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buckyalpine · 1 year

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A little longer

HI MY BEAUTIFUL 🐚ANON!! I adore this so much, I adore YOU so much, as always, your requests are everything!!

Warnings: So so much fluffy fluff, angst if you really squint till your eyes go cross-eyed and blurry

"It's been decades. Not even a couple years. Almost a century. You probably shoot dust. Or whatever your bionic ass reproduces with"

Bucky contemplated throwing his half finished milkshake at Sam's head while they both scarfed down burgers from a late night diner after a taxing mission. Sam was pestering Bucky yet again about his nonexistent social and lack of a love life, a topic he seemed to get high off of.

“For fucks sake Sam-”

"You need to get out more man, at least start dating. You don't need a whole girlfriend but a few dates wouldn't kill you. Or maybe it would, since you're what, 106?"

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, his patience wearing thin. Dating wasn’t for him, not because he didn’t want to date but because he wasn’t sure who would even date him. He’d only just gotten comfortable talking to Sam though he’d never openly admit he actually enjoyed their conversations. He wasn’t exactly the most approachable, Peter had once told him he had a resting bitch face, whatever that meant. He wasn’t the most tech savvy unless it involved doing something illegal. He had a plethora of devices that could take down the US government at the push of a button he secrecy hoarded under his bed but God forbid someone ask him to pose for their Instagram story.

Talking to a pretty girl was a completely different story. What would he even talk about? His time before the war involved a lot of nursing an injured or sick Steve back to health. After the war and his time in Hydra, he didn’t really have time for himself. He liked plums. The hobbit. He was thinking about getting a cat. Bucky internally groaned, maybe he’d find a girlfriend at the retirement home down the street; at least they’d have things in common.

Sam cocked an eyebrow while Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. Usually he’d respond with a grumpy pout or complete silence but today his exhaustion had caught up with him. He debated on how to get Sam of his back, a dim, flickering, half broken bulb going off in his sleep deprived brain.

"I already have a girlfriend Tweety bird"

The deafening silence that followed that statement made it clear both men were aware that was a lie. Sam snorted, shaking his head while they both finished they food, slapping a $50 on the counter before leaving. He looked at the super soldier, deciding not to press into the issue further for the night but he definitely wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

5:30 AM

The buzz of his phone jolted him awake, the faint sound of the TV still playing in the background. Bucky felt around for his phone, tossing his sheet off, sitting up from his place on the floor seeing Sam’s caller ID light up the screen.

“What are you doing next Saturday” Sam sounded unusually chipper, a hint of a smirk in his voice, a suspicious amount of enthusiasm for such an early hour.

“Why” Bucky groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, going back to lying down.

“Were having a cookout over the weekend, you should come”

“You woke me up to tell me what could have been a text message?” Bucky asked incredulously, closing his eyes, ready to let sleep free him from such a ridiculous conversation.

“Ooo, white panther knows how to text now”

“White Wolf” Bucky grumbled, regretting every telling Sam the name he had been given in Wakanda. “I’ll come if you just let me go back to sleep”

"Alright, but bring your girl too"

There it was.

He could feel the shit eating grin Sam was giving him over the phone, eye brows wigging up and down, all his perfect teeth out.

“Whatcha say Barnes?”

Sleep had disappeared into thin air as Bucky shot up, mentally kicking himself for the nonsense he’d gotten himself into. He fiddled with the corner of his sheet, hoping to find an out.

"I thought you only invited family"

"Hey, anyone that you're allowing within 3 feet of your personal space might as well be considered family" Sam snorted, not believing a single word Bucky had said the night before. The conversation moved on to a different topic, easing some of Bucky’s nerves. A whole hour had passed and Bucky was sure he was in the clear until-

“Back to the matter at hand, you bringing her or not?”

“Why are you like this, does being Captain America always come with the caveat with also being a pain in my ass, I’m not going to-”

Bucky was about to refuse until a knock at the door pulled him away from the conversation, the scent of fresh pancakes wafting through the door. He pulled himself up, a smile tugging on his lips, knowing exactly who was on the other side, not needing to check as he untangled himself from the sheets.

His sweet neighbor.

Bucky wasn’t religious and he wasn’t a big believer in a higher power but there had to be something out there when people like you existed. Whenever Sam asked him why he stayed in the dingy little apartment that barely had windows and a closet for a bedroom, he’d insist it was because he preferred a small space and was still getting used to living a normal life so he wasn’t ready for another move just yet.

The part he always left out was that his dingy apartment came with an absolute angle that lived next door. Kind hearted. Sweet. An absolute darling. You were one of the first people he’d interacted with when he moved in. All the nerves he had about living alone and growing accustomed to a regular life melted away the first day, when you came over with a plate of fresh cookies.

He felt like a little boy whenever you were around, having the biggest crush on the prettiest girl on the playground, his mind going to mush whenever you smiled at him. But it wasn’t a crush. Nope. No....? No. He narrowed his eyes at himself before making his way to the door.

“Buck? Did your tongue rust-”

“I’ll uh-I’ll think about it” He mumbled before cutting the call, a bashful smile on his face as he unhooked the chain and swung the door open. “G’morning doll”

“Good Morning” You grinned, handing Bucky the plate which he gratefully accepted, his stomach rumbling between the butterflies that fluttered in his tummy. “I heard you get in last night, didn’t think you’d have time to do a grocery run or cook anything” You handed him a bag of fruits and vegetables, two of those bags full of plums. His favorite.

“You didn’t have to do all this” If his cheeks grew any warmer he would’ve sworn he was running a fever. And he didn’t get fevers.

“You’re out saving the world, I think getting you a few groceries is the least I could do. So, how’s the new Captain?” You had never met Sam in person but hearing enough stories from Bucky told you all you needed to know. No one else was better suited to take on the shield than him.

“A pain in my ass even if he means well” Bucky smiled shaking his head to himself. “He’s been pestering me to get out more...start dating” He mumbled the last part, wincing. He’d fought off aliens, gone to battle alongside a tree and a talking raccoon, survived being help captive by Hydra but being boyfriend material? His flirting game was as strong as pre serum Steve's right hook.

“Well, handsome solider like you, shouldn’t be too hard to find you a date” You felt your own face heat up as soon as the words left your mouth but wasn’t like it was a secret. There was no way he would have had trouble in the dating department; aside from being one of the most beautiful people you’d laid your eyes on he was also the sweetest. Bucky was nothing but a gentleman and with a pure and soft heart and if you didn’t get your shit together and control the way he made you weak in the knees-

“Not the same ladies man I was in the 40′s doll” He chuckled, blue eyes sparkling at your compliment, “Either way, I got myself into a mess with that” He smiled sheepishly while you cocked your head, urging him to continue.

“Well, I sort of lied to get him off my case” Bucky blushed, rubbing the back of his head, his the pink on his cheeks deepening at your cheeky smile. “I-I told him I already have a girlfriend but as you can see-” Bucky waved into his empty apartment that showed no signs of human life, “-it back fired immediately because he's invited my nonexistent girlfriend to a cookout this weekend. In Louisiana. With all his family. And friends”

Bucky let his head hit the wall with a dull thump, cursing himself for putting a foot in his mouth. Sure he could just come clean and say he lied. But that would mean admitting he lied and that was worse because then Sam would give him shit for that, plus try to get him out more and-

“What if- what if I went with you?” Bucky’s head shot up, blinking in surprise at your words, wondering if he heard you correctly. “I could pretend to be your girlfriend for a day, get Cap off your case. Only if you’re comfortable with it though”

“Really? You’d do that?” You giggled at his lost puppy expression, his eyes lighting up when he realized you were being serious.

“Of course” You smiled sincerely, “I’d be happy to! Just let me know what time to be ready at and I’ll be all yours”

All his.

The little boy in his was running around in circles, his heart beating too fast for the rest of his body to keep up. The thought of you being his girlfriend for a day was more than he could ever dream of. Of course it was only pretend and he’d wouldn’t dare push for more; not when you deserved the world. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to deal with Sam’s nagging.

Problem solved.

*****

This was a bad idea.

A bad, bad idea.

Bucky had gone through at least 4 outfits, debating between an array of Henley’s, before settling on a blue one when he remembered you complimented it because it was blue like his eyes. He picked up his razor and then immediately put it down when he remembered you once said you liked the scruff on him. Even if this was just pretend, every single part of him was on edge as if this were a real date. As soon as his enhanced hearing picked up your soft footsteps padding down the hall, he was right by the door, nervously chewing his lip.

Bucky blinked, his heart nearly giving way at 106 years old when he saw you make your way down the hall towards his apartment. You were in a flowery sundress, with a large cakebox in hand, your sweet perfume already making him dizzy. If Sam didn’t kill him for lying, the crush he had on you would be the next thing to take him out.

"You-you look beautiful" And sweet. And adorable. And delectable.

An angel.

You looked like an angel.

"Thank you, you look good too Sarge" You looked down at Bucky’s chest instead of meeting his eyes, unable to look at his pretty face. His adorable face. Handsome face. That dimple on his chin. Blue eyes. Pink lips. Fuck, you had such a big crush on him.

It was going to be an interesting day.

*****

Bucky parked the car at Sam’s place, which wasn’t too far from the lake where everyone had gathered. Part of him was almost sad they had made it on time; the car ride over with you ending faster than he’d liked.

“He wasn’t kidding when he said he only invited family” Bucky snorted, seeing all of Sam’s relatives there along with his closest neighbors, many of whom he’d met before. He took the cakebox from you, slipping his hand into yours, smiling when you gave him a reassuring squeeze. You both made your way over, hand in hand, your heart skipping a beat each time someone greeted Bucky, every single person over joyed that he’d finally met someone to call his.

He made his way over to the grill where Sam filliped a few burgers; the new Cap grinning when he saw you both. There was no missing the sparkle in his eyes when he looked down to your hand in Bucky’s, noting you were was holding his metal one, no longer covered by gloves.

Interesting.

“You’re lookin’ good” Sam wiggled his eyebrows at Bucky, loving the way the soldier rolled his eyes, trying to brush off the way his cheeks were dusted pink.

“This is y/n, my girlfriend” Girlfriend. Bucky loved the way it rolled off his tongue with ease, not feeling an ounce of hesitance. The word previously feeling so foreign to him now felt so natural when he had you by his side. And holding your hand. And hearing your laugh. And-

Relax Bucky, it’s just for a day.

“I’m Sam, and it’s very nice to meet you” He pulled you into a hug, still curiously eyeing Bucky, genuinely unable to figure out where he’d managed to find a sweetheart like you.

“Thank you for the invite” you giggled as he gave you a light squeeze before letting you go, inspecting the cakebox Bucky handed to him. He grinned at the fresh strawberries that decorated the cake, shamelessly plucking one off and popping it into his mouth. “Strawberry shortcake. A little white wolf told me it was your favorite”

“Well if the big bad wolf likes you then I like you cause he doesn’t like anybody. You must be special” Sam mused, a part of him wanting to be skeptical but there was nothing, absolutely nothing made up about the Bucky was looking at you. He gazed down at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars right in his room, an utterly lovesick puppy. You felt your cheeks heat up, burying your face into Bucky’s side while he chuckled, pulling you closer to him and pressing a kiss on top of your head. Damn right, she’s special.

You both made your way over to mingle with the rest of the crowd, have no trouble at all playing the role of an utterly in love boyfriend and girlfriend. Bucky didn’t miss a single chance to press little kisses on your cheeks, every so often pecking your nose. His hand never left your waist, always holding you close to him, his face occasionally buried into the crook of your neck.

You played your part almost better than he did, gushing over what a gentleman he always was to you, stayed tucked by his side, nuzzling under his chin, occasionally actually getting lost in his soft scent of laundry detergent, his cologne and something distinctly him. You made the elderly ladies giggle and blush each time Bucky did something adorable, proudly showing you off to everyone.

He didn’t even let you eat without being the most perfect doting boyfriend. You’d both served your plates, finding a nice spot to sit under a shady tree; Bucky sat on the large lawn chair, secretly happy there was only one. You were about to walk off to get another when he tugged your wrist and pulling you back.

“C’mere, I wont bite” Bucky grinned, surprised with himself as he pulled you onto his lap with ease. You let out a squeak, your nose bumping against his as you plopped onto him, lips nearly brushing his.

“Smooth, Barnes. Remind me again, how you don’t have a girlfriend” You let out a breathless laugh, screaming to yourself on the inside that this was fake. He was playing the role perfectly, that was all. So fucking perfectly.

Why was he so perfect.

Bucky smirked, kissing your shoulder, letting you relax against his chest, wondering if you’d feel his heart hammering against his ribcage from how flustered he actually was. He easily maneuvered you so you sat comfortably across his thighs, his arm still securely around your waist.

When was he ever this smooth.

If anyone else was this close, he’s run for the hills, but now he was contemplating tossing you over his shoulder and running to Sam’s house, the guest bedroom was upstairs and two doors to the right-

“Well I’ll be damned, he really does have a girlfriend” Sam shook his head while Joaquin snorted, both men looking at you and Bucky with heart eyes while they sipping their beers from the docks.

“You think they’re faking?” Joaquin nudged Sam’s shoulder, watching Bucky now fed you a piece of cake, still keeping you on his lap, sneakily kissing the cream from the corner off your lips between bites. You’d giggle every time, feeding him a strawberry, squealing when he’s playfully bite your fingers.

“You can fake a lot of things but not the way he’d blushing and giggling like a toddler in a candy store” Bucky played with your fingers, intertwining them with his hand, his nose scrunching as he laughed at something you said.

“It’s nice to see him like this” Joaquin had seen grumpy Bucky, grouchy Bucky, angry Bucky, scary Bucky, sleepy Bucky, just about every Bucky on the planet, but this? This was a first. Love struck Bucky. Charming Bucky. Happy Bucky. Simpy Bucky. Sappy Bucky. Giggly Bucky. Playful biting Bucky. Ready to get down on one knee if you’d let him, Bucky.

