#cool heat ch 4

[thirsty4villains]

Cool Heat

Summary: You're an assistant for the Avengers. Loki has been hiding up in his room for the past week. You go to check on him and he's reverted back to his Jotun form, but he's not quite himself. The two of you discover that Jotuns go into cycles of heat, and Loki hasn't been in his Jotun form for over a millennia...

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of dubcon

Tags: Loki lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers, PIV, smut, humor, romance, Jotun!Loki, dom!Loki, spanking, more tags to be added

Find me on AO3, Wattpad. Previous chapters/other Loki fics on Tumblr by me here.

Notes: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO PATIENT, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to roll out. Real life stuff, I hope y'all understand. Please enjoy!

Tagged users: @nyxxharmonia @mischief2sarawr @drunkbirdbug @lorelibrarianlizbit @strawberry--fawn @thenotoriouserg @hereforsmutbcicantgetenough @salvinaa @bellajg21 lorielulu7 

CHAPTER 4

You woke up feeling more rested than you did most mornings. If you knew Loki was this good at sex you may have hit him up earlier. Asshole or no, he knew what he was doing. Last night’s events replayed in your head repeatedly: your dream that wasn’t a dream, your conversation, and ultimately the conclusion. They spun around in your head as you tried to assess because it was hard to believe that you had sex with Loki. You also wondered, was it wrong that you weren’t angry at him for having sex while you were unconscious? It definitely wasn’t right of him, but you’d been feeling so lonely and horny – horny for him – that you didn’t care. You quite enjoyed it, actually.

After mulling these thoughts, you took a shower, got dressed, and threw the sheets in the washer. It was nearing 11:00 am on a Tuesday. Shit, you were supposed to submit some reports to Coulson by nine!

You ran to the elevator and went back up to the penthouse. Gathering your paperwork and opening your laptop, you opened up the S.H.I.E.L.D. database and began uploading the work you should have submitted two hours ago. Thankfully, there were no text messages, emails in your inbox, or missed calls on your phone, so Coulson must be preoccupied this morning. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the time stamp that read 11:28am.

In this moment you were eternally grateful the majority of your work was remote because if you came into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters three hours late because you slept in, Fury would have your head.

With that problem finished, you went to check on Loki. Back down in the bedroom areas, you stood in the hallway and knocked on his bedroom door. A sense of deja vu swept over you.

“Come in,” the god’s voice said behind the door.

The knob turned and you entered Loki’s room. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall opposite him. He seemed not all there.

“Loki?” you asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Not worse, but not better, either.”

“So you’re still..?”

“Still enormously frustrated sexually? Yes.”

A wave of insecurity washed over you. “It wasn’t… bad, was it?”

He shook his head. “Quite the contrary, it was exactly what I needed. I felt better, instantly. But it came back as soon as I awoke this morning. The fundamental issue I am facing, however, is this dreaded blue color – and these horns. I cannot will this form away with magic no matter how hard I try.”

You apologized for his state.

“Are you not disgusted by me?” the god asked. “After last night?”

“I already told you that it’s okay, you weren’t yourself,” you said.

“I also meant… after.”

“Like, the actual sex?”

He nodded.

“Are you not disgusted by this brutish, carnal form? How rough I was with you. These horns… these claws…” He sneered after looking at his own nails.

“No.” You blushed. “It was really hot, actually.”

For the first time in days, he laughed an actual, genuine laugh. “Sincerely? You human women are so strange. No Asgardian woman in their right mind would bed a Jotun.”

“Their loss,” you said.

He furrowed his eyebrow at you but also, perhaps there was a hint of a smile?

“No matter, my predicament is… URGH!”

Out of nowhere, Loki curled his right hand into a fist and punched the wall. Little pieces of drywall flew outward. Loki retracted his hand and a fist-sized hole was left behind in its wake. He dusted off a thin layer of powder from his knuckles.

You jumped back. “What was that?!”

Loki’s shoulders heaved. “I don’t know! That’s the problem! I don’t know. I have no clue why this is happening now, and why it’s so drastic. I get these changes in mood, like I’m nothing but an adolescent again who cannot even master his own emotions. I feel virile yet emasculated. We had intercourse, so why was it not enough?”

He punched the wall a second time. With gritted teeth and labored breaths he stared at it and you were unsure if the god was lost in thought or would lose his temper entirely. You watched his pecs and the dark blue ridges upon his body move up and down with his breaths. His lean arms, the biceps on them; those horns, those eyes…

Okay, snap back to reality. Loki’s having a crisis. Sex is the only thing that made him feel himself again, even if it was just for a few hours. Like he said, he was in heat; maybe just one go isn’t enough to get the job done.

“Well, we know what we have to do, then.” You outstretched your arms, offering yourself.

He turned from the wall. “What are you –”

“What position do you want me in, Loki?” You interrupted, asserting yourself. You fought the blush creeping up your cheeks. “On my back? On my side? Do you want me to blow you first? Pick one. You want to fix this, right?”

Loki stood there in shock; examining your face, your body language. Or was he checking you out? He dropped his fist that was prepping to punch the wall and his lips stretched into a devious grin.

“On the bed, all fours.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” you replied.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you approached his bed, staying in the crawling position upon his mattress.

To your side he stripped as well, and he was already rock hard. That blueish purple cock sprang from his pants, rearing to go. He climbed onto the bed behind you, examining your backside. You jolted forward as his cold hands touched your thighs. You’d forgotten how cold he felt. His icy fingers traced the smooth skin of your legs.

Then out of nowhere, he spanked you. A cold, red handprint decorated your bottom.

You gave a small screech, jolting forward again – both from the low temperature and the sudden smack.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” you muttered, nodding.

Another smack, and this next screech was mixed with a moan.

“Your assertiveness was quite endearing, but remember your tone when speaking to your king.”

He spanked your ass again.

“My – my king?” you asked.

“Yes, your king. Did I not mention to you the other day that I was kept as a bargain by Odin? I wasn’t any Jotun child, I was Laufey’s son, the king of the Jotuns.”

Another spanking. You felt yourself grow wet amidst the pain.

“N – no, you didn’t mention that part.”

“Though I failed to conquer Earth, and Thor is the first heir to Asgard, since Laufey is dead I am still a king in my own right – of Jotunheim.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, my king.”

He gave you one last spanking, a lighter smack, a playful one. “I forgive you,” he said, lowering himself over your back, so his lips could graze your ear. He placed his hands on your butt, to soothe the irritated skin. The iciness felt good but you also squirmed due to your skin being so sensitive there.

With his new position, his cock rested against your cunt. You prevented yourself from lurching forward. He rubbed the cold member against your lips.

“Now your king shall claim what is his.”

Without further warning, Loki penetrated your opening, sinking completely within you. His chilly member made you clench around him. You gasped as you acclimated to him. Oh god, he was big. You didn’t know how you could forget since the last time you fucked him was literally hours ago, yet you were still in awe. His cool, dextrous fingers brushed your hips, finding the perfect place to grip in order to rail you. Then, he moved within you, and you already felt your juices coating him and your own thighs. Completely at his mercy, you allowed him to take all of you, as you kneeled on the bed, all fours, like an animal. He slipped in and out of your cunt at a deliciously fast pace, hitting the right spot every time. Your arms barely kept upright as you tried to keep up the weight of yourself and your balance as the god of mischief rocked your body.

While fucking you, Loki removed one hand from your hip to grasp your hair and tugged. Your head tilted backward so that you were forced to look straight forward instead of below. On one hand you could count how many times you were in Loki’s room, and you didn’t realize until now that he had a mirror mounted above the bed frame, so when he pulled your hair you were forced to look at the scene. You, your tits hanging, on hands and knees, and the blue god of mischief with one hand fisted in your hair and his cock taking you for all you’re worth. His mouth flashed a devious smile as your eyes connected through the mirror, and his red eyes gleamed of hunger and dominance. He tightened his fist in your hair and spoke.

“Enjoying the view?”

In your pleasure you found it difficult to form words.

He spanked your ass. The combination of that, your hair, the view ahead, and your cunt sent sparks through your body. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips.

“I asked you a question.”

Your legs quaked like jello, but you managed to say: “Yes!”

The light in the god’s eyes danced. Another smile graced his face, “Good.” 

He released your hair. Your head fell forward again, your arms collapsed underneath you, and now your face was buried in the mattress. With nothing but your ass in the air, Loki continued to drive into your pussy, chuckling at the state of you; tired, splayed out, and completely surrendered to him. He gave another playful spanking on your behind.

You gathered the blankets underneath, balling them in your fists as Loki delivered your pleasure unto you. All you could do was hold on, listen to the sounds of his hips slapping your skin and the wet noises of furious lovemaking, and praise his body into the bed. Your legs, before jello, were now an autumn leaf shaking in the wind and you knew you were so close. Loki dug his claws into your hips, claiming you once again and you were gone. Shouting into the blankets, your cunt tensed before finally releasing, and you climaxed on the god’s cold, pulsing cock; riding the waves and yet somehow keeping your ass in the air.

Your climax, however, was the catalyst for his own and Loki burst within you, sending a final few thrusts into your hole. He filled you again, uttering his own release to the heavens. Then you both collapsed onto the bed.

When he found the strength to roll off you, you excused yourself to his bathroom to clean up. After that, as well as re-brushing your hair and getting dressed, you entered his bedroom again to find him on the bed reading a book. Loki was still naked as the day he was born. One long, lean blue leg was crossed over the other as he lay back. Your eyes traced the ridges of his Jotun form up along his toned body, then up his face and ending at the curve of his horns. His eyelashes fluttered against his ruby-red eyes. How in the world did he see himself ugly in this form?

You spoke up: “It’s getting close to afternoon. I’m gonna make breakfast. Want anything?”

Loki looked up from his book and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll have whatever you are having.”

“Cool,” you said, returning upstairs to the penthouse.

In the kitchen you pulled out the cookware and ingredients to make scrambled eggs and hash browns. The items sizzled on the pans, filling the kitchen with the aroma of eggs, potatoes, and spices. Your stomach growled in approval and restlessness. Loki joined shortly behind you, now clothed in his usual garb of black and green. His horns stood high and mighty, even regal, atop his head, cutting through the air.

“This is the first time I have been out in this state at midday in nearly a fortnight,” Loki remarked. He looked around the room, almost as if he’d forgotten what it looked like bathed in noon’s light. 

“That’s rough. I’m sorry,” you said. “How do you feel now?”

“Better – much. I had thought I would need intercourse once and this would go away. Now, I am not so sure. I am hoping… soon.”

You nodded. “Yeah, especially since we don’t know when the others will come back from that mission, and if you’re still ‘sick’,” you airquoted. “...by the time they get back, I’m pretty sure they’re going to start getting nosy, maybe even suspicious.”

Loki growled, not enthused by that thought. A slight tingle tickled your southern area. Instantly, you wondered: were you an asshole for being attracted to his irritability? It’s not like you meant to, but the growling was, well…

“Do you need help with the cooking?” Loki said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, thank you.” Good distraction from that moral dilemma. Thank you, Loki. “Actually, could you help clean up? Put some of the things away for me while I watch the stove?”

The god nodded and proceeded to help with his tasks. Cabinets were opened and closed as he put the spices away, he went and washed the silverware you weren’t using anymore, and threw the eggshells and other trash in the garbage. The food would be ready in just a few minutes.

The kitchen grew quiet again when he finished. So quiet, you thought he may have slinked off somewhere – to the bathroom or something. Until you felt a pair of hands on your hips.

“And you are well after our encounters?” he asked, his voice low and husky. His cool breath tickled your ear. 

One of his hands moved lower, cupping your ass slightly. A jolt of electricity flowed through you. He had you pinned between his front and the kitchen counter.

“The eggs,” you said in protest. 

“What about the eggs?” he quipped, squeezing you lightly.

“They’ll burn. Don’t distract me.”

“Then don’t get distracted.”

Loki proceeded to move his other hand to your other ass cheek, kneading both hands on your behind through your shorts. His mouth lowered closer to you, gliding his cold tongue against your neck. The hairs on your arms stood on their ends, goosebumps budding. The god licked slowly, deliberately. You shivered and Loki chuckled lightly against your skin. He bared his teeth -- his fangs -- and grazed the points over your carotid.

You tried to pay attention to the cooking food; flipping over the eggs, watching the potatoes, adjusting the heat as necessary. However, you were facing much difficulty ignoring the rising heat within your body.

Loki switched between teeth and tongue, lapping and nipping at your neck. You gasped when he bit your earlobe, smoothing over the pain with another lick. One of his hands moved to your front, sneaking underneath your shorts and underwear to play with you. His fingers toyed with your slit, wetting them in your slick and using his lubricated digits to circle your clit. You did your best to not lurch into the hot stove with his cold hands pleasuring you. Your hands gripped the handle on the oven as you moaned aloud.

“I told you not to get distracted,” the god teased. You opened your eyes – which you didn’t realize you’d even closed and quickly removed the eggs from the heat. The ends browned a bit, but they were nowhere close to burned; just a bit more cooked than you’d like them to be.

Your hands returned to the oven’s door handle, bracing yourself so your legs wouldn’t give in. Loki teased you mercilessly: one hand on your ass, the other playing with your clit, and his mouth, tongue, and lips attacking your neck and ear. You could already feel the hickey forming.

“Turn your head toward me,” the god urged.

You did, and met his gaze. He stole a kiss, deep and wanton, and cold; deliciously and illicitly cold. As you kissed, you realized this was your first one with him. A bit backwards, given you’d had sex twice before even kissing, but not unwanted. No, not unwanted at all. His kiss made you lightheaded and shivery, especially as he dove his tongue into your mouth. All this while he massaged your clit, soft and engorged and wet.

When the kiss broke, you took the hash browns off the heat too. “It’s hard to not get distracted when I can’t even see what’s in front of me.”

“Well, there’s no more distracting then, given the food’s done.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Loki yanked your shorts and underwear down your legs. They pooled at your ankles. He barely gave you any time to shake them off before parting your legs for him, exposing your opening for him, and he entered you swiftly. You gave a choked sound as you adjusted to him, his thick, chilly, irresistible cock planted within you. His hands moved; one on hip and the other under your shirt to pinch your nipples.

“I thought you were good,” you croaked.

“Oh, I’m more than good now,” Loki uttered as he began to move within you.

“I mean… We just fucked… not even twenty minutes ago, and already… Mmmf.” You bit your lip as he hit that sweet spot within you.

“What can I say? I finished cleaning up, then I began watching you. Your shorts barely covering your ass, accentuating your thighs, how your hair cascades down your shoulders. Something like a switch flipped inside me. I had to have you. You won’t deny me now, surely?”

“N – no.” Your thighs pressed together and your eyes shut closed. With anyone else this would be too much, but with him you didn’t find yourself growing tired, nor sore, nor overstimulated. Something about Loki, his touch, his voice made you want his sex just as much as he required it for his sanity.

So he fucked you there, on the kitchen counter, in front of the stove. The god of mischief thrusted into you, his chest pressed against your back. The chill of his skin radiated from his chest through your shirt, and of course his cold hands on your breasts and cock buried inside you aroused your senses and your attention. He drove his cock upward, and the best you could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked his divine jotun lechery into you. As they did when you were taken from behind, your thighs shook, your pussy clenched, and with a snap Loki spilled his frigid seed into you. His fingernails dug into your hips and teeth sunk into your neck as he completed his final thrusts, filling you with his load.

The two of you took a moment to catch your breaths. His chest rose and fell against your back, his wintry breath panting upon your skin. When he removed himself, a wet plop noise sounded as his cock exited you. His seed within you trickled down your legs, droplets of him dripping onto the tile floor. You moaned impatiently upon his removal, as you were still flushed with arousal. 

“Patience, woman,” the god spoke. “I am not yet done.”

Without warning, he grabbed you and moved you to an empty space on the counter. Placing you with your back against the granite, he lined his still erect cock with your entrance. His hands grabbed your ankles, resting them on the dip of his shoulders and again, he drove into you.

You screamed.

The frost giant god railed you with his cock, with complete and total access to your cunt, filling you to the brim. Within seconds, he hit the sweet spot within you at the perfect, fast, desperate pace, and you came on him. Your walls pulsed and contracted as you rode his cold member through your orgasm, screaming at the ceiling of Stark Tower. All the muscles in your body relaxed and you finally opened your eyes to see the face of a demon grinning lasciviously at you. His raven black hair rested upon his shoulders, a pretty contrast to his sapphire skin, and you watched him as he fucked you to a second completion.

A third time today – or was it fourth, since technically you fucked after midnight last night, and then this morning, and now… Your brain was too addled but yes, four was probably right. For a fourth time today, Loki came inside you, his member pulsating within you, ejaculating and filling you once again.

He bent down and bit your neck before separating. His scarlet eyes roamed over your body, entirely used and spent. He chuckled to himself. You must have been quite a sight at the moment, with your hair every which way and utterly drenched of him.

With a flick of his wrist, a golden hue emanated from his hands and then disappeared – the mess with it. All of his cum – on the counter, inside you, on the floor, vanished as if it had never existed. With a light head you carefully sat up and jumped down from the counter.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Loki said.

“I’ll be fine, I just need food. It’s not customary for me to fuck multiple times before breakfast. I’m on an empty stomach right now and I just came three times in half an hour.”

You redressed yourself and plated the food. “Great, well, it’s almost cold now. You interested in cold eggs? ‘Cause that’s what we’re getting.”

“Are you saying you regret our tryst?” he teased.

“No. Yes… I don’t know. No, no I don’t regret it, but I don’t want cold breakfast either!”

You plopped your plate on the dining table harder than was necessary and sat in the chair, ready to eat your sad breakfast.

The god flicked his wrist again, and instantly steam emanated from your food. The smell of warm food filled your nostrils again and you devoured your breakfast.

“Would a ‘thank you’ hurt?”

“Fank you,” you said, mouth half-full.

Loki quirked an eyebrow at the utter impropriety. He redressed himself and joined you at the table.

“We are probably going to need to fuck once breakfast is finished. I’m already feeling the urge again.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” you muttered. This was the worst best problem you’ve ever encountered.

And he was true to his word. When the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, Loki had you on the counter again.

#cool heat #jotun loki #loki #loki x reader #cool heat ch 4 #fanfiction #loki fanfiction #fanfic #loki fanfic #romance #loki x you #smut

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 15]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Words: 8.1k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The first thing you process as you begin to come to is a slow, rhythmic beeping. It is dull and low and it almost carries you right back into the nothingness. You slip in and out of the fog a few times before your mind is able to catch a hold of conciseness. Even then, it feels like everything crawls by until your thoughts go from incoherent images to actual awareness. 

You feel awful - like you've been hit by a massive truck, who then backed up over you only to run you over again. Everything aches, but the worst of it is centered on the left side of your head, going down to your neck. It throbs and feels so stiff. You don't think you could move your head if you tried.

The second worst thing is how dry your mouth feels. It is as if someone stuffed you full of cotton to remove all the moisture from your body, then to make sure you were drained, dried you out under a heat lamp. It hurts to even try to swallow the little saliva your mouth is producing.

You need something to drink. 

Like some sort of miracle, something cold and wet is pressed to your lips. It startles you, but you react quickly. You force your lips to part and an ice chip is slipped between them. You suck on it desperately and it only takes a second for it to melt away, but almost instantly you are given another one. This happens two more times before your mouth finally doesn't feel like a desert. 

Your eyes are hard to open. They feel crusted shut and you don't know if you have the energy to try and pull them apart, but you try. It takes multiple attempts, but finally they open. Everything is far too bright and blurry.

Matt comes into focus above you, face wracked with concern. His hair is a mess and it looks like he hasn't slept in ages. His eyes, while sightless, are puffy and bloodshot and you wonder if he has been crying. Your brow knits in confusion and you try to reach for his cheeks to offer some sort of comfort. Your hand doesn't make it far off whatever you are laying on, but it doesn't matter because as soon as it is in the air, he's clasping his around yours. 

He breathes out your name just as you croak out his. 

Above you, he lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, like he is relieved, before moving even closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours and you let your eyes fall shut again - you're too tired to keep them open and you don't think he will mind the lack of eye contact.

“You scared me,” he whispers against you, before you feel his lips brush your cheek. 

You manage a confused noise, not understanding what is going on. Your throat burns as you attempt to talk, “what happened…?”

“You've got a pretty bad ear infection,” he tells you and you think that sounds about right. Everything hurts so much and you are far too warm. The cotton feeling in your mouth is also in your left ear, making it feel like half your head is dunked under water.

He is so close, his breath warms your still cool lips as he talks, “It hit you hard and fast - your fever got up to 104 and you wouldn't wake up. We had to bring you to the hospital, but you'll be okay now. Your fever has gone down a lot.”

The words float through you and it takes you a few seconds to grasp onto them and make them make sense. “We…?” You question because you don't know who ‘we’ could be. 

“Foggy and I,” he confirms. The hand not clutching your own cups your jaw and feels so cool and nice that you can't help but lean into it. He gives you another kiss, this time to the forehead, with his scruff lightly scratching against you. It tickles. 

You realize a name is missing and your heart starts to race. Matt hasn't mentioned your daughter and you start to panic. 

Where is she? Where's your baby?

“Minnie?” You ask, but to your non-stuffy ear, it sounds more like a whine.

He quickly starts to shush you, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheek, “it's okay, she's okay. She's safe. Foggy took her to go get some breakfast. She's okay. She's okay.”

His words do calm you, but your heart still pounds in your chest. You know Matt trusts Foggy, so to an extent, you do as well, but you want your daughter. You want to hold her and make sure she is truly alright. She must be so scared. 

You get another kiss to the forehead and it pulls you from your worried yet sluggish thoughts. You decide you like the feeling of Matt's beard against your skin. It's not something you're used to, and even if it is a little scratchy, it feels nice. It makes you feel warm but not like your supposed fever is making you feel warm. It's a good warm that wraps around your heart. It helps to soothe you - Matt would never allow your little one to be in any danger. 

“Try to get some rest, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere - I'll be right here when you wake up, again. I swear,” he whispers into your hairline and you find yourself nodding into his palm. 

Sleep sounds good - you're tired and achy. Your eyes are so heavy you couldn't possibly open them again. You are slumping back down into your pillow before you know it, thoughts slowly buzzing back into nothing. 

The darkness takes you easily and you drift off without realizing Matt is practically clinging to you.

----

When you wake again, things make a little more sense. The hazy heavy fog is no longer covering your brain and you are more aware of what is happening around you before you open your eyes.

You can hear people walking around and talking outside your little room and everything smells disgustingly sterile. You can feel where IVs have been placed into your arm and the different monitors attached to your chest. You also know Matt is still clutching your hand and that motivates you to actually look around. 

Your head is tilted to the right, stretching out the stiffness on the other side, and centered in your view is Matt. He's asleep, head tilted down with his chin nearly to his collarbone. He looks so peaceful with his chest slowly rising and falling and someone has draped a thin blanket around his shoulders, only adding to his gentleness. You can't see it, but you're sure his knees must be bumping against the bed with how close he is to you. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. Had he stayed there this entire time? Has he let go of your hand at all? 

You remember when you were in the hospital to give birth. You had been so lonely - no one had been there to hold your hand or keep watch over you. No one had visited you - though you had received flowers from your work friends. 

Is this what it will be like now? 

You want that desperately - to feel like you matter to someone, for someone to care about you and your well-being, to feel like you aren't always alone. 

You squeeze his hand, and even though you feel absolutely horrible - hot and sweaty and like your head wants to fall off - you find yourself smiling at the sweet, handsome, lawyer who fathered your child. 

