list!]

A Bond to Take Us Home

by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 10k, mingxian - nmj/wwx, wangxian, series in progress)

Summary:  Wei Wuxian has two soulmarks. He has two soulmates that seem to be the opposite of him. During his first life he meets both of them, loves only one and longs for the other. In his second life, the one he loved first is dead, and the one he pined after is pining after him.

These are the many tales of his soulmates and the raucous they made across the cultivation world.

Some are dark, some are light. Beware.

~*~

I forgot to send this in for Mother's Day a few weeks ago, but have you read dragongirlG's "into the light of a dark black night"? It's a short canon divergence where Mama Lan escapes the Cloud Recesses after spending one last, heartbreaking night with her sons. It's so beautiful and bittersweet! [Oh, ouch.  I just read this author’s time travelling juniors au, but hadn’t seen this one.]

into the light of a dark black night

by dragongirlG (T, 3k, Madam Lan & sons)

Summary:  The night that Wu Yuhua, formerly known as Madam Lan, plans to escape from the Cloud Recesses, she runs into an unexpected complication.

That complication comes in the form of her younger son A-Zhan running up to her door and kneeling in front of it, hushed whimpers escaping from his throat.

Wu Yuhua knows it's not the full moon, knows that it's not the one day a month she's allowed to see her children—but like hell is she going to leave her six-year-old son out there trying to stifle sobs in the snow.

She opens the door. "A-Zhan," she says, bending down and reaching out a hand. "Come in, my sweet boy."

On a snowy night in the dead of winter, Wu Yuhua, formerly known as Madam Lan, unexpectedly spends one last night with her sons before escaping from the Cloud Recesses.

~*~

Hello queen I’d like to recommend for ur follower rec posts Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender by KouriArashi. Banger of an ATLA au, def the best one I’ve seen. It’s a WIP but the author updates pretty regularly and it’s all around an A+ fic [Oh, yes, I’ve been waiting for this one to finish before I jump in.]

Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender

by KouriArashi (T, 123k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  You know the drill. Long ago, the four nations lived in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

100 years later, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli find Wei Wuxian sealed in an iceberg.

Featuring: avatar WWX, waterbending JC, firebending Wens, airbending Lans, earthbending Nies and Jins, Jiang Yanli in possession of the brain cell, et cetera.

~*~

[My ko-fi.]

#follower rec #wangxian fic rec #I HAVEN'T READ THESE YET #wangxian #mdzs #follower recs

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it.  Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.  

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.  

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

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#Pink Scarf #Pink Scarf Part 18.1 #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #austin butler elvis #austin!elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis imagine #austin!elvis smut #elvis smut #elvis presley imagine #elvis presley smut #elvis fic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfic #austin!elvis imagine #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis fic #austin butler

[idontblushsrry]

Itadori Yuuji Boyfriend Headcanons

A/N: Reader is from America and a black female. Idk why i decided to write this but I think that Yuuji would be a fun boyfriend lmao. I don’t entirely know what the reader’s cursed technique should be so lmk if you have any ideas. Until then enjoy Yuuji and reader being 2 idiots in love. Spoilers for all the eps of jujutsu kaisen up to about episode 11, nothing past that though as I want to finish the show first before reading the manga, so please be respectful of spoilers and label them (and tag if necessary) in the comments. Also srry if this cuts off abruptly bcus of the point the show is at. This is also like, all over the place but whatever.

(also sorry this was posted later than usual oops)

Word Count:  1943

This dork-

He is so sweet and kind and considerate 

But also a dumbass but also like he’s your dumbass

You and Yuuji are both equally stupid like bless yalls hearts

You and Yuuji met during his time at the Tokyo Academy when you transferred from America

The moment this man saw you walk up with Gojo-sensei he was smitten

Like your skin was glowing??? how???