“Steve always said he was a charmer, he wasn’t lying”

They couldn’t take their eyes off the way the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkled each time he smiled or the way you’d instinctively lean into him when he spoke. He’d tuck your hair away from your face, his hands lingering on your cheek for a second longer, giving them a glimpse of the man from the 40′s before the war, youthful and innocent, his heart full of hope, a smirk that would make his best girl swoon; the both of you in your own little world.

“He looks happy”

Sam had seen people look happy before. They’d smile but their eyes would be empty. They’d laugh but their voices were hollow. They’d look like they were on top of the world while sitting at rock bottom. The way Bucky’s eyes sparkled, his boyish laugh, the way he’d nuzzle into you, trying to be closer to you than physically possible, was more than just looking happy.

“He is happy”

Bucky had completely forgotten about pretending with you, lost in how perfectly you fit in his arms. You had taken up your role very seriously, telling him how utterly handsome he was, never missing moment to peck his scruffy cheek or card your fingers through his short soft locks. You intertwined you fingers with his vibrainium ones, busing your lips against his cool knuckles.

At some point in the afternoon, he’d slipped his jacket off and wrapped you up with it as evening crept around the corner. Not a single person doubted the nature of your relationship; at least four of Sam’s uncles had told Bucky to propose soon.

You don’t meet a girl who makes you this damn giggly just anywhere, Sergeant. Hold onto her.

****

Just when he thought he couldn’t fall for you more, you had fallen asleep in his arms, contently snuggled up in his jacket as the sunset over the lake. Most of Sam’s family had gone back home, a few close relatives still hanging around the boat, sipping on coffee. Bucky couldn’t help but wrap his arms around you, softly kissing your forehead; he could get used to this. Cuddling up with you after date nights. Hearing your laugh. The softness of your lips. The way your hand always found itself in his metal one without hesitation.

Fuck he wished this was real.

You stirred slightly, a content sigh slipping past your lips at the feel of his kiss. Nothing felt more comfy than being wrapped up by the super soldier, his solid arms holding you close. You didn’t want to wake up, wishing you could sleep forever if it meant you’d be this close to Bucky all the time. The day felt like a dream; the exact dreams you had when you thought about your sweet neighbor. How it’d be for him to call you yours. To Be his girl. To make him smile. To make him laugh.

If only it wasn’t just for a day.

“You have a nice nap, baby?” Bucky smirked as you blinked awake, stretching on his lap like a cat before snuggling against him again. “My pretty girl”

“Why wouldn’t I when my boyfriend is the comfiest spot to sleep on?” You teased, bringing your hand up to toy with the chain of his dog tags. Bucky chuckled, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes, kissing your nose. There was no one around you both, though neither of you seemed interesting in dropping the act just yet.

“You fit perfectly here, doll” He grinned, blushing when he hesitantly pulled you a little closer, your arms moving to wrap around his shoulders, resting on the back of his neck.

“I think I like it here” You sucked in a breath as he rested his forehead against yours, bringing his hand to cup your cheek. His nose gently bumped against yours, his warm breath tickling your lips.

“Me too” He closed the gap between you both, pressing his lips to yours sweetly, savoring every bit of your softness. He couldn’t help but deepen the kiss as you parted your mouth letting his tongue lace with yours while your hand made its way through his hair, tugging on his short locks. Bucky let out a groan, letting his hands drop to your waist, kissing you for as long as he could until you both needed oxygen.

“Maybe we can pretend for a little longer?” Bucky broke away, panting, his forehead still pressed against yours. You giggled between breaths, peppering kisses across his face.

“Just a little longer?”

“Maybe- maybe forever?” He looked at you with his classic puppy eyes, his heart bursting when you pulled him in for another kiss; forever. Forever sounded good.

A few years later

“So, you finally gonna admit I made this happen?” Sam whispered while Bucky snorted, shaking his head.

“Not gonna happen”

“C’mon, I made this happen, I caused this”

“You caused chaos”

Sam scoffed in fake offence, taking a sleepy Becca from Bucky’s arms while the soldier went to go check on you. “Now when do I get to meet my second God child?”

“In a few hours” Bucky stretched before making his way back to your room, smiling at your resting form. He carefully laid down beside you, letting his hand splay across your tummy; in just a few more hours there would be a little Samuel Grant Barnes in the world.

“We’re really good at pretending” You murmured, make Bucky chuckle, taking your hand in his and kissing the ring that sat on your finger.

“Maybe just one more baby after this? Really convince them, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Uncle Sam, tell me a bedtime story?” Becca pouted, having been at the hospital for hours, giving Sam the exact same face Bucky gave you. Her little bottom lip jutting out, big (y/c/e) eyes blinking up at him. He grinned, settling her on his lap before he made a thinking face before asking what she’d want to hear.

“What kinda story, Beccs, an animal story, a super cool falcon story or Captain America story or a flying Falcon Captain America story?”

“The chaos daddy said you caused” She giggled while Sam nodded, taking a deep breath before starting.

“It all started when your daddy said he had a girlfriend...”

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rosesaints · 1 year

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help wanted ! chapter two.

pairing: miguel o’hara / f!reader summary: more or less, you agree to be your one night stand's babysitter rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: fantasy and allusions to explicit content series masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

Your first job was working at an ice cream store over the summer when you were sixteen.

All things considered, it was a relatively easy job and the pay was decent. Take an order, cash the customer out, and scoop. Rinse and repeat. The owner was this sixty-something old lady who had been running the stand in your hometown for as long as you could remember, and was the only employee until that summer when she decided to retire. Your mother had bargained hard with her to get you the job, drastically exaggerating your very limited work experience and bragging about your many, many achievements, “My daughter is just such a go-getter, she won’t let you down!”

She was very generous and mostly left you to your own devices, so you were free to blast your music and get free ice cream. How hard could it be?

One hot summer day proved you very, very wrong. There was a line out of the door, the owner was nowhere to be seen, the A/C had died on you very early on in your shift, and the ice cream grew runny and unpredictable under the scorching, July heat. You vividly remember the feeling of melted ice cream running down your hands, serving some very lopsided cones to a group of middle school girls as they looked you up and down. You remember the shame, the embarrassment, and the urge to run for the hills. Ice cream dripping everywhere.

You know the feeling tightening in your chest all too familiarly.

Miguel O’Hara and his daughter are looking at you expectantly, and the words keep getting lost on the tip of your tongue. Admittedly, you had never planned on seeing Miguel again after last night. It was a brief moment of confidence and clarity for the first time in weeks, and you don’t even remember the last time you had felt so hot, so wanted. So, so utterly destroyed. You woke up with a pep in your step and felt ready to take on the world.

You make eye contact with Miguel and the memories come rushing back like wildfire.

He watches you struggle to keep your moans contained, has to gloat as you melt around his cock. “You like watching me stretch it out, don’t you? Say it.”

Every instinct in your brain was telling you to scurry back to your house and lock yourself in your room for the rest of the summer. You were halfway through formulating a plan on how to best avoid your next-door neighbors when you realize you’re still standing on their porch with a plate of blueberry muffins.

Miguel, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected, maybe even a bit smug. He’s looking at you expectantly and with the composure of someone who didn’t just rail you in a random bar’s bathroom. “Can I help you?”

Your mouth dries and you can feel your palms sweating under his gaze. “My… my mom sent me over with some muffins. Blueberry. Really good.” Oh my god.

He raises an eyebrow and leans forward to look over at your house next door, cocking his head just slightly in realization. “You’re the daughter I’ve been hearing so much about? I thought you were still at college.”

“Y-Yeah, I just graduated.”

“Oh. Congratulations,” Miguel looks down at his daughter earnestly, smiling and gesturing to the plate of muffins on the verge of falling over in your hands. “Gabi here has a sweet tooth, and I’m afraid I’m not that good of a baker. Your mom’s been a huge help since the day we moved in.”

The only thing you can do is nod in futile agreement, of course, your mom is just so helpful. Practically a saint. You’re going to need to have a long talk with her later about being too neighborly and offering your help to people. Gingerly, you hand the baked goods over to Miguel and prepare to excuse yourself with a long-winded explanation about how you really should go, they must be so busy–

He beats you to the punch. “So I heard you’re interested in babysitting.”

You swear that you can feel your heart dropping to your stomach. You knew that you could very easily refuse, turn around and go home to pretend this interaction never happened, but then you imagined your mother’s disappointed gaze, returning empty-handed without even considering his offer, thinking about the fact that your parents have been letting you crash at home for free and that this was the only thing they had asked from you to do in weeks. You hardly believe the next words that come tumbling clumsily off your lips, unsure and unsteady. “I… am?”

Miguel grins. “Do you want to come inside and talk about it?”

It’s, quite frankly, a terrible idea. But not nearly terrible enough to stop you from accepting with wide, doe eyes and bringing your feet forward to enter the O’Hara home.

There are a few things you notice when you walk in: his house is spotless. The decorations are few and in between, but they’re classy and timeless. A couple of soccer balls float around the hallway, and it looks like they were working on a puzzle just before you got there. On the walls, there are many, many pictures of Gabi in various areas of the house, Gabi cuddling with a soccer ball when she was less than a year old, framed canvases of Gabi’s past birthdays with cake smeared all over her face, lots of selfies from the infamous Facebook mom angle, but it’s endearing. You can feel the love pouring out from every single one.

Not a single photo with a wife, thank god. You don’t know how you could come back from that one.

You’re led into an even more impressive kitchen as he gets Gabi settled into her breakfast, fruit loops with a side of Dora the Explorer as you hear him ruffle her fluffy, brown hair. “Espérame un momento. Sé buena, conejita.”

Miguel walks back into the room and you wonder what the next best course of action is, where you could even start. Thanks for fucking me into next week, it was really good. I don’t know why my mother is so insistent on me becoming your babysitter. He’s even taller than you remember, handsomer too, and you take the time to revel in just how handsome he was. Warm daylight cast a soft glow on his features, long lashes fanning his high cheekbones, reminiscent of some Roman god you’ve seen in a museum once before—

He’s looking at you with something akin to amusement and you have to quickly pull it together, embarrassed of having been caught missing the last thing he said with your ogling. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked what made you wanna babysit. Your mom told me you have an internship with the Daily Bugle and a few things lined up. I was wondering what made you wanna jump ship all of a sudden,” He smiled lightheartedly, and the room felt a little less tense, a little less fraught on your nerves “Babysitting’s not nearly as glamorous as working with J. Jonah Jameson. Just a little bit similar in terms of the temperament, I guess.”

“Oh,” You feel embarrassed. How does someone explain a failed engagement and the root of your lost prospects to a one-night stand and potentially your future boss? Yeah, my ex-fiance may have gotten me blacklisted from most of the multi-media companies in the tri-state area. Gotta make do with what you have. “You know how it is. Tough job market nowadays, and my mom insists since you guys just moved in. She adores Gabi.”

“She’s a handful,” He laughs, warm and husky and it’s addicting. You can’t help the smile that blooms across your face and he looks endearingly over to the living room. “I actually would really appreciate the help. Her old babysitter’s going abroad this summer and I’ve been searching for a while now for a replacement. If you’re interested, I can tell you more about what I’m looking for?”

“Yes! I mean, yeah. I’m... I’m thinking about it.”

“Well alright,” Miguel’s smile grew, and you felt your heart swell at his approval. Focus. “Can you give me your phone?”

Your brain short-circuited at that moment. “For what?”

“So you can text me when you’ve decided,” His eyes shine with something mischievous, but it feels genuine. It was an innocent and harmless request, and you couldn’t argue with his logic. You probably would have needed his number if you accepted, anyway. “And so I can ask for more muffins in the future.”

He’s tapping his name and number down on your phone, listing out some expectations and requirements for the job that you should probably remember. At that point, you contemplated whether or not he even remembers the events that occurred the night before, wondering how he was acting so casually and discussing the rates of pay of a babysitting job ($30 an hour was pretty damn good), as he hands your phone back to you.

You thought you were in the clear, ready to make your leave, until you took your phone from him, and something in his gaze shifted, more heated and hungry.

Miguel murmurs your name, so close all of a sudden. Goosebumps lit your skin on fire as he brushed your hair back, examining the turtleneck you wore. His hand brushed the side of your neck in a manner that was anything but innocent, scrutinizing the fabric with the pads of his fingers and you start to crumble, frozen as all you can do is stand there. “This is different from last night.”

This was the man you had fucked the night before . “I couldn’t… couldn’t let my parents see.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but he continues to mess with your collar, pulling the fabric down just a little bit, just enough to see the assortment of purple and red bruises that marked your neck. His eyes darkened ever so slightly, as he pulled the fabric back up and met your eyes again. “You missed some.”

“What?”

One of his hands drifted down, and you resisted the urge to turn around and check that Gabi was still busy, hoping that she was still wrapped up in her cereal and her show. His hand is rough, calloused, and hot. So, fucking hot . Miguel’s hand stopped suddenly just past your skirt, squeezing the soft skin of your thigh. “Here.”

As you looked down, you noticed that he was right. You could see a vague outline of his handprint beginning to bloom in red on the skin of your thigh, and your breath gets caught in your throat. His smile was sharper, then, more dangerous and he let you go.

“I’ll be waiting for your decision.”

You were lightheaded and half-delirious as you made your way out of his house, wishing Gabi a quick goodbye as she grins at you happily, thanking you for the muffins with a full mouth of cereal. The entire walk back to your house, you could still feel him staring, still feel his fingers around your neck, how impossibly full you felt from those hands only the night before—

You didn’t dare to look back.

Practically stumbling through your front door, your heart raced as you faced yet another surprise for the day. Your mother had been waiting in anticipation by the door, wearing an expression of hope and optimism that seemed oblivious to the fact that she had just dropped a bomb on your summer plans. A whole summer with that man? Panic set in as you wondered how on earth you were going to survive this ordeal.

"Well?" your mother asked impatiently, her eyes brimming with curiosity. You glance at the clock and realize you'd been gone for quite some time, leaving her imagination to conjure up all sorts of scenarios. None of them probably held a candle to what actually happened. "How did it go?"

Taking a deep breath, you began to respond, "I told him I'd think about babysitting—"

Before you could even finish your sentence, your mother's squealing interrupted you, a sound that rivaled the exuberance of a lottery winner and surpassed even the joy she displayed when you graduated college, hell, even when you told her you got engaged . Her enthusiasm was infectious, and it left you both bemused and slightly apprehensive.