You are so happy you forced yourself to tell him the truth. 

You don't hear anything to your left but your heart rate monitor beeping, but your ear is also so clogged up not a lot of noise is getting through and you know it's throwing off your spatial awareness. It hurts to roll your head, but it eases your nerves to find you are alone with Matt in the exam room. However, you can't help the worry that bubbles in your stomach over the lack of your daughter. 

You know she must be with Foggy. The hospital is probably an incredibly unpleasant place for her - you hate being here because of the smells and atmosphere and that must be amplified for her. You can't imagine all the awful things she might hear here - the sick and dying and the surgeries. You are grateful for Matt's best friend. You will have to find a way to thank him properly. 

You force your gaze back to Matt and begin to slowly rub your thumb over his knuckles. He has so many scars there and you don't possibly know how he could have collected them all. He's told you before he practices boxing, but you don't think it is the bare knuckle kind. Maybe the punching bag can split skin - you have no idea about any of it beyond what you've seen in short viral videos. 

You have toyed with the idea of asking about going to the gym with him. You think it would be a fun experience for Minnie and you're curious how fit you actually are. Your workouts consist of chasing a toddler around - star jumps, push ups, and weights are no longer in your repertoire and you haven't properly gone on a run since high school. Plus, Minnie has recently learned what a cartwheel is and you are sure she will want to learn to do one and a gym is a safe place for that. 

You fall into a daydream about Matt teaching you and Mouse how to tumble, closing your eyes again as you do. You picture buying cute little leotards and watching your daughter perform a routine until there's movement under your hand. 

Matt squeezes your fingers, and you open your eyes just in time to see him blink awake. 

He gives you a sleepy smile, then with his free hand pulls his glasses out from somewhere under his blanket and puts them on. You watch him, taking in his crows feet before they disappear. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he shrugs the blanket off his shoulders.

You take a moment to consider the answer. You honestly feel horrible, but you don't feel as horrible as you previously did. There are aches and pains but you feel human again, as opposed to the concept of one. So you squeeze his hand and respond, “Better. I didn't…I didn't think I was that sick.” 

Matt hums and somehow scoots closer to the bed, then lifts your hand up to kiss the back of your hand. You feel your face heat up and your heart rate monitor beeps a little faster. “I'm glad, you gave us a good scare,” he says, keeping your hand against his lips. 

You have to remind yourself he's a very touchy person to keep your heart rate from increasing even more. To help with that, you drop your gaze to his chest - he's wearing a Columbia sweatshirt that is far too big on him and hides his lean frame. 

“What time is it?” His question throws you off at first, but then you realize there is a clock above the curtain entrance to the room. 

It takes you a second to process, which you blame on the illness and not the fact you haven't used an analog clock in ages, “Almost 1:30. I'm…guessing that it is PM. I can't really tell.”

Matt nods and you guess he can tell whether it is day or night. You hope it is day - you'd feel so guilty if you'd been in the hospital longer than a few hours.

Behind your hand, a small smile appears on his face, “Minnie and Foggy are on their way back up. I think she heard - oh. Okay, yes, she heard you talking. She says she has a present for you.”

Your heart pangs for your daughter. You don't want her to see you like this, but you desperately need her in your arms. You try to push yourself up, but you don't know if you have the energy to keep yourself sitting.

“Do you know how the bed works?” You ask and Matt shakes his head. He reaches out and feels along the railings, but by his frown, you guess he can't figure it out. You doubt any of the button labels are in Braille.

“Let me get the nurse.” 

He squeezes your hand once more before letting go. You tell yourself to ignore the strange feeling that envelopes you as he disappears behind the curtain separating you from everyone else. 

You don't want to be alone again. 

But you aren't - Matt is gone for barely thirty seconds before he's slipping back into the room, followed by a tired looking nurse. The woman comes up to your right side and you finally notice a little stand computer tucked by the bed. As she swipes her card key to unlock it, she looks at you, “How are you feeling?”

You decide to go with the same answer you gave Matt, “Better, ma’am.”

“Good, good,” she says as she types something. You go through the quick song and dance of confirming your name and birthdate, before she starts her questions, “Your pain on a scale of one to ten?” 

You have to think about that - your head hurts but not nearly as much as it did last night and your body feels sore and groggy. You bite your lip before estimating, “About a four..?” 

She adds that to your chart, “how about your ear? It should feel a bit clearer, you had a lot of fluid that drained out.”

That surprises you because you definitely do not remember that. You touch your ear and it feels far too warm and sensitive. You had no idea it was the problem, so you feel like you can't compare. 

“I don't know. Full? It…hurts. Like it's…sore on the inside?” you feel like an idiot trying to explain, but you have no idea about ear anatomy. 

The nurse hums, then turns to you, pulling a stethoscope out of her pocket, “I'm going to listen to your lungs. Take a deep breath.” 

You do as you are told as she places the device on your back to listen. You repeat this a few times with her until she's satisfied and she goes to enter her findings in the computer. 

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she tells you before leaning down to adjust your bed, so it can help you sit. You go from laying down to being propped up, “He will go over your discharge instructions.”

You're being discharged? You just woke up and haven't talked to anyone at all. The fact they are sending you away confuses you, “I'm being discharged?”

The nurse nods, not even looking at you as she locks the computer, “Yes. Do you feel you shouldn't be?”

You flush at the question and duck your head in shame. You know better than to question a doctor - if they think you should be discharged, you are fine. You force yourself to shrug and apologize, “No, I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it.”

The nurse simply gives you another hum before leaving to probably go tend to a patient that actually needs her. Almost instantly, Matt is back by your side, taking your hand. He kisses the meat of your thumb as he sits back in his chair.

“If you need to stay, you can stay,” he quietly advises.

You quickly shake your head, “No, it will be fine.” You huff a sad laugh, “It's not like I can afford this anyways.” You don't want to imagine the bill you are going to receive - being brought into the emergency room and given all kinds of medicine. You’ll have no more savings. 

“Don't worry about it,” he quickly tells you, a frown clear on his face. “Focus on getting better. Taking care of yourself. We can tackle the bill later - there's plenty of work arounds.”

Guilt pools in your belly - you don't need Matt worrying about your money problems. You force yourself to nod at his words, simply so he'll not try to comfort you over this issue. You think he must be on to what you are doing because he squeezes your hand and starts to say something, but quickly cuts himself off. You don't understand why until a few moments later - the curtain closing off your room is pushed aside and Minnie barrels in, closely followed by Foggy. 

You barely look at the blonde, instead pulling away from Matt to throw open your arms for your baby. The speed in which she manages to scale Matt and jump to you is impressive and you hug her to you like you're trying to absorb her. Your arm screams at you due to the fact you're trying to bend where your IVs are, but you don't care - and you don't care if your little angel is nearly strangling you with how tight she's hugging you. 

“Don't ever get sick again!” She whines into your neck and you nod against her. You'll never get sick again - what you put her through for being sick will forever live in your mind.

“I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was sick.” 

“It was scary!” 

That absolutely breaks your heart and tears start to fall. 

“I'm so sorry, Minnie,” you choke out as you try to hold her impossibly closer. The guilt you had regarding money transforms into guilt over being sick at all. How dare you put Minnie through this? You should have realized something was wrong. You repeatedly apologize into her hair, trying to keep yourself from sobbing while she clings to you.

You feel the bed dip and then Matt is pulling you both against his chest and pressing his lips to your crown, “Shhh, it's okay. It's okay.”

You try to shake your head because none of this is okay. You scared and upset your daughter and you've got a stupid ear infection that is going to bankrupt you. Nothing is okay. 

“Do you want to show your Mommy what you got her to make her feel better?” Foggy asks Minnie after a minute of you being hysterical and shame courses through you as you are reminded someone else is there, watching you breakdown. 

You are such a fucking mess. 

However, Minnie pulls away from being squashed between you and Matt and jumps off the bed to go to the blonde. You finally notice, through teary tired eyes, that he has a decently sized gift bag. He sets it down on the ground and Mouse has to pick it up by its sides because it's too tall for her to hold by the handles. 

As she tries to figure out how to get back on the bed, you realize Matt is still wrapped around you and you decide you are too tired to fight with your anxiety and guilt any longer. You want his comfort - so you lean more into his arms and he responds by nuzzling you. He begins running his hands over your arms and somehow, it begins to soothe away your upset.

You miss whatever exchange your daughter and Foggy have, but he lifts her up and places her and the gift bag on the bed and she hauls it over to you. 

“We got you a present to get better,” she tells you and you know whatever it is, you'll cherish it. 

There's no tissue blocking your view and you see something pink and white checkered that looks very soft. Before you can move to pull it out, Matt intervenes. He takes your wrist and gently stretches out your arm that has the IV in it, humming against you, “You have to keep your arm straight.” 

You flush at the reminder, feeling like a complete idiot, and use only one hand to pull out the gift. 

It is a massive blanket and it is so so soft. You want to bury yourself in it.

“Oh, Mouse, this will make me feel better. Thank you so so much,” you say as you reach out with your good arm to hug her again. She wastes no time tucking herself back between you and Matt.

“Blankies make everything better,” she advises wisely, “Froggy said so.” 

You can't help but smile at that and hold your daughter even closer. You turn your attention to Foggy, who has just been an absolute saint for watching over your daughter, “Thank you so much, Foggy. For everything. I can't thank you enough.”

He scoffs and waves his hand, “it is my pleasure. This wasn't my first late night Murdock call, it won't be my last, and she is at least a pleasure to be around at three in the morning.”

You want to ask how they even knew you were sick, but you also don't want to know the details. You can only guess Minnie somehow called Matt and you aren't in a place to hear that conversation. The guilt and emotions would overwhelm you even more than you already are and you are so so tired of crying. So you hug your daughter even closer, so she's in your lap, and mumble another thank you. 

Foggy takes a seat in one of the visitor chairs and asks, “has the doctor come yet to talk to you?” You very much appreciate his concern, but most importantly, his tact. You don't feel like he's judging or lying to you. He seems genuinely concerned.

You try to not shake your head at his question, since Matt is still holding you and it would just hurt your head more, and reply “Just the nurse. She said I'm getting discharged.” 

The blonde huffs, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms, “Wow, they really do just turn and burn. Last time I was here, they pushed me through, too. American health care, right?” You hum in agreement - the health care system in America is very bad. 

Foggy dives into a story about being in the hospital when he was a kid. It quickly catches Minnie’s attention and you realize this may be more for her benefit than anyone else's. You try to listen, but instead find yourself resting your head on Matt's shoulder and closing your eyes again. 

You’ll just stay like this, your daughter in your lap and her father holding you against him, until the doctor comes. 

If he takes his time getting to you, you don't think anyone is going to complain. 

---

It takes another three hours for you to be fully discharged. You have to fill out a mass of paperwork before the doctor even speaks to you, but after he does, no time is wasted to clear you out of the needed exam room. 

Any concerns you have about getting home are moot, as Foggy has everything covered. He has borrowed his girlfriend's car and procured a child's seat from his parents - who apparently have multiple due to their ‘hoard of grandchildren’. Minnie doesn't fuss at all, focused on being the best helper she can be by carrying your purse, which had apparently been brought in with you. Matt is insistent on helping you walk, which you are grateful for - standing makes you very dizzy and you have to focus to not stumble. 

To your great surprise, Karen is waiting outside your building as Foggy pulls the car up. She's carrying a few shopping bags, and beside her is a grumpy looking man you vaguely recognize holding a very old fashion looking crockpot. It has an orange vintage flower pattern and you kind of want it. 

No one says anything as you all climb out of the vehicle. Matt quickly gets himself under your shoulder and his arm around your waist while Minnie latches herself to your hand. You don't know if she thinks she's helping or if she's obeying your rule of hand-holding when outside. 

You all awkwardly stand on the sidewalk and you watch as Foggy and the new man have a staring contest. You have no idea what is going on and kind of don't care, as you want to get up to your apartment. After a full minute, Foggy points to the man and declares, “you aren't coming to Thanksgiving,” before marching towards the door to the building. Matt, and thus you, follows after him and as you pass Karen, she snorts with laughter. She and the man fall in line behind you as you make your way to the stairs. 

You just know that if you allowed him, Matt would pick you up and carry you up the three flights of stairs, but you refuse to let it happen. You are dizzy and far too warm, but also very stubborn and you determinedly take each step at a time, refusing to stop until you're on your floor. Only then do you resume leaning into his hold. 

Foggy unlocks your door then ushers you all inside. Minnie lets go of your hand almost instantly, drops your purse, and runs to the bedroom. You guess she is going to grab Pig and Scooby to update them on everything. You make your way to your couch as Karen sets the groceries on the table and her grumpy friend finds a spot on the counter to plug in the crockpot. 

As she unpacks, Karen narrates, “Okay, so I got you all the essentials - Gatorade, tea, saltines, ibuprofen, a compress, and I got you life savers to suck on because that helps when you want something to sweet but don't want to eat anything. I picked up your medicine, it's just ear drops. And of course, the most important thing,” you turn on the couch just in time to see her motion towards your kitchen, “Nelson Family Chicken Soup.”

You stare at the blonde with wide eyes and you feel like you are going to start crying again. No one has ever done this much for you before - not even your ex-boyfriends. Your last one wouldn't even pick up tampons for you, but Karen has clearly gone out of her way and you've only met her a handful of times. You have no idea how to thank her and Foggy for everything they have done for you. You are going to have to bake them a cake or something. As for Matt, you know you are never going to be able to repay him for the comfort and care he has given you in the last few hours.

You are so overwhelmed with love for this little group of friends who are letting you into their life. 

“Thank you so much,” you say, meaning it with all of your heart, “you didn't have to do all of that. Thank you.”

Karen gives you a warm smile before waving you off, “Don't mention it. You'd do the same for any of us.”

You happily would and plan to take notes of what Karen bought, just in case. However, the soup is something that confuses you. Did Matt's best friend bring Minnie to his house to cook? You turn to Foggy, who is examining Minnie’s toy chest, and ask, “You made soup?”

The blonde man looks up with a laugh, “God, no, you don't want me cooking. That was all my mom. Her soup is a cure all.”

“It is,” Matt vouches from beside you. “It can cure almost anything. It got rid of my flu last year.”

“It saved countless Christmases,” Foggy adds.

“It also stops cramps,” Karen confirms. 

You look to the man in the kitchen for his approval and he just shrugs, “Haven't had it, but it smells good.”

You have to cover your face at that point because it is all too much. Foggy's mother made you soup? How did she even know you were sick? Why did she do this for you - someone she's never met? Someone she has no connection to at all? 

An arm wraps around your shoulder and you are pulled to lean against Matt. He nuzzles against you and whispers, “you aren't alone anymore. We're all here for you.” 

You hide yourself against him and he starts to rub your back in a comforting manner. This is far too much for you. You don't know how to process all of it.

Luckily, a distraction from your patheticness comes in the form of your daughter. 

You hear her come back into the living room and boldly ask the strange man in your kitchen, “Who are you?”

You try to listen since you are curious and you can feel that Matt has turned his head to pay attention to his daughter. You stay tucked against his shoulder, wishing you had your new big blanket to wrap yourself in.

“My name's Frank, what's yours, little lady?” The man says and you try to commit the name to memory. You wonder if he is Karen's boyfriend or something - you don't think he's been mentioned before. 

“Minnie!” She declares, then, “This is Pig and Scooby. They like soup, too!” You guess she's held up her toys for him to see. She must be less nervous of the man since he is in your home.

There's a round of chuckles before Frank speaks again, “That right? How about we leave it to your Daddy to get you and your friends some soup and we let your Mommy get some rest?”

There's a few beats of silence before you hear Minnie again, “Okay. Bye-bye, Mister Frank.” 

The man barks with laughter, which barely covers the pitter-patter of feet coming towards you, “Daddy, can we have soup for dinner, I'm hungry.” 

“Of course, princess, I'll make you a bowl.” 

The others must take that as a cue, because when you lift your head up, the three other adults are making their way back to your front door. 

Karen lightly calls out your name to get your attention, and when she sees you looking at her, offers a soft smile, “Feel better soon, and let us know if you need anything.”

“Anything at all,” Foggy adds, “I'm more than happy to play babysitter. Parks are my specialty if the squirt needs to get out all that Murdock energy.”

“I'm not a squirt!” Mouse huffs and you can picture her puffing up her cheeks. 

“I don't know, kid, you look like a squirt to me,” Frank tells her and she lets out a long ‘nooooo’ in response. 

You smile against Matt at the little exchange - you can tell your daughter is extremely fond of Foggy and that makes your heart rest easy. She's never been so vocal around other adults before. 

“Thank you, so much. I really, really mean it,” you tell the people who have come to your rescue. 

“It is really not a problem, you're family, now,” Foggy tells you before directing himself towards Minnie, “Okay, squirt, can I get a high five?” The sound of a toddler running followed by a slap tells you she just did that. “Good girl! Now, help your Dad take care of your Mom and call me if he gives you any trouble, got it?”

“Got it, Froggy!” 

Goodbyes are exchanged then it is just your little family left in your apartment. You finally allow yourself to pull away from Matt.

“You don't need to stay.”

His response is to raise his eyebrows at you, “You think I'm going to leave you alone while you're sick? You need to rest. I’ll take care of everything else. Minnie can finally show me her Scooby movie.”

You want to tell him ‘no’, that you have it handled and he should go get his own rest, but you know it's fruitless. You're learning Matt is committed to his role of being a father and there will be no way to convince him to go. He's a lawyer - he probably already has fifteen arguments ready for why he should stay. 

So you give in and give a small nod, “Okay…” 

He breaks into a big grin, like he expected you to push back and is happy you didn't, “Good. Are you feeling up to some soup?” 

Your stomach turns at the idea of eating anything. You’d been given IV fluids at the hospital and managed a cup of water, but you do not want to eat. There is nothing actually wrong with your stomach - everything is centered on your ear - but that doesn't change the fact you'll probably not be able to keep anything down. 

“No,” you tell him after a moment, then add, “I think I'm going to shower and go to bed.”

“Okay,” he hums, reaching up and oh so gently petting your cheek with the back of his fingers and making a shiver run up your spine, “Let me know if you need anything. You don't need to get up, if you just say anything, I'll hear it, okay?”

You don't like the idea of him being able to hear your sick gross body, but there is nothing you can do about it. You slowly push yourself up, careful to not get too dizzy, then start towards your bedroom. Behind you, Matt starts talking about soup and Scooby with Minnie. 

Once you are alone in your room with the door closed, you break down. You sit on your bed, hide your face in a pillow, and just let out all of your tears. All your frustration, your shame, your guilt, your confusion, your tiredness, and your pain pours out of you. Your shoulders shake as you bite into the pillow to try and hide your sobs and you pray Matt realizes you need to be alone right now and distracts Minnie. You just need to get all of this out of you. 

Your body is so exhausted you can only cry for a few minutes before you are completely drained. You feel slightly better emotionally, but your head is throbbing even more. 

You desperately want to get clean and curl up now. You weakly toss your pillow back on the bed and force yourself up to gather something clean to change into. You place the new garments of the dresser, before going to the closet and pulling out a new sheet for your bed. You know you don't have the energy to strip it, but you don't want to sleep on your own filth. So, you push your blanket off, then lay the clean sheet over the dirty one. 

Satisfied with your meager attempt, you grab your clothes, open the bedroom door, and shuffle to the bathroom. 

You look like absolute shit and don't need your mirror to tell you that, so you try to not look at it. To help, you grab a towel and maneuver it to hang over your medicine box, then strip out of your soiled clothing. 

You let your body go on autopilot to start the shower and as you wait for it to heat up, you wash your face and brush your teeth. That alone makes you feel cleaner. You take your hair out of its ponytail - you washed it on Saturday, so you aren't going to rewash it, but you'd like to wet your skull to remove some sweat. 

You kick your dirty clothes into a corner, then check the spray. It feels nice and hot, but not scalding, and you step in. 

Almost immediately, your vision goes spotty and it feels like your brain is floating in ice water. You have to reach out with both hands and lean on the wall so you don't tumble over and you shuffle to it to press your forehead to the cool tile. 

Maybe a shower wasn't such a good idea after all, but you feel so sweaty and sticky and gross. If you just stand and let the water wash over you, maybe it will help and you won't have to let go of the wall. Or you can just sit on the floor, but with how you are feeling that runs the risk of you not being able to get back up. 

A knock on the door startles you and you have to push more against the tile to keep yourself upright. 

You close your eyes tightly. 

You think it must be Minnie. She's come to go potty when you've been in the shower before and you don't think she went before you left the hospital. You take a deep breath and center yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opens and closes and the voice that speaks isn't Minnie.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head because you are very much not okay in any sense of the word. You don't know how to put that into words or even if you want to. You don't want to go on the emotional rollercoaster again - you're so tired. You just want to get clean and go back to sleep.

You don't mean to space out, but you do. There's just so much going on and your body decides to only focus on remaining upright. So when hands smooth over your waist, you nearly scream. You know it's Matt, but it still scares you. 

Why is he in the shower with you? 

You try to turn around to question him, but his hands tighten around you, keeping you in place. 

“Let me help you.”

The words shake your core. Your heart begins to pound in your chest and you know, if you had any tears left in you, they would be falling. Why is he doing this? Why is he here, asking to help you? Why is he pushing for it?

You feel him step even closer to you and his chest brushes against your back. He breathes your name into your ear, then repeats, “Let me help you, please.”

You try to shake your head and choke out, “You should be with Minnie.” Minnie needs him, she needs his help, not you. He is here to help watch over her, he even said so himself.

His nose bumps against your ear and you feel like your knees are going to give out. Why is he doing this?

“She's trying to give soup to her toys and watching her shows. She doesn't need me right now. You do. Let me help you.”

You push your hands firmer against the tile to keep your balance. 

Matt has been with you all day, holding your hand and keeping you upright until you left his arms to go take a shower. You haven't asked this of him - he's been with you of his own free will. He's been so gentle with you, so caring, so comforting. 

His hands move from your waist around to your stomach and slowly up to your sternum and very gently pulls you flush against his chest. He feels so firm, so steady, holding you up. 

Do you really want to push him away? Do you really want to send him back to watch Minnie? 

You can barely keep yourself standing. You're so dizzy. It feels like at any moment your body is going to give out and you'll collapse.

It feels nice to be held. 

It feels nice that he is here for you, for whatever motivation he has. 

You think of your daughter. How scary this must be for her and how terrifying it would be for her if you fainted in the shower after everything that has happened. 

That must be why Matt is here with you. He's far more in tune with your body and you know that means Minnie is too.

He's trying to keep her safe by keeping you safe. 

You need to think of Minnie, not yourself.

Matt whispers your name again and you drop your hand from the tile and place it over Matt's.

“Okay…” you whisper. “Okay.”

Lips brush your shoulder and his hands move to be at your ribs and there's a gentle pressure, silently asking you to turn. You take a steadying breath and start to rotate, slow as can be. 

You can't look at him in the face. Despite everything, shame burns deep inside of you. You've always been able to do things yourself - you've always had to. Even if it feels good to have the help, to know Matt is going to catch you if you fall, the voice that lives inside you hisses that you're being weak. Pathetic. 

You force your eyes open and the first thing you see are the scars going across his chest. 

He has been through so much you don't even know about, just like you have been through things you haven't told him about, and to make this work, to make raising your daughter work, you have to trust each other. You have to trust Matt and he needs to trust you. 

You slowly reach up and place your hand half over the scar on his right pec, then, to prove to yourself that you mean the beliefs in your head, you lean in and press your lips to the other side of the scar. 