And you had a slight accent but like he loved it too

And when you came up to greet him and shake hands you smelled so good and your skin was so soft

((He would later come to find out that the root of that was the shea cocoa butter lotion you used))

But yea mans was smitten and he is fully in love with you lmao

Will do literally anything you ask

You hungry? He’s prepared a 5 course, michelin star meal

Want new clothes? He’s been training for the day he could hold your bags for you

Ran out of hair products?? He’s already back with a special box of your products that he had imported from America

To this day you don’t know how he was able to get those products so quickly

He is loves when you tell him things about you from your day, to your times in america, to how your cursed energy works

Yall are the couple that does stupid shit together

Like one time you showed Yuuji one of those life hack videos and he was like 

“We should totally do that” 

And you were like “Bet”

Needless to say Fushiguro was very confused at the sight of bandaids on both of your fingers the next morning

“???What happened?”

“Well you see, I told Yuuji that I should use the glue gun because he didn’t even know where to put the glue stick. And he said nah, I got it and um yea so I fell and the glue gun was plugged in and then he tripped over me and so now we look like this.”

Gojo and Kugisaki thought that this was hilarious while Fushiguro decided that he’d store your guys’ glue gun in his shadows from now on

How yall manage to get through missions you go on together alive is a miracle

Speaking of missions, you eventually ask Yuuji what’s his deal because you feel a powerful aura coming from him but he never uses cursed energy, always cursed weapons

Cue Sukuna’s mouth popping up on the side of his face like “Hey mamas”

(You can’t tell me that Sukuna isn’t the type of guy to ask where his hug at)

“YUUJI WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t met Sukuna yet, huh?”

So he sits you down and explains how he ate Sukuna’s finger and you're sitting there like ‘mhm mhm mhm, sorry you what?’

For like 3 days after he told you that you couldn’t bring yourself to kiss him just because you were processing the fact that Yuuji ate someone’s nasty old ass finger and would have to eat 19 more

And the fact that he’s the vessel of like the worst curse known to man 

During those 3 days, Yuuji’s pouting because he’s like ‘I fucked up, now she doesn’t wanna kiss me let alone talk to me because of this monster inside of me :(’

Meanwhile you’re just like ‘why would anyone eat some random mummified finger?’

Eventually you get wind of Yuuji’s bad mood and immediately, you rush to smooth things over with him.

You knock on his door and hear blankets rustling before he goes, “I’m not in the mood to play fight right now Kugisaki’

“Can I come in baby?”

You immediately hear the most comical almost cartoonish amount of noise ranging from a cup falling over, sheets falling off the bed, and what sounds like Yuuji falling flat on his ass before he opens the door

When he does, you’re laughing and it’s like the sky is no longer grey and the world is filled with color

You smile at each other before your moment is interrupted with Sukuna going “Finally, full offense, his whining was getting annoying”

You step inside his room and apologize for ignoring him, explaining that you just needed time to process things, explaining that you should’ve told him that before dipping

He just grabbed you in a bear hug and lifted you of the ground and spinning you around laughing happily, after all he wasn’t even upset with you, he just missed you

And thus begins the honeymoon phase of your guys’ relationship

Fushiguro is actually really happy for you guys and is the most supportive of your relationship but if anyone asked him to admit that out loud he’d actually apparate to the nearest marooned ship

Nobura doesn’t hate you guys but she thinks all couples are disgusting, so while it’s nothing personal, she does gag when you and Yuuji do so much as make goo goo eyes at each other

Gojo is actually like the main cheerleader of your relationship. 

He is the teacher that changes the seating chart to put students he ships together

He was always pairing you and Yuuji up on missions and placing you as sparring partners like ur not slick

If Gojo is the cheerleader, Sukuna is an actual antagonist

Like the man goes out of his way to CHOOSE violence

Like on time you kissed Yuuji’s cheek on a date and when you pulled back, your lip was bleeding and Sukuna’s mouth was smirking at you

Another thing he likes to do is tell you all of Yuuji’s simp^tm thoughts

Like all of them

Now Yuuji isn’t ashamed of how much he loves you and is in fact very open with it, but he doesn’t need Sukuna telling you that the only reason he bought x mouthwash was because it made your breath smell like “sunshine” and he had to see if it would work on him

Speaking of dates, good luck

Now I stand by the fact that Yuuji would never half-ass a date and things with him are certainly never boring