"Emphasis on thinking about it," you quickly interjected, trying to temper her soaring expectations. "Don't get your hopes up just yet."

But your mother brushed off your cautious words with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't be silly, hon," she asserted, her voice overflowing with conviction. "How could you possibly say no?"

How could you possibly say no?

Of course, there was only one reasonable course of action to take once you made your way back to the privacy and security of your room, far from your mother’s overwhelming positivity. You looked up “Miguel O’Hara” on your laptop immediately. Your research proved fruitful and abundant, as only a handful of his names were in your area.

For an hour, you found out several things: Miguel O’Hara attended Stanford University nearly nine years ago, played soccer and track on a full-ride, and majored in their Bioengineering program with a minor in Ethics and Society and Spanish. Since then, he worked his way up the ladder starting as an intern for Alchemax International, and was currently one of their lead geneticists, with about a dozen awards and articles about him with lofty descriptions like, “A genius in the field of genetics.”

Before Gabi, his Instagram was sparse, with soccer game photos, picturesque screencaps of Stanford, and updates about his genetics research here and there. Five years ago, it felt like he came alive, a million vibrant little photos and updates of Gabi and her penchant for soccer spreading to every corner of his feed. There were bright, wide smiles on every slide, and you could tell that she was the light of his life, the focus of all his efforts.

Still, no wife in sight, and you release the breath that you didn’t even know you were holding.

Diving deeper, you saw that he also coached your hometown’s little league girls’ soccer team and you briefly smiled at one of his posts with all the girls and their new trophy, with Gabi at his shoulders and flashing toothy grins at the camera. There’s so much pride, so much joy in just one photo.

And then as recently as two months ago, they had moved into the house next to yours. It explained why you had virtually heard nothing about them when you were in college, too caught up in the haste of graduating and setting up your internship, setting up a life with your fiancé—

There’s a nervous, pregnant pause as you remembered the life you were on the cusp of just a month ago. At that moment, you were supposed to be interning at the Daily Bugle, accompanying reporters to events and press conferences, diligently editing and proofreading, and hauling ass through the bustling streets of New York, clutching cups of coffee in your hands—This dream that you used to fantasize and romanticize for the longest of times, and all you feel is hollow.

Instead of bustling around a lively apartment that wasn’t entirely yours , discussing wedding plans over takeout and Netflix, you were sitting alone in the familiar confines of your childhood bedroom. Cross-legged, you contemplated how you allowed yourself to be swept up in someone else's plans, losing sight of your desires along the way.

The past three years replayed in your mind like a worn-out tape, each day blending into the next as exhaustion seeped into your bones. The weariness, the constant drain of energy, was your constant companion as you followed the path your fiancé had paved for you.

But now, there was a flicker of realization that ignited within you— didn’t you deserve a break? Didn’t you deserve some fun?

Your eyes hazily drifted back to the laptop screen before you, illuminating the room with its gentle glow. You think of bergamot and crisp green leaves, a summer well spent at your neighbor’s house, blueberry muffins, soccer fields and dark, dark eyes. The answer seemed clear as day.

No use in lingering in something as foolish as what could have been, when you had something right in front of you.

At dinner, the room was filled with the sounds of clinking silverware and the gentle hum of conversation about each other’s days. Dinner was a familiar meal your mother had fretted and labored over for the better part of the day, something warm and distinctively comforting from your childhood. The sun’s just barely setting outside, casting the room in a warm, orange glow and everything feels normal, less daunting.

It’s nice, you had been forgoing dinners with your parents in favor of takeout in bed with your favorite trashy reality show during your first few weeks with them. You had forgotten that despite the way that your life had been abruptly upended in recent memory, you had managed to resurface with relative ease due to their support.

But glancing across the table at your mother, you felt a little bit less supported, her face contorted in what she believed to be subtlety, struggling to contain her curiosity and eyes brimming with unasked questions. She was trying to feign nonchalance, attempting to appear casual while her anticipation was clear from across the dining table.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, she seized the moment. Her voice carried a hint of hope, laced with the yearning for a resolution. "So are you done thinking about it?"

Caught off guard, you momentarily froze, your mind scrambling for a response. You mustered a reassuring smile, trying to cloak whatever lingering uncertainties you had left. This was the woman who had been your biggest cheerleader, who had picked you up off the side of the road after you lost your first job at the ice cream stand, took you to Ben & Jerry’s straight after, and cut off ties with your old manager like it was nothing. You smiled. “Yeah. I think I’m going to take up Mi–Mr. O’Hara on his offer.”

If your parents noticed any slip-ups in your wording, they don’t mention it.

“You know, isn’t it just delightful that there’s no Mrs. O’Hara in the picture—”

“Mom, we have got to talk about boundaries. Seriously,” You nearly drop your fork into your food, aghast by what your mom just implied. “He’s our neighbor.”

It was late at night, bolstered by a surge of courage, when your fingertips danced hesitantly over the screen of your phone, lingering above the name "Miguel O'Hara." You consider your first text to him heavily on your lips, testing the weight of each word as you typed and re-typed over and over.

Hey! So, I've made up my mind—I'm in for the babysitting gig!

Not quite.

Guess what? I've decided to accept your babysitting offer!

Not quite satisfied with that either, you take a deep breath and decide to go for a more straightforward approach.

Hey Miguel! I've been doing some thinking, and I'd love to babysit Gabi! Just let me know when you need me, and we can work out the details.

With your heart racing, you pressed the send button and watched as the message turned blue. The dots of his reply began immediately. Stopped. Began and stopped again. Then:

Can't wait :) I’ll see you on Monday?

You could have thrown the phone right through the wall. Oh, you were down bad .

Shaky fingers gripping your phone, you’re filled with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation, reading and rereading his response. You haven’t felt this giddy since… forever. The smile on your face grew wider with each passing moment, and you couldn't help but feel the same surge of confidence you felt the night before coursing through you.

He’s everywhere, all-encompassing. You feel him along the shell of your earlobe, whispering something absolutely shameless and incorrigible to you. It has the desired effect, your heart stuttering with desire and your sweet cunt tightens around his cock in anticipation. He places a finger on your lips and his, slick with your arousal still, and beckons you gently to still. Be quiet.

Then his teeth are sinking into your skin, hard.

“Look at you,” Miguel murmurs, drawing tight circles over your nipple as you cry out silently. “Shameless.”

Your hands are entangled in his, reaching every which way, and you babble, mindlessly, without a thought of decency as you scratch your fingers through the lean skin of his back, mouth watering at how perfect he is for you, how his size fits inside you like a glove. Running your tongue over the long muscle of his neck, tasting the salt and cinnamon and and sucking a bruise in the same spot where he had kissed and suckled the night before.

His dark and heavy lashes flutter; his head dropping impossibly close to yours, and then he’s begging for something against your jaw, thrusts growing uncontrolled, his hips catching as his cock twitches in you.

You can’t say anything back. Your breaths come out ragged and strained, crooning until he hits something deafening inside you, and then the feeling spreads across your body like wildflower and it’s so hot, it’s searing and you just want him to move, unable to function with the way he just holds there right up against that spot and lets you both feel each other like this for a second.

You don’t want him to stop; you never want this to end. It feels so good being full of you, you mumble.

“Let me taste you, cariño,” His voice is filled with need, to the point of growling. It’s different—

You can’t help the whine that escapes your breathless lips as you wake up in a hot flash, realizing that you’re still within the confines of your bedroom.

Monday couldn’t come fast enough.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #oscar isaac #mdni #miguel o'hara smut

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roseghoul26 · 1 month

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Chapter 6: I'd Live And Die For Moments That We Stole

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy?

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Tags Updated Per Chapter

Author's Note: so ttpd was released while writing this, and oh my god some of the songs on there work a little to well with either this fic or arthur morgan in general

also was not expecting so much attention from the ghoul fic and i will continue to write for him, i just still want to work on this too!

Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay

Chapter List

Hans was home for three and a half weeks.

Your days were either spent alone in your house, Hans shutting himself in his office, or out on the town, heading to dinners, plays, movies, and miscellaneous events that you hardly remembered. It was always a blur to you, anyway.

You’d only caught glimpses of Arthur throughout the past weeks. He’d sometimes be roaming the streets of the cities you were in, keeping his distance, but you’d always feel his watchful eye on you. It made those days better, knowing that in a way he was by your side.

If Hans noticed the extra eyes watching the two of you, more specifically you, he didn’t say anything. He still acted the same, attentive and loving husband in the public eye, cold and disdainful behind closed doors. It was exhausting, but you pushed through.

The two of you had been at a party all night, your feet ached and the muscles of your face were strained from smiling so much. You had just walked into your house, around midnight, and you were exhausted. Hans had immediately retired upstairs, and you followed after him, getting ready for bed in your closet.

You pulled off your dress, the fabric itchy and uncomfortable, and you had slipped into your nightgown. Slipping into bed beside Hans, you fell asleep rather quickly, and the night passed dreamlessly, much to your disappointment.

You woke up alone, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was that he didn't come down for breakfast, not responding when you called for him. When you knocked on his office door, there was no response. Confused, you peered outside, pleasantly shocked to find the carriage missing. He’d never just left like that; there was always some sort of heads up, and he always requested your company in bed.

You were nowhere near upset, though, and you gleefully cleaned up the kitchen. You spent the next few days in your garden, luckily not as wrecked as it was the first time, your planters holding up well.

It was the third night when you heard a knock on your door, and you couldn’t help the giddy smile on your face as you bolted to the door. You didn’t have to look through the peephole to know who was there, and you opened the door quickly.

There was Arthur Morgan on the other side of your door, hair longer than you remembered, but that same dazzling grin on his face.

You stood there, not quite shocked, but your brain was still unsure of how to react. Your body knew, though, and you nearly tackled him to the ground with the force of your hug, arms wrapping around his neck.

He wasn’t expecting your reaction, a startled whoa leaving him, but he immediately reciprocated the hug, like he needed this just as badly as you did. You sagged into his arms, a breath you’d been holding for the last three and a half weeks finally being released. Resting your head on his chest, that comforting smell of him made you smile. Oh, how you missed him.

“I missed ya too, darlin’,” he chuckled, and you tilted your head back to look up at him. It was adorable, the way his ears turned red, flustered by your sheer adoration of him.

You snuck a hand up into his hair, combing through the longer strands that stuck out from beneath his hat. He sighed under your touch, his eyes threatening to flutter close. “It’s so long now,” you muttered more to yourself, and you watched him raise a brow.

“I just keep forgettin’ to cut it,” he admitted.

“I ain’t complainin’,'' you laughed. “It suits you.”

He just hummed noncommittally, and the two of you stood in silence, simply taking in the presence of the other. You saw the way his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up. The motion was quick, like he was unsure if you’d want him to kiss you again, if you thought the last time had been a mistake.

You didn’t give him a chance to get lost in his thoughts, standing up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. His beard was longer than last time, too. It was less of a stubble and more of a soft layer of hair, and it tickled less than last time.

He smiled, barely able to contain his relief, and you felt him cup the side of your face, bringing your face back for a proper kiss. When his lips slotted against yours, you reconfirmed your belief from the first time; he truly did feel like home.

“I really did miss you,” you whispered out once the kiss broke.

“I’m here now. Unfortunate for you,” he chuckled, and you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“Hush, Arthur,” you admonished, shaking your head. “C’mon, let's get inside.”

It took a few moments for you two to release each other, and you took his hand once you stepped apart, leading him into the house. You didn’t even have to ask before he was taking off his boots, and you were dragging him upstairs.

The implications of what you were doing were lost to you as you brought him upstairs, but you heard Arthur mutter your name, confused but not completely against the idea.

“For the life of me, I can’t get into his office,” you explained. “I ain’t got the skills you do.”

“And I do? Quite rude of you to assume.”

You scoffed, sparing him a disbelieving look. “Arthur, did you forget how we met?”

By this time you’d reached the top of the stairs, standing outside the locked office door. Excitement caused your heart to race, not ready for what you might possibly find in the office. Even though you were raised to not be a snoop, it was quite fun digging into peoples personal items, and it was especially fun when said personal items belong to your husband.

“Fair enough,” Arthur conceded, and he pulled a few items out of his pocket, tools you assumed he was going to use to pick the lock. “This’ll just take a sec.”

Arthur got down on his knees in front of the door, and you watched as he fiddled with the tools, silently listening for something. You had no idea what he was doing, but it was quite fascinating to watch. Besides, you got to appreciate the way hands flexed and fingers moved as he worked the lock.

It was less than thirty seconds before he was standing up, a small yet proud smirk on his face. “It… it’s that easy?”

Arthur laughed at that. “Nah, it was unlocked.”

“You’re fuckin’ kidding.”

He stared at you blankly before laughing again. “You shoulda seen your face. Yes, I’m kiddin’.”

“Arthur Morgan!” That just made him laugh harder, and you cherished the sound, locking it away in your brain. You joined in, chucklining lightly. “You bastard,” you teased.

“Sorry,” he replied, not sounding sorry at all “I had to. Forgive me.”

You shook your head, leaning against the wall. “I don’t.”

“Then what do I gotta do to earn your forgiveness, darlin’?” He moved toward you, brushing his fingers over the apple of your cheek, tucking away hair that wasn’t there.

“I could think of a few ways,” you murmured, not so subtly looking at his plush lips.

Grinning, he didn’t bother responding before kissing you, hat knocking into your head. “Am I forgiven now?”

You snuck in one last quick peck before responding. “I guess.”

“I’ll take that.”

He held your face for a few moments longer, eyes sparkling with adoration. His expression then sobered, and he shoved the tools back into his pocket, removing his hand and setting it on the doorknob. “You ready?”

You took his other hand, nodding, and he held the door open for you as you stepped into his office for the first time.

It was way messier than you expected. Stacks of books and piles of paper seemed to loom over you; one stray gust of air could topple it all down. There were high shelves lining one of the walls, filled floor to ceiling with different books, knicknacks, and various loose papers stuck between the books. A large oak desk stood in the middle, a large leather chair tucked in, equally as covered with papers, and various splotches of ink had long since dried into the wood.