He inhales sharply and you feel like, for some reason, you made the right move. 

Neither of you move for a minute, then Matt gently presses against you and guides you back into the spray of the shower. 

It feels so good against your hot sticky skin and you find yourself letting yourself lean more into Matt and you give in to your desires and let your head fall against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you do.

You feel him reach behind you to the shower caddy and you are happy you have been using bar soap, so you don't have to explain what is what to Matt. He lathers up his hands, then begins to wash you. He starts with your back and you decide to just zone out. You can't debate anymore, you can't let your mind go crazy - you're too tired, too sick to deal with much more. 

Matt's hands slowly work over your back and sides. They dip down to your bottom and even though he's touching somewhere intimate, it doesn't feel lewd. 

After your back has been washed, he tilts his head just slightly and his nose brushes the shell of your ear and he breathes into it, “turn around so I can get your front.” 

It takes a few moments, but you do as you are told, and then you are leaning back against Matt's chest, head once again resting on his shoulder, just the opposite one this time. Your nose is a hair's breadth away from his jaw. 

He relathers his hands, then starts on your stomach. He's so methodical about it and it feels almost hedonistic. You're not going to deny it feels good, but you know it's not in any way sexual or wanting. You just haven't been touched in so long, so anything will feel good. 

He avoids your nipples when he runs his hands over and under your breasts and he doesn't linger, moving up to your shoulders, then down your arms. When he gets to your hands, he laces your fingers together. 

“Do you want your hair done?” He quietly asks and you just barely shake your head.

“Just want to get it wet,” you mumble into his throat. 

He hums in response and squeezes your hands, “‘m gonna need to turn you around again to do that and to get your legs.” 

He keeps your hands in his and, to your great surprise, turns you slowly around like you are dancing, one arm over your head and another around your back. When you're facing the right way again, you open your eyes to see Matt smiling at you with the softest look. 

In your chest, your heart clenches. 

No one has ever looked at you like that before. No one. No one has ever treated you the way he has. 

You don't think you care if it is because you are the mother of his child. Matt is a truly good and loving person and you want to bask in it, at least for now. 

You let go of one of his hands and cup his jaw. He presses into it, closing his eyes and it's like you can feel any tension he might have in him melt away. You stay like that for a few seconds before he turns his head just slightly to nuzzle into your palm, then he lets go of you to drag his fingers through your hair. He makes sure to get your roots wet, but doesn't soak your hair. His nails dig slightly into your scalp and you try to not moan at how nice it feels.

“Hold onto my shoulders,”  he directs you and you do as you are told. Only when you have a secure hold on him does he kneel down and begin to run his hands over your legs. He starts high on one thigh and works his way down to your foot, then repeats the process on the opposite leg. 

You can't help but look down at him, watching as he delicately washes you. There's this deep urge in your belly, right above your core, to tangle your hands into his hair. A memory from your night together, all those years ago, flashes through your mind. 

He had backed you against a wall and gotten on his knees to push your dress up and your panties down. Your thigh had been draped over his shoulder and he had eaten you out like a starving man before taking you to bed and making you cum two more times on his tongue. 

You quickly banish the thoughts because not only do you know it's not the time for that, but that it was a one night stand between strangers. You don't want to make things any more awkward by Matt realizing he's having such an effect on your body, even if you don't intend for it. 

You tell yourself to think of the pajamas you've picked out to wear instead - a nice, soft, baggy shirt and your favorite biker shorts. You picture the amazing blanket your daughter got you and how nice it will be to curl up in it and sleep. 

You want that more than anything right now. You want to just sleep. 

You focus on that until Matt is back in front of you and turning off the water. 

“All done,” he whispers and you repeat the words back to him. 

He helps you out of the shower and gets you wrapped in a towel before starting to dry himself off. You don't allow yourself to admire his body and focus on getting the water droplets off of your body and out of your hair. 

Once you are no longer dripping, you bundle your hair back into a ponytail and pull on your clean clothes. 

The little change makes you feel so much better.  You always forget how just being clean can change your mood so drastically. 

“Thank you,” you whisper once you are dressed. “Thank you so much, Matt.” 

You turn to finally look at him, and he has redressed in just his boxers and oversized sweater. He steps towards you and cups your jaw, smoothing his thumb over your cheeks, “You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. You just have to let me in, okay? Please let me in.”

You close your eyes at his words and nod. 

You can't promise you will let him in fully, but after everything he's shown you in such a short time, you think you can try. You can try to let Matt in. 

“Okay.” 

He lets you go with a small, sweet, and soft smile then cocks his head slightly to the right, “Let's get you to bed, I think someone has decided they want to join you for a nap.”

Joy swells in your heart and belly at the idea of cuddling with your daughter. You want to wrap her up and hold her and let her feel loved and protected. You know now how nice it is and words tumble from your lips without you meaning them to, “you should come too.”

His eyes go wide at the offer before that small sweet smile morphs into a boyish grin, “I would like that. I would like that a lot.”

--

a/n: Matt would not stop smooching. I could not hold him back from smooching.

tag list:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

 @petrovafire39 @allllium

@anehkael

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

[ayasuki]

6th Bakugou x Reader FANFIC RECS

some are short but they're good hehe (most of these are suggestive :P)

> • 𝑹𝒆𝒄 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

" Dream Eater " by justatypicaltrash

dream eater!bakugou x reader

warning: slight angst

bakugo is an eternal living dream eater.

" I Like You, Okay?! " by kikyo-bnha-imagines

bakugou x fem!reader

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

" Workshopped Romance " by itsmm4hiii

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

summary: working for a hero costume designer has its perks like; meeting heroes, playing with cool technologies, getting you're name out- y/n didn't  really expect her own boss will try and hook her up with a customer. 

" Blood Moonlit, Must be Counterfeit " by irisintheafterglow

pro-hero!bakugou x reader

warning: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes.

WARNING | beneath the cut are slightly suggestive to full on smut fics

" no title " by moominsuki

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: ch. 359-362 spoilers kinda. a little suggestive but fluff all around

summary: katsuki hates being off the job. but what he hates more is being treated like glass, especially by you.

" as the years go by " by quitesins

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: suggestive, slight nsfw, friends to lovers, unrequited love ig? virgin!reader, drabble

summary: being friends with bakugou since UA, watching each other change as the years go by, but still having room to learn more, so much more.

" no title " by izvmimi

warning: palace drama au, multiple wives, fem!reader, brief explicit sex.

" One More Time " by yanderenightmare

warning: derogatory dirty talk, spanking, angsty but with a fluffy ending

" no title " by dreamland03

bakugou x reader

warning: mention of sex like once, drinking, mention of trauma, bad self image

" Come Sit " by saturnorbits

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: cock-warming

summary: after a long day, all you need is bakugo.

" Feral " by smiley-babe

wolfhybrid!bakugou x fem!reader

warnings: aged up characters, lowkey monster fucking (hybrid bakugo has wolf ears, a tail, and fangs), knotting, HUGE breeding kink, no specific dynamics, biting, small blood kink (if you squint), marking/ bonding, heat/ rut behavior, panty sniffing, kind of rough sex, oral (f receiving), and fingering

summary: taking in a wolf hybrid already didn’t seem like a good idea, but when spring hits… all hell breaks loose.

" Personal Trainer!BKG " by bakubunny

personal trainer!bakugou x plus size!fem!reader

warning: oral sex (m receiving), rough sex.

" On To Better Things " by savnofilter

prohero!dilf!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: angst, strangers to lovers

sfw | toxic & abusive relationship, toxic baby daddy, mentions postpartum, mental health, arguing, mentions of legal proceedings, counseling, drama, cultural family expectations, love bombing, manipulation, a man being a hypocrite, reader low-key needs a new circle of people around them but that's neither here nor there, reader loves their daughter to pieces </3, reader's daughter is a hand full but we stan!, reader spaces out a lot, "our kids are best friends but we never met before and so happen to be single" trope.

nsfw | fingering, cunnilingus, groping, praise kink, reader has multiple orgasms (2, hinted 4), reader is a bit shy as it's been awhile and feels nervous, vocal queen reader, clothed sex, protected sex, comforting!bakugo, non-established relationship.

" Swipe Right " by ryukatters

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp

summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

" no title " by katbakubae

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: language, dom!bakugou, possessiveness, jealousy, (mild) stalking, name calling, spanking, rough oral.

summary: sick of your boyfriends lack of time with you because of his busy schedule, you decided to take some time for yourself. unfortunately, letting that happen was never an option for him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo fanfic recs #katsuki fanfic recs #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha katsuki x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x yn #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki fluff #katsuki bakugo smut

[strangersmunsons]

read 'em and weep #4

you hear some rumors about Eddie.

Chapter 4 Eddie x Bookworm!Reader Series Read Ch. 3 -> Here!

Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!bookworm!reader, mix of fluff and angst, lots of kisses, reader realizes she may not know as much about Eddie as she thinks she does (but don't worry, they're gonna be fine). Warnings: some nasty remarks are made about Eddie’s reputation. Word Count: ~4.6k I feel bad that all this wait has led to an angstier chapter, but I'm hoping the next part will be written sooner than this one was!

“I disagree.” 

“Look, The Shining is really good, I like it! I just don’t think it’s his best book.”

“I’d take more stock in your opinion if you weren’t putting It at the top of your list. Great book, but such a terrible ending.”

Eddie holds a hand up like he’s swearing an oath. “I’ll admit that it isn’t a perfect book, but it’s still some of the best writing Stephen King’s ever done.” Then he grimaces. “The notable exception being that…one scene in the sewer, um…I don’t really think it needed to be in there.”

Your nose wrinkles in distaste, knowing exactly which scene he’s referring to. “I read that ABC is making a TV show out of it — I’m sure they’ll cut that part out.”

He laughs. “I think he was doing a lot of coke back then.”

Eddie is playing for you chauffeur today. Once again, after a late night he coaxed you into staying over at his place — but instead of just  dropping you at home the next morning and then leaving, he waited patiently for you in your living room while you got cleaned up and changed, before driving you to work.

“Although, now that I’m thinking about it,” he muses, “maybe The Stand is number one for me.”

You concur. “Oooh, good one!”

“Did you know,” he exclaims, suddenly excited, dark eyes shining, “that Ride the Lightning by Metallica is a reference to a line from The Stand?” 

You search for familiarity in the phrase, and don’t find it. “It is?”

“Yeah, there’s a guy on death row who says it when he’s talking about the electric chair. That's why there's a picture of one on the album."

“Huh. Cool.”

Eddie snubs his cigarette out against the library’s exterior brick wall as you fumble with the keys. When the big double-doors are both unlocked, he pulls one open for you, and you kiss him on the cheek as you breeze past. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, okay?” You pause, and reach back to give his hand a final squeeze. “Have a good day!”

Inside, you make it about halfway to the front desk before you realize that the unmistakable sound of Reeboks squeaking against the floor is following you.

You turn around, bewildered and amused. “Can I help you?”

Eddie just shrugs. “This is a public institution. I’m allowed in.”

“I didn’t realize ‘let me drop you off’ meant ‘let me come to work with you.’ Gosh, aren’t you tired of me yet?”

His reply is immediate. “No.”

The incredible thing is, you actually believe him.

You shake your head in awe. “Eddie Munson, you’re really somethin’, you know that?”

He leans in to kiss you one more time, soft and sweet, but you pull away before it can get too heated, keenly aware of the fact that you’re at your place of work, and that making out in full view of the entire — albeit currently empty — library? Probably a bad look.

Just in time, too, as Marissa was apparently not far behind you. You see the doors open again from over Eddie’s shoulder and the older librarian hurries into the building, low heels clacking noisily against the tile. Her face, which is seemingly-always pinched in annoyance, scrunches even further beneath her dark bangs when she realizes you’re not alone. 

“Good morning, Marissa,” you greet her politely.

“We’re technically not open yet,” she spits back, staring pointedly at Eddie. “He can’t be in here.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Eddie beats you to it. “My apologies, ma’am. I was just heading back out.” It’s a remarkably respectful response for Eddie, who you’ve learned has a general distaste for authority, and you know that it’s for your sake. 

He gives you the tiniest wave as he walks away, and you return it with a smile, though your heart pangs with each step that takes him further away from you.

After clocking in you make your escape to the children’s area. It’s practically its own library, in a way — it takes up the whole back corner of the building and then some. Hundreds of thin, colorful books are jam-packed onto the shelves, which are built at an intentionally low height. The floor is covered in deep green carpeting, in contrast to the elegant, black-and-white tile that lies in the main library; all the flat surfaces are topped with stuffed animals and puppets and other baubles for the kids to admire and play with.

In the center of it all, there’s a wide space that’s been cleared out for Story Times and various other programs, which is headed by the overstuffed armchair that you like to read from. A number of miniature tables and stools line the side of the area, which are dotted with neatly-placed baskets of craft supplies. 

You’re pleased with the theme for the day: amongst the books you’ve chosen there are copies of A Bear Called Paddington and Corduroy ready to go. Markers, buttons, googly eyes, and glue have been set out on the tables, so they can make their own little bears for the craft activity. You’ve taken the initiative of cutting out the teddy shapes from heavy cardstock for them already — one less accident with scissors you need to worry about.

You’re nearly finished setting up when someone clears their throat behind you. Startled, you whirl around to see Marissa again.

“Hello,” you greet her in surprise. She usually lets you do your thing on Saturdays without much interruption. Your take in her expression, a little puzzled; the look on her face suddenly makes you feel like you’re in trouble.

She gives you a tight smile, although it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello, dear. Everything going okay?”

“Ye-es…” Your answer drags out uncertainly. “Almost ready here.” You gesture unnecessarily around the room, unsure of what she’s getting at.

“Good, good,” she nods distractedly, not bothering to look and verify that you’re actually doing your job. “Listen, when you finish up this morning, come and find me. I want to have a little chat with you, alright?” Seeing the panic split across your face, she quickly adds, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. It’s not work-related.”

Your head cocks to the side curiously, but she spins on her heel and leaves before you can ask her to elaborate.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur, Marissa’s request lurking in the back of your mind all the while, though you try to focus on your reading. She’s not really the warm and fuzzy type — somehow you doubt she’s interested in having a little girl-chat.

Some odd-two hours later, when the last of the kids have scampered away, you head cautiously back to the front desk where Marissa and another young clerk are speaking to one another in low voices.

Your coworker sees you approaching from over Marissa’s shoulder, and gives her a subtle nod, warning the older woman of your presence. A hush falls over their conversation, and you feel a stab of annoyance, knowing intuitively that whatever they were talking about, it certainly had something to do with you. 

She’s already blabbing to your coworkers about whatever this is? Gross. 

Marissa turns to face you, pretending to look surprised at your approach.

“You wanted to see me?” you ask her pleasantly.

Another one of those tight-lipped smiles. “Yes, why don’t you come back here with me.” She moves towards her office, waving for you to follow along. “A little more private in here,” she stage-whispers. 

When you’re alone in the tiny room, she shuts the door behind you, and takes a seat at her desk. You perch awkwardly on one of the folding chairs opposite her, clasping your hands on your lap — you feel a little bit like a wayward student in the principal’s office.

“Is…everything okay?” She said it wasn’t work-related, so you don’t have a clue what’s up. Surely if it was about Eddie being in the building before open, she would have reprimanded you earlier, when you were the only two people there. And that would be considered work-related anyway, wouldn’t it?

Marissa doesn’t answer immediately, so you try to be proactive. “If this is about my friend being here this morning, I’m so sorry about that. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Not…exactly.” She purses her lips, not giving anything away. 

You blink, and try again. “Um, if this is about the oobleck thing again, I promise I was able to get it off the ceiling. You can check, it’s all clean.”

She almost cracks, a rare flash of amusement in her eyes, though it’s snuffed out quickly.

“It’s not that, either. I want to ask you about how things are going, just in general? I know you’re still pretty new to town. Have you been settling in okay these past few months?”

You think of the warm welcome you received from nearly everyone you’ve met. “Yeah, everything’s great. Everyone’s been really nice.”

She nods slowly, and when she speaks again, her tone is off — you can clock the feigned nonchalance right away. “I’ve noticed Eddie Munson has been here quite often this summer.”

You take this as confirmation of what you had already suspected — that Eddie’s frequenting of the library has more to do with you than anything else, and your lips can’t help but turn up into a fond smile.

“He likes to read,” you offer simply.

She’s more direct this time, eyes locking onto yours from behind her thick lenses. “He spends a lot of time talking to you while he’s here.”

Nervous heat starts to creep up your neck and into your cheeks. Is that what this is about? Has the quality of your work declined since Eddie started visiting you here? 

You’ve worried about this before. When your friendship began and he started coming in pretty regularly, you made a point that if Eddie was to be there, the distractions had to be kept to a minimum. He was very understanding about it. And in his defense, he did mostly keep out of your way — he sat and read, and chatted with you when you weren’t busy, or if you happened to be hidden away amongst the shelves working, out of Marissa’s sight. He even helped you clean up the mess left behind by your Storytime kids. But you suppose he had been a presence nonetheless.

Waiting for the hammer to fall, you bow your head. Your job is very important to you — as much as you like Eddie, you don’t want to jeopardize your position or your standing with your boss by having her think you’re boy-crazy. Guiltily, your mind scrambles to find the words for an apology, some promise to do better in the future.

But Marissa doesn’t even go there. And what she says instead startles you right out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Do you know about Eddie Munson?”

Your head pops back up in surprise, and you stare at her blankly, confused. “Know…what about him?”

“Listen, you’re a nice girl,” she simpers. “You’re a stellar employee — I wouldn’t want anyone else leading Family and Youth Services here. I think you have a lot of potential, and I don’t want you to squander it by getting involved with the wrong sort of people.”

Offense rises in your throat like bile. “Excuse me?”

She holds her hands up in defense. “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, dear,” she insists. “The Munsons have a reputation in this town — that young man especially —”

“Marissa,” your tone is sharp; she’s treading into dangerous territory. 

“He’s a criminal,” she warns. “Jim Hopper is far too soft on him. If he actually got in trouble for every law he broke, he’d be sitting in a jail cell right now.”

You gape at her. “What has he done?” you demand. 

Marissa sighs, and takes her glasses off, setting them aside while she massages the bridge of her nose tiredly. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this” — you note that she doesn’t really sound sorry at all — “but he is a drug dealer, and a Satanist, amongst other things. He sells dope to kids and he all but started a cult when he was in high school. The oldest senior in Indiana, by the way,” she adds derisively.

You’re speechless.

She pushes on. “His father was a deadbeat, and in all the time that Eddie Munson has been living in Hawkins, all he’s done is prove that the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, fuming. Her audacity is too appalling for you to have any real reaction to the accusations; and regardless of whether or not those rumors are true, this certainly doesn’t feel like an appropriate way for you to find out about them. 

You take a deep breath, and choose your words carefully. “Respectfully, who I choose to associate with outside of work is no one’s business but my own. If you feel like my relationship with him is infringing upon my performance here, then by all means, tell me where I’m lacking, and I’ll improve. But please do not sit here and try to convince me to shun my friend because —” you falter, trying to keep your anger in check, “because of your personal feelings towards him.”

Because you’re a Grade-A bitch who listens to small town gossip.

Marissa settles back in her seat, face impassive. She purses her lips. “Alright. I see your point. But don’t be upset, dear, I’m really only trying to help you.”

“I appreciate your concern,” you lie through gritted teeth.

“But before you make your mind up about him too quickly,” she adds, examining her fingernails casually, “ask him about Chrissy Cunningham.” Her eyes dart slyly up to yours, searching for any hint of recognition at the name.

There isn’t any — you’ve never heard of this person — but there’s an odd swooping sensation in your stomach at the mention of Eddie possibly being involved with another girl. It makes you feel sort of…ill. 

But you won’t let your face betray your surprise. You keep your expression neutral, composed. You manage a final nod at Marissa, and rise to leave. She doesn’t say anything to stop you, so you take that as your cue to exit the office, your mind swirling with unanswered questions.

Across town, at the Munson trailer, a Dungeons and Dragons session is set to begin any minute. Dustin Henderson has arrived early with snacks, and is making himself all too comfortable on the squashy sofa.

Hellfire Club had still gone on strong three years after Eddie’s miraculous, long-awaited graduation, due to the combined efforts of the small group of freshmen he recruited in his last year. And it will continue to do so even now that they’re gone, thanks to one Erica Sinclair, who is rumored to be the most brutal Dungeons and Dragons player in the entire Midwest…after Eddie, of course.

Despite the fact that he remained in Hawkins, and that Dustin often begged him to join them, Eddie had respectfully bowed out of any and all Hellfire-related activities after graduating, in an effort to display a modicum of maturity. He didn’t want to be that guy hanging around his old high school because he didn’t have anything better to do.

But as a favor to his favorite kid, Eddie’s DMing their summer campaign as a last hurrah. Just Wheeler, Henderson, Sinclair, and a slightly newer addition — Will Byers, who came after his time, but seems a nice enough kid. It gives the boys a chance to all play together one last time before they part ways.

Eddie hopes they manage to stay friends, despite it all.

“Thanks, Henderson, but I think I’ve got a handle on things,” Eddie says sarcastically.

Dustin gives him an annoyingly-superior look. “I’m just saying, Suzie and I have been in a loving relationship for many years now — if you need any dating advice, I’m your guy.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms. “Dude, she’s spent almost all the time you’ve known her across the country in Mormonland.” 

Purely defensive. He hates to admit it, but Dustin’s right. He and Suzie’s relationship has lasted for a far, far longer time than any fling Eddie’s ever had. But that doesn’t mean he’s gonna sit down and let the little twerp talk to him like he knows something about something.

Little — Dustin Henderson is college-bound, heading off to some fancy private school on a merit scholarship, leaving Hawkins and grabbing life by the balls. He might still be a shrimpy dork, but Eddie’s secretly mourning the impending loss of his young friend.

“So,” continues Dustin, chomping on a Twizzler, lounging back against the cushions, “when do I get to meet her?”

Eddie chuckles, yanking the candy bag across the couch towards himself. “Uh, I don’t know. Whenever she wants to, I guess.”

Dustin snickers. “Would you be mad if I just showed up at her job and ambushed her?”

Eddie cuts his eyes over to the younger boy, wry smirk on his lips. “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t done that already.”

“I haven’t been reading much this summer,” Dustin admits. “Too busy trying to cram in a bunch of stuff before we all…” he trails off, gaze growing distant. 

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters back. He’s been there.

Dustin coughs. “Anyway, you should invite her to meet us at Benny’s after this. You said you’re picking her up from work, right?”

Eddie thinks it over for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure. I’ll ask her.”

The rickety front door swings open, a trio of laughing teenage boys barging in without bothering to knock. Tall, gangling Mike; Lucas, smiling in his letterman jacket; and Will, hanging back shyly, clutching his player’s handbook.

Eddie can’t help but grin. Dustin cocks an eyebrow at them.

“You assholes ready or what?”

Throughout the entire day, you think about what Marissa told you. 

Yes, you’re angry at her for somehow thinking that would be an appropriate conversation for the two of you to have. Yes, you’re upset to hear her say such disparaging things about someone you’ve known to be nothing but sweet and kind. It feels like such an injustice, that Eddie be subjected to such cruel remarks. 

But still, there’s a sliver of uncertainty in your heart now, a dark cloud looming in the distance of yours and Eddie’s budding relationship. 

When your shift ends, you linger outside by the doors, waiting for Eddie to pick you up. A tiny part of you regrets the decision to let him bring you in to work, but you try and shake the feeling away.