But he’s also like a country boy in the city and his tourist tendencies tend to get the best of him

Like you’ll be trying to find a spot to eat and when you look back Yuuji’s gone

((Prolly to buy another I <3 Tokyo shirt so you can both match))

He always catches up with you ad you eventually learn that but like the first few times be havin you ready to put up a lost child signal on the loudspeaker

He’s very sweet and this is where his thoughtfulness shines through

You and Yuuji plan dates in the same way one plays bingo

Like because you never know where you’re going to be r when exactly you’ll both be free (especially with Gojo-sensei and his bare minimum ass information) you two tend to go ‘ok well if we’re here we’ll go here and if we’re here, we’ll go here’ and so on and so forth

But Yuuji always remembers such little one-off details about you that make your dates.

Like you mention wanting to try a sushi train and he’s already scrolled through multiple yelp reviews and watched every youtube restaurant review like 9 times

But every high has a low and Yuuji and your’s low comes suddenly and it brings you crashing to the ground with no warning and nothing to slow your descent

When your class of first years were sent to exorcise the special grade cursed womb

When Yuuji’s hand got blown off and he told you to run you froze, your mind racing faster than your legs could even start

“(Y/N) RUN!” Yuuji’s voice broke you out of your fear-based trance

“I- I...can’t...I can’t leave you!” you cried out all your rational senses screamed at you to go, run, he had Sukuna and you were barely a grade 2 sorcerer. But your intuition told you if you left him you wouldn’t see him alive again.

You were trapped in a paralysis of indecision but the choice was made for you when a sticky tongue wrapped around your midriff and you were gulped into the mouth of one of Fushiguro’s frogs

“Goddamn it Fushiguro! Let me go! I need to... save... him.” You were outside the building before you could even finish arguing.

You glared up at Fushiguro but your eyes softened some when you saw how beat up Kugisaki looked.

He gave you this look that said he did what he had to do and he didn’t care what you had to say about it 

You and him waited in the rain for Yuuji or Sukuna to exit the building

You tried to focus yourself and save your negative emotions for your cursed attack

When Sukuna inevitably appeared, one finger stronger, you were fully prepared to fight him

However, he didn’t seem interested in fighting you and more engaged in fighting with Megumi

You tried to urge Fushiguro to wait it out, eventually Sukuna would lose control, but when Sukuna took Yuuji’s heart hostage, you both knew you’d have to fight

You and Fushiguro gave it your all but when Yuuji came back he still died 

It took all your strength to not completely fall apart after his death and the support from the second years as well as Kugisaki and Fushiguro helped

You’d tried to visit him at the morgue but Shoko only told you that she didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

You still slept in his sweaters and the things that smelled like him from time to time, trying to make the idea of him last, but after a month, the smell of him had started to fade

Everything about Yuuji’s memory seemed to become leached away with time, from his smell, to the wear present on things he’d given to you

You couldn’t help but feel resentful towards yourself but also to Sukuna, he’d taken Yuuji from you with the same care that one would throw litter on the ground

The pain in your chest didn’t wane either, it only became ignorable to a degree as training for the exchange with the Kyoto students became more intense

Fushiguro is a comfort to you as well, aside from you, him and Yuuji were the closest to each other and so he gets a lot of what you’re going through and doesn’t push when you become more withdrawn

He also lets you pet his demon dog too but when you ask him why he’s letting you pet it he just says ‘because no one would believe you if you told them’ lies

The bastard really just does it because he knows you’re sad and he doesn’t want you to be sad

Speaking of the Kyoto students, Zenin Mai and Toudou Aoi are permanently on your shit list

You’re relieved that Panda, Maki, and Inumaki came to your guys’ aid but like if you had your way Mai wouldn’t even exist

Anyways Maki has Panda physically restrain you while she tries to calm you down 

“(Y/N), you can kick her ass at the exchange!”