There weren’t any windows, making the room stuffy, and you could feel the dust tickling your nose. You were left speechless, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the amount of stuff in front of you. “How…” you managed to let out, and Arthur just shook his head.

He made his way to the desk, your hands still intertwined, and he began to shuffle through the papers, spreading them around on the desk. His eyes danced around the papers, and he let out a sigh, nothing sticking out to him. You opened the drawers, only seeing junk and even more paper.

You were about to shut the final one before a rectangular shape caught your eye. Pulling it out, you set it on the desk, the book automatically falling open. Leaning in to investigate further, you realized it was a ledger book of sorts, but everything was written in shorthand or codes, indecipherable to you.

“The hell?” Arthur murmured, just as confused as you were. “This even English?”

“Maybe?” You flipped the pages, the words changing but still not understandable. “I mean, it’s obviously a ledger, but that’s all I can tell.”

When you flipped a few more pages the same thing happened, you sighed. “I thought it would’ve been that easy, just finding the ledger book and having everything you needed to know be right there.”

“It usually is. Criminals ain’t the smartest sometimes.” Arthur pulled out the chair and sat in it. You sat on the arm rest, leaning against Arthur a bit, your foot still holding most of your weight. “Let’s see here…”

Arthur looked through the papers on the desk again, and you were able to catch glimpses of what they were; they were a mix of receipts, letters, and various documentation. There were a few names, none of which you recognized, and you watched Arthur scribble them down into his notebook.

“I think that should be good for now.”

You weren’t going to lie, you had spaced out a bit while scanning over the various documents, the writing quickly turning to a blur in your eyes. You jumped when Arthur stood, nearly causing you to topple over, but you felt him secure you with a hand on your waist. “Already?” You asked.

“I’ve got a few names’ I’ll see where they lead.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t wanna spend too much time in here, anyway.” To prove his point, he led you out of the office, shutting the door behind you.

“Then why’d you come over?”

“Ouch.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you chuckled.

“Will you ever believe that I come over just to see you?”

“Probably not.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, and began to lead you back downstairs. “Where you takin’ me?” You asked, and he didn’t respond, getting his shoes on and leaving the house. “Arthur?”

“You’ll see,” was all he said, not letting go of your hand as you descended the stairs.

“What’re we doin’?”

Arthur sighed. “Have you ever heard of a surprise?”

The familiar form of Bear caught your eye, and you made a noise to get his attention. It worked, the horse flicking its head towards you, nickering excitedly as you and Arthur approached.

“Hello, Bear!” You let go of Arthur’s hand, striding over to the horse happily. You missed how affectionately Arthur looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he watched you. “How’s my favorite boy doin’?”

“That’s the second time I’ve been insulted by you today.”

You ran one of your hands on his snout, the other patting his neck. “Ignore him, Bear. He’s grumpy.” You rambled out praises to the horse, and his eyes visibly relaxed, practically pressing himself into your hands. “Such a good boy, Bear.”

You felt his lips on your neck first, the soft beard barely tickling your skin. His arms were next, wrapping over yours, keeping you pressed close to his chest. “What did I say ‘bout spoilin’ my horse, darlin’?” He rocked with you side to side, occasionally pressing his lips against your skin.

“He deserves it,” you giggled. “He always brings you back to me.”

Arthur stilled. “I… I suppose you’re right.”

“I am right.” You broke the tension that threatened to form with a verbal jab, and Arthur chuckled.

His arms released your body, but he kept his hands on you, trailing them over your arms, and then settling on your hips. “You ready?”

“Sure, but you-”

Arthur cut you off by grasping your waist, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on the back of Bear. A startled cry left your lips, and you glared at Arthur once he set you down. “A warning next time?” You tried to not seem as freaked out as you were, clutching at the saddle in front of you for some sense of stability.

“I did,” he responded, chuckling when your glare returned. When he got into the saddle in front of you, you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, clinging on to him. “You good?” He asked, concern in his voice.

“I…” you felt ashamed to admit to him, “I ain’t been on a horse in… years. Not since I was a little kid.”

“Bear’s a good horse. He��s never bucked me off, if you’re afraid of that.”

You exhaled shakily, your head resting on his back. “Alright, just don’t expect me to let go.”

“I’ll never complain ‘bout your hands on me,” he almost proudly admitted, and in response you just tighten your grip. “Ready?” He asked again.

“Yes.” You didn’t bother asking what you were doing again, knowing you weren’t going to get an answer.

Arthur kicked his heel lightly, giving Bear the go ahead to start moving. You refrained from gripping on to him tighter, not wanting to choke the poor man, and you watched the scenery begin to move past you. Arthur kept a slower pace, no doubt a pace he normally wouldn’t ride at, but his consideration towards you had you melting.

Even though most of the wind was blocked by Arthur’s frame, you still felt it grace your skin, hair streaming behind you. It felt nice, not too chilly, and it helped you relax.

It took a few moments for you to lift your head from his back, your arms loosening, settling lightly on his waist. “Alright?” He asked, the wind not loud enough to overpower his voice yet.

“I think so. Are… are you gonna tell me yet?”

“Do you trust me?” Interesting response, you thought.

“Of course.”

“Then trust me when I say you’re gonna like it.”

“You’re no fun,” you teased, feeling comfortable enough to remove one of your hands from his waist, flicking the back of his hat.

Arthur grumbled something, but you could hear his smile.

He rode on for a few minutes, and you took the time to just absorb the beautiful scenery around you. It was much more enjoyable to look at when you weren’t crammed into a stuffy carriage with a miserable man.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a large stag, hidden between the bushes. His head followed the both of you as you passed, but it quickly turned when a doe approached him from one of the bushes. You didn’t get to point them out to Arthur before they were scampering away, the stag following the doe into the thicket, the sound of branches snapping the only proof of their existence.

You truly had no idea where Arthur was taking you, your attention focusing back on the road. He had returned to the main road, sure, but he wasn’t heading in the direction of any major towns. The thick woodland had turned sparse, making way for rolling hills of grass with the occasional flower, with flocks of animals out enjoying the incredible weather.

As Arthur continued the slow pace, you began to feel antsy, and you were also feeling a bit brace. “You can go faster,” you leaned forward to tell him, and he looked over at you.

“Yeah?”

When you made a comfiring noise, he grinned, looking positively excited. It made him look so young, so carefree, and you couldn’t help but grin in response.

Securing your grip back around him, he urged Bear on more, who was more than happy to comply. A startled laugh left you as Bear went faster, your smile widening, wind whipping against your body. It was exhilarating, but you needed more.

“Faster!” You had to start shouting a bit, the wind becoming more intense.

Arthur shook his head, chuckling, and you watched him spur Bear on again. He broke into a gallop, the world around you becoming a blur. You don’t think you’ve ever moved this fast in your life, and it was incredible. Laughing joyfully, you felt Arthur do the same, leading Bear along the road with small pulls on the reigns.

You’re not sure how long you two tore through the countryside, but it felt like no time had passed before Arthur was bringing Bear to a trot. You were still laughing, brushing back your hair which you were sure was a complete mess, but you didn’t care.

Artur led you off the main road, leading you up a large yet gradual hill. The top was completely flat, with only a few dry bushes and patches of grass interrupting the stone. A few small rodents looked at you curiously, before retreating to their burrows.

Dismounting, Arthur didn’t secure Bear to anything, but you knew that he trusted him to not run off. After swinging your leg over, Arthur helped you down, holding you even when your feet hit the ground. Something flashed over his face as he watched you catch your breath, the wide grin on your lips never ceasing. His thumb rubbed into your skin where he held you on your waist, which didn’t help to calm down your racing heart.

“Good?”

You nodded. “I’m wonderful. That was… that was incredible. You get to do that every day?” You asked, something similar to envy in your voice.

“If you ever want to take him out for a ride, just let me know. I think Bear’d love that.”

You glanced back at the horse, who was watching you expectantly. Laughing slightly, you left the comforting hold of Arthur, patting Bear's neck. Arthur moved beside you, grabbing something fabric looking from the saddlebags, as well as a bottle of what assumed to be liquor. He extended an arm for you, and you gladly took it, linking your arm with his. It was similar to the way Hans would have you on his arm, showing you off almost like an accessory. This felt different, though, like it always did with Arthur.

You shook the thoughts of your husband out of your mind; right now was about you and Arthur. He led you to the edge of the hill, and you let out a gasp at the view. You were able to see what felt like the entirety of The Heartlands, rolling fields of grass as far as the eye could see. Mountains dotted the skyline, and you could see a few small towns littered about. Hoards of different animals grazed, from bison to deer to turkeys.

So enthralled by the view in front of you, you hadn’t noticed Arthur laying out a blanket beside you, until he tugged lightly at your arm. He pulled you down to a seated position, sitting behind you so you could rest your back against him. His arms immediately wrapped around you when you did, pressing a kiss to your cheek before settling his head on your shoulder, watching the landscape with you.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, and you heard Arthur humm in agreement. “How’d you find this?”

“I was huntin’, and I was tracking somethin’ that led me up here. As soon as I saw it I knew I had to bring you here.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Arthur thought of you while he was out on his travels. “You think ‘bout me a lot, Arthur Morgan?” You teased, pushing away a feeling you were too scared to name still.

“All the damn time,” he admitted, an airy laugh leaving him and tickling your ear. “You know that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearin’ you say it.”

Arthur didn’t respond, just holding you like you were a lifeline, and you found that you could spend the rest of your life wrapped up in his arms. Eventually, conversation started between the two of you, catching the other up on what had transpired over the last few weeks, the liquor bottle Arthur brough being uncorked and passed between the two of you. It was a decent tasting whiskey, but you only took a few sips, not wanting to have this moment be clouded over with fuzziness.

His arms had stayed wrapped around you for most of the time, but over the past hour had slowly let up, choosing to run his fingers over your body instead. It started with small touches on your side, before trialing up and down your arms and legs, to up your shoulder, brushing against your neck. It was like he was trying to memorize your body simply with his touch.

Every time he brushed over a sensitive area of your body, you’d shiver, and he’d smile, changing the infliction of his voice if he was speaking. It was hard to stay focused, either on his words or your own story.

This was the fifth time you’d trailed off while you were speaking, and you laughed, resting your head back. “You’re distractin’ me.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Never.”

Arthur chuckled, and you felt those calloused fingers brush over your arms again, moving down to your hands. “Can’t help myself. Beautiful woman in my arms, it’d be a crime not to touch her.”

You’re sure your cheeks were dangerously warm. “Well, she ain’t complainin’,” you breathed out, and you felt his hands rest on the back of your, fingers weaving into yours.

“You ain’t wearin’ your ring.” He sounded like he was almost in disbelief.

You glanced down at your left hand, his much larger once encapsulating it. You’d taken it off a day ago, setting it in your nightstand. You’re not quite sure why you did it, but it felt like fifty pounds had been lifted off you when you took it off. “No, I ain’t.”

His right hand grasped your chin, turning your face towards his, which continued to rest on your shoulder. Pure longing was written across his face, but his lips were possessive when they made contact with yours. The grasp shifted from your chin to the side of your face, fingers tracing patterns into your cheeks. It pulled you in closer to him, but you needed him closer. You needed to feel him.

You shifted so that you were facing him, hands bracing on his chest. You felt him sigh when your hands traveled up, over his neck and tanging into his hair. His hat hit the ground behind him, and he pulled you into his lap, your lips never separating once. The new angle had you leaning above him slightly, your hands in his hair pulling his head back, but he didn’t mind.

You had forgotten what it was like to be kissed with so much passion, so much energy, and you couldn’t help but admit to yourself what you’d been trying to bury for weeks: you were in love with him.

It made you gasp, pulling away from the kiss and resting your head against his. It wasn’t that you were against the fact that you were in love with him. But you had no idea if he felt the same. You knew he cared about you, there was no denying that, but was he in love with you? Knowing what kind of life Arthur lived, you didn’t see him as the committal type, not wanting to be bound to a person or place.

He took you pulling away as you needing a moment to breathe, smiling gently at you. A large hand cupped the side of your face, and you melted into his touch, like you could respond any other way.

You debated just confessing to him right there, but anxiety welded your mouth close. Instead, you opted to just kiss him again, quick but no less lovely.

Sitting back on his lap, the sun was beginning to disappear below the horizon, just behind Arthur. The lighting made him look ethereal, brown hair golden, and you’re sure you were staring at him like a lovestruck fool. “You’re so beautiful,” you sighed out, laughing a bit when he looked away embarrassed.

“Shouldn’t I be sayin’ that to you?”

“You already have. It’s my turn.”

He chuckled, still not believing what you were saying, but he was humoring you. “Alright, darlin’, how much whiskey did you have?”

You were drunk on something much better than the whiskey, that’s for sure. “I mean it, Arthur. You’re gorgeous.”

It was clear that he still didn’t believe you, but he thanked you anyway, kissing you lightly again. Resting your head on his shoulder, you wrapped your arms around his broad body, holding him in a embrace.

You sat in Arthur’s lap for a good while, simply holding each other, and you felt the occasion kiss on your head. The two of you didn’t feel the need to talk, and you got lost in the sound of Arthur’s breathing.

The sun had set, and as it left so did its warmth, cool night air hitting your body. You shivered, Arthur’s body heat doing nothing to protect your back from the cold. “As lovely as this is, I’d hate for you to get sick,” you heard Arthur murmur, and you hated that he was right. You didn’t want to leave, but you knew you’d regret it if you didn’t.

“Alright,” you huffed out, untangling yourself from him, which just made you more cold. Standing up, you grabbed his hat for him as he stood, and you placed it atop his head. He grinned up at you, grabbing the blanket and draping it over his arm, extending the other for you again.

Just like he had led you up the hill, he led you down to where Bear was resting, his ears flicking happily when he saw the two of you approaching. You gave him a few pats before Arthur lifted you on to his rump, and even then you were sure to murmur to him. Arthur handed you the blanket, and you wrapped it around your shoulders, keeping it secure between your two bodies once he joined you on Bear.