You hate that you’re feeling this way. Internally, you scold yourself for letting Marissa’s words get to you. Why should you listen to what she says, anyway? Don’t you trust that you know him better than she does?

Do you believe Eddie to be a devil-worshipping cult leader? Certainly not. Eddie is a far cry away from what the media makes guys like him out to be. He’s not violent, or practicing any Satanic rituals; he just happens to like scary music and think that fantasy games are cool.

Do you believe Eddie to be a drug dealer? Well, that one, maybe…

Do you believe Eddie to have some sordid past — or, more worryingly, present — with someone named Chrissy Cunningham?

Before you can decide what to think about her, the sound of a wailing guitar drifts through the air, getting louder and louder — finally, a familiar green and white van is turning the corner, Eddie’s dark head, visible through the open windows, bobbing up and down in time with the music.

“Hey!” he shouts with a grin as he approaches the curb, yelling so as to be heard over the noise. With some effort, you smile back. He lowers the tape so it plays at a more bearable volume, as you open the door and climb into the passenger seat.

“Hi,” you greet him.

He leans across the center consol to give you a kiss, one calloused hand cupping your cheek. You can his smell cologne, the sweat beaded on his neck, and a faint smokiness clinging to his curls, you suppose, from his last cigarette; these, combined with how soft and plush his lips feel against yours push the thought of Chrissy Cunningham temporarily from your mind, along with any other thought you may have potentially had in this moment.

Eddie pecks at your lips again and again, then settles back in his seat, letting his hand fall onto your knee. “How was work?”

You squirm uneasily. “It was fine,” you half-lie, not sure what you should tell him. 

“Kids behaving?” he asks.

“About as much as I could expect them to,” you sigh.

Eddie gazes at you, his dark eyes curious; you’re normally much more upbeat than this when you see him after a long day. His face brightens when he remembers what he wanted to ask you, thinking that it may cheer you up. “Well, it’s all over with now, right? You’re free. And I had an idea, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he explains, “I was thinking, I can take you home, or — if you want — you can come get dinner at Benny’s with me and the guys?” He smiles hopefully. “The others are on their way there already. They’re dorks, but they’re good kids, and Dustin has been bugging me to bring you around.”

You think it over. Admittedly, you’ve been dying to see how Eddie acts around his teenage friends. And maybe this is just what you need to dispel your discomfort; a night out with Eddie and his pals, surrounded by people who know and love him.

Eddie senses your hesitation. “We won’t be out too long,” he reassures you, “because I’m working tonight. But still, no pressure if you’re not up for it.”

He leaves the choice up to you, but he’s giving you the puppy dogs. You nod, giving in. “Okay,” you agree. “Sounds like fun.”

Being crammed in a diner booth with five other guys isn’t normally your idea of comfortable, but their raucous laughter and boyish antics make it just that — comfortable. You’re pushed up against the wall, with Eddie pressed into your side, one tatted arm slung over your shoulder. Dustin sits opposite you, with Will and Lucas; Mike occupies the last seat next to Eddie. 

The affection between the younger boys is tangible; this is a group of friends who have known each other a long, long time. They all talk at once, interrupting and speaking over one another, unless someone shoots a question at you, in which case, Eddie holds up a hand to silence them all, so your response can be heard.

Eddie interjects every so often, arguing playfully and poking fun at them, but he mostly watches with amusement, letting them carry the bulk of the conversation. It’s funny; he has the air of a cool uncle about him, the one who supervises carefully but also lets you sneak a sip from his can of beer when no one’s looking.

More than once, you notice Eddie glancing sidelong at you, watching your reaction to the spectacle before you. He smiles when you catch him, and squeezes your thigh under the table. 

“So you woke up early to take her to work, ran D and D all day, and now you’re going to work a late shift? Are you planning on going to sleep on top of the bar?” Dustin is staring at Eddie in disbelief.

Eddie shrugs. “I sleep all day on Sunday.” He suddenly flicks a french fry at Dustin across the table. “What can I say? I’m extremely devoted to all of you,” he says sarcastically.

“One of us, anyway,” snickers Lucas, nodding his head at you.

“And don’t you forget it,” Eddie replies sternly, tightening the arm he has around you, holding you as closely as the cramped space permits. Without an ounce of shame or embarrassment, he leans in and smacks a wet kiss to your forehead.

A chorus of “oooh”s erupts, along with one “gross!” and you can’t stop the happy smile from unfurling across your face. 

In this greasy diner booth surrounded by teenage boys, with Eddie so unabashedly declaring his affection for you, the pressure that’s been weighing on your chest since this morning dissipates almost completely.

“Ask him about Chrissy Cunningham.”

Almost.

The car ride home is quiet. Eddie has foregone his metal tapes, and instead lets the radio softly crackle out a tune from The Cure. Normally he’d switch the station in distaste, but something about it tonight just feels right. 

“You’re just like a dream…you’re just like a dream…”

You’re gazing out the window, seemingly lost in thought. He can’t stop sneaking looks at you, at the way your lips are parted, the slight furrow to your brow. He wants to kiss the worry-line away. 

“Everything okay?” 

Your eyes refocus on him, and you give him a half-smile. “Everything’s okay,” you tell him, looking back down again, twiddling your thumbs.

There’s a hitch in your voice that concerns him. “Tired?” he asks hesitantly, unsure if he should press the issue.

“Yeah, kind of. Things were…a little overwhelming today, I guess.”

Eddie frowns. “They should give you a helper or something. That’s a lot to deal with by yourself, even if it’s only for an hour or two.” He pulls up to the curb in front of your house, engine idling. Then he moves in for another kiss, gentler than any other he’s given you today. 

After just a few moments, you’re the one to break it, pulling back ever so slightly and leaving him wanting.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you whisper, breath ghosting over his lips. You’re already reaching behind you for the door handle.

Eddie's caught off guard by the speed of your goodbye. “Goodnight,” he replies, dazed, sad to see you wrenching the door open so quickly, without the usual lingering kisses and touches he adores. 

You hop out and he watches your retreating back as you tread across the sidewalk towards the house. He leans over the center consol, towards the open passenger window. “Sweetheart?” he calls out.

You turn back to face him. “Yeah?”

He makes a come-hither motion with two ringed fingers. “Come here for a second.”

You double back and make your way around the vehicle, so you’re standing on the other side of Eddie’s door. With your arms propped against the sill of his window, you lean against the van, letting it support your weight.

You look at him expectantly, waiting.

He reaches out and touches your face, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone, savoring the feeling of your skin underneath the rough pads of his fingers.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight. I know I sort of sprung it on you,” he says apologetically.

You smile at him, warm though tinged with a sadness he can’t put his finger on. “I had fun. You’re right — they are nice boys.” 

Eddie sighs, still tracing your flesh. “Could I trouble you for one more kiss?” he asks quietly, blushing cheeks dimpling. “For the road?”

To his relief, you seem to melt a little, swaying lightly on your feet as you hold onto the sill and oblige him. 

Eddie’s other hand molds to the back of your head, cradling it in his palm as he kisses you one last time, urgency pervading all his senses, as though he might not get another.

When he releases you he's breathless, and he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, letting your noses rub together. Finally, he relaxes back in the seat.

“Get some sleep, honey,” he says.

thank you for reading!! <3

taglist: @eddiesgirlforever, @eds6ngel, @sheisahauntedhouse, @lokis-tardis-companion19, @teary-eyed-egg, @whenshelanded, @nanaminswhore, @witchwolflea, @kores-mun-son-n-more

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

[milkpup]

｡⋆ʚ♡ like father, like son

›› chapter 4 ›› nsfw 18+ ongoing multi-chapter fic!

artist: 百分二之一 / https://pin.it/7suU92k

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ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› toji fushiguro x reader ›› megumi fushiguro x reader ›› toji x reader x megumi (mfm) ›› 18+ f!reader ›› started: 12/6/23 : updated: 1/29/24 : status: ongoing

‹𝟹 summary: You and Megumi are best friends. You've known eachother for almost your whole life. His home has become your second home. As time passes and life happens, Megumi slowly develops feelings for you, even though he's unaware of it. To complicate things further, you're now living with him and his father, who has also taken a liking to you.

‹𝟹 fandom: jjk, jujutsu kaisen

‹𝟹 genres / warnings: au - no powers, college au, power imbalance, pseudo-incest (they both want y/n, nothing w/ eachother), dubious consent

‹𝟹 tags: good cop bad cop, fluff, smut, angst, toji has a big dick, dilf toji, toji is his own warning, toji tries to be a good parent, toji is an asshole, toji is trying okay?, daddy dom toji, daddy kink, porn with feelings, porn with plot, friends to lovers, spit / spitting, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, double vaginal pen, double pen, anal, making out, making love, love triangles, praise kink, degradation, light masochism, light sadism, emotional sex, cuckolding, jealousy, jealousy kink, smoking, smoking kink, emotional manipulation, manipulation, polyamory?, father and son share you, protective megumi fushiguro, megumi needs a hug, megumi has a big dick, AGED UP CHARACTERS, dead dove: do not eat, finger sucking, large cock, cum swallowing, blow jobs, first time blow jobs, under desk blow jobs, fingerfucking, face sitting, face riding, 69, mutual masturbation, threesome mfm, lots of smut, loss of virginity

‹𝟹 notes: ch 5 is being written, however i've taken a break on this while i finish my other fic (it's coming soon :D). this is the most up to date chapter i have on here and my ao3. this chapter is FIREEEEEEE tho !!

!! - again, PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING - !!

! - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ - !

Chapter 4: Impulse

--

Toji took the opportunity to smoke a cigarette while you were taking a shower. The crisp morning air was cool on his skin as he took a long drag of the cig. He puffed it away, lost in thoughts about what you guys should do today.

The clouds were starting to roll in, and it looked serene from Toji’s balcony. They didn’t live anywhere fancy or expensive, but it was nice being able to feel the peace of the breeze and the comfort of the sun’s warmth. He didn’t want to keep taking things for granted. He would accept and appreciate with enthusiasm from now on.

He inhales more of the smoke before snuffing out the cigarette in an ashtray. There were errands for the house you both needed to attend to, but he also wanted to make it a fun adventure into the city.

--

The steaming hot water of the shower soothed your aching body. You took this moment to think about the past few days and what had transpired. Messing around with Megumi, Toji acting uncharacteristically nice, and the heat of Toji’s gaze as you walked towards the shower. You could feel his eyes glued to your back as you walked away. You didn’t know what to think of it, but your body sure as hell did.

The attention was kinda nice. You liked feeling wanted, even in this fucked up way.

You foamed up your soap before washing your body, quickly finishing up your shower. You still had to get dressed and do your hair and makeup, and you didn’t want to make Toji wait.

You got out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your body. You leave and make your way towards your room, dripping and only covered by a measly towel. The steam escaped the bathroom, clouding the surrounding area.

Megumi isn’t paying much attention to his surroundings as he walks towards his room. Mindlessly scrolling through twitter, he bumps into you. He startles you enough to where your towel shifts in place, revealing your cleavage.

It’s not enough to see anything substantial, but for Megumi, it’s more than enough. He knows what’s under there anyway, and seeing you dripping wet with only a towel to cover yourself was sending explicit thoughts straight to his brain.

He blushes, apologizes, and quickly walks away towards his room, head down in embarrassment.

You shrug, not really putting much thought into it as you reach your room and close the door behind you. You don’t want to dress up for a simple errand run, so you decide upon black leggings and a fluffy, oversized sweater. You can’t choose between fuzzy boots or simple converse, but ultimately choose the latter.

Brushing your hair and putting it up into a claw clip was simple enough for the look. Light makeup, nothing too crazy, maybe a little eyeliner and you’re done soon enough.

You grab your bag and phone, leaving your room. You see Toji waiting for you, sitting on the couch talking about pointless stuff with Megumi. He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and looks up at you.

The contrast between a cute, fluffy, and oversized sweater with tight leggings that hug your hips is extremely pleasing for him. Toji is already getting up, making his way towards the front door.

You quickly walk over to where Megumi is sitting on the couch and rustle his hair a bit. “Bye Gumi, text me if you need anything from me!” You smile at him and walk away, towards Toji.

Megumi notices the exact same details of your body as Toji. Like father, like son of course. He’s thinking back to when he bumped into you, almost dropping your towel and revealing yourself. He licks his lips. And now? Watching you walk away, perfect ass in those tight as fuck leggings? He was already envisioning how he wants to rip those leggings off and take you right there, in front of his dad.

--

You and Toji are heading into the city, running errands, but also just keeping each other company. You both agreed grocery shopping should be last so you could head home right after; so now Toji is driving you both to the shopping plaza.

He plays “dad rock” (think: Nickelback, Green Day, AC/DC type of stuff), but you find it endearing anyways. Not much needs to be said, you sit without speaking much just appreciating each other’s presence. You admire how nonchalant he seems, one hand gripping the steering wheel as the other rests on the center console. His clothes don’t do much to hide his muscular build, scars covering most of his body. The ruggedness of his scars and the rigidness of his muscles are hard to look away from.

Toji notices you staring, but he says nothing. He lets you have his moment, as he lightly smirks while watching the road. You avert your gaze after what feels like eons, feeling embarrassed at your obvious oogling of the man in front of you. You flushed, looking away. You felt wrong and immoral, “This man is like a father to me” kept replaying in your head, louder and louder. Despite this, you were helpless to control the heat you could feel making its way between your legs. You felt ashamed, feeling this way about a man who was basically your father.

--

You both arrive at a shopping plaza, numerous stores and shops packed full with other customers. The weekends were always the busiest, especially around lunch time. Toji parks the car and gets out before opening your door for you. “Princess,” he speaks out, his voice sweet like honey. He would sometimes call you that growing up, but it was very infrequent now at your grown age.

You blush a bit at the sudden usage of your nickname and thank him. “You’re always so kind to me, thank you.” You can’t meet his gaze, but you know it’s locked on you. “Where do you wanna go first?” You ask as you step out of the black sedan.

“Wherever you’d like, doll.” Your mind starts racing at the new pet name he has for you, but you try to not let your face turn more crimson than it already has.

“O-okay… let’s just start walking and browse until we find something!” You probably said this more for you, so you could take a few steps ahead of Toji and hide your face. He follows behind you, allowing you to lead the way.

--

Your shopping spree is pretty uneventful, full of buying some basics like tank tops, t-shirts, leggings, and the occasional plushie. You pass by a lingerie store, and some of the new designs catch your eye. You start gravitating toward the shop’s entrance, telling Toji he could wait in the main area if he’s uncomfortable, but he shakes his head and keeps following you.

Your cheeks are heating up again at the idea of Toji following you around in this intimate setting. You brush it off and keep walking through the displays and counters of bras, bralettes, and other cute lingerie. You pick out a white lacy set of a bralette with matching panties; it’s soft to the touch and dainty.

Toji clears his throat. “Those are nice…. But what about this?” He’s holding up a pink babydoll slip. “It’s cute.” He’s weirdly averting your gaze while holding up the garment.

“Yess!! That’s adorable!!” You take it from his hands, admiring the ruffles and lace adorned with a few bows.

“I’ll get it for ya, if you want, doll.” He’s meeting your eyes again, looking into your soul as you’re practically melting in front of him. You’re convinced you are a blushing mess, and honestly, that’s not the only mess right now.

“Thank you… but you don’t have to…” You’re looking down at the dress again, unable to face him out of embarrassment.

“I want to.” You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw him lick his lips as he made that statement.

You nod. You make sure the size is correct and start making your way to the checkout counter. You’re called to the register as the women greets you.

She tries to make small talk about how cute the set is when she notices the dress. “This is so cute! My boyfriend loves when I wear this too!” You freeze when you realize she assumes you and Toji are a couple.

Toji chuckles a bit. “I see he has good taste as well. I’m looking forward to seeing it later…” He finishes, his voice deepening a bit. You can’t mistake it now, he is definitely playing with you. As much as it confuses you, it excites you tenfold. Thoughts of him admiring you, touching you, maybe more… are rushing through your head making you lightheaded.

He pays for the items and you both leave. The plaza is an open shopping center, and storm clouds had already been accumulating. Shortly after stepping out, it starts to lightly rain. You both rush to take cover next to a building adjacent to the shop you were just in.

You’re both against the wall, with you lightly panting after the slight workout. You’re giggling now, humored that you didn’t read the forecast and thoughts like of course it would rain right now. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. You hadn’t even noticed Toji was no longer by your side until he was right in front of you, hand place above your head on the wall.

He was immensely close, and you could feel his free hand snaking up your body to grab your chin. “You’re so adorable when you laugh, doll.” He reaches down and places a kiss on your lips, gentle and hesitant at first until he gradually increases his intensity and aggression. He’s kissing you like a man starved of affection, like you’re the meal for the last supper, savoring it as if it was the only good thing to ever happen to him again.

You’re shocked at first, but soon melt into the rhythmic pace of the kiss. Tongues meeting each other, swapping saliva as if you were trying to drink each other fully. Toji bites your lip, eliciting a sweet moan from you. He pushes his body against you, moving his thigh in between your legs. You’re unsure if he can feel the heat emanating between your legs, but you know it’s overwhelming intensity.

You can feel his cock pressed against your abdomen through both of your soaked layers. You move your hand on top of his bulge, pressing against it firmly. The rain lessens momentarily, and

you break contact from the kiss only to whisper “please” to him. That was all Toji needed to hear before practically dragging you back to his car.

--

Toji never forgot his manners, and despite the circumstances he still opened the door for you and laid out a blanket over the cold leather seats of the back of his sedan. However, there was a sense of urgency as he put everything together, finishing and gently pushing you into the back seat. Although the car was pretty spacious, the moment Toji climbed in after you, the absolute behemoth of a man made the car feel pretty cramped. Despite this, he tried to ensure your comfort.

“I know it’s not ideal, princess, but I can’t wait until we get home. And it seems like you can’t either.” His sultry voice teases you, as he starts pulling off some of your wet clothes. He leaves kisses in a trail down your neck, then your chest, and stopping above your waistband. “Do you want this, doll?” He questions as his hands start tugging at the band of your leggings. Your body should be cold with the wet clothes, but you only feel heat radiating in your core. You nod your head, meeting his hands and trying to hurry and take the rest of your clothes off.

Toji clicks his tongue. “Good girls use their words.” You feel a surge of what felt like electricity as the words ‘good girl’ left his mouth.

“Yes.. daddy.. please…” You try to hide your face in your elbow, anything to save you from the embarrassment.

“Good girl.” He whispers into your ear, thumbs hooking the waistband of your pants. “You sound so cute when you say that, doll.” He pulls off your leggings, leaving you with only the thin, but soaked, fabric of your panties.

He plants more kisses on your inner thigh before teasing you with a finger, panties still on. He rubs your wet slit, noting how soaked you are. Your little moans are music to his ears, as he continues rubbing your cunt through the thin fabric.

“Please, fuck, daddy… more…” You squirm under his touch, trying to press against him for more friction.

“Someone’s an eager little slut, isn’t she? You want daddy that bad, huh?” He taunts, pulling your panties to the side in a lewd attempt to expose your cunt. He spits on his fingers before slipping one inside – not that he would need any with how much you’re dripping for him.

His thick finger is about a knuckle deep and he can already notice how tight you are. “Fuck, baby. Are you a virgin?” You look up at him with wide eyes, nodding. He leans down to give you another kiss. “Perfect.”

He is gently fucking you with his finger, trying to loosen your tight hole a bit. He inserts another finger, feeling you stretch to accommodate him. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.” He purrs as he picks up speed, drilling into your cunt with ferocity. His other hand moves to your core, before his thumb flicks over your clit.

He rubs your button, watching as you make the sweetest faces and the cutest noises. He draws circles around it, causing your hips to buck forward as he continues to fingerfuck your hole. He’s watching you intently, studying everything about you and taking you in.

Any pain or discomfort you felt while he was stretching you quickly disappeared and was replaced by mind numbing pleasure, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. His skilled fingers played your body like an instrument, every movement perfect in its speed, angle, and intensity.

“Who’s my good little girl?” He asks you, expecting an answer while looking down at your already fucked out face.

“I am, daddy!” You answer back, not wasting any time. His fingers curl inside of you, pushing a moan out of you.

His hand on your clit pulls away to lift your chin. “You’re what? Answer me fully, slut.” He says as he spits in your mouth. “Swallow it like a good girl, then answer me properly.”

You do as you’re told. “I’m your good girl, daddy.” He smirks at this, before resuming his touch on your clit. His fingers inside of you hit your sweet spot, pushing you over the edge and causing you to tighten around him.

“Is my slutty little girl gonna cum for me? Yeah? It’s that good already?” His words do nothing but edge you on, forcing you to cum harder than you ever have.

You’re panting by the end of it, already dazed at how amazing it felt. But Toji is just getting started. He pulls down the waist band of his pants, with his briefs following right after. His cock springs free from its confinement. He groans as the cold air touches it.

Normally he’d need more foreplay, but playing with your body and the taboo of the situation were more than enough to make his cock leak precum, anxiously awaiting your cunt. “Daddy has been waiting for this… be a good girl and show him that you love him, doll.”

He wastes no time in pushing the head of his cock against your entrance, spitting on his cock before slipping inside. The tip alone is enough to stretch you beyond what you thought were your limits. Despite the size, he makes sure to take his time for you to get used to it. He can tell it hurts with the tears that are forming. He leans down to place a gentle kiss on you, caressing your cheek as he pushes his large cock ever so deeper inside.

“You’re taking it so well already, sweetheart. It’s like you’re made for me.” He groans as he feels you relax around him. He’s about halfway in now. “I know what you and Megs did….” Your eyes grow wide at his comment. “It’s okay, princess, I know you’re a little whore who can’t get enough. I’m just glad I get to be the first to fill you.” He grins as he forces the rest of his thick cock inside. “It’s almost like you were waiting for me, huh? My little girl, so patient for her daddy…” He coos.

The pain slowly subsides, albeit not completely. You’re too heated in the moment to care about the pain as he quickly picks up pace, pulling out and slamming back in. You whimper every time, only driving Toji wilder with how perfect you are for him.

He starts to ram into your tight cunt as he reaches over and places a hand around your neck. He grips it tightly, enough to put pressure but not completely block airflow. “Such a good fucking toy… take it like a good girl, yeah?” He purrs, bruising your womb with the tip of his cock. He releases his grip on your neck after a few moments, letting you catch your breath again.

Toji fucks you faster, groaning at the tightness of your walls. He pulls your legs up to his shoulders as he presses deeper into you, matching your out of breath state. He’s drilling into you, chasing his own end as he feels your walls tighten around him. “Gonna cum again, darling. Such a dirty girl.”

He reaches his hand to your chin again. “Open,” he commands as he spits into your mouth. “Good girl.” His dominance delivers you your second orgasm of the day, and Toji feels your body tense up as you do so. “Fuuuuck baby, it’s like your cunt is trying to milk my cock-“ He can barely finish his sentence as he feels his cum come gushing out. You feel your walls being painted white, getting filled up with his cum.

“Such a good girl,” he praises. “Are you on the pill?” You nod. He probably should have asked that first, but who cares, certainly not you in your fucked out state. He kisses you again before pulling out and and pushing your panties back in place. “Try not to spill any, doll. And just so you know, I don’t mind if my little girl wants to play with Megs. As long as you remember that you belong to Daddy at the end of the day, you can have as much fun as you’d like, doll.”