When you calm down, Panda puts you down and even though Mai’s long gone with Todou to go get his handshake, you make a promise that carries through the wind

‘Zenin Mai, pray that the next time you run across me I’m feeling kind, because if not-’, the last word is lost as the wind picks up but Mai feels a shiver rack through her body that more than ensures your message.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk x reader #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji #jjk itadori #black reader #x black reader #idontblushsrry

[montrealmadison]

t'étais réel parce qu'il t'aimait

or, “you were real because he loved you”

i work at a place that accepts children’s book donations, so when “the velveteen rabbit” came across my desk the other day, the beginnings of this popped into my head. then the lovely lau at @weneedtotalkaboutfic​ posted this and also this about ftm!bitty and my brain just took off! enjoy <3

“Has her fever gone down?”

Bitty blows out a long breath and twists around to look at the clock, on the off chance that it’ll give him a better answer than the truth—but all it tells him is that it’s 8:07, and he’s exhausted.

“No.” He pins the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so he can dry his hands. “Hasn’t budged all day.”

On the other end, his mama hums sympathetically. “It will, baby. Y’all are doin’ everything right.”

“Thanks,” he sighs, folding the dishtowel over the oven handle. “It’s just—I hate that she’s so uncomfortable.”

Bitty used to think that he’d made his peace with chaos. He’s moved schools, changed sports, reinvented himself half a hundred times. He’s come out on national television and transitioned publicly on the Internet. He’s written a book, is in the process of drafting another. He’s married to one of the most prominent NHL players in the league, for crying out loud.

But sick toddlers, Bitty is learning, are a whole other hockey game.

read more below or on ao3

Thankfully, at least the kitchen routine is muscle memory at this point: pots dried, dishwasher started, dog fed and watered for the night. The mess in here isn’t too bad, all things considered. He checks the lock on the back door and then lets himself sag against the counter, just a little. It’s been a day. A week, really. He's barely slept for the stress of it all.

“Dicky, honey, you sound like you need a break.” He can picture the frown on his mama’s face when she says it. Funny how her voice still feels like a hug from seven states away. “How’s Jack? Is he alright?”

“Mhm,” he says. “Upstairs puttin’ Ellie to bed, bless him.”

“Good. Well, listen, y’all call anytime if you need us, alright? Your daddy and I will be up, we’re goin’ to the Callahans’.”

“Ooh. Save the good gossip for me?”

“You know I will,” Mama promises with a laugh. “Now go on and sit down for me. I love you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Love you too,” Bitty says, almost absently, and flops onto the couch as the line clicks into silence.

He tries to relax—promise, he really does—but he only makes it about five minutes before the worry wins out and he has to get up again. He just can’t sit still today, especially when he hasn’t heard anything from upstairs in so long. He climbs the stairs and starts down the hall towards Giselle’s room, but pauses and peeks around the doorframe at the soft sound of Jack’s voice.

In the dim light, he can just make out Jack’s giant form carefully folded to fit into Ellie’s bed, one foot planted firmly on the floor to keep him balanced. Bitty presses a hand over his mouth, trying to resist the sudden urge to laugh at the sight of his husband trying to fit in a bed made for a toddler. Thankfully, it works, because neither Jack nor Giselle notice him—their daughter’s curled up next to her papa, tired and sleep-soft, with her flushed little face on Jack’s chest and her slow-blinking eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

The dog’s on the floor in here, too, tail thumping away against the carpet. He huffs, looks up at Bitty with big, understanding eyes as if to say: We got it in here.

Which is clearly the case—they’re already in the middle of a story. Jack is reading in soft, measured tones: “And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

It's the French translation, but Bitty feels himself melt almost immediately. He’d recognize The Velveteen Rabbit anywhere. It’d been his favorite as a baby, part of the reason his mama had come home one day with Señor Bun, and—well, the rest is Bittle family history. He leans in the doorway, closes his eyes and drifts while Jack reads.

He’s had a lot of time, now, to learn the differences between French Jack and English Jack, and why each language is important to him—especially where teaching his children is concerned. In French, his voice is softer, lilting, expressive in a way that transfixes Giselle and Bitty alike. Bitty himself has fallen asleep to the sound of that voice many times, and is mostly impressed that Ellie can still fight her own exhaustion just to listen a little longer.