As he took off, one of his hands went back to rest on your thigh, like he was making sure that you were still with him. Like you’d want to be anywhere else. And if someone tried to take you away, then you’d fight like a cornered animal to get back.

The ride back was different at night; scenery that was once peaceful and comforting now becoming foreign and terrifying. Arthur went quick, not as quickly as before, but fast enough that said terrifying scenery went by fast.

The ride felt shorter than you wished, the familiar sight of your house causing you to sigh, holding on to Arthur a tad bit tighter than what was necessary.

Pulling up to the porch, he dismounted quickly, helping you down again. You were sure to leave the blanket on Bear, giving him a goodnight pat before climbing the stairs, Arthur following behind.

You lingered in the doorway after he held the door open for you, an invitation for him to come in on the tip of your tongue. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say them, not wanting to scare him away. So you just smiled at him, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

“Wait,” you heard him say before you were about to wish him a good night, “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

Curious, you cocked your head as he dug into his satchel,pulling out a torn out piece of paper. “Read it when you get inside,” he instructed as he handed it to you.

“Should I be worried?” You joked.

“Nah,” he chuckled. “Just… you’ll see when you read it.”

Well, now you were excited. “Okay…” you laughed, before kissing him for the final time that night. “I had an amazin’ day today, so thank you. Sincerely.”

“Of course, darlin’. Have a good night.”

“‘Night, Arthur. Come back to me, okay?”

He nodded, tilting his hat at you, stepping down the porch. In the back of your mind, you remembered the lessons you’d had in the backyard with Arthur, learning how to shoot and gun. You remembered that today you were supposed to learn how to reload it, but it had completely slipped from your mind until now. You let it pass again, though. There was always next time.

You stood in the doorway until Arthur was long gone, clutching the note to your chest. When you finally retreated inside, you sighed happily, still caught up in the trance that the night had been.

Sitting on the couch, you looked over the small piece of paper, clearly torn from his journal. There was an address scrawled across the top in that familiar messy cursive, some place in the state of Ambarino. It didn’t make much sense to you, so you read the following note left by Arthur, which started with your name.

It took a bit of asking around, but I was able to find the new address of the Van Buren estate. From what I can tell, they’re doing well. It wouldn’t be a bad time to reach out, if and only if you feel ready.

- A

There was something scribbled out before his name, like he was planning on writing sincerely or something like that, but he must’ve deemed it too formal for a note like this.

You sat there, shocked, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the note. Two years of no contact with your family was almost over. It was so close.

Leaning back against the couch, you held the note back to your chest, thanking the heavens for Arthur. There was no denying it now; you were so in love with him.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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b0g-b0y · 1 year

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Jealousy

Price x Dom reader NSFW

Warnings: choking? Thigh riding, coming in clothes.

———————————————————————

Y/n was getting a little upset with the realization that Price was really busy recently he didn’t get nearly enough time to spend with Price. Whenever you did get to see Price he would have his arm resting on Gaz in the hallway well the two talked about something. You tried pushing the feeling off to you just missing his touch. But then again walking into the gym and seeing Soap give Price a friendly bap to the chest also made you upset that chest was yours to touch, not Soaps. The only thing that didn’t give you that tight feeling in your chest was running into Price and Ghost sitting in the kitchen with one faint light on drinking tea. If anything it made you freak out a little. It was 2am. Why are they drinking tea in a barely lit room? It scared the shit out of you.

After a long day you were able to join Price in your somewhat shared room. It had been so long since you had the man to yourself, but the giddy feeling of finally having Price with you would leave soon. Price was putting on his shoes and was going to grab his coat.”where are you going?” You asked.”I’m going drinking with Laswell and the boys I’ll be back late don’t bother waiting up for me” He responded with a small smile. You gave a small goodbye when he left. You found yourself getting upset again. All you wanted was your captain. You wanted to hold him and talk about anything and everything. Before retiring to bed for the night you locked your door Price could sleep in his own room you just want to wallow to yourself for the night. But your small pity party would end soon and turn into burning jealousy.

The next time you had the chance to see Price it was late at night and the base was almost empty. Price was walking towards his office. He wasn't paying attention. He was busy trying to find his lighter. Your eyes glared at the man and your feet seemed to carry you towards him. Your hand grabbed his throat and pushed him into his office. Price was ready to punch you until he realized it was you, but by the look on your face he knew something was wrong. Did he do something? Did he forget something important? A million thoughts ran through his brain of what got y/n acting like this. Your hand never left his throat.”John” you spoke deeply. At this point Price was worried y/n never called him that unless he did something stupid. “Yes love?” Price let out before swallowing you feel his adam's apple move against your hand. You moved your leg in between his and your hips pressing against his. “John you’re mine no one else’s yet you barely spend time with me. Maybe it’s because you like the feeling of Soaps hands on you? Or do you like the warmth Gaz provides? Maybe all that attention from men isn’t enough. Is it Laswell hhmm the men not enough you need a woman now?” Your voice was deep and you spoke sharply. Price wanted to be calm at this moment but seeing you jealous was new to him.” No no it isn’t like that.” Price replied. Y/ns eyes hardened not believing a thing he said. You started to rub your leg against his crotch.” Maybe you need a reminder then John, I want you to grind against my thigh until you cum” you said well looking into his eyes.” My office door is still open” you cut Price off.” I don’t care” you said well your hand moved from his throat down his chest before finding its place on his hips. Helping him move against your thigh once again.” That’s it John use my thigh to get of” you said. Price was breathing hard and his mouth let out grunts and whimpers, his body falling onto yours for support his legs we’re getting shaking and his grinding got faster.”Good boy Price being so good for me your getting close going to cum for me baby” The only response you got was Price moaning and the feeling of his cock twitching and coming.” Did I redeem myself?“ he asked, panting. Y/n didn’t say a word instead he moved to unbutton his captain's pants to see his boxers soaked from his fresh load.” Depends on how well you are for me, pull your boxers down and pull them towards me” y/n spoke. Price followed your orders and watched your movements closely. You pulled out your hard cock and stroked at a fast pace.”shit” you cursed. That was a sign you were getting close, stumbling forward a little bit and aiming your cock down slightly. Price watched you closely as you let out a sharp breath before cum shot out all over the inside of his boxers, Price's own cock twitched as he saw both of your fluids mixed together. You pulled his boxers up and gave his ass a small pat.” You're forgiven for now” you said and kissed Price on the cheek.”Sorry love I’ll be better at spending time with you… don’t like it when you call me John I want to go back to being your captain your good boy” Price said as you now held him in an embrace.

#cod x male reader #john price cod #x male reader #price x male reader #captain john price x male reader #cod x male!reader #top male reader #dom male reader

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wrightingdungeon · 10 days

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SDV Bachelors reactions to birthday gifts

Forgive the rust last time i made one of these was 2017/18. Coming out of a “retirement”

Alex: You had already helped him build the man cave at the saloon, He had Gus and Emily help him confess with a beautiful dinner, now it was Alex’s birthday, and truth be told you had NOTHING. You had been focusing on the Luau and all your time and energy went into that. Walking into the kitchen to make breakfast and think, you saw it, His mother's music box proudly on the fireplace mantle. You would never touch the box due it how it had begun to age, but you did remember the song. Alex woke up to an empty bed and an empty home. Getting up he looked around for you. “Baby?” He saw you had been out because there were ingredients on the counter, but it's like you just vanished. Walking outside to see if you had gone out to get something from the farm he saw it empty, shrugging and getting ready he went about his day, knowing you would pop up. He was watering the crops and taking a break every now and again to spray the dog, your dog loved biting the water so much, it reminded him of when Dusty was a puppy. “Alex!” He heard you yell out, turning to look he smiled seeing you walk over to him, hiding something? “What is that baby?” He asked turning off the water. “I wanted to get you something, but I didn't know what.” He watched as you pulled out a pretty little box. “I had Robin and Clint's rush make it….I hope you like it.” He took the box and looked at it noticing it looked like his music box, winding the key and opening it, tears flooded his eyes, it was his music box! But the music was clearer, it wasn't dulled with age. “Farmer…” Looking at you tears running down his face he grabbed you into a hug. “I don't deserve you.”

Elliot: What do you get a person who's a living romance novel protagonist? That question racked your brain over and over, flowers? Not enough… More Ink? Not good enough…What do you get for Elliot? Looking over at his study your eyes flashed with an idea. He wasn't able to bring his piano with him when he moved in with you. Robin had no idea how to build a piano so now you are stuck biting your nails that Elliot's new piano won't be there on time for his birthday, stupid train. On his birthday it was not delivered before he woke up so plan B was in order. You spend the whole day pampering him, just caught lobster, a new duck feather pillow you definitely did not panic make two days ago, and all sorts of colored inks that you now owe Emily a few favors for. As you both were sitting at the table eating a Cappuccino Mousse Cake, you heard a loud knock at the door. “Who at this hour?” Elliot asked going to stand. “I got it, birthday boy.” Watching him sit with a smile you opened the door and peeked outside seeing the piano on dollys ready to be moved in. Looking out into the distance seeing Linus, Robin, and Willy running off you smiled making a note to pay them back for the late-night rush delivery. “Elliot, come here actually. I have one more gift.” You leaned back and opened the door wide so he could see the shiny new piano. “Oh my…My Love…I” It was the first time you had seen the smooth talker voiceless. “You truly are sent from the heavens…”

Harvey: Looking out the bus window Harvey sighed, he rarely left Pelican Town, but you had insisted he shut down the practice for a day or two, reassuring if something happened Maru knew almost as much as he did and could hold the town over for a few days. “Can I ask where we are going now?” He asked turning back to look at you. “Nope.” was all you said as you flipped a page in your book. “At least a city or the bus stop's name?” He asked blinking his eyes at you knowing he might be able to sweeten you up, looking up from your book with a small smirk on your lips all you said was “Z” Oh you were driving him crazy, he loved it, but he wanted to know! He had loved surprising you with the Hot Air Balloon Ride so this was probably just payback. An hour later Pam pulled into Zuzu City’s bus station and looked back. “I’ll see you in three days.” Your first day was just walking around looking at shops, a museum, going out to a nice dinner. “You know Farmer, this is a nice trip. Thank you for this gift.” He tilted his head confused hearing you giggle. “Oh, Harvey wait till tomorrow.” He had no idea that you had this planned, He gripped your hand tight and looked up swearing he could touch the bottom of the plane if he just reached up. “You Like your gift?” He heard you call over the roar of all the airplane engines. An airshow, you had brought him to the Zuzu city airfield to watch an air show. “Way better than the balloon….” He said stuck in child-like wonder, only to be pulled out of it by you kissing him. “Now I’d agree better than the balloon.”

Sam: You and Sam lived together now, but he hadn't seen you in a few days, and when he did you were busy hauling wood, glass, and other stuff up to Robins, something to do with the basement. He knew you were a busy Farmer, but he didn't think you were so busy you couldn't give him a kiss or a hug. He was sitting on the porch strumming his guitar, trying to figure out if he had said something? Did something? Forgot your Birthday! Wait no his birthday was coming up….His Birthday was coming up. He sat up and smiled thinking he figured it out, it had to be his birthday, it was silly, but he began to follow you around. All he saw was you cutting trees, shearing sheep, and bringing it to Robin. After a few days of playing spy and starting to wonder what was happening with Robin and your basement. One day he came home and noticed all his band equipment was gone, his heart was crushed, was he wrong about everything. “Sam? Is that you?” He heard you call from the basement. “Baby where are my drums…” He whines softly while making his way to you. “Come down here…I actually need your help…” Making his way down his heart exploded, there on the other side of the basement was a recording booth, an actual recording booth, you were sitting in the middle of his drum set all sprawled out. “I tried to set it up like you showed me….but I think I’m doing it wrong…” All Sam could do was hug you with tears in his eyes. “For me?” His head was buried in your shoulder, and you could feel the tears falling. “Sam baby, I-I’m sorry I'll get it fi-” He kissed you before you could finish. “I love you so much, Farmer.”

Sebastian: Your brain hurts staring at the screen, tabs upon tabs open. Lore about goblins, elves, healers, tanks, balancing encounters, and how to create a functioning story. Solarion Chronicles was so fun when Sebastion and Sam helped you with it, but now you are starting to think your mind will explode if you try to understand how to keep initiative in order. It paid off though a month later on Sebastian’s Birthday you had the home decked out, Sam helped you make food and drinks that are in Solarion Chronicles, and Abigail showed up for Sebastian and helped set up the map. Hearing Sebastian’s key in the door the three of you sprinted to your hiding spots, you pulled out a laser pointer and got your cat to help turn off the main light. “I’m back…You home baby?” He called out placing his helmet on the table next to the door and flicking on the light. “SURPRISE!” The three of you hopped out scaring Sebation a bit. “Holy Yoba!!! What's happ-” His voice trailed off looking around the house before his eyes landed on you three sitting around the coffee table, You behind the DM screen. “Roll for initiative, Sebby.” He smiled as he ran and hopped over the back of the couch landing next to Sam and Abigail with a soft comfy bounce, the three amigos ready for battle once again.

Shane: Shane was on the edge of the couch seat watching the Tunnelers play, it was a recording, but he loves Gridball and you loved seeing him happy. Looking over at him ready to set your plan into action, first things first get him to go to the kitchen and get “Napkins”. Reaching over to Shane to grab a slice of pizza, you ‘accidentally’ let it fall onto his shorts, you did the laundry anyway so fine with you. “Oop sorry Honey…” grabbing the remote pausing the game and pointing to the kitchen. “I ran out of paper towels but there are napkins in the top drawer, by the sink.” You said trying hard to keep an ‘I sowwy’ puppy face on. “It's alright, I would have done it if you hadn't.” He joked getting up and tossing the lost pizza towards the doggo. A grinch-like smirk crawled onto your face hearing the drawer open. “Baby there's no napkins just… Tickets?” He looked over at you like you had just told him to put shoes on his head. “Really? What kind of tickets~?” You asked letting him see your smirk. “What kind? Uhh” He looked at the tickets moving them a bit to focus his eyes. “They are….There Tunnelers Tickets!?!?” He was looking back and forth from ticket to you, ticket, you, ticket “Hold up this is next month!!?!” Back to you. “Really!! How did those get there!!” Giggles were pouring out of you now. “Why? What did I do?” He asked looking up at you. “One it's your birthday, two you have been a great help on the farm since Joja left.” Shane came back over to you pressing you into the couch and hugging you close and tight. “How did I get so lucky.”