--

‹𝟹 notes: ch 5 soon! lmk what y'all think!! feedback is always appreciated &lt;3

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‹𝟹 notifs: @vvxxccaa @arylaa @starshipxoxo

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(･ω･)つ divider creds to @/cafekitsune and @/eloquentreverie

#daddy toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro x reader #jjk fanfic #dilf toji #ao3 writer #toji x reader #toji zenin #toji smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk toji #toji fushigro x reader #fanfic #mdni

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 10)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: Thankfully, things have been resolved between you and Konig. You start to settle in more with your team, and Roze shares a few thoughts with you over a smoke. The memories are still there, but just like the winter around you, they're cold and unwelcoming. You and Konig open up to each other a bit more, more than you had ever opened up to anyone.

WARNINGS: implications of masturbation, cursing, angst (if you squint?), plot building, graphic depictions of animal torture and death (PLEASE CONSIDER ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME thank you kindly)

Notes: Yes! Hello! I exist!! I've been in a slump, and I really do apologize for that. Many of you have been very patient with me and I love and appreciate you all for it! I had to intake as much CoD literature as I could in the past few weeks to get me motivated, which helped a LOT (not to mention I discovered no fewer than ten works that currently have a hold on my heart). But it's here! I forced myself to write over half of the following chapter so that it would be less daunting to finish up. I also plan to make a wip post for yall, just to share will everyone what goes on in my rat brain.

This was edited at 3 am (god it's 4 am now, i just saw that), so if there are any grammatical or spelling errors you have my full consent to call me out on it! Please enjoy!

(sidenote, I completely didn't research how old you need to be to become a navy SEAL, so reader's age is a bit inaccurate in regards to that. pls ignore lol)

(last sidenote then you can read, does anyone have tips for customizing the layout of their fics? I see so many cool ways to style the font and cute banners and errything but I have no idea how nor what to do)

- - - -

The sky hung low with a blanket of gray. It looked like it was about to snow, although the threat was soon dismissed when noon came around and there wasn’t a single flake. The air was cold and dry, forcing me to zip my jacket up all the way and tuck my nose into the collar. I blew steady, warm breaths into my jacket and tried to soak up the heat into my bones.

It was as if the incident had never happened.

Konig and I ended up driving to the liquor store, which was a blessing, since I had run out of Yeungling (and I didn’t understand enough Turkish to converse with the clerk, nor did I have any of the appropriate money – Konig was graced with both of those necessities). We talked like there had never been a week and a half of silence between us. He talked about how he had nearly forced Ridgeback to drag me out of my room and into the common area, “… but it would have been too early for that.” He commented. That, and I would have rather died.

So life went on as normal: dreary, aside from shooting people and getting shot at. Nonetheless, it was normal, and there was a peace to be found in that.

I leaned against the building to the training room, with Roze to my left. I had intended to come out and soak up whatever natural light I could – when I saw her standing there, possibly trying to do the same, I felt the instinct to play it off as if I was just leaving the building. But she cocked her head in a greeting, and a part of me took an interest in her worry-free aura. Out of everyone, she always seemed to be the least-stressed person in the room, even in the middle of a warzone. It was the balm to my anxious mind that I never knew I needed, but gratefully stood by.

We remained together in a comfortable silence (one I would most definitely would not have been comfortable with a while ago), staring ahead, watching the indecisiveness of the brooding clouds above. I wondered what the rest of the world was doing – if they might have been as calm and carefree as us, or if they were in some kind of peril, and the horrors of it were blocked out by the clouds.

I was drawn back to the present when I heard the click click click of Roze’s lighter. I turned my head and watched as she shielded the weak flame from the wind, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from her lips.

“You smoke?” I asked.

“Sure do.” She replied nonchalantly. “Want one?” she extended her pack of cigarettes towards me.

I glanced at the box, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

I lay on my stomach, my muscles still twitching and shaking as I tried to even out my breaths. Ghost had tossed a thin blanket over my lower half. I hadn’t even moved from the position he had ruthlessly fucked me in – my body ached too much to even try, and my mind was still recovering from the past hour.

I watch Ghost as he reclined next to me, pushing the bottom of his mask up to place a cigarette between his lips. It was the first time I had seen any part of his face all day. He grabbed his lighter from the pocket of his pants that were discarded on the floor, lighting the end of the cigarette and inhaling. He tossed the lighter back down to the floor as he tilted his head back, exhaling a long stream of smoke. I watched it swirl in the lamplight, settling in a cloud around us. He continued puffing, staring at the wall across from the bed as I lay beside him, although I felt worlds away from him.

He'd started off the night with a mountain of stress from a mission gone sideways. Instead of the usual slow build, where he would run his hands under my shirt and kiss my lips slowly and tenderly – he had walked in and immediately demanded I remove my clothes while he began stripping out of his. I had assumed tonight was going to be a passionate one, until he threw me onto my stomach and shoved my face into the pillows. It wasn’t the first time he’d been rough with me, but it wasn’t just rough – it felt dehumanizing. An hour of constant, merciless thrusts, and a hand around my neck that restricted both my blood flow and my oxygen, and I had fallen into a state of shock.

But, in the end, I was happy to be caged in by him again.

I was happy.

He turned his eyes towards me, seeming to sense that something was off. He exhaled another puff of smoke. “Everythin’ alright?” he asked, completely void of any genuine concern.

I met his eyes with my own. I felt like I shouldn’t have to answer the question, and it stirred up a bitterness in me. But I didn’t feel like arguing with him, and I certainly didn’t want him to leave – so I nodded my head, slowly blinking my eyes. “Just tired.”

He hummed and faced the wall again. He brought one of his knees up and rested his arm against it. “Want a smoke?” he asked, still looking away.

I shook my head as much as the pillow beneath me would allow. “No.” I replied.

He sighed disappointedly. Apparently, my lack of enthusiasm after being used like an old fucktoy was irking him.

To be fair, I never spoke up about how I felt.

He grunted and rose from his position, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray by my bed, and picking up his clothes and pulling them on. My heart ached slightly as I watched him slide his shirt over his torso. I felt the threat of tears sting in my eyes as I wished his hands were holding me instead, keeping me warm and grounded. He pulled his jeans on and fastened them, buckling his belt rather quickly; and all while he faced away from me.

“Well, I know you probably need some alone time.” He muttered, sliding the skull attachment over his mask. “So I’ll get going. I’ll see you around.”

He grabbed his tactical vest and jacket and slung them over his shoulder. He paused by the door. “Thanks for tonight.” He mumbled, before finally leaving the room and softly closing the door behind him.

My eyes lingered on the ashtray with the half-smoked cigarette. A thin trail of smoke plumed into the air – I wanted to throw the tray across the room and shatter it. But it was Ghost’s, so I couldn’t; I couldn’t regardless, because it was a piece of him that remained with me, even when he left.

That, and the smell of smoke.

“Nah, I’m good.” I replied, facing the cold, empty base ahead of me.

“Good.” She said, pinching the cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke. “Stay that way. Did you know these bastards give you cancer?”

I chuckled into the collar of my jacket. “Do they, now?”

She hummed affirmatively, sucking another breath in through the cancerous bastard. “Who would’ve thought…”

We fell back into silence. I continued watching the stillness of the base, trying to see if the sky would follow through with its promise to fall. Now that my free time wasn’t spent holed up in my room, it somehow felt like there were fewer ways to spend it. With another mission on the horizon – a simple recon, yet dauntingly close to a heavily-guarded compound – no one was out and about when they usually were. Finding Roze outside and seemingly not worried was usual, however, and a warm sight, compared to how the rest of the team was on edge. Even Askel seemed grumpier than most days.

I hadn’t been seeking out someone to spend time with, no… that I would never do (or admit). But talking to a familiar face provided a comfort I had grown to need over the past couple of months. And, frankly, I felt like Konig might be getting tired of how much I ran to him when I craved social interaction. Though he had never said anything about it, I felt like I needed to branch out to other team members than just my Colonel. One might think I was trying to kiss his ass (I knew the accusation had already crossed Juno’s mind, but the young soldier was good at holding his tongue – when Konig was around, at least).

“You ever think about how ‘little girl’ you would react to this?” Roze asked, and I turned to face her. She had her nose scrunched, and a tinge of pink dusted over her cold cheeks. “Guns, war, no playdates or days at the beach…”

I sighed. “Probably would have cried.” I replied, allowing my freezing nose to poke over the collar of my jacket. “Especially if I had known that being a princess now adays meant spending more time worrying about becoming a hostage than anything else.”

Roze chuckled. “It’s a good thing we didn’t know then.” Her face was mostly blank, but I thought I noticed a hint of bitterness in the way her gaze landed on the ground. I watched her flick her cigarette with a bit more aggression than usual. “I would’ve tried to convince my entire family to run away to Scotland, live in hiding and pretend the rest of the world was a dream.”

“Scotland?” I asked. Soap’s cocky grin and heavy Scottish accent stirred in my mind, but it felt like nothing more than a small cloud of dust.

“Yeah – heard it’s fucking gorgeous over there.” She waved her cigarette in no particular direction. “Now, I don’t know how peaceful it is in terms of politics and war, but it’s pretty spacious. Simple, too. I feel like if I talked about throwing all my shit away and becoming a fisherman for a living, I wouldn’t get people trying to talk me out of it like I would in the States.” She took another drag, and laughed out the smoke.

“Fisherman?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled, a hardened smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know why it sounds so appealing… it just does.”

I hummed and looked back out at the compound. I wondered about Roze’s past; she had never said or done anything to indicate that it was particularly rough, as it was for the majority of us (us – I still wasn’t used to including myself, but it was becoming more of a habit each time), but the weariness in her eyes when she spoke about her younger self made me question what that girl had been through. Maybe it was just nostalgia. A yen for simpler times. Roze seemed to appreciate the simple things in life.

“You know Askel goes ice fishing?” she said suddenly.

I smiled underneath my jacket. “Seems like something he would do.”

“Every winter.” She continued. She dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it into the gravel. “He takes about three weeks of leave, if we’re lucky enough to get it, and goes to Norway. Sits on a frozen lake for hours a day, just waiting for a fish.”

“You make it sound like he’s never caught one.” I point out, my eyes lingering on the cigarette.

She shrugged her shoulders. “So does he. Every time I ask him what he caught, he just laughs. Says he’s never expects to get a bite.”

I closed my eyes and hummed in response. It was easy to picture the scene – Askel, sitting on a thick layer of ice, nursing the hoppy beers that he and Konig loved so much and waiting for a fish to bite. I wondered if he even bothered to reel the line in when he did catch something. Or if he even went fishing at all. Maybe he just went out there to get a sense of peace, to pretend that war and death didn’t exist.

The motion of thick, heavy snowflakes falling from the sky caught my attention. They landed on the skin of my nose, resisting the warmth for a few moments, before they eventually melted into trickles of water. A sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of them towards us, making the both of us flinch.

Maybe fishing doesn’t sound too bad.

- - - -

The shooting range was mostly silent, save for the occasional conversation between me and Konig. The lights were low, easily illuminating the gunpowder and dust swirling in the air. Konig and I stared at the paper target as we analyzed my shots. A few hit dead center, although most of them were clustered around the lower left of the bullseye. My lips were pursed into a scowl as I glared at my sub-par aim – it wasn’t typically so awful, but of course it was while Konig had been watching.

“Eh, are you sure you didn’t lie on your paperwork about being a sniper?” Konig asked as he stood behind my left shoulder, taking the target from my hands and looking at it closely. “You weren’t even ten yards from it. This is very poor marksmanship.”

I scowled in embarrassment, taking my pistol to the counter and pulling out the mag. “Rough day.” I answered bluntly as I started packing more bullets into the small compartment. It wasn’t a lie – I had barely gotten any sleep the night before. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving me and Ghost, until my alarm woke me up before anything of importance happened.

“Very bad…” he mumbled to himself. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Y’know…” I grumbled, loading the mag back into the gun and shoving it in my holster, “I don’t like stereotyping, but the boot really does fit you.” I walked past him and out into the hallway, not waiting for him to follow.

“Hmm?” he made an indignant noise, momentarily stuck in his spot, before he came jogging after me. “What does that mean? What stereotype?”

I chuckled. “Haven’t you ever how Germans are extremely blunt?” I asked.

“Austrian.” He retorted. “Do I need to brand that onto my face for you?”

“Wouldn’t do me much good, with the mask ‘n all.” I replied.

He laughed – rather snorted, as usual – “Ah, you’re right. Maybe I am blunt – just as much as you are defensive.”

I stopped at the end of the hall, right in front of the exit. “Defe-“ I turned on my heel to scowl at him. “I am not defensive! Where did you get that idea?!”

He stopped behind me, his eyes widening. He gestured an open palm in my direction. “This.”

I huffed, turning back around to punch the door open. The snow from earlier that day had ceased, blanketing the base in a thin layer of white. The moon seemed that much brighter against the crystalized ground, and the yellow lights scattered across the compound made parts of the snow look like sandy dunes. My nose tingled from the nip of the chilly air, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my body as the door fell shut behind me and Konig.

“Well, what am I supposed to say when you call me defensive?”

“You could agree.”

“But I don’t.”

“Which proves my point.”

I huffed in frustration, despite the smirk curling on the edges of my lips. “So, either I have to agree with you, whether I really do or don’t, or you’ve corralled me into a paradox.”

I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “A what?”

“A paradox, like a – y’know, never mind. It’s too difficult to explain.” I let him fall in step next to me, although he was the one who needed to slow down to match my pace. “We can just agree to disagree, how’s that?”

“Agreed.” He nodded, and I chuckled. “It won’t change the fact that I’m right, you know.” He added.

I bit my lip and tried to keep my smile from growing ridiculously larger. I looked up at him and patted his shoulder – he looked down at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. A stray, reddish-brown curl poked through the side of his balaclava, and I found the miniscule detail warming my heart through the cold air. He felt real, and in this moment, too human for this kind of life.

“Why did you choose the military?” I asked, turning back to look at the ground as we walked.

He hummed. “Isn’t that every boy’s dream?”

“Well, yes – but most of the time, it never becomes more than that.” I responded.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, mimicking my own position. “I’m not really sure what made me push so much for it. I almost didn’t make it, for obvious reasons.”

I chuckled. “Size does matter, huh?”

He looked down at me with a deadpan gaze, one that I refused to meet. “It almost did, in a bad way. And I almost backed out before they could be the ones to turn me away. But, of course, they knew they would find some use for my size – so they took me in.”

“And what did they do with you?” I asked, looking back at him.

“A ‘human battering ram,’ as my superiors had so nicely called it.” He framed the description with his hands in the air, as if it had been written on a plaque. I laughed and looked back down at my feet.

“Seriously?” I asked. “So they just had you breaking down doors, and then what?”

Konig laughed with me. “Well, I still had a gun, so I was able to shoot, thank goodness. And I had a bit more gear so I wouldn’t break my bones against the doors – I still dislocated my shoulder a few times, however…” he rolled his left shoulder, as if there was still a lingering pain from how often he had thrown himself at doors. “It was actually during a period of recovery when I proved that I could still be a sniper. My shoulder was still healing, so I had to give up being a battering ram for a while. I was sat with Horangi on the side of the mountain to give him cover. Of course, he was ambushed – he had to fight the Arschgiege right when we were given the order to shoot, so I had to take position behind the gun.” I noticed that his chest was puffed out a bit from pride. “That really knocked their pants off.”

I chuckled, choosing to ignore the inaccuracy of his phrase. “Did it now?”

“It did.” He replied, then looked at the ground. “For a moment. I got a good earful for overstepping boundaries that day, but it’s what ultimately landed me here – so I’m grateful for it.”

I nodded and hummed. “What was Horangi picked for?”

Konig shrugged, his hands now back in his pockets. “He never said what he and Commander had spoken about in his office. But, even if he wasn’t chosen – I like to think we come as a package. If I go, he goes, if he doesn’t, I don’t.”

I felt my heart warm at his words. The memory of how Juno had described Konig couldn’t be farther from my mind. It almost felt like I was talking to someone I briefly crossed paths with in my youth – not a war criminal, not the bloody and stiff soldier who had stepped onto the heli after our first mission. I envied his ability to separate his work stress from the time he had in between missions.

“Why did you decide to join?” He asked, catching me off guard.

It was only fair that I opened up to him, since he was so willing to do the same. Always the one to go first, too. But I had to be careful. I didn’t want this to turn into a pity party, and I didn’t want to dig anything up that I had worked so hard to bury deep beneath my subconscious.

“I was… a weird kid. Like you.” I said, making Konig scoff and roll his eyes. “Looking back now, I hate my younger self. I was so sensitive to what people thought about me, and I just wanted to be independent and strong. I wanted to be a ‘different girl.’” I gritted out the words that left a sour taste in my mouth. “I think I just wanted attention at first – of course, when I heard how everyone said they hated how annoying teenage girls were, and how gullible and weak they were, it just – it made me change. I wanted to prove everyone wrong, it wasn’t just about being different anymore. So, as soon as I turned old enough, I enlisted. Didn’t get to Navy SEAL right away, of course… but I joined every program I was allowed in until I could submit my application.”

I sighed, then chuckled. “Thought my family would say they were proud, that I was successful, that I was doing a good job… they were just angry. Said I was throwing my life away for business that didn’t involve our country.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I ended up scoffing and closing it once again. I felt like I had shared enough.

I looked at Konig, expecting him to acknowledge what I said. “That’s how the story goes…” he would say. But, when I met his gaze, I only saw concern. His brow was creased with what I imagined was pity, and my stomach churned. It was the exact opposite of the reaction I had hoped for. I only wanted to share stories with him, and now it was… this.

“I think you made the right choices.” He said, and I looked away.

“You don’t need to make me feel better, Konig. I appreciate it, but-“

“I’m not just trying to make you feel better.” He said, his accent slightly thicker from his exasperation. “You’re good at what you do. Your parents are just probably worried for you, and they don’t know how to show it.”

I bit down on my tongue, my eyes settling on the building in front of us with a hard expression. If only.

“Maybe that’s it.” I muttered, hoping he would drop the subject. He seemed to understand, and turned to look ahead with a disappointed sigh. My heart sank the tiniest bit at the sound, and I internally scolded myself. Still a people-pleaser, apparently.

We continued walking in silence, the buzz of the lights above us mimicking the static of a communication system that had been severed in a time where it was needed most. The edge of the barracks appeared into our view, just around the corner of the arsenal sheds that stood between us and our destination. I continued to stare at the ground, pretending to watch my steps and try to not slip on the snowy asphalt. My heart twisted with each second of silence that sat thickly between us. It wasn’t technically a fight, but somehow, it felt worse. It felt like the first time I had pissed him off, the first time we had spoken to each other – and god, did I already hate myself for the way I had acted towards him during those first few weeks. I didn’t want to drive another wedge between us, not after the ones that had already been worked back out.

I exhaled heavily through my nose. “Sorry.” I mumbled quietly, but loud enough that I knew it reached his ears. “Sensitive topics.”

He flitted his eyes in my direction, but didn’t bother to move his head. He sighed, and I nearly jolted when I felt his wide hand on my upper back. It rubbed back and forth, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was comforting me. Or, trying to, at least.

“I know.” He said, and his hand rested on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was stuck on the feeling of the roughness of his palm, which I could gleam through the fabric of my jacket. How his fingers squeezed gently and released twice. There was no hidden meaning, no forced contact or any kind of attempt to put context into the touch. It was… natural. Warm, comforting, and it spoke a thousand words that I wouldn’t have been able to stomach if he had said them. It broke past my self-hatred and walls of ‘don’t be weak’ that I would have used as my defense if he had tried to verbally convey any sort of consolation. It was the first time I didn’t feel awkward about being so close to him, let alone when he was touching me. I wondered if he did this on purpose, or if he had no idea what he was doing at all.

I let myself stand nearer to him, almost tucked under his arm. I looked up and smiled as genuinely as I could – not that it was hard for me, but because I wanted to make sure that he really knew how much I appreciated the gesture. Although, if he knew that this simple act of comfort would pierce through my outer shell, was it really necessary?

“Thank you, Konig.” I said.

He looked down at me and smiled. That damn smile. I wondered how much more refreshing it would be when he wasn’t wearing his mask. It was already too much for my soul to bear when it was just the crinkling in his eyes that I could see.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” He replied, patting my shoulder before tucking his hand back into his pocket. I grieved minimally at the loss of the touch, but I was happy for what it was. “And I mean it. Anytime you need to talk – or not talk, and do that empty staring that you do – just come find me.”

I quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Anytime?” I asked amusedly.

“Mhm!” Konig replied, his eyes on the ground as he watched his steps. Then, the realization hit him, and his eyes went wide with panic. “Oh- well, eh- I guess, not anytime-“

“You gonna tell me when?” I joked, and he laughed. “You need an open/closed sign on your door.” I jogged ahead, trying to reach the door to the barracks before he did.

“How about this?” he called out, and I could hear the grin behind his mask. “I’ll nail a chalkboard to my door, and if I’m busy, I’ll draw a stick guy jerking off in his bed!”

My cheeks burned after I heard him. “No!” I shrieked, laughing nervously. “You’ll traumatize Juno!” I quickly tried to pin this on someone other than me.

“Juno, hah?” Konig teased, and I had half a mind to run into the building and leave him on the quad. “I don’t care about him. Kid needs to be traumatized.”

I laughed and threw my head back, turning the corner around the arsenal shed. “That’s not very-“

Immediately, my heart leapt into my throat, and I gasped. Konig nearly ran into my back as he skidded to a halt.

Sick, sick, what the fuck, I feel sick-

“Stimmt etwas nicht?” he asked, concerned. “What- oh, scheisse-“

We both stared at the bird on the ground. A crow from the looks of it, though it was hard to even decipher that it was a bird in the first place, due to the state it was in. Its belly had been cut open, entrails and bloody bits pulled from the abdomen and strewn to either side of the bird. Its wings were stretched to their full capacity and most likely beyond it, crushed and missing a large number of feathers. Both of the legs appeared to have been ripped off and tossed to the left of the crow. Its beak was the worst of it all: pried open, the jaw probably broken from how wide it was spread. A haunting look of terror in the crow’s red, glossy eyes made a violent shiver run up my spine.

I exhaled shakily, my eyes still glued to the horror. “Holy shit – what the-“

Konig quickly walked around me and knelt in front of the crow. I shifted to look over his shoulder, still fearfully curious, but he held a hand out behind him, urging me to stay in place. With his other hand, he pulled at one of the bird’s wings, stiff and heavy. Whether it was frozen from the cold, or this was the effects from rigor mortis, I couldn’t tell.

“How – did a fucking fox do that?!” I asked. Are there even foxes in this area? How the hell did one get on base?

“Nein.” Konig replied, still looking at the corpse. His gaze fell upon it with a sense of… familiarity, maybe? “Not a fox, no.”

“Then what? It – whatever it was didn’t even eat-“

“I’ll take care of this.” Was all Konig said. He stood up and marched past me – I was barely able to catch a glimpse of his furious expression. His eyes were hard and narrow, and as he walked away, I noticed that his shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. I didn’t dare say anything to him; he almost looked the same way he did after our first mission together, except this time, his anger seemed to be directed at something, instead of just a post-mission adrenaline high.

“I’ll see you later.” He said over his shoulder. There was an obvious fury to his words, and although I knew it wasn’t intended towards me, it still made me freeze where I stood – almost as if I might anger him more simply by taking a step after him.

Whatever it is… I thought, watching him disappear into the compound, he’s sorting it out. I can take care of myself. Although, with such an abrupt and tense departure, I was at a loss on what to do next. I looked back at the bird; its terrified eyes locked onto the sky above it, frozen in its last wish to fly away from whatever horror it endured.

A shiver ran up my spine, prompting me to look away.