Jack turns the page, and Bitty watches as his face and his voice soften with emotion at the next line: “And then, one day, the Boy was ill.”

Oh. Bitty remembers this part well, too—remembers the feeling of his own mama curled around him when he was sick as a kid. Remembers Coach’s shadow in the doorway, his quieter concern, his gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder. Jack goes on: “But the Rabbit snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.”

Bitty remembers Señor Bun, equally patient, snuggled up under his chin, and has an idea. He backs quietly out of the room and retreats down the hall to their bedroom, where the bunny himself is propped on the pillows, waiting for them to come to bed. Bittly inhales the familiar scent of the fabric, looks into his bright embroidered eyes. He swears they look understanding somehow.

“You ready to work your magic, buddy?” he asks. “Let’s go.”

Jack does notice him this time, eyes crinkling in acknowledgment when he sees Bitty in the doorway. His voice is getting softer now, the words slowing in time with Giselle’s blinks, and Bitty crosses the room to lay Señor Bun in their daughter’s arms.

Neither of them move until they’re sure that Giselle is asleep at last; even then, Jack extracts himself from the bed as quietly as possible, smoothes the covers over her with a feather-light touch. When they meet in the hallway, Jack presses his face into Bitty’s neck. They stand there in the quiet, breathing together, for a long time.

“How is she?” Bitty finally asks.

“Hot,” Jack says, frowning. “I gave her another Tylenol.”

Bitty sighs deep, presses his forehead into Jack’s chest. “Mm, okay. Let’s hope she kicks this soon.”

“She will,” says Jack. “She’s our kid, that’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Despite himself, Bitty finds that a smile comes easily enough. It always does with Jack’s reassurance. “Gotta be tough in this family.”

Jack laughs lightly. “Yeah.”

They retreat to their bedroom, turning off lights as they go. Their nighttime routine, too, is as comfortable as breathing now. When Bitty comes back from brushing his teeth, he finds Jack in bed, reading glasses on, still flipping through The Velveteen Rabbit.

“I’m glad you picked that one for her,” says Bitty slowly. “That was my favorite book as a kid.”

Jack turns it over in his hands, looks up at Bitty with warmth in his eyes. “This one?” he asks, smiling. “That explains Señor Bun, eh?”

“Yeah.” Bitty has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat, and almost immediately finds himself blinking back hot tears. He bites his lip. “Well, and I, um—no, it’s stupid.”

“Bits?” says Jack, concerned. He closes the book and sits up. “Hey, no it’s not. Why else was it important?”

Bitty looks down. “I used to want to be Real,” he says, all in a rush. “Just like the Rabbit. Used to wish there’d be a fairy that would see how unhappy I was, and come and—oh, Lord—”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain; all of a sudden he’s crying in earnest, days of pent-up stress and fear rushing past the floodgates at once. Jack makes a soft sound and holds Bitty close, letting him cry it out, rocking him just a little. His hands are big and warm on Bitty’s back.

“Shh, bud, hey,” he says. “That’s not stupid at all.”

Bitty sniffles and scrubs at his eyes, lets out a burst of slightly hysterical laughter. “I—God. I don’t know what it is, I was looking at you and Ellie and—I don't know, I just wish the person I was when I first read it could see me now. I wish that little kid hadn’t had to go through all the shit I did to get here.”

Jack doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls back a little. Bitty looks up, confused—but Jack’s just reaching behind him to grab the book off his nightstand, flipping through it until he finds the page he wants. Then he puts an arm back around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him close, kisses his temple.

“Generally,” he reads, in English this time, “by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

He fixes Bitty with those bottomless blue eyes. "I hope you'll let me keep telling you," he says slowly, "that it all meant something, bud. You made yourself real. You gave us our daughter."

Bitty laughs, watery. "I did."

"You did." Jack kisses him again, soft and full of meaning. "And I promise I'll never stop trying to understand."

#eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #omgcp #check please #my writing #thank you lau for the inspiration I literally RAN to my computer lmao