#sdv farmer #sdv #stardew #sdv shane #sdv harvey #sdv alex #sdv sam #sdv elliott #sdv sebastian #sdv reactions #stardew valley shane #stardew shane #stardew sebastian #stardew elliott #stardew sam #stardew alex #stardew valley #stardew farmer #reaction

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604to647 · 4 months

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Safest with You (Ch. 10 - The Afterglow)

6.1K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Din stays the weekend.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Smut with fluff, next day aftercare, kissing, bathing, oral (f receiving), boob slapping, unprotected PiV, slight daddy kink, slight degradation kink (discussed, Din is a respectful king), tons of pet names as usual (sweetheart, baby, pretty bird, babygirl, etc.)

A/N: This is actually a bonus chapter in that it was not in the original outline; I dunno - just really wanted to see what the day after their first time looked like 🥰 I felt a bit self conscious about the last chapter but I quite like this one! Also - even though reader calls Din "old man", there is no implied age gap. I call my husband an old man all the time and he's only 2.5 months older than me (he just acts like such a freakin' old man sometimes 😂😂)

Series Masterlist

You wake the next morning when the bed jostles lightly; opening your sleepy eyes, you blurrily make out Din getting out of bed. Taking a moment to admire the powerful muscles that lay dormant across the expanse of his back, for the first time you have the chance to see that Din has a tattoo beneath his left shoulder blade. You study it for a moment, it looks to be some sort of animal skull with a narrow head and tusks; making a note to ask Din about it later, you yawn, “Good morning.”

Din turns and smiles, crawling back onto the bed he leans in to give you a soft kiss, “Good morning, pretty bird. Sorry, was trying not to wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper, don’t worry,” you grin lazily, still in a half-dreamy stupor from the evening before, “Are you sneaking out on me, Djarin?”

Din throws his arm over you, pinning you beneath the covers and wiggles his bear paw of a hand under you to start tickling; you shriek with laughter, trying to squirm away.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart,” Din chuckles at your feeble attempts to escape; he stops poking and uses his hand underneath to pull you in close, kissing you with tenderness. Before the kiss can deepen, you’re both made aware of panting breaths coming from next to the bed. Turning, you smile wide at Al who was lured into the bedroom by the loud sounds of laughter and is now waiting patiently, tail wagging, to be included.

Reaching over you to rub Al’s head, Din kisses your forehead, “Baby, was going to take Al for a walk and pick up some breakfast.”

“I can come,” you start to say, before a yawn over takes you.

“Sweetheart, you rest. I’ll be back soon. Need you to be fully recovered from last night, so you can refuel… and be ready to fall apart on my cock again,” you can feel his smirk against your lips as he kisses you eagerly, conveying that he’s not yet had his fill of you. Your moan is involuntary; extricating your arms from your sheets, you wrap your arms around Din’s neck and pull him in with renewed hunger.

“Pretty bird, I should go,” Din mumbles, making no effort remove himself from your embrace.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hum, more than your wakefulness starting to stir.

*Bark*

Oops. With difficulty, Din pushes himself off of you to give Al his full attention, two hands rubbing all over his furry head and ears.

When he’s left you to snuggle back under your covers, you call out, “Keys and leash are on the foyer table. There are spare toothbrushes in the guest room bathroom next to the kitchen,” before closing your eyes and letting your sleepy, arousal muddled brain take over your body.

With Al trotting by his side, Din looks back to see you already snoozing peacefully, so serene and beautiful with your hair fanned out on your fluffy pillows, and he looks down at Al to whisper, “Aren’t we lucky?” before heading out.

---

The remainder of Saturday passes comfortably and lazily.

Din comes back with breakfast sandwiches to find you making coffee. In truth, you are a little sore, and not just in your core where you expected; you silently curse yourself for all the times you dismissed Pilates as “a fad” when you feel the strain in your hips and your upper thigh crease. Though you try to hide it from Din because you know he’ll feel bad, he’s an ex-boxer trained to look for weakness in his opponent, and he picks up on your little winces as you bring over the steaming mugs to your breakfast table on the balcony.

Immediately he rushes to your side, “Pretty bird, I hurt you,” eyes worried.

“No, no, I’m okay – I’ve been neglecting my yoga,” you joke, but make sure to kiss him affectionately and reassuringly nuzzle his jaw to show Din there isn’t anything to be concerned about.

Far from being placated, Din insists that he run you a bath after breakfast so you can soak and relax; you don’t argue, but make him promise to join you.

Honestly, you love baths, and given the time, you’ll soak in one for hours with a glass or two of wine; you’re sure today’s bath will be relaxing in a totally different way. Filling the hot water with more salts and bubbles than usual, you lie in the water with your eyes closed, letting your aching muscles melt until you’re toasty and pliable all over for when Din joins you. When he comes in, you sit up and cross your arms over the side of the tub, resting your chin on your arms as you watch Din undress, trying not to stare. His naked physique in the daytime is somehow even more impressive than it was last night. He towers over you, a mountain of a man, impossibly broad – he isn’t chiseled or as cut as he probably used to be, but his body is still muscular and a force to be reckoned with. You can’t believe you were able to house all of that between your legs last night; no wonder you’re sore. Once again, your eyes spot the litany of scars and marks from previous fights (in the ring and out, you’re sure); you beckon Din to come closer with your hand and when he’s within reach, you trace your fingers from scar to scar, drawing a connect the dots picture with the water droplet trail your fingers leave behind. You look up at Din, eyes full of worry for wounds that have long since hurt, but still pain your heart nonetheless. Din cups your chin with his hand and says softly, “Should have seen the other guys, pretty bird.”

Your fingers continue their trail down below his belly button, eyes hungry. Even soft, Din’s cock is impressive; thick and girthy, your mouth waters slightly as your hand wraps around – an easier feat than yesterday when it was hard and throbbing in your mouth. You’re not sure how long you stay lightly working Din’s length, proverbially and literally drooling, but when Din’s semi hardening cock jumps in your hand, you’re startled out of your daze; Din chuckles and tells you to scoot forward, he’s coming in.

You wanted to sit behind him and help wash him, but that would have defeated the purpose of giving your hips and pelvis a break, so instead, after Din slides into the tub, you sit between his legs on your knees and face him to wash his hair and his body with a little pouf.

Din is in hell. You’re once again sitting pretty on your knees for him, this time naked, wet and soapy; his hands are holding you gently by your waist and even there you’re supple and inviting. He wants you to relax and recover, so he’s vowed not to fuck you until later, but he’s having to tap into years of trained self discipline in order to not sink himself into you right in this tub. He forces himself to look away from your perky, sudsy breasts, and instead watches your face as you focus on washing him with an adorable look of concentration.

He thinks he might actually die when you lean over him, pressing your chest into his shoulder and clavicle so you can reach and scrub his back. All he has to do is tilt his head to the side and down a little and he would be able to bite and suck on that tantalizing flesh; luckily, you save him from himself, “Din?”

“Yes, pretty bird?” hoping you don’t detect the strain in his voice.

“What’s this tattoo?” your fingers tracing the Mythosaur skull; the more you look at the tattoo, the more fearsome it looks.

“Oh,” Din laughs, “…that’s the Mando insignia… we all have it tattooed.”

“Like how the actors from the Fellowship have the 9 tattoo? Or all of BTS has 7?” you tease.

“Yes,” Din rolls his eyes, kissing and then lightly biting down on your shoulder, “exactly like that… nerd.”

Sitting back on your heels, you straighten your arms, pressing them close to your sides so your boobs are pushed up; you’re not entirely unaware of the effect your nakedness has been having on Din, his growing arousal evident even through the bubble foam. If he wants to be teasing, you can too. Pushing out your lower lip for effect, you pout, “Alright cool guy, how come that particular design for the Mandos?”

Din’s eyes are about to pop out of their sockets and his ears tinge pink, “Some of the Mandos went through a D&D phase… Woves found it in a book about fantasy monsters and creatures when we were kids; it’s supposed to be a Mythosaur, like a giant dinosaur, dragon with tusks. It seemed pretty badass when we were 8.”

You giggle, god he’s so cute. “It is badass… nerd,” you smile, kissing him lightly once, twice, then a third time in succession. Turning so you’re facing away from him, you sit between Din’s legs and lay on his chest, “I like it.”

“Thanks, pretty girl. Sorry I called you a nerd.”

Nuzzling in to his chest, you say light heartedly, “Don’t be sorry. I am a nerd, and it’s a very cool thing.”

“Very true. Also, I don’t even know what the second thing you said was,” Din admits.

“Omigod, old man, BTS?!?” you turn up to look at his face, disbelieving.

Little tease. Din can’t hold back his hands any longer, “Old man? You’ll pay for that, sweetheart.” Still wanting to leave the lower half of your body alone, he reaches out of the water to give your breasts that are resting above the waterline two playful slaps.

The first slap has you yelping in surprise, but the second has you moaning from the light, but pleasurable sting. Right away, you feel a wetness between your legs that has nothing to do with the bathwater.

“Oh, does my dirty little slut like that?”

“Mmmhmmm, yes, please, Din.”

Din reaches up and palms your breasts, one in each large hand, covering them completely and groping them rougher than he would normally.

“…daddy,” you sigh.

“Tell daddy what you want, pretty girl.”

“Fuck.. Din. Want… w-wan… want you to pull on them.”

Fingers rolling your nipples before pinching them gently, Din gives them both a little tug, much to your delight.

“Ahhhhhh… oh yes, daddy, just like that,” you moan, melting back against him, feeling his hardness pressed against your back.

“Didn’t know my good girl could moan like a whore,” Din whispers hotly in your ear before pulling on your nipples a little harder and releasing them, letting your tits bounce before slapping them like before.

“Holy fu---, oh daddy, that feels so good, love it when you play with my boobs... ohhhhh yessss.”

Din starts sucking on your neck and dips a hand below the water, reaching for your pussy. He swipes two fingers against your slit to find your slick already coating you, “Sweetheart, this for me?”

“Oh god, Din, yes, all for you… please, please need you to fuck me.”

Din stills his hands and returns them to a more innocent position, wrapped around your waist, “Oh pretty girl, we can’t. You’re still sore.”

You roll in his arms so to face him to plead your case, “Please, daddy. You take such good care of me, I’m all better. Want you.”

“Baby –,“ it’s not fair that he has to somehow say no to these big doe eyes you’re giving him, “don’t want to hurt you.”

Crawling up his body, you tuck yourself under Din’s chin and press kisses to his pulse point, “You won’t, daddy. You only make me feel so good. Do you need your little slut to beg for it? Please, please, Din. I need you so bad.”

Fuck. “Let’s get out of the tub, pretty bird.”

Giddy at having gotten your way, you’re practically bouncing as you and Din towel off, and when Din guides you to the bed by the small of your back, gently pushing you up onto the middle of the bed.

“I’m not going to fuck you, sweetheart.”

Your head snaps up, “Wh-“

“And you’re not going to get my fingers.”

“Dinnnnn,” you whine before he cuts you off.

“…I’m going to eat you out until I have you running down my chin.”

“Holy Fu-,“ you don’t even finish your thought as you have to sharply inhale when Din pulls you closer to the edge of the bed by your ankles, gently places your legs over his shoulders and starts lovingly trailing kisses down your inner thigh.

Then he makes you come with just his mouth and his words:

“Such a pretty pussy. So sweet and perfect,”as he licks long, strong strokes up and down your slit.

“Love how wet you get just from my mouth. Such a greedy, needy slut,” as he explores your folds with his tongue, swirling and gliding through the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Give me those moans, baby girl. Need to know if my little whore likes what I’m doing to this pretty hole,” as he drinks in your moans and makes the most obscene slurping and squelching noises while open mouth kissing every part of your pussy.

“Come on, sweetheart, soak my face. Want to drink you up,” as he teases your clit between his teeth before closing his lips over your swollen bud and builds, builds, and builds you up until you topple off the edge, grabbing his hair as you seize, screaming “Daddy!”

You can still taste yourself on his tongue after Din crawls up your body to pepper your mouth with kisses, tucking you into bed before climbing in under the covers to join you.

“What about you, Din?” you murmur into his neck as he holds you close; knowing you’re too pliant and boneless to argue, he tells you he’ll be fine as you drift off into your nap.

---

Later in the afternoon, the two of you go for a leisurely (and happily pain free) stroll around your neighbourhood with Al, where you proceed to point out all the food places of note; happily, you let Din select an assortment of pastries for tonight’s dessert from a local bakery and try not to side-eye him too much when he doesn’t choose the Portuguese egg tart. No one’s perfect, you suppose, smiling to yourself. Once back home, you get started on dinner at the kitchen island, cutting up the bread for tonight’s panzanella. Din is facing you, sitting on a high top at the bar side of the island, helping you organize the ingredients into little bowls when your cutting board gets too full. Content chatting nonstop while you prep, you smile at Din and ask, “Why did your dad name the gym ‘Mando’s’?”

Smiling back a big grin, Din points to a pad of paper and pen, to which you nod, “You ever watch Back to the Future, pretty bird?”

“Of course, I love Michael J. Fox!”

Din starts writing on the notepad, “Well, before it went bankrupt, DMC had a repair garage where the gym is now.” He turns the paper towards you, where you see he’s written:

Manufacturer Certified DeLorean Repairs

“Then before the movie even came out, the company went kaput and abandoned the building and the lot. A couple of years later, Dad bought it for real cheap, and started to fix the place up to turn it into a gym and a place for us to live. The neighbourhood was a bit rougher back then, and for some reason, maybe because the movie was so popular at the time, people kept stealing the letters on the sign out front.”

Taking the pad back, Din draws a few short marks on the paper before turning it back to you, “When we moved into the apartment on the top floor, this was what was left.” When you look, you can’t help but laugh, “Oh my god, they took so many.”