- - - -

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#konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig smut #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod #konig #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader

[makeyoumine69]

Call Me Babydoll 4

PAIRING: DBF!Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Anything that seems too good to be true probably isn't. After a dinner with Patrick that didn't go well, you realized that your relationship with him is more complicated than you initially thought.

CONTAINS: Angst, mentions of food, cursing and use of pet names (babydoll), smoking, gaslighting & manipulation, humiliation & mild bulling.

WORDS: 4.1k

A/N: This chapter is a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it!💕

LINKS: [Ch.3]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [MASTERLIST]

God, you couldn't imagine a worse situation than this — being stuck in the limo with Patrick Bateman after he discovered your little secret about your virginity. Panicking from the lack of oxygen, you looked down at his deadly grip on your wrist, your brain overloaded with thoughts of a possible escape route.

"Patrick, I should go," you tried to release his grip when you noticed that the car had stopped, but he kept holding you tight. "My Dad is waiting for me!"

"Your father can wait a little longer," he demanded, pulling you a little closer, forcing you to raise your shy eyes to him. "Tomorrow we'll have dinner and talk about...this whole thing."

From the raspy sound of his voice, it was obvious that Bateman was doing his best to save what was left of his self-control, his skin burning yours with its heat.

"And what if I say 'no'?" You snapped at his cheeky way of speaking.

With a soft chuckle, he let go of your wrist and grinned as he saw you rubbing the spot where he was holding you a moment ago. "You don't want to upset your Dad, do you?" When Patrick met your confused gaze, the corners of his lips turned up. "I mean, the last thing you want is for your dear father to find out about all the nasty things you did…with me."

Your nostrils flared with anger, but you tried to play it cool. "What? Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"No," Bateman grinned at your irritated stare. "Just a little reminder not to try to play games with me. It's pointless anyway."

Uh yeah, sure. We'll see who laughs last. 

Saying nothing in return, you looked at him one last time before opening the car door and getting out.

"I'll pick you up at six. Wear something nice...something that hides your tattoos." Patrick ordered through the half-open window, the wide, smug smile never leaving his face.

The urge to turn around and show him your middle finger was so damn high, but as you faced the facade of your house, the memories of your father occupied your mind and stopped you at the very last moment.

"I don't have any of those clothes you're talking about," you simply replied, spinning around and crossing your hands over your chest. "Because I—"

"That's not a problem, babydoll. We can buy you some fabulous dresses or skirts," his brown eyes traveled over your body like a scanner, making you feel completely naked, you even shrugged off the shiver. "By the way, does your father forbid you to wear skirts or dresses because he knows someone would kidnap you? You have such pretty legs."

You closed your eyes and counted to ten to calm yourself. "I love my jeans, and pants are just much more comfortable for me!" Your voice trembled with embarrassment and anger. "If all the girls around you look like sluts in their skimpy dresses, that doesn't mean I have to! Jesus, why am I even trying to justify myself?!"

Your little tantrum only made him chuckle in pure satisfaction. "I have no idea why, but I like it," his arrogant smirk made you sick. After checking his Rolex nonchalantly, Bateman added, "See you tomorrow, (y/n). And tell your father that my old man has approved those investments we talked about a week ago."

Wait, what?

Now it was your turn to try to stop him, but just as the last word fell from his lips, the limo pulled away, leaving you with an unspoken question stuck in your throat like a lump.

The air of your house greeted you with a sharp smell of smoke, signaling that your father was home and not in a good mood — he had taken up smoking since your mother died, and now you knew pretty well that when he was feeling down only a cigarette could bring him some relief.

Walking slowly through the halls of your not-so-luxurious but spacious house, you found your Dad sitting in the living room with a glass of his favorite whiskey and a pack of cigarettes that he twirled nervously in his hand.

"Hey, Dad," you called out quietly, halting in the doorway — the strange pangs of guilty causing your heart to pound painfully against your chest. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I didn't hear you coming," he turned to you, his wrinkled face lighting up the moment he saw your apprehensive expression. "I'm fine...just had a busy day," he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got up from his comfortable armchair. "How did you make it home?"

His sudden question caught you off guard, as your father didn't usually ask such things. Frowning, you stepped into the living room and looked at his tired face — he seemed to have aged even faster in the last few months, when his business had stopped being as profitable as it used to be.

"I'm fine, thanks," you carefully took a seat on the couch next to him, noticing that the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table was half empty. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear," your father smiled at you and poured himself another glass of alcohol before sitting back down in his armchair. "What is it?"

"Did you really ask Pat—" you stammered and coughed a little. "I mean, did you really ask Mr. Bateman to pick me up after work?"

Right after you asked, you tried to catch a glimpse of your father's reaction, to notice any strange expressions or anything that might discredit him, but to your surprise, your father just gave you a sympathetic grin, sipping his drink and looking at you adoringly.

"Maybe I did..." he tilted his head thoughtfully. "...or maybe I didn't. Forgive me for my bad memory, it gets worse every day."

Sighing, you couldn't help but smile at his words, as your father was always the one who could warm your heart just by saying a few simple words.

"All right, all right," you paused, rubbing your tense temples. "He asked me to inform you that the investments you discussed some time ago have been approved and..." as you noticed your father's face changing so quickly, you had to pause for a second. "...is it something important?"

Your father took a quick drag on a cigarette, blowing a few rings of smoke to the side to keep them away from you. "Did he really say that?"

"Yes," you fidgeted nervously in your seat, seeing your Dad's reaction. "Yes, he did."

"That's...that's one of the best pieces of news I've had in a long time," your father stood up again, looking for something. "I need to make a call..."

Nodding, you decided that now was not the best time to ask more questions, so you just decided to leave and go to your room, but as soon as you strolled away, you heard your father's enthusiastic voice again: 

"(Y/n), wait," he stopped beside you, holding a phone in his slightly shaking hand. "I know I've always been too strict when it comes to you, but I've always tried to give you as much love and care as I could...since your mother..." His words cut right through your heart, and you even had to grit your teeth from the itchy tears that welled up in your eyes.

"Father, please...let's not talk about it." You interrupted him, not wanting to open up your old wounds.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that...Patrick Bateman seems like a good man," you almost lost your sense of orientation in this room at his sudden statement. "I haven't allowed you to hang out with boys much, but you can get to know him better since he's been asking about you a lot."

Fuck, you couldn’t believe it. 

First, Bateman had his eyes on you. Then he tried to seduce you, break you and make you forget your morals, and he fucking succeeded, because in the end Patrick managed to get his hands on you, and now his farther suddenly approved the budget for your Dad's business. Was this just a coincidence or another way to manipulate you?

"Well, you tried to protect me from...everything and everyone, I can't judge you..." you murmured as you reached the door. "You always want the best for me, so... I promise I'll think about it."

With that, you closed the door behind you, leaving your father alone in the living room. A wild cocktail of emotions swirled in your chest, as if you had drunk something extremely hot — you wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. How on Earth did that happen? That your own father was directly encouraging you to get close with Patrick Bateman? Was that someone's bad joke?

As soon as you got to your room, you opened the closet, looking for some "fabulous" dress Patrick wanted you to wear. 

"Fucking narcissistic idiot," you cursed aloud as you flipped through your clothes, getting more and more annoyed by the second. "Why do I even care what he thinks about my appearance?"

You exhaled tiredly and hid your face in your hands, feeling the strong shudder in every inch of your fragile frame. This man, damn it, this man was a devil himself, and your father just called him 'a good guy'.

Unbelievable. 

"All right, I have to pull myself together." You moved quickly to the mirror, breathing steadily and rubbing your cheeks. "I'll do it for Dad, I'll figure it all out."

Winking at your reflection, you returned to your search for a suitable dress, not realizing that it was getting late.

The next day started with a heavy rain which woke you up with its sound, so loud that you couldn't fall asleep again. So, you decided to get up earlier and write a bit before your work. 

Your father was already gone when you got downstairs — the memories of your earlier conversation were still running through your mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste. As you made yourself a cup of coffee with your favorite organic milk, you couldn't stop thinking about what might happen tonight — the unknown made you feel a little nauseous, but the breathing exercises your mother taught you always helped you in such moments. Uh, what would your mom say to you if she were here, if she knew the situation you were in? 

Would Patrick be able to enchant her so easily?

The workday went by so quickly that you didn't even realize you were rushing back home in the taxi. During the ride, you tried to distract yourself with your poems, some of which you had written during the break at the café where you had been with Patrick the day before. After many attempts, you noticed that whenever you tried to describe the feelings Patrick evoked in you, it seemed as if your mind was losing touch with reality. The pen he gifted you was burning your skin as if it were some cursed relic, but yet this phantom pain was something you probably missed in your life, it didn't feel like grief or sorrow — it was something completely new.

Even though you were not a huge fan of Manhattan, you couldn't deny the fact that it looked absolutely breathtaking at night, with all its lights, mesmerizing atmosphere, and soaring skyscrapers that made your head spin whenever you looked at them.

There was no doubt that the restaurant Bateman was taking you to would be exquisite and luxurious, so when you entered the establishment, you were not surprised that most people were paying attention to your persona, as you had no jewels, no beaded clutch — just your modest but tight black dress, which was one of your shortest. The maître d' escorted you to your table, and from that moment on, the game began between you and Mr. Bateman, although your conversation didn't flow at first.

"So, do you like this place?" Patrick asked a little indifferently after swirling his drink — J&B Whiskey, that seemed to be his favorite.

"Mmm, yeah, it's pretty good." You replied, avoiding his gaze and staring at the napkin on the table that you were nervously crumpling.

Bateman couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Pretty good?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Uh," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose briefly. "Do you even know what this place is?"

Finally, you left a poor napkin alone and looked up at him. "This is Dorsia, right? I saw a sign outside."

For a moment his face remained blank, but the next moment a deep, prominent line appeared between his knitted brows.

"Yeah, this is fucking Dorsia," he spat out his words and took a sip of his whiskey. "Nothing special."

Actually, his suddenly confronting tone was embarrassing. "Well...I'm not a frequent guest in these chic restaurants. Come on, you know that."

Unfortunately for you, your voice sounded more sad than irritated, and Bateman didn't miss it. His warm palm touched yours gently, but he didn't dare to look at you.

"Huh," he mused, drawing an invisible line across the back of your hand with his soft fingertip. "It's pretty hard to impress a girl like you, since you just don't understand—"

"The taste of luxurious life?" You cut him off, causing him to raise his brown walnut eyes to your face. They looked so mysterious in the dim light of the restaurant hall. 

Patrick pulled his hand away as if struck by the electric shock, clenching his jaw in tension, and this sight was something you never thought you would have to witness.

In a few minutes of awkward silence, the waiter brought your food, and since you refused to take any alcohol, you asked him to give you a dessert menu — maybe something sweet would cheer you up and help you get through this strange dinner that was hard to identify as a date or whatever it might be.

"We have amazing cheesecakes, good choice." The waiter replied as you handed the menu back to him.

"Thank you," you made yourself comfortable in your seat and gave Patrick a warm smile, which left him a bit confused. "I need something to compare with the desserts I've had in my favorite café."

Although you hadn't intended it to be a joke, you weren't irritated at all when you heard his soft chuckle for the first time during dinner. "Just don't tell anyone about this," he crossed his arms and looked at you with a mischievous grin. "I don't want the local chefs to end their lives."

"Oh, God," you laughed, looking at his drink. "Why do you all have to drink whiskey? My Dad can't work without a bottle of his favorite drink next to him," as soon as Bateman heard about your Dad, he straightened up in his seat and fixed his Rolex. "Speaking of him...can I ask you a question?"

"You can try, babydoll." Bateman sneered in a mischievous voice and looked around quickly as if he noticed someone familiar.

"I want to know about the investments—"

"Hey, Halberstram!" An unknown male voice echoed from behind you, shamelessly interrupting your conversation. "Haven't seen you for a while, how have you been?"

A handsome man with light brown hair — wearing a stylish suit that was one hundred percent overpriced — came closer to your table and offered Patrick a handshake, which he accepted, but you couldn't help but notice a glint of anger in his hazel eyes.

"Allen," Bateman shook his hand and then quickly glanced at a woman next to him. "I didn't expect to see you here, I heard you were on vacation in Paris."

"Well, Meredith didn't really like it, so we decided to come back a little earlier," Paul replied, pulling a beautiful blonde girl closer to him. "I thought Halloween was over." Allen chuckled and pointed at you, making you palpably uncomfortable. "Nice manicure, so gothic."

Frowning, you checked your black manicured nails and then looked up at him, suppressing your inner battle to tell him to fuck off. "Thanks." You replied coldly and noticed Patrick clenching his fists in tension.

"And where's Veronica, Marcus? That big-titted chick you were hanging out with at the last yacht party?" Allen asked, continuing to stare at you with undisguised interest. 

What the hell was going on? Why did he call him Marcus?

"Veronica?" Bateman interjected, pretending to try to remember. "She's probably with her family in South Hampton."

"Oh, and who is this punk girl?" Paul's question made your nails claw at the soft skin of your knee. 

Patrick closed his eyes for a second, definitely trying to find the best answer. It was obvious that a man like him didn't want to ruin his reputation, since you were not a person from his circle. This seemed to be a dead end until an unexpected idea came to your mind.

"I'm a journalist," you explained in a confident voice. "And I'm interviewing...Mr. Halberstram because I'm writing a book about Wall Street."

"Wow," Paul seemed to be surprised. "That's...pretty impressive."

"Yeah," Bateman cleared his throat and unclenched his fists. "She's one of the best journalists in New York, and she wants to write a book, too."

Oh my God, please shut up!

"It's pretty impressive that you were allowed to come here," Meredith suddenly blurted out, giving you a disgusted look. "There's a dress code, you know?"

"I'll leave you for a while, since you have things to discuss." You fumed and got up from the table — Patrick didn't even try to stop you.

In a few minutes, you found your way to the outdoor terrace on the upper level. As you stepped in, you noticed another blonde woman — she looked gorgeous, with her elegant, red-manicured fingers wrapped around the burning cigarette.

"Um, excuse me," you approached her from behind. "Could you pass me a cigarette, please?"

As soon as she turned around, you could see her sad blue eyes, cold as ice. "Sure."

Carefully, she reached into her black clutch to find a pack of cigarettes and offered you one.

"Thank you." You smiled after she lit your cigarette. 

"No problem," she grinned back, looking away to see the lights of New York city. "It's so beautiful here, isn't it? I wish he could be with me right now."

Her question left you speechless, because you didn't know how to react, but just as you were about to say something, you heard the door open and the unknown man with the red hair joined you on the terrace.

"Courtney, you're here. I was looking for you," he chirped with an affectionate intonation. "The cocktails are ready."

Unlike the guy, the woman — that apparently was named Courtney — didn't seem happy, you would even say she was getting sadder — her previous words puzzled you, because now it was obvious she was talking about someone else.

With the last puff of smoke, Courtney took a quick glance at the night city and turned to you. "Take care."

Even a few moments after they left, you could still feel the wisp of sharp sadness in the air. Shivering with cold, you came closer to the railing, looked down and smoked, the signals of passing cars distracting you a bit from your train of thought — that fucking snobbish bitch and her supposed boyfriend pissed you off completely and you didn't really want to come back. Her behavior reminded you of why you hated yuppies, Wall Street, money, luxury. You hated it all, while your father tried his best to give you such a life so you could turn into a heartless ghost with no emotions except greed and...disgust?

A sudden touch of soft, warm fabric made you almost flinch. "Are you trying to catch a cold?" A familiar voice asked, and a jacket was wrapped around your trembling shoulders.

No way that could be him. "Patrick?"

The next moment, the owner of the familiar voice — which was indeed Patrick — deftly snatched the cigarette out of your mouth, eliciting an irritated groan from your chest. "You don't need this, believe me."

As you turned around, you watched him puff on your cigarette, but when he blew out a few rings, his face cringed in disgust. "Jesus, this is some girlish shit." Patrick ranted and quickly put out the cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" You crossed your arms in a defensive gesture and stepped away from him.

Patrick chuckled softly, your eyes accidentally glancing around his broad chest and the fashionable suspenders that looked so good on him.

"You could have just told me that you wanted to suffer alone on the terrace like a crybaby. Then I wouldn't have had to look for you all over the fucking restaurant." His voice became slightly stern as a sign of the high level of irritation — his patience seemed about to snap.

"I didn't ask you to come after me," you retorted, but didn't take off his jacket because it was so warm and nice. "Besides, what the hell was that? Why did that guy call you Marcus? Is that your real name? God, maybe you're a fucking scammer trying to deceive my father?"

His loud laugh echoed in the fresh air, Bateman couldn't help but applaud because your theory was fantastic. "That...that was hilarious, babydoll," he theatrically wiped away a few tears and came closer. "We stopped at your question about your father, as I recall."

"You know what?" you suddenly charged at him, almost bumping into his solid torso. "You should have hired several hookers instead of taking me to this useless dinner. At least it would have been a lot cheaper!"

"What?" He asked, still giggling as if you had told him another joke.

"My father has been waiting almost a year for some extra funding," you started, shortening the distance between you to a mere inches. "And just like in fairy tales, the necessary investments were approved as soon as you got your hands on me. What a great coincidence, don't you think?"

Patrick hummed to himself, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Go on."

"You won't get it," your voice wavered, as if your nature refused to utter the words. "I know that rich guys like you can buy anything and everything — houses, cars, yachts, corporations, girls..." the more you spoke, the darker Bateman's eyes became. "Girls of all body types, ages, virgins or not, and so on. But for me — money is nothing, and I won't do it even for my father".

"You're done?" Patrick asked, pressing a finger to his lips and looking at you with an unreadable expression. When you nodded, he took you by the chin and tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as if by accident. "Now, listen to me, babydoll. I invited you to dinner because I wanted to apologize...for the things that happened between us..." your heart skipped a beat at his last words and your legs went weak, but you stood still, looking straight into his dark hypnotizing eyes. "I must say, you're a really cute, sweet girl, pretty even," he smirked as you shivered from his finger sliding down your neck. "But I don't want to be a babysitter."

"W-what?" You gasped, your voice barely audible as your breath hitched from the hard lump in your throat.

"(Y/n), listen, your father's business can be profitable enough, that's the only reason my Dad and I decided to finance it," Bateman removed his hand and stepped aside. "The long wait was caused by bureaucratic processes and my old man being away on business all the time."

There were no words to explain the feelings you were experiencing — frustration, deception, embarrassment? 

"I…I understand," you bit your lower lip to keep the tears from forming in your dejected eyes. "Thank you for telling me the truth." 

Just as you were about to take off his jacket, Patrick stopped you and after a small hug, he added: "Unfortunately, I don't like messing around with little girls because I'm pretty demanding when it comes to sex.” His arrogant grin was about to become the last straw of your self-control, but you kept fighting. "Let's go back to our table, your dessert must be waiting for you."

With a quick flick of your hand, you wiped away any traces of your tears when he didn't look at you. "I'm not hungry. Go, I'll join you soon."

Bateman gave you a worried look, then glanced at the railing and shook his head. "No, we'll come together, I'm responsible for you tonight and I don't want your father to be nervous."

How fucking cute.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7

MDNI !!!!!--------------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member warnings: soft dom spencer, sub oc, making out, sexual tension, age gap, fingering, dirty talk, i think that's it!

Chapter Six:

As the SUV rolled into the small, sunbaked town of Maricopa, Arizona, the heat hit them like a physical force. The town lay simmering under the relentless sun. The mercury had soared to a scorching 113, and the air summered with heatwaves rising from the parched earth. It had been weeks since Evelyn's last case, filled with a growing sense of belonging at the BAU, yet blemished by an internal battle against thoughts she deemed incredibly inappropriate--thoughts of Hotch and Reid.

As she stepped out into the furnace that was midday Arizona, the heat enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. She was clad in a light, sleeveless tank top that clung to her form, paired with loose-fitting cargo pants that allowed her some respite from the heat.

Behind her, Hotch and Reid were thankful their sunglasses hid the way their eyes followed the sight of Evelyn, her silhouette outlined against the harsh glare of the sun.

As Evelyn's gaze lingered on Spencer, the sight of his shirt sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, sent a warm shiver down her spine. She caught her breath, her teeth gently catching on her lip in a futile attempt to stop the fluttering in her chest. When he spoke, a dimple would flash momentarily on his cheek, a fleeting view that would leave her heart aching for more.

Her thoughts then turned to Hotch, whose commanding aura was accentuated by the way the heat caused his shirt to cling to his broad shoulders. She couldn't help but think of how he would look on top of her, pinning her own shoulders down. Even in the sweltering sun, he exuded an air of cool authority that was as compelling as it was intimidating.

Both equally alluring in their own right. It was a dangerous game, letting her mind wander like this.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the images. 'Focus,' she chided herself.

The sun bore down mercilessly on the small town of Maricopa, turning the air into a tangible curtain of heat. Evelyn wiped at her forehead, the fabric of her handkerchief quickly dampening as she exhaled a labored breath. "I knew it'd be hot, but this is like walking into an oven."

Hotch, his silhouette sharp against the blinding backdrop, offered a firm nod, the lines of his face set in stoic resolve.

"Focus on the case, Evelyn. The heat is just another variable to manage." Yet, even he seemed to succumb to the sweltering climate, his fingers deftly unfastening the top buttons of his shirt.

Evelyn's eyes traced the movement, a flush of embarrassment warming her cheeks even more as she imagined a completely different scenario.

God, she needed to get laid.

Spencer emerged last, his curls already beginning to curl from the oppressive humidity. "Actually, if we consider the heat index, it's more akin to a convection oven. The humidity amplifies the subjective temperature, making it feel even hotter."

Evelyn's smirk lingered as she absorbed Reid's attempt at reassurance. "Thanks, Reid. That's... oddly comforting," she quipped, the irony not lost on her.

The scene before them was a desolate stretch of road, a dusty turnout off a seldom-used highway. A lone car sat in the center; its paint job dulled by the sun's unforgiving rays.

Hotch's voice cut through the stillness. "Let's get to work. Keep an eye out for anything that might give us insight into the unsub's patterns."

The rest of the team was back with the local PD, leaving just the three of them to navigate the scene. They moved with precision, each step deliberate, documenting everything. The heat was a constant pressure, an invisible force that sought to overwhelm them.

Evelyn seemed almost like a mirage to Hotch and Reid. The fabric hugged her form as beads of sweat traced paths down her skin. As she leaned forward to inspect the car door, Spencer's attention by the curve of her breasts. He quickly redirected his thoughts, focusing on the task at hand.

"There's a discrepancy in the tire impressions," he began. "They're inconsistent with the victim's tire treads. It's possible we're looking a secondary vehicle, potentially the unsubs."

"The victim, Michael Torres, 34, he's far from his last known location at the diner. He was an accountant, no known enemies." Evelyn announces from memory, her gaze sweeping over the bleak scene, "but how did the unsub lure him out here? Especially if he brought his own car? How could he prevent the victim from just driving off? Going to the police station?"

"It's possible the unsub used a ruse to get Torries out here." Hotch suggested, his posture rigid as he folded his arms over his chest.

Spencer, his brow furrowed in concentration dragged his thumb across his bottom lip. "Or the unsub could have disabled the vehicle remotely after Torres arrived, preventing him from leaving."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed as she considered the implications. "That would require technical expertise," she mused aloud. "Do we have anything in his background that suggests he was targeted for his skills?"

Hotch shook his head gently. "Not that we've seen," he confirmed.

Evelyn's moment of contemplation was brief, her lips pursing in a thoughtful pout that captured the attention of both Spencer and Hotch. She reached for her phone and dialed Garcia.