Manufacturer Certified DeLorean Repairs

Grinning, Din takes the pad back for a second time, “Dad and Boba tried to scare the kids into leaving it alone, but I think the challenge just motivated them more. When the renovations on the gym were about done and dad was ready to open, this is what it looked like:”

Manufacturer Certified DeLorean Repairs

“Dad didn’t want to spend any more money, so he got up on a ladder with a bucket of paint and a paint brush, added the apostrophe and the word ‘gym’ underneath, and that’s how ‘Mando’s Gym’ was born,” Din recounts wistfully, “I think if anyone didn’t know the real story, Dad used to just say Mando was his grandfather’s name or something. He never found out that Paz and I were the ones who stole the last ‘u’. I think Paz still has it at his place.”

“That’s so cute,” you grin. You love how Din talks about his dad; it’s so evident that he’s proud of their shared history with the gym and strong ties to the neighbourhood. You can just imagine a young Din and Paz sneaking around the property, planning their great heist, “I bet he knew though. You two were probably the biggest scamps.”

Din comes around to your side of the island, “You’re probably right. Dad always knew more than he let on. And who are you calling a scamp, sweetheart?” He steals a handful of cut bread before pinching you on the bum and escaping to the living room to share his bounty with Al.

---

After a hearty dinner, you and Din put on some tv in the background, and laze on the couch talking about anything and everything: work, dream places to travel, most embarrassing dumb college experiences, extended family. Netflix and chill, indeed. You’re sitting with your back against the arm of the couch, legs laid over Din’s lap as he gently plays with and massages your hands. On the heels of that last topic, you grow a little more serious, and decide to bring up something you’ve been meaning to address, “Din? You know how you told me yesterday a little more about what you and the Mandos do for Boba?”

At this, Din straightens up a bit. He knew you would have questions and have every right to ask; he just doesn’t know what he’s prepared to answer.

“I know that the Fett family is important to you, and you’re loyal to them – I can’t admit I’m not curious about… well everything. But I’m never going to, like, interrogate you, okay? I might have questions, but won’t demand answers because I’m assuming, not all the answers are yours to give. I guess what I’m saying is it’s okay that you don’t tell me everything, but Din,” and you look at him with pleading eyes, “please don’t ever make me feel like you’re hiding something from me?”

“Oh, pretty bird,” as usual, you prove to be a lot more pragmatic and understanding than Din had been prepared for. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to stop being surprised by your forgiving and empathetic nature, “I promise I’ll never make you feel that way. Everything that’s mine, is yours to know if you wish. You’re right about there being some things that I might not be able to discuss, but you can ask me anything, anytime, okay?” He kisses your hands over and over, like a humbled subject showing his devotion and allegiance to his queen. He might be being a little cavalier about it, but he wants you to know that you’re not misplacing your trust in him, and that he in turns, trusts you, “Is there anything you want to know now?”

You think about it for a second then shake your head truthfully, “Right now? Not really. Well… maybe just… do you ever carry weapons?”

“Baby, weapons are part of… the religion,” Din tries to phrase it in a delicate, more poetic way, “but, I never carry when I’m in public, and definitely not when I’m with you. Is that ok?”

Thoughtfully, you nod. You’ve never felt afraid or intimidated by Din, and his answer doesn’t change that. Satisfied, you pull up and capture Din’s lips with yours, drawing out the kiss as if sealing in your confidence on the matter.

When you relaxed back into your previous position, but having now reversed your roles so you’re the one giving the hand massage, Din has a completely different question for you, but one he approaches with the same seriousness and care that you did your last, “Pretty bird, I have to make sure something with you.”

You look at him, curious. Din continues, almost shy, “When we’re… in bed… and I call you names…”

Keeping your expression neutral, you think about the side of Din that’s confident, dominant even, who has a mouthy quip for every occasion, and then fondly watch this other Din, the Din who’s easily flustered when he’s trying to be sincere, who is respectful to a fault, almost SHY; honestly, you’re falling in love with both. But that doesn’t mean you can’t tease him, “What names?”

Din goes beet red and murmurs after a beat, “dirty names..” You stay silent but arch your eyebrows.

“… you know that that’s not what I really think of you, right?”

Oh. How is this brute of a man, who’s made you come five times in the last 24 hours, so fucking respectful. You almost feel bad at the giggle that leaves your throat, and you clasp your hands over your mouth so Din can’t see you smile. It’s absurd. This man? An enforcer for a crime boss? If he hadn’t told you himself you wouldn’t have believed it. He’s so soft and caring, considerate of your physical comfort and emotional safety. How is he real? The other hilarious thought is the idea that you might be offended by some light degradation when really, it turns you on like a lightbulb.

You climb onto Din’s lap, straddling his legs; glad to no longer feel a burn in your upper thighs, you cup his face lovingly and plant reassuring kisses on Din’s face, his lips, his cheeks, his nose, “Oh Din, how did I get so lucky? Of course, I don’t think you think you mean anything actually insulting or demeaning towards me as a person when you call me a slut or a whore in bed.” Silly man. “In fact, the only reason I even find it such a turn on is because I’m sure that you don’t. If I even thought for a second that you didn’t value me as a person or a woman, I would never entertain you touching me never mind calling me any dirty names during sex.”

Din breathes a sigh of relief, he loved how you brought out the dirty talk in him, but dirty talk was only hot if you liked the dirty talk, “Ok, baby. I would never. You’re the smartest, sweetest, prettiest bird. I’m the lucky one that you even looked twice my way.”

You’re melting, and also incredibly turned on, “You’re so good to me, Din. That’s why I like it when you call me a slut,” you coo into his ear, “It’s like you’re the only one who gets to see this needy, desperate part of me. You’re the only one who can give me what I need.”

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Everyone else gets to see the good girl too, but only you get to know me like this, a filthy whore that’s desperate for your cock.”

“Goddammit, pretty girl.”

“And you know what else I like?”

“What, baby?”

“I like the idea that you want me so bad, that I drive you so crazy, that you cannot help yourself. You need to take your little slut so bad that you can’t be bothered to be respectful anymore.”

Din’s face is muffled into your neck, “Yeah, baby, respect you so much.”

“I know, daddy. That’s why I want you to call me a whore, a slut… then handle me like one,” you pause and give Din a less self assured look, “but… I don’t think I like the word ‘bitch’. And I don’t want you to call me stupid. And… nothing said in anger. Or to humiliate me. I don’t think I would find that very sexy.”

Stroking your hair, Din kisses you lightly, “Of course, only what makes you feel good, I promise. Only the dirty talk that makes you feel hot… and safe,”

Punctuating each word with a kiss to Din’s open mouth, “Thank you, daddy. So good to me. So respectful. You take such good care of me. That’s why you get to treat me like your cumslut.”

“Holy fuck, sweet girl. Remind me again what else you like,” stutters Din, now thrusting up slightly into you.

“I like being your filthy, needy slut, Din,” grinding down on Din’s lap

“Yes, baby girl. Daddy’s here, take what you need.”

You can feel Din’s cock pressing into you through his pants, so you lift up to shimmy out of your shorts and panties; climbing back onto Din, you take his hands and guide it towards where you’re already throbbing and aching for him. Din strokes through your wet folds, sucking in a sharp breath, “Fuck, you are a desperate little slut. So wet from just talking about how dirty you are.”

Plunging a finger in you and meeting no resistance in your slick hole, he adds another and builds up a steady rhythm, “This what you need, pretty bird? Need daddy to fill you up?”

Bouncing on his fingers, you cry out, “Yes, daddy. Please, please, need you to fill me up. Stretch out this pussy,” you pull your shirt over your head, and let your breasts bounce free.

“Fuck. The tits on you, pretty bird. And the mouth. You’re gonna be the end of me,” Din growls, working another finger into you as his thumb draws firm circles over your slippery clit.

When Din leans down to take one of your nipples in your mouth, you gasp; your orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast. The combination of the dirty talk and the fact that it all stemmed from Din wanting to make sure you got to set the boundaries on your derogatory dirty talk, has you absolutely feral for him, “I’m close, Din. Can’t help it, feels so good.”

“Let go, baby, I got you,” Din promises, intensifying his movements until you come, shaking and nearly sobbing.

Resting your head on Din’s shoulders as he slips out of you, you purr, “Let me clean you up, daddy.”

“Dirty girl,” Din says, smiling down at you.

And with those two words, you feel a fresh wave of heat in your lower belly even though you haven’t yet fully come down from your high; sucking and swirling his fingers in your mouth, you mumble, “Want your cock, Din.”

“What’s that? You’re still fucked out from my fingers and you want to be my cock sleeve already?”

Uhhhhhhhgg, he is driving you fucking insane. Coming off his fingers with a pop, you give Din the most innocent look you can muster, “It’s what your little whore needs.”

“Who am I to deny you, pretty bird?” lifting up to pull down his pants, he releases his already leaking cock and lines himself up with your entrance, giving you the go ahead to sink down when you’re ready, “Take what you need, baby.”

Slowly, you sink down, letting his thickness fill you, feeling every delicious inch and stretch of your walls. When you’re fully seated on Din, you take a moment to revel in this feeling of fullness, having him entirely inside of you, before you start to work yourself on his length. Each little bounce pulling a moan from your lips and swaying your breasts in Din’s face. Groping your boobs and pushing them together so he can take as much of the flesh in his mouth at once, Din mumbles, “Perfect tits, baby. So perfect for my mouth. You feel so good, pretty bird. Need to fuck you.”

“Give it to me, daddy. Use me like a cumrag,” you throw your head back as Din groans and still grasping onto your breasts, starts thrusting up into you. You’re putty in his hands, a pliant doll for him to use, and he’s taking full advantage, “Such a good little whore for me, letting me use her hole any way I want.”

Your fingers dip to where you’re joined with Din and swipe across your throbbing clit; it takes only four sloppy circles before you wail out Din’s name, coming quickly but intensely. Closing your eyes, you tuck yourself under Din’s chin and continue to mewl as Din uses your body for his own pleasure.

“Give me all those needy noises. Need to hear how good I’m making my pretty slut’s pussy feel.”

“Fuck, Din… feels so good. It’s your pussy, only you can make me – ngh! Fill me up, daddy. Need your cum. Please, give it all to me.”

Hearing you beg for his cum pushes Din over the edge and he comes with a roar, shooting his release deep inside you. Both of you shuddering as he empties into you, holding each other tight, kisses messy and loving.

When your breathing evens, you straighten up to look at Din, glassy-eyed and fucked out; taking in your expression, Din gently kisses you, satisfied and content, mumbling against your lips, “Good talk.”

Laughing, you give him a little punch in the shoulder before kissing him back sweetly.

---

The next morning, Din drops you off at brunch; you let him know that he’s welcome to join, but he makes a good case for going back to his place, “I think I need a fresh change of clothes, pretty bird. These kind of still smell like that club.”

Jokingly, you pretend to take a whiff and scrunch up your nose. Din kisses your adorable expression and promises to come pick you up after.

To say the girls are curious about what’s transpired since the birthday dinner is the understatement of the century; when you let them know in the chat that Din would be dropping you off at brunch, your phone had practically vibrated itself off your bedside table from the successive notifications. Securing your phone in a drawer, you escaped to the shower without reading any of the messages.

You’re sure you and Din were spotted through the windows, but when you sit down in your usual seat, you’re met with nonchalant, innocent faces… that last for approximately 20 seconds before Bea explodes, “What the hell??!?!”

“You dropped a bomb in the group chat and then radio silence?!!”

“That was him outside?! He’s the size of a fucking refrigerator!”

“DO YOU HAVE A SEX LIMP?”

Rory’s outburst stuns several nearby tables into silence, as your friends all turn to face you, expectantly. Sheepishly, you nod and giggle, “… but he fucked it better yesterday.”

Your friends whoop and cheer so loud you’re sure that you’re going to need to find a new brunch location after today. Feeling bad for having inadvertently left them in suspense earlier, you tell your friends everything, minus the details about the Fett Family and Din’s past and current ties, leaving it as Din coming from a rough neighbourhood and being hypervigilant about safety.

“Seems like he was trying to look out for you, but wound up being kind of stupid about it,” muses Lala. Everyone nods; they’re right of course, but the dreamy look you have on your face convinces your friends that you and Din have worked past it. They press you for more details about your weekend, and you talk so much that your food goes cold.

At one point, you have to remind your friends that this is Katie’s birthday brunch and you shouldn’t be monopolizing the conversation, but Katie waves her hand dismissively and says that all she wants for her birthday is to know how many orgasms you’ve had since she last saw you.

Popping a strawberry in your mouth, you muse, “Including this morning?”

“GIRL.”

Mouth full after adding a forkful of fruit, you hold up both hands, palms out and fingers spread, then fold down one thumb.

“Holy shit, no wonder you had a sex limp.”

The table giggles uncontrollably and you use the opportunity to shovel more food in your mouth before your friends assail you with more questions.

When your plates are being cleared, you lean back in your chair, stomach full, and spot a familiar hulk of a character sitting at the bar. Giving Din a little wave, he smiles and gets up when you wave him over.

Getting permission from a waiter to pull over a chair, Din folds his large frame into his seat next to you and says, rather nervously, “Hi. I’m Din.”

“Oh, we know,” cackles Rory, and you cover your face, you’re giggling so much.

You make the introductions, and Din politely shakes everyone’s hands while your friends all smirk knowingly at him. They’re such menaces. Din breaks the ice, “So you guys want my place and time of birth to do my star chart?” This gets a good laugh, and when that dies down, Bea looks Din dead in the eye, “Yeah, we do.”

Din roars with laughter, “Might as well, I have a feeling there aren’t going to be any secrets between me and you ladies.”

“Right-o, dude. Can you also get some socials so we can keep an eye on you?”

“No can do, sorry. Like this one says,” Din’s finger jabs lovingly into your side, “I’m too much of an old man. But you’re all welcome to come and work out at my gym if you want to check up on me. Anytime,” holding his hands up in surrender.

“Any cute guys at your gym?”

“You’re looking at the cutest guy there,” you cut in, grinning uncontrollably when Din leans over to give you an appreciative kiss on your temple.