"Tech Goddess Garcia, at your beck and call my queen," Penelope's voice rang out, a vibrant contrast to the arid scene around them.

Evelyn's laughter, light and unexpected, seemed to momentarily soften the edges of the harsh environment. "Hi, P. Can you cross-reference Michael Torres' financials? Look for any anomalies or recent tech purchases."

"On it, sug! I'll work my magic and get back to you," Garcia replied. Evelyn, with a smile playing on her lips, voiced her thanks before gently disconnecting the call.

"Also, let's consider the possibility of coercion. The unsub might have threatened someone Torres cared about," Spencer mused, his voice steady despite the heat that seemed to press upon them with an almost physical weight. Droplets of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hair, now clung to his temples in damp curls.

"But there's no mention of a missing person connected to him," Evelyn countered.

"Right. Let's keep digging. The answer is here; we just need to connect the dots." A pause, then a slight tilt of his head towards Evelyn, Hotch's voice carrying the faintest hint of dry humor. "Let's get out of this heat, Evelyn looks like she's about to pass out."

Evelyn, caught off guard by the rare flicker of levity in Hotch's tone, stopped fanning herself. "Hey," she giggled, "I think the heat's getting to you too. You're starting to sound almost human." Her words were light, teasing, and in the vast expanse of the desert, she swore she caught a brief smile before he turned towards the SUV.

--

Inside the bustling precinct, the team gathered around a cluster of desks, papers and photographs spread out before them. Officers darted between the rows of desks, their voices a low murmur punctuated by the occasional crackle of radios. The conditioning was a welcome reprieve from the desert's furnace.

"Local PD says there's no pattern in victims' jobs or social circles. It's like the unsub is choosing them at random." Prentiss's voice cut through the buzz of the station.

Mirroring her team's attire, Prentiss donned a casual v-neck today, a file in her hand fanning the heat off her face. She paced the room, arms clasped behind her.

"There's gotta be a link," Morgan argues, his voice tinged with frustration. He stands firmly, his posture is assertive. His eyes, dark and focused, scan the team, seeking any sign of agreement, "unsubs don't just throw darts at a phone book."

"Unless we're dealing with a thrill killer. But this feels more... personal." Rossi spoke, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowed in thought.

Evelyn leaned forward, her gaze flitting across the faces of her colleagues, settling on Spencer's. "Three victims, three different lives. There has to be something that ties them together," she asserted. 

"Well, they all suffered in that heat. Maybe that's our common thread--punishment." Prentiss suggests.

"Speaking of heat, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually missing those chilly Quantico mornings." Morgan manages with a wry smile.

Rossi, with a chuckle a knowing glance towards Morgan, retorts, "you? I recall a certain someone complaining all last winter."

Evelyn chimes in, her laughter crinkling the corners of her eyes as she gently shakes her head, "I think we can all agree, a little less sun and a little more snow wouldn't hurt."

The sound of a phone ringing cuts through their exchange. Evelyn glances at their caller ID and a smile forms on her lips, softening the tension in her jaw.

"Hi P, you're on with the team." Evelyn answers, switching to speaker. The device clicks and Garcia's voice spills into the room.

"Hello, my knights in standard-issue body armor! I have news," she announces, "all of the victims made purchases from a company called Key Innovations. They make those fancy remote car keys--like, the kind that can start your car from inside a building."

"That's our link." Hotch notes, " Get as much information as you can on the employees, Garcia. Evelyn, you're with me. We need to pay this Key Innovations a visit."

--

The SUV's engine hummed as it cut through the streets, a steady backdrop to the hush that had fallen over Evelyn and Hotch. She stole a glance at him, his profile etched with the usual stoicism, eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses.

"You know," Evelyn began, her voice a soft flutter against the buzz of the AC, "I've never actually been to a company like Key Innovations. The tech must be pretty advanced, right? To remotely disable a car like that?"

Hotch's reply was curt, his gaze never leaving the road. "It's a specialized field. Their technology could be a critical piece of this case."

Evelyn's fingers danced over her badge, the metallic surface cool against her warm skin. "Right, right. Critical. It's just... well, it's fascinating, isn't it? How something designed to make life easier can be twisted into... this."

"It's often the case. Progress has it shadows." Hotch noted.

Evelyn, her hair coiled into a bun atop her head to escape the heat's caress, felt the air conditioning brush against the exposed nape of her neck. Hotch's gaze, though obscured, lingered a moment too long on the delicate curve.

"I've been meaning to ask--how do you stay so composed? With everything we see?" Evelyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Focus on the victims, the justice they deserve. It keeps things in perspective." Hotch replied, his voice steady.

"I guess I'm still learning that part," Evelyn sighed, "sometimes it all just feels overwhelming, amazing, but overwhelming."

"It takes time," Hotch says with a curt nod. "You're doing well."

"Thanks, sir. I just really love this job, you know? It's just that sometimes it feels like I'm running alongside professional athletes. And I'm just... me. I mean, I keep up, sure. I have my morning routine--high-protein breakfast, you know, eggs, Greek yogurt, the works. It's actually because of my anemia. Not a big deal, really. But it's like my own personal marathon every day, keeping pace with you guys."

Hotch remained silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving the road. Then, without turning, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"Agent, take a breath."

Evelyn's rambling came to an abrupt halt, and she let out a small, nervous laugh. "Right."

--

The sleek glass doors of Key Innovations slid open with a whisper, ushering Hotch and Evelyn into the cool, modern lobby. The receptionist looked up, a practiced smile ready on her lips, but it faltered and died under Hotch's firm gaze. 

"I'm Special Agent Hotchner, and this is Special Agent Gideon. We need to speak with your CEO," Hotch announced, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space of the lobby as we presented our badges.

The receptionist nodded, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed the intercom button. "Mr. Landon, FBI agents are here to see you."

A voice crackled through, calm and collected. "Send them up."

As they ascended to the top floor, Evelyn's nerves buzzed. She watched Hotch, his every move exuding authority and purpose.

They were greeted by a man with sharp eyes that held a hint of caution and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Agents, I'm James Landon. What can I do for you?"

"We believe your products have been used in a series of murders. We need a list of customers who've purchased your remote car keys as well as your employees in the past six months," Hotch stated. 

Landon's eyes flickered with concern, a shadow passing over his face. "Of course, I'll get that for you right away."

Minutes later, they poured over the list in a conference room. "Hotch," Evelyn points out, her finger tapping against a name on the list, "Look. Simon Travers, he processed the orders for all of the victims."

"Is Travers in the building?" Hotch questioned, his gaze never leaving the list.

Landon nodded, a hint of unease creeping into his eyes. "Yes, he's one of our programmers."

Travis was found in his office, a nest of gadgets and screen that hummed and blinked with a life of their own. His surprise at their presence was palpable, but he masked it quickly.

"Mr. Travers, we need you to come with us for questioning regarding the misuse of your company's products," Hotch state, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As Hotch and Evelyn escorted Simon Travers through the bustling corridors of Key Innovations, tensions hung in the air like static. Travers, with hands cuffed in front of him, a defiant tilt to his chin. He turned his head slightly towards Evelyn, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Must be my lucky day, getting arrested by such a pretty face," Travers smirked, his eyes raking over Evelyn in a way that made her skin crawl.

The comment sliced through the professional veneer of the moment, and Evelyn's stride didn't falter, but her eyes flashed with disapproval. Before she could respond, Hotch stepped slightly in front of her, his voice low and edged with a warning.

"Watch your mouth," he growled.

--

The interrogation room was awash with the harsh, unyielding glare of the overhead lights, which hummed incessantly above. They cast a clinical pallor on the team, their faces etched with the indelible marks of fatigue. Travers remained seated; his composure seemingly unshaken by the grueling hours of scrutiny. 

In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Evelyn's yawn cut through the silence, a delicate yet unguarded moment that caught Spencer's attention. He couldn't help but watch her, the way her eyes fluttered closed slower than usual, her lashes casting long shadows down her cheeks, the way the corners of her mouth downturned in a soft frown of exhaustion. It was rare glimpse of vulnerability that Spencer found incredibly endearing, a contrast to her usual ball of energy.

Rossi, ever the observant one, caught the exchange and responded with a wry smile, "You know, in some culture, yawning is considered a sign of deep thinking. Or is it just your subtle way of saying we're boring you, Evelyn?"

Her tired eyes twinkled at the comment as she shot back, "If that were true, Rossi, I think we'd all be geniuses by now."

"We're done for tonight," Hotch declared, his voice devoid of his usual sharpness, worn down by the day's exertions. "he's not giving anything up."

"Because I have nothing to hide. I didn't do anything," Travers retorted, his voice unwavering. 

Hotch let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with the weight of a 14-hour deadlock. He rose from his chair, the movement sluggish, a signal to the oppressive heat that seeped into their bones. "Let's pack it up. We'll continue tomorrow."

The team's exhaustion was evident, Hotch's once crisp suit now clinging to his skin, tie loosened in a futile attempt to alleviate the sweltering heat. Evelyn's eyes were softened by the relentless temperature that mocked the coolness of the room's decor. As they collected their belongings, their movements slow, mechanical--each step was a battle against the invisible battle of the exhaustion and heat. 

The hotel was a beacon of rest in the night, but as they arrived, the front desk clergy greeted them with an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry we're overbooked. You'll have to double up on rooms."

Hotch took the news in stride, quickly making arrangements for the team. "JJ and Prentiss, you're together. Rossi and Morgan, you've got a room. And Spencer, you're with Evelyn."

The hotel room door clicked shut behind Spencer and Evelyn, the sound echoing slightly in the compact space. They stood there for a moment, an awkward silence stretching between them. The awkwardness skyrocketing as their gaze landed on the situation before them. One bed. Of course.

"I can take the floor," Spencer suggested, grabbing Evelyn's bag, setting it beside his own by the dresser.

Evelyn's response came with a dismissive wave, "don't be ridiculous, it's big enough, we can both take a side." Her voice carried her usual confidence, though her insides were aflutter with what that might mean. "Do you mind if I take the first shower?"

"Of course, go ahead. I'll just... um, go over the case notes again while you do that."

Evelyn nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room. Spencer's breath hitched in his throat as he noticed the door slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of light within the bathroom.

With his case files before him as a cover, he watched as Evelyn stood in the crack, slipping her shirt gently over her head. Spencer knew he was supposed to look away, he knew that. Next came her bra, falling to the floor, leaving the slope of her back to Spencer, her hair dropping against the bare skin.

Spencer tore his gaze away as she reached for her pants, trailing a finger over the files with one hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other. A few minutes later, the water stopped, an Evelyn emerged, a cloud of steam billowing out behind her. She hadn't realized the door hadn't closed fully, and Spencer quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to... I thought I closed the door."

"It's... it's fine. I didn't see anything." Spencer stumbled over his words, his hand instinctively reaching for the back of his neck.

Evelyn was now dressed in a tiny pair of pajamas, the fabric light and airy against her skin. It left nothing to the imagination, the shorts riding up with every step, her generous curves filling out all the right places, the outline of her nipples evident despite the heat.

"Well, I guess this is the one way to beat the heat, huh? These PJs are practically made of air." Evelyn joked as she ran a brush through her wet hair.

Spencer managed a nervous chuckle, his eyes darting anywhere but at Evelyn. "Yeah, the heat... it's definitely something."

Evelyn made her way across the room, tossing her hair into a loose ponytail, attempting to gain some relief off her neck. Her frame stopped at her bag, reaching down to neatly shove her clothes back in the duffel.

Spencer the flames rise to his cheeks as he attempted to keep his focus glued to the files before him. It took everything in him to not ogle the woman who stood in practically nothing and eventually his resolve didn't hold. He started at her ankles, rising slowly over her legs, taking his time, drinking her in. His eyes halted at the soft curve of her ass, God, he'd never seen an ass like that.

He cursed himself for thinking like that, for imagining his coworker, much younger coworker at that, in such a way. He felt like a pervert, imagining her in compromising positions, her hands braced against the dresser, his chest flush against her back.

Evelyn turned back towards the bed and Spencer covered his state with a clearing of his throat. She made her way to the bed, letting her bare legs slip under the comforter.

"Did you know," Spencer began, adjusting his glasses, "that the body is bioluminescent? We usually emit a small amount of light, but it's a thousand times weaker than the human eye can perceive."

"Well, if we start glowing any brighter, we might just save on the electricity bill," Evelyn quipped, a smirk playing on her lips as she tucked herself under the comforter. Her gaze lingering on his. 

Spencer glanced at Evelyn, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Actually, the human body could power a small light bulb with the energy it emits," he said.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up uncontrollably at his response. She leaned in, tucking her head against his shoulder. Spencer's initial reaction was a slight stiffening, the unfamiliarity of the contact sending a jolt through him, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Evelyn settled into the bed, her body relaxing as she nestled her head into the soft pillow. Spencer, meanwhile, rose to dim the lights, leaving only the lamp beside him to cast a gentle glow across the room. He then rejoined her, sitting upright with the case files spread before him, his mind still entrenched in the details.

"Spence, it's late," Evelyn murmured, her voice tinged with concern. "You can go over that in the morning. You need rest."

He glanced at her, the faintest hint of a weary smile on his lips. "The mind has a remarkable capacity for nocturnal problem-solving," he replied, his gaze returning to the papers.

Evelyn sighed softly. "So, where do we go from here then?" she asked, shifting to face him.

"We keep interrogating him," Spencer explained, "we'll use the profile, find the leverage points and get inside his head. It's only a matter of time."

As he spoke, Evelyn's leg accidentally brushed against his. A flush of warmth spread across her cheeks, but Spencer seemed unfazed, his focus unbroken as he continued detailing their strategy.

Evelyn felt her eyes drift closed, the steady hum of his voice washing over her. The file slipped from Spencer's fingers as his eyes followed Evelyn's movement, the sheets rustling as she pulled them around her, hair falling against her neck, the tips tickling the exposed flesh.

He was suddenly very aware of how close she was, his thoughts turning from the case, his mind solely on her.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she burrowed deeper into the blankets, the soft light framing her face, her long lashes fluttering. He let his gaze roam over her, his heart stuttering as her legs brushed his again. His heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest, his hands fisting the sheets as his body responded to the contact.

He reached over to the lamp, flicking it off as he let the darkness envelop them both. 

--

The night had deepened into its quietest hours. Spencer's eyes fluttered open to a soft sound, a distant echo that seemed out of place in the stillness. As his senses sharpened, he became acutely aware of the warmth against him, the gentle rise and fall of Evelyn's breathing. At some point during the night, they had gravitated towards each other, his hands planted firmly against her back and ass. 

He quickly redacted his touch, palming through his hair as he made out the peaceful expression on her face. Her features softened in her sleep, her lips parted slightly, her arm rested on the pillow next to this, hand splayed open. 

"Spencer," Evelyn whispered. 

Spencer's gaze widened; she was still asleep. Compelled by a force he couldn't name, his hand sought hers, fingers intertwining with a gentleness that belied his racing heart.

Evelyn's moan drifted into the silence. The sound sending an unexpected pleasure through him. His hold on her involuntarily tightened. His eyes darted back to her, breath lodged in his throat, as he became acutely aware of the peaks of her breasts poking through her top. 

Once more, she stirred, her breasts drawing close, her back arching ever so slightly. She was having a sex dream, he realized. Her leg swept across the sheets, sending a soft graze of her knee against his. He sucked in a breath as he felt the familiar surge of arousal, his cock hardening as his name fell from her lips again.

A hushed moan parted her lips once more as she shifted relentlessly, writhing softly. Finally settling her ass firmly in the nook of his front. Spencer exhaled a shaky breath, his hands gravitating to her hips with an urgency that betrayed him, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shorts in an attempt to still her movements.

This was wrong, he thought to himself, willing rational thought to take over. It felt like a betrayal to even entertain the thought, a silent war waged in the recesses of his mind. She laid before him, not just a coworker but a friend, one at least seven years his junior. And yet, the blood rushing to his cock and Evelyn's parted lips calling his name seemed to cut his IQ in half. A fog descending over his reason.

 A wave of desperation guided his free hand up the delicate curve of her neck, entwining with the curls at her nape, pulling her closer into his chest. Evelyn's eyelids lifted slowly, a drowsy haze giving way to clarity as she registered the hold. The reality of their closeness, the arousal coursing through her, and the slickness between her thighs washed over her. 

Her voice was a soft tremor in the stillness, "Spence," she whispered, her voice tinged with uncertainty, now fully awake.  

"Seems like you were having a bad dream, Evelyn," Spencer murmured, his fingers gently coaxing her hair, drawing her into the warmth of his breath, his lips hovering close, "the mind has a peculiar way of weaving narratives when we're most vulnerable."

A wave of warmth surged to her cheeks, the dream's vivid memories flooding her senses, each one starring him. She found herself momentarily breathless as her body instinctively softened against his. Her thighs clenching, seeking to soothe the deepening ache that thrummed through her every heartbeat.

Words deserted her, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind as his fingers sketched a path along her hip, coming to a deliberate pause on the tender skin of her inner thigh, tantalizingly close to where she needed him to be. Her hand swept back in a natural arc, fingers threading through his hair, securing a tender hold as his lips brushed softly against the crease of her neck.

His fingers danced along the canvas of her thighs, igniting a yearning within her that propelled her body against his, driven by a fervent desire to diminish the space between them. Her panties were reduced to a soaking mess. 

His fingers danced on her wrist, her body pushing into his in a desperate attempt to be closer. 

"Tell me to stop." His plea unfurled in the hush, raspy and laden with sleep, as if each word was a desperate clawing against the silence. "Tell me to stop, Evelyn, because I think if I don't now, I'll never be able to."

"Spencer, please," came Evelyn's soft murmur, not even sure what she was asking for. 

Her fingers curled tighter into the soft rebellion of his hair as she pivoted to face him, her gaze delving into his, drinking in the sight, absorbing every line, every contour. His eyes, wide and ravenous, betrayed a longing as palpable as the hands that ached to trace her every curve.

Her soft utterance was all the invitation he needed; his hands framed her face like a cherished verse, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both reckless and rooted in need. His fingers made its way between them, as he flipped her onto her back, his body towering over hers. Evelyn gasped into his mouth as his fingers drew delicate circles on her clit, her body instinctively rising in an arch to meld with his. 

"God, you're so fucking wet, Evelyn." His obscene words only seemed to amplify the problem, prompting her thighs to clench together, but his hands prevented her from doing so. A moan was her only response, her hands reaching out to desperately cling to him, distrustful of her ability to speak. 

"You want me to make you feel good?" He questions, his fingers teasing Evelyn's entrance, tracing up and down her slit. Evelyn's nod was fraught with urgency, her head tilting back, surrendering to the softness of the pillow. Her fingers twisted into the sheets, gripping them tightly. "I know, princess."

His fingers plunged into her wetness, her moan coming out as a sob of relief. Her hands found their way around his neck as her hips grinded against the palm of his hand. A ghost of a smirk played on Spencer's lips at the reaction. His lips found her neck, settling at the sensitive flesh behind her ear. 

His pace increased. As she threaded her fingers through Spencer's hair, it only spurred him on, his movements relentless.  Her mind was blank, every thought eclipse of his face. Evelyn tried to speak, to say what? She wasn't sure. All that came were breathless moans.

"You're doing so good, sweetheart," Spencer's praise traveled all the way to her pussy, clenching around his fingers as he spoke, "look at you, you're such a mess princess."

The familiar coil of anticipation tightened in Evelyn's core, her breaths growing labored as she grasped at Spencer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Spencer, I--"

He silenced her with a decisive motion, his hands tracing the contours of her face as he pressed his lips to hers hard. Her sobs melted into the kiss as she writhed beneath him. "I know. Go ahead, let go for me."

His words were all she needed, her body convulsing suddenly as pleasure washed over her. Her eyes, brimming with the shimmer of tears, sought out Spencer's face. Her thumb finding his bottom lip as she grinded her body against his. A Chesire grin spread across his face, leisurely and content, as he eased his pace, letting her ride out her high. 

Her eyes fluttered as she tried to recover, her mind a haze of disorientation. Her fingers danced lightly across his face and neck, exploring to warmth of his skin. With a gentle press of his lips to each cheek, he drew out a smile from Evelyn, dazed and luminous, her chest rising and falling. She had never felt so euphoric.

Her hands immediately flew to his pajama pants, dancing along the line of his boxers, drawing him closer, as her lips found his. A soft chuckle escaped him as he seized her wandering hands, halting their advance with a gentle firmness. 

"Spencer," she uttered with a pout, her gaze intensifying as if to memorize his every feature, "let me return the favor."

"Can't let you do that, sweetheart," he protested with a smile. "If I did, I will never focus on another thing again. Remember, my eidetic memory would replay that moment with relentless precision every hour," he paused, planting a kiss on her temple, "every minute," another to her nose, "every second," and finally, a lingering kiss to her lips.

next

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x oc #aaron hotchner x oc #spencer red fic #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader x spencer reid #aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #Spotify

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Clash | jjk (Mature) Ch. 3

Chapter 3 is finally here! I hope you guys enjoy it. I tried updating the tag list but if you are missing on it, just leave me a comment so I can add you next time. Enjoy some long awaited smut. 😈

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Slice of Life | Neighbors

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.

{Warnings:} Mature Language, Enemies to Lovers, Hostility, Mild Angst, Sexual Tension, Banter, Smut, Mild Degradation, Sexual Content, Prank Wars, Unprotected Sex (This list will be updated as each part gets released)

{Tag List:} @erica2283 @i-never-post-but-i-am-here @koobunsblog @jkoma @jjkw-7 @gretesstuff @chimsworldsstuff @rms-expensive-girl @generouschildcolor @moonfaery @coralmusicblaze @roguesthetic @kissyfacekoo @jk97bam @tatamicc @oopscoop @namjoonscrabjuice @joonssidebitch @shaybtsforever @bangtans-momma @itslamia @minayas1998 @chimsworldsstuff @coralmusicblaze @aak22

A long sigh escapes your lips as the small tone of the building keypad grants you access to the main lobby of the complex. You fiddle with your fob as you maneuver your way inside, feeling uncomfortable as you tug down the fabric of your blouse that keeps riding up on your torso. You groan in frustration as the heavy door nicks the skin on your arm while you struggle to balance your work tote, your keys, and your phone. Could this day get any worse?

You gently adjust yourself before strolling down the corridor, reminiscing on all of the things that went wrong earlier that day. Work began as it usually does, running reports and catching up on emails until your clumsy self knocked over the coffee that sat on the edge of your desk. Thankfully, none of your electronics fell victim to the spilled caffeinated beverage, unlike the crisp white blouse you had on that quickly soaked through. It was the most inconvenient start to your day given you had a meeting with your boss not long after.

Lisa came through as your personal fairy godmother, switching your soiled blouse with hers to prevent you from appearing a complete mess in front of your superiors. Unfortunately, you and Lisa weren’t exactly the same size. While her blouse fit you, it was uncomfortably snug and hugged your curves more than you would typically care for. Luckily, it all seemed to work out until you were volunteered by your boss to help the marketing team at a rally downtown, leaving you a sweating mess from the afternoon heat and the crowded streets.

You let another drawn-out sigh seep through the barrier of your lips as your feet drag against the tile floor. Your feet throb in a dull ache from wearing your heels for much more activity than you’re used to compared to sitting in your office. You make the split decision to abandon the task of wearing them upstairs. You slide your feet from the footwear as the sole of your foot meets the chilly sensation of the tile. You moan happily as the pain in your toes relaxes from no longer being constricted within your heels, quickly slipping out of the adjacent shoe as you bend down to pick them up.

The cool feeling soothes the pain as you walk toward the elevators, pressing your elbow against the call button as you balance your heels on your fingertips. As the chime echoes through the lobby, the large luxurious doors open to reveal an empty lift. You smile softly, thankful to be going home after calling various clients and spending most of your afternoon in the sweltering heat. You feel content as you walk into the elevator, not giving a care in the world that you are currently barefoot in the lobby elevator. Typically, you never choose to walk barefoot in such a public area, however, you are nearly home and you don’t really care about anyone’s opinions of you right now.

As the large doors slide close, a hand shoots in between the two structures, causing the chimes of the lift to indicate something is blocking its path. To your horror, none other than Jungkook himself is waiting on the opposite side of the elevator doors, his usual smug smirk stretching across his lips as he fiddles with the piercing between his teeth.

“Well, if it isn’t little miss princess.” His tone is far too chipper, leaving you in an internal panic as you watch him invade the once-tranquil environment of the empty elevator. Of all days to run into your stupidly handsome yet annoying neighbor, of course, it had to be the day you physically look like shit. “You look terrible.” There is a subtle look of sympathy on his lips, his body moist in sweat from what you can only assume was his recent workout at the gym.

You prop your hip out as you cross your arms, still juggling your belongings as you desperately attempt to look calm and collected. “No one asked for your opinion, jackass.” You bite back, completely unamused that you now need to endure his cocky attitude the entire ride up to the seventh floor.

Jungkook simply chuckles mischievously, squeezing by to stand directly beside you as he leans in to whisper closer to your ear. “Just cause you had a shitty day doesn’t mean you have to be a bitch.” He hums contently, moving to stand straight as his large eyes shift over the control panel, making sure the number seven is illuminated.

“Please, what do you know about my day?” You scoff, rolling your eyes in exasperation as you offer him a glare.

Jungkook’s cheeks swell against his eyes as another chuckle escapes his lips, laughing off your comment as if you were telling him some absurd statement. His smile quickly fades as he steps closer toward you, the proximity suffocating you under his stature as the doors trap you inside the small space with the bane of your existence. “I knew the moment I walked into the elevator that you aren't wearing your own clothes, you’ve been out in the heat all day, and you’re not really that upset to see me.”

Your jaw drops open as he so perfectly identifies every flaw of your day, leaving you frozen and perplexed. “…and what makes you say that?” You offer in defense, narrowing your eyes as you refuse to crack under the pressure he’s applying, feeling your cheeks heat up from his obnoxious confidence.

His eyes bore into yours as he steps close, causing you to step back until you press against the wall of the elevator. Jungkook’s pupils shift down to your chest, observing how the buttons of your blouse are gently stretched apart just enough to expose the indiscretion in sizing as he notices the way the fabric hugs your chest, deliciously outlining whatever mounds were hidden beneath. “Your shirt’s too tight.” He speaks bluntly, causing you to gasp at the audacity. He did not say your shirt was too tight. Of course, you knew it was, but how dare he call that out.

You move your hands to cover your chest as he flicks his gaze up to your cheeks, noticing the rosy pigmentation of your skin. Before you can protest, he speaks again. “You have a sunburn on your cheeks.” He states plainly, watching you squirm beneath his stare as the elevator begins to ascend.

How is he able to notice all of these minuscule details about you? Clearly, he is far more invested in you than he cares to admit. You step forward bravely, knowing he couldn’t possibly know that part of you was secretly glad to see him. While you didn’t want to admit it, the man drew you in like a moth to a flame. “And what about me not being upset to see you?” You offer sarcastically, thinking he had nothing to offer for that explanation.

His eyes darken at your question, his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek as the corner of his mouth pulls into a large smirk. He practically purrs at your inquiry, stepping back in victory as he turns to face the elevator doors once again. “That one was just a guess.” He admits, feeling accomplished that he was able to get you to subconsciously admit that you are indeed happy to see him.

You feel a cold wave wash over you, embarrassment crawling over your features as you smack your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Shut up.”

Jungkook simply shrugs, “Not my fault you’re predictable.”

“You know what, smartass?” You hiss as you shove your belongings forward into his arms. Jungkook turns to face you in shock as his tattooed arm wraps around your bag and belongings, desperately trying to balance the attack of items being shoved his way. Your hands latch across the buttons of your blouse as you quickly tug at the fabric, watching as the buttons easily pull apart to reveal your bare torso. Beneath was nothing more than a nude-colored bralette covering your chest. “This shirt is too tight. Thanks for pointing that out.” You continue growling through your teeth, feeling overwhelmed in vexation as you pull the fabric off of your shoulders.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sight of your upper half practically on display for his enjoyment, feeling his mouth run dry at the fact that your bralette leaves him with little to the imagination. You feel a swell of pride as he gawks at you in silence, completely stunned that you just stripped out of your shirt in the apartment elevator.

You ball up the blouse before shoving it into his hands while you retrieve your bag and belongings. “Enjoy the view.” Jungkook stands with his large doe eyes like he was caught in headlights as he holds onto your blouse, still processing the fact that your torso is nearly naked in front of him. He takes in a sharp breath, feeling overwhelmed at the sight as heat rushes down to his groin. He always knew you were attractive, but this new scandalous view has him nearly foaming at the mouth.

You’re saved by the chime of the elevator as the doors open to reveal your apartment door just feet beyond the threshold. You barely glance back at him as you march out of the elevator, fiddling with your keys as you approach your door. You feel your heart thundering within your chest, your features flushing red at the reality that you just stripped in front of Jungkook without a care in the world. It was completely out of character for you, yet that man just drives you to the brink of insanity.

You hear footsteps stumbling forward out of the elevator behind you, quickly opening your door to run inside and hide away from your foolish choices. You walk in, slamming your door shut behind you as you quickly lock the mechanism to avoid any more conversations with Jungkook. What the hell was that? Why would you do something so stupid? You drop your bag on the ground as you drag your fingertips through your hair, tugging against the roots gently in frustration as you let out a groan. That’s it. If Jungkook was constantly going to one-up you, it’s time for you to get your revenge with more pranks of your own.

Outside your apartment door, Jungkook stands quietly in the hallway, processing the most recent events. He stares at your apartment door before looking down at the blouse in his hands. His mind races, feeling himself hardening at the thought of your body with even less clothing than the view you graced him with. He lets out a large sigh before moving toward his apartment, stopping to hang the blouse against your door handle before running his hand through his still-damp strands from his trip to the gym. “Damn, Y/N.” He whispers to himself, shaking his head to avoid any more immoral thoughts.

—

Another day closer to the weekend leaves you hopeful for any kind of plans with your friends to escape your apartment to socialize. While your job constantly has you answering phone calls and assisting guests, you crave an evening with your friends to catch up on the latest gossip without tending to anyone else’s needs.

You shuffle your feet across your apartment floor as you lazily make your way toward your balcony that overlooks the center courtyard of your complex. You’re holding a cup of coffee in one hand and your favorite book in the other, deciding some time outside might help you relax while soaking in some much-needed vitamin D.

Your hands gently pry open the blinds that run across the sliding glass door as you gently tug open the heavy door leading to your balcony. You have a small egg-shaped wicker chair tucked in the corner of the space with a small glass side table beside it. It’s the perfect little nook for you to relax and catch up on some reading before getting ready for your last day of work tomorrow before the long-awaited weekend. You maneuver yourself outside, shutting the door before making yourself comfortable against the cushions of the large chair.

It doesn’t take too long before your legs tuck to your chest, nestling yourself into the rounded chair as you take a sip of the hot caffeinated beverage. You place your mug onto the small table, opening your book to find the small bookmark tucked within the pages. You sigh happily as the warmth of the evening sun kisses your skin even with a calm cool breeze swirling around you to keep you comfortable.

You lean back as you brush your fingers along the crisp pages of your book, letting your eyes scan the words on the page. You grin as your mind flashes with vivid images of the story, your imagination painting the characters as you become engulfed in your reading. You occasionally break your eye contact with the page as you grab your mug, sipping away as your muscles begin to relax.

What you don’t notice is that just beyond the threshold of your balcony, Jungkook stood peering out of his apartment blinds to see you sitting innocently outside. He hasn’t seen you since your moment in the elevator, his mind recalling the luscious sight of your torso scandalously displayed for his indulgence. For the first time, you managed to get the best of him, leaving him speechless and aroused. Now that you were sitting casually outdoors enjoying your book, he figures it’s another perfect opportunity to get on your nerves.

You hear a small click noise as you peek up from the pages, glancing over to the right to see Jungkook’s balcony door suddenly slide open. You sigh with a small groan as he appears, his body decorated in an oversized black t-shirt and simple pair of shorts. Despite the excess fabric covering his frame, you can still see his muscular arms through the sleeves with his tattoos wonderfully displayed as he moves to take a seat on the small sofa he has on his balcony.

He sits down with a plop, by no means moving about the space quietly. You can’t help but roll your eyes at his unwelcomed company. His overgrown mullet is tied back into a man-bun which only draws attention to his defined jawline. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth as you subconsciously check him out, completely dumbfounded by how handsome he truly was when he wasn’t being an annoying ass.

His large eyes shoot up in your direction as you quickly avert your gaze back onto the page, maintaining your composure as you fight the urge to glance back at him. For once he isn’t doing anything to annoy you or prank you as he sits still looking out over the courtyard. Below, there is a group of people utilizing the community barbecue grill by the pool, the mouthwatering aromas they’re cooking wafting up toward your apartments as it causes your stomach to grumble.

You pause for a moment, contemplating your dinner choices before peering back up to see Jungkook is messing with his phone, clearly avoiding you and engaging with the device. He hasn’t spoken a word to you since he sat down, stunning you at the mere fact that you were both co-existing without going at each other. You smile at the tranquility, hoping that for once, you would be able to enjoy your time around Jungkook without the growing desire to either smack the shit out of him or kiss him until he shuts up.

Just as your mind processes the abnormally peaceful interaction, you suddenly hear music being blasted loudly from Jungkook’s phone. Your smile disappears rapidly as you glance over the top edge of your book, noticing Jungkook leaning back with his arms outstretched behind his head. You wait a moment, realizing that his phone is placed on his thigh with clearly no intention of turning it off or lowering the music. You blink before using your finger to keep your page as you shut your book, offering your neighbor a look of exasperation.

“Do you mind?” Your tone is harsher than you intend, most likely caused by the rapidly fleeting patience you have remaining.

Jungkook is resting back with his eyes closed, his head sitting comfortably on his arms as he leans in the chair while his legs are spread out sinfully. He opens one eye, glancing at you unapologetically as he brings a hand to cup around his ear. “What? I can’t hear you.” He speaks simply, talking over the music as if he didn’t really know what you said.

You slam your book down against your upper thigh, resting it in your lap as you smack your lips in annoyance. “Turn it down.” You hiss, making sure he knew it was a demand, not a request.

Jungkook simply grins mischievously as he drops his arms from behind his head, resting his elbows against his knees. “Turn it up? You got it.” A smug smirk stretches across his lips as he presses the side button on his phone, listening as the music intensifies. “Great song, huh Princess?” He adds, amusement glimmering behind his pupils.

You feel the tension return to your limbs as you ignore Jungkook, opening your book once again before attempting to ignore him, refusing to show that he is successfully getting to you once again. At first, you find it easy to muffle out the loud music, narrowing your eyes to focus on the text printed on the pages until you hear Jungkook’s voice loudly start to sing along to the tune.

His voice is surprisingly good, his tone smooth and rich as he effortlessly sings along with the song. You find yourself momentarily entranced by the sound, even though Jungkook intends to annoy you versus impress you. You ignore him, focusing on your story as he continues attempting to get some sort of reaction out of you.

It isn’t until he changes the song to a more upbeat and musically complex beat that the rhythm begins distracting you, making it increasingly more challenging to tone him out. On top of it all, he starts singing along in a playful manner, dancing and moving around to the beat as if he was completely alone out here. You desperately try to bite back making another comment about turning the music down until you hear Jungkook begin to slam his hands down onto his table to drum along to the music.

You slam your book shut as you stand up, your patience officially snapping as Jungkook insists on getting louder and louder. You have half a mind to chew him out and yell at him for being such an ass, yet you decide to simply grab your mug and head back inside.

Just as you do, Jungkook looks at you with his arms stretched out, disappointed to see you retreat back inside. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Leaving already?” He teases, hoping you turn around and give him the reaction he was looking for. It takes every ounce of you to ignore him, simply pushing open your sliding glass door before quickly disappearing inside. You make quick work of locking your door and shutting your blinds, hearing the distant hum of his music as you move away from the balcony.

You sigh, feeling once again defeated by Jungkook. You had enough of his noisy self, officially coming to the decision that if he insists on being loud, you will file a complaint in hopes that will shut him up. You move to place your mug back into the kitchen sink, wondering what you could possibly do now to enjoy your night and relax before another day of work.

You decide on taking a much-needed shower, hoping that the warmth of the water will help soothe the tension that constantly seems to plague your body. As you strip down and turn on the showerhead, you stand beneath the running water, instantly soothed by the heat. You focus on lathering your body wash and cleaning off your body, not noticing that you unconsciously began to hum the song that Jungkook played outside, swaying your hips slightly as the melody whirls through your mind.

As you rinse your hair beneath the water, you catch yourself thinking about Jungkook’s voice singing along, groaning at the fact that you were still thinking about him even though you were trying to ignore him. You sigh, shaking yourself of the song as you try to focus on anything other than Jeon Jungkook.

—

The roar of Jungkook’s BMW echoes throughout the parking garage as he leans back in the driver's seat, ready to take on another evening shift at work. He glances down a few parking spots until his pupils settle on your Jeep, skillfully parked backward for an easy pullout. The sight of your SUV has his mind reeling, thoughts of your body and smile plaguing his mind as he turns his attention back onto his gearshift.

Since your arrival, Jungkook has only been able to admire your physique while dealing with your bratty tendencies. The nickname princess so easily fit someone who was quick to jump to conclusions and seemed to act like she was better than everyone else. Now, you both purposefully tried to get on each other's nerves, Jungkook taking immense pleasure in watching you scramble before him each time he successfully gets to you.

He shakes you from his thoughts as his large fingers twist the dial of his sound system, his playlist blasting through the speakers as he cautiously pulls out from his parking spot. He passes your car slowly, checking every detail of your Jeep as if expecting to see you tucked inside of it, grinning as he finally speeds off towards the exit of the multi-leveled parking unit.

His music serves as a great distraction from the moderately lengthy drive, sitting back as his tattooed arm is stretched out to grip his steering wheel. Jungkook begins to hum along to the music sounding from his speakers as the sound of a car horn blares in two short bursts. His large doe eyes quickly latch onto his rearview mirror, studying his surroundings. He notices the car behind him is at a reasonable distance from his bumper. There is no logical reason why someone would honk at him of all people.

As the song shifts to something more upbeat, he moves his hand to turn up the volume, focusing his eyes once again on the road ahead. It isn’t until he pulls onto the interstate that more drivers sound their horns, leaving Jungkook utterly confused. He returns his attention to his mirrors, seeing cars on either side of him cruising around the same speed as him. They shouldn’t be honking at him, especially given the fact that he was already going over the speed limit.

Jungkook drives over toward the rightmost lane, letting off on the acceleration of the BMW as he gently starts following the car in front of him. A few cars pass blaring their horns, causing his features to scrunch in confusion. “What the hell?” He grumbles under his breath, annoyed by their persistence. “Impatient asswipes.” He groans, moving back into the center lane as he continues on his drive.

The remainder of the journey to work has a couple more cars honking which only stirs Jungkook’s growing irritation. He sighs in relief as he pulls into his place of work, admiring the way the colorful rays of the sunset seem to paint the sky behind the large buildings.

The hum of his BMW stills as he pulls into the parking garage, quickly searching out the location of his designated parking spot. It doesn’t take him long to park and turn off his ignition, letting out a loud huff of frustration after the impatience he experienced while on his drive. “Is it a fucking full moon tonight?” He scoffs to himself as he pulls open his door.

What Jungkook doesn’t notice is that one of his coworkers is also pulling in, rolling his window down to greet him. “Sup, Jeon.” The man offers with a friendly smile on his face. Jungkook is quick to realize that it is his teammate, Han, who often shared the same hours as he did.

Jungkook nods in his direction to acknowledge him before seeing Han’s eyes widen at the sight of his car. Han slows down until his car is stopped directly behind Jungkook’s, unable to hold back his laughter. “Damn, Jeon.” Han hollers, chuckling in wild amusement as he observes the back of his BMW. “Someone did you dirty.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows instantly pinch together as he tosses his work bag over one shoulder. “What the hell are you talking about?” Jungkook takes a few steps toward Han’s car as he pushes the driver’s side door shut. Han gestures toward the back of Jungkook’s vehicle, pointing a finger down toward his rear bumper. Jungkook quickly makes his way around the car, his eyes noticing a white bumper sticker slapped across the back with the words, I have a small dick, honk for me displayed in bold print.

Jungkook’s face goes pale at the connection between all of the impatient drivers honking at him and the bumper sticker proudly displayed on the back of his car. Han continues to gasp between breaths as he keeps laughing, watching Jungkook’s features morph into pure vexation. “That fucking bitch.” He snarls, hissing between his teeth as Han waves him off to continue toward his parking spot. Jungkook quickly walks over to his car, peeling off the offending piece of vinyl before angrily crumpling it up between his fingertips.

His large eyes scan his surroundings, locating a trash bin tucked toward the stairwell of the parking garage. He takes powerful strides until he’s standing just beside it, throwing the sticker away as his body fumes with wrath and embarrassment. How long has that sticker been on his car? This is why all of those drivers honked at him on the way to work. Who knows how many people noticed it?

“Oh, you’re asking for it, Y/n.” He hisses as he turns back, pressing his key fob as the tail lights of his BMW flash to indicate they are now successfully locked. He rolls his eyes as his fingers claw around the strap of his bag, pressing the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he avoids the bubbling anger threatening to boil over.

—

Jungkook’s drive home from his overnight shift allowed the reminders of your recent prank to fester in his heart as he tightly grips his steering wheel. He knew he’d need to come up with something else to get you back, ready to move past the simple harmless pranks into something far more embarrassing for you. He let out a large sigh as his BMW pulls into the parking garage of your complex, his large doe eyes instantly finding your jeep parked right where you left it.

“I swear, Y/n. You better watch out.” He groans as a mischievous smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He notices an empty spot beside you, utilizing the space to purposefully pull in.

Jungkook maneuvers the gear shift into park as he let his head fall back against his seat. His mind wanders between thoughts of you and his frustration, knowing a trip to the gym would most likely take off some of the edge. He shuts off the ignition, opening the door as he drags himself from the driver's seat, sighing as exhaustion sets in.

He tries to focus on anything other than thoughts of you, walking quickly to get inside and get a shower. He taps his fob against the sensor, entering the building as he heads for the mailroom with his work bag draped over his shoulder. He follows the lavish corridor until he reaches the mailroom, moving swiftly to retrieve the mail from his box. He finds the small silver key that is looped around his carabiner hook, turning it to unlock the metal box as he pulls out a few pieces of mail.

He quickly sifts through it, passing multiple pieces of advertisement before stumbling across a white envelope with the apartment complex’s logo printed on the top left corner. He pauses on the parcel, examining it closely before tucking the rest of his mail underneath his arm so that he can open the mysterious envelope. Why would he have a letter from the complex? He wasn’t up to renew anytime soon.

Jungkook wiggles his index finger into the corner of the envelope, pulling up as the frail paper tears at the seam to allow him access to the letter inside. He swiftly pulls out a folded piece of printer paper, unfolding it to see his name and address listed at the top along with a few paragraphs. His eyes narrow as he skims the text, his muscles becoming tense as he reads the words.

Noise complaint

Jungkook rereads the two words as he skims the remainder of the letter, stunned to find the written warning that came along with it. He instantly thinks of you, feeling his anger return as it continues to grow into an insatiable fury. He crumples the paper within his grasp, balling his fingers into a fist as he punches it across his mailbox. “That’s it!” His voice threatens to resonate as a yell as he slams the mailbox door shut, twisting his key to lock the compartment.

He practically storms out of the mailroom, deciding to take the stairs up to the seventh floor to blow off some steam. While he originally planned to go to the gym to work off some anger, he instead fully intends on giving you a piece of his mind.

—

The weekend has finally commenced as you sit back into the egg-shaped chair that decorates your balcony, sipping on a glass of wine as you casually scroll through your phone. You let out a content breath as you sink into the oddly shaped cushions beneath you, your eyes scanning every word on your phone’s display screen. It’s the first real opportunity you have this week to catch up on your social media posts, seeing all of the new occurrences in the lives of the people you know.

You bring your glass to your lips as you scroll through a post of memes, giggling softly to yourself as the sweet burn of your wine slides down your throat. You smile as your finger swipes up to the next post, seeing one of Roxanne’s pictures of her weekend rendezvous with the clubs downtown. You roll your eyes as you study her promiscuous attire and the man draped around her waist.

The tip of your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth as you shake your head, a small part of you wishing you were out enjoying yourself while the other relishes the much needed relaxation.

You slowly bring the glass of wine back to your lips to indulge in another taste as you hear the sound of a sliding glass door being forcefully pushed open resonating from the neighboring balcony. The sound is abrupt as the glass panels rustle against the tracks, causing you to bring your phone down as you lean forward to peek over toward Jungkook’s balcony.

To your surprise, you find Jungkook stomping his way out onto his balcony with a clear look of irritation plastered across his features. His jaw is tight as he clenches his teeth together, his hand grips around a piece of crumpled paper as he waves it about passionately.

Jungkook’s long hair is damp with moisture, evidence of the fact that he must have recently come out of the shower. He has a plain white t-shirt concealing his muscular frame beneath the loose fabric and a pair of sweatpants hanging from his hips. While part of you capitalizes on the opportunity to check him out, you also realize just how outraged he appears, feeling a shiver course down your spine as he approaches the railings between his balcony and yours.

“Care to explain this shit?” Jungkook hisses, tossing the piece of paper from his hands as the wind carries it to your balcony. You blink in surprise, stretching your arm out to place your wine glass on the small table while you stand from your position. You quickly catch the parchment before it is blown from your terrace, tucking your phone into the back pocket of your jean shorts as you unfold it to study the text.

You quickly realize that the piece of paper is a warning from your apartment complex in regard to the noise complaint your filed about Jungkook’s consistent disregard for his neighbors. You peer up at him, surprised to see him so angry about something that was well warranted. “You’re loud as shit.” You bark back, crossing your arms as you challenge his stare. His hands are gripping the railing as he leaned into his stance, staring at you as if an animal stalking its prey. “Someone had to put you in your place.” You offer with a sarcastic smile.

The way Jungkook’s eyes flash with vexation causes your stance to falter, realizing that you have never seen this type of intensity from him since you moved here. This was the first time that you successfully pissed him off.

“I’ve lived here for three years without one mark on my record.” He continues, a clear growl present in his tone as he threateningly leans into the rail to get closer to you. “I didn’t realize you were such a sensitive little bitch, Karen.” Jungkook barks with clear mockery in his tone, sending you into your own blind rage. Who the hell did he think he is? Your jaw drops open from his accusation. He was the one that insisted on being a noisy neighbor. It wasn’t your fault that you finally stood up for yourself since he refused to listen to you the numerous times you complained about the noise. Now he was calling you a Karen? Absolutely not.

“I don’t have to listen to this.” You spit back, turning