Before your friends can groan at this cute display, the waiter who Jen has been trying to flag down comes over so she can ask for the check, and to the table’s surprise, he responds, “The bill’s been paid. All taken care of,” and gives Din a nod.

You turn to Din, shocked, “Din!!”

Din looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, “It was… an accident.”

Incredulously, you say, “Did your credit call fall into the reader?”

“No, no,” Din implores, “I got here early, so I got a coffee at the bar, and then thought I would pay for your meal, pretty bird.” You instinctively soften at the pet name, and you know your friends do too.

Din runs his hands through his hair, “Then I remembered it was Katie’s birthday, so I asked the waiter if he knew which meal was the birthday girl’s so I could pay for that too,” he’s getting kind of flustered now. “…Then, I thought that might be kind of unfair for everyone else because you were probably going to split Katie’s meal so now everyone left would be paying more than before… and I couldn’t take it back, so… I just paid for everyone,” he finishes in a hurry.

“Why are you so cute?” you ask, purposefully pouty, pulling Din in for an appreciative kiss – he wasn’t trying to be boastful or impressive, he was just being thoughtful. You can’t help but feel pride in showing this Din to your friends: he’s charming and confident, but ultimately just a giant teddy bear whose own considerate and kind nature can’t help but shine through.

“Ok fine, you’re forgiven,” quips Rory, and Din breaks out into a huge smile as he mimes wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and exhales, “Whew!”

The girls chorus their thanks, and you know that they’re truly appreciative and touched by his sweet gesture.

“My pleasure,” Din says, genuinely, “and Happy Birthday!” he says to Katie.

“Thank you! The best birthday gift you could give me is taking care of our girl here,” smiles Katie, with sincerity.

Din wraps his arms around you and you tilt your face up to his, melting into his look of adoration. “Consider it done,” he says softly before lightly pressing his lips to yours.

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #modern au #modern!din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff

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forestshadow-wolf · 9 months

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Thinking about your post about soapghost settling their arguments by fighting it out: one day they have an argument about something serious, some sort of major life decision (retirement, marriage, kids, something like that and really the only reason its an argument is because one of them is scared shitless by the idea) and it ends up on the mats with them yelling arguments about why it is/isn't a good idea until one of them just stares at their partner who is yelling passionately about the life they could have together and just... let's himself get pinned.

👀 did I do good?

thankyou for this ask !!!! this actually rots my frickin' brain and I needed an excuse to write more for this using this ask to force the arguments post into my girl-dad au, but doesn't have to be read that way.

P.s. this is a long one. Imma put ot under the cut

I imagine, way way before they retired, they had married and long-since agreed to retire together.

they'd fought about retiring. Ghost didn't mind the idea of it, was waiting for it to happen actually. but soap, he had quite a few hang-ups about it. see, he'd joined the army at an early age, as soon as he was legal, which means he doesn't really have any civilian life experience. what if he's not ready, what is it doesn't work for him, what if he can't do it, what if, what if, what if...

they argued, it was one of the first BIG arguments they'd ever had. but it's fine, they had a system. they get one day to resolve it with words, if they can't solve it, they take it to the mats. the logic is if you really believe in your argument, then you'll fight defend it adequately.

it was evident when they ended up on the mats on the second day that they hadn't resolved it. There was a mutual apoken agreement that they don'ttake the argumentoff the mats once it entered. they traded blows just as frequently as they traded arguments.

hours later they were panting and exhausted, and still hadn't come to an agreement, and nor had either of them won. so for the first time ever, they had to put the argument on pause. the put it aside for the night, cleaned up, had dinner, and fell asleep in each other's arms. the next morning they were back on the mats.

there was some point, when they were locked shoulder to shoulder, sweat making their skin stick together, and they were too out of breath to hiss arguments at each other. there was a moment where soap could hear Ghost's breath come out shaky with exertion, but still he pushed harder. soap realized that this, Simon retiring with his Johnny, was really truly important to Ghost.

it's not like he didn't know that, but still, the revelation almost makes him falter. suddenly it's like every argument he made against it, became irrelevant. he breaks away from Ghost's hold, panting. in a brash decision he dives for Ghost's legs, he knows what follows will be a grab around his waist just before his back slams into the mat. the sound that reverberates through the heated, sweaty air is, however, surprisingly loud. he lays there, gasping for the breath that got knocked out of him, and lets Ghost pin him down.

After soap finally agreed to retire with Ghost one day, he starts thinking about it. Really thinking. About how he grew up in a large family, and even in the military his life has been revolving around moving parts and people. He thinks maybe he might want a kid or two, not as many as his parents, but one or two.

Ghost says no immediately after soap brings it up.

He's afraid he'll do a bad job, that he'll mess it up. Or even worse; become his father. I mean, how is he supposed to be a good dad of he doesn't even know what that means! Christ! He's just gonna mess them up! He's not cut out to be a father. All he's know is death and hurt. How is that supposed to translate into something good.

This one. This argument lasted even longer than the one about them retiring. This one lasted almost an entire week.

And again like last time they got one day, before they hit the mats. That one day, was the single most tense day on base. Neither soap nor ghost could speak to eachother without circling back to the argument at hand. And of course nobody was willing to break up the fight, lest they get pulled into it.

For the six days after that, they shed their responsibilities, and hit the mats. And it was viscous. Neither held back. They were evenly matched. One fueled by fear, and the other; hope or love, choose your pick.

Even still there was an understanding that once the argument entered the mats, it stayed there when they left, to be picked back up when they came back.

They were sent on one mission during that time, on the sixth day after they hit the mats. It was supposed to last to be easy, would take them less than a day. Of course something went wrong, because something always goes wrong. They both almost died, but through some ruck of luck they got out barely scathed.

The put their gear away, ate, and hit the mats again; despite how tired they were. And Ghost, the moment that ge stepped back onto the mat again, he knew. He knew that he'd do anything for soap. They'd almost died today. But they didn't. Infact, they barely even had any scratches on them.

But still he couldn't fight that instinct to fight, to push back. And still soap was smiling that damned smile. He was so sure of himself, so sure of that he could get ghost to say yes.

And rightfully so. Because one moment he was lifting soap to throw him over his shoulder, and the next he was the one on the ground, soap having used his own momentum to pull his legs out from under him.

And he could have fought it, his mind screamed at him to. But soap was still grinning, and he knew that there was no way he'd be winning.

Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps he could learn to be not like his father. Perhaps he could learn to be a dad. Perhaps there was a chance, with soap by his side, showing him how, that he would ruin the child or children that they got. Perhaps soap could show him how to not be like his father.

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jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear · 3 months

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Update on mom

I am currently back home after a whole night by my moms hospital bed. Things are looking positive, but there's still a lot we don't know and more tests to do. They can surmise she had a stroke some days after a fall last Saturday, but after viewing the brain scans and getting advice from my dad (retired doctor) I feel a bit better.

I had to come up for a mental break, to clean apartment for mom's return, and make sure the cats (Scarecrow and Smudge) don't starve lmao

Whatever you may believe in, prayers, good vibes---please send them my way for my mom. She's my rock.

Still scared, but my mom said this when getting a feeding tube in

"I'm not ready to die today"

and that's AMAZING when she could barely speak hours before.

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crash-and-cure · 1 year

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

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

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

Word Count: 14.5K

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

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is news to you.

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

That is also news to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Focused?” you finish.

“Exactly.”

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

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

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Either.”

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

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

“...but not impossible?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it’s a real shame,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

How did he- Of course he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to Mark?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama you gotta say it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“You said can’t not that you don’t.”

“Because it’s wrong Elvis!”

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

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

“And what about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No you don’t. “You do?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Ma,” you say in protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

You simply don’t want to.

And you know why.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t wake up in a cold sweat.

You woke up wet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I bad for my job?”

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

“Sorry… um hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Why am I just hearing this now?”

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

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

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

“I’m not here to discuss them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

“And he can trust you!?”

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

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

“I would never in a million yea-”

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As you sit in your office, you once again see your doctorate degree. You know that save for proven academic dishonesty, your old university can’t revoke your degree, but you idly wonder if they would make an exception once they hear how monumentally you’ve messed up. You hang your head in shame as you prepare yourself to face the future.

You hear him enter your office, though with your head in your hand you’re too ashamed to look at him fully. You ignore his questions and simply slide the document toward him.

“Baby what’s this about?” He said, grabbing the papers.

“That's the file needed to make a complaint against a licensed psychiatrist in the state of Tennessee,” you say, absolutely sure of the steps that must be taken to protect him. “If you need, I can give you the number of the board of psychologists to file the complaint directly to them.”

“Darlin’ you’re scarin’ me. Why would I do that?” Sounding even more confused.

“Elvis, I-I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice quivering. You steel yourself as you take a deep breath and open your no doubt bloodshot eyes again. “I don't know how… or who, but… Parker got a hold of me.”

The concern in his face drops and is quickly taken over by a fury you’ve never seen in him before. He stands up and immediately begins to stalk around the room, restless and enraged like a caged lion as he all but roars “What did that sonuvabitch want?! What did he tell you?!”

“Elvis…”

“That old toad ain’t never spout anythin’ but lies! I swear if I ever see him again, I’m gon-”

“Elvis he knows!” you shout. You’ve never raised your voice to him, so he's taken aback and you continue. “He knows about us, and he’s threatening to go public with it if I don’t get him back in. And if he goes to the media, then he’s going to use this as a reason as to why you should be under a conservatorship.”

“What the fuck is a conservatorship?!”

You swallow the bile in your mouth as you tell him what that would entail for him, and how either way Parker finds a way back in. “Elvis this is why you have to be the one to report me, because then it’ll at the very least demonstrate how you are capable of looking out for yourself.”

You expected more rage. You expected belligerence. Hell you were even prepared for denial. What you weren’t ready for was the quiet. Elvis, who's someone almost constantly in motion, falls back into his seat, completely frozen. His face is devoid of all color and his breathing is coming in short bursts, but it's his eyes that frighten you the most. It’s the look you’ve become all too familiar with as it’s the almost exactly the same thousand yard stare you’ve seen in your fathers eyes hundreds of times. Acting on instinct alone, you crossover to him, drop to your knees and bring your hands to his face to try your best to ground him.

You beg, you bargain, you even resort to kissing him all over his face in an effort to bring him back to you, until eventually you feel the tears start to fall down his face. It’s like a floodgate has been open as he leans forward and you hear him break into heart-breaking wails on your shoulder. You’re no stranger to people crying in your office, not even to men crying in your office, but this is a new experience with Elvis. His full body, wracking sobs are a devastating thing to hear, and you can’t help the tears that fall from you as you hold onto him. You cry even harder as he begins to whimper how much he loves you and how sorry he is that he got you into this mess.

“I-I’ll go back,” your head snaps up at this. “Y/N, I’ll go back to him, if that’s what I gotta do.”

“Elvis, please…” you sob.

“He’s still got his goddamn claws in me!” He shouts in your face, and seeing your fear he dials it back with a softer tone. “But he ain’t gon’ get them in you Y/N. I-I can’t lose you too.”

“No Elvis, listen,” you plead, taking his hands and all but begging on your knees. “If you report me, and we stop, then he-”

“Then he can still go public and paint me as a fuckin’ headcase,” he says disheartened, as he seems to accept his fate.

You, on the other hand, are having trouble wrapping your head around how you could have overlooked something so crucial. He’s right, you think, Nothing can stop Parker from going public at any moment. Unless…

Suddenly a new idea strikes, and you gather yourself for what you have to say next, “Not if you get ahead of the story.”

“What?”

“If you get to the press before Parker, then you’re the one who controls the narrative. Parker is a known crook so anything he has to say about it will be seen as him desperately trying to be a part of the story.” you try to reason.

He looks at you and you can hear the gears shifting in his head as he thinks of this suggestion. In spite of his tear stricken expression, a small smile begins to form until it abruptly drops, “Baby… if I do that, then ain't you gonna lose your-”

“I know,” you cut him off, attempting to sound as neutral about the whole thing as possible. You’re trying to remain a bulwark for his sake, because the last thing you want is for him to feel guilty for the situation you created. “It’s alright Elvis. If you go back to him, you’re going to die.” You’re not sure what makes you so certain, but you’ve never been so sure about anything else you’ve said to him. “I-I couldn’t live with myself if you went back to him because of me,” you speak truthfully, though your bottom lip quivers. “This is-” you choke, but quickly recover. “This is the best way to ensure that he doesn’t have anything over your head.”

And just like that everything you’ve built, everything you’ve worked for will be dashed away. You could have potentially survived a private investigation, but being thrust into the spotlight on an international, no global, scale and your actions of the past year being put under the microscope. There is simply no way, whatever story Elvis comes up with, the psychology community at large will have to put up a hard line as to acceptable behavior and they will do everything in their power to disown you.

All those sleepless nights spent studying, all the money you saved, and all the estranged relationships. You’ve put everything you are into building up this practice and all of it is being thrown away to save one patient.

Let’s hope he’s worth it.

“You’re comin’ with me,” he states, taking your shaky hand in his.

“Elvis, no…” you half-heartedly protest, but it seems that the last twenty-four hours have taken all the fight out of you, as your grip on his hand tightens because even you recognize you don’t want to let go. You’re fucked anyway you spin it, so whatever story he spins about your relationship is out of your hands anymore.

“Yes you are,” he states, putting his hands underneath your face and bringing you to look into his eyes. His cerulean pools bore into yours, and you know you’re done for. “Baby, I promise you right now. I’m gon’ take care of you, and you’re gonna take care of me.” he breathes out caressing your cheek. You lean in further and you resent how easily you submit to his touch, how you’ve both literally and metaphorically put your life into this unstable man's hands. You see one corner of his mouth curl into an relieved grin as he says, “Our life’s gonna be perfect. You know why?”

You know for a fact it’s not (at least not for you), but you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Because I’m your girl” you answer in a small voice, while a few tears fall out of the corner of your eyes.

“That’s right mama,” he says, brushing away your tears, his mind fully lost in the fantasy you’ve helped make a reality. “You’re always gon’ be my bestest girl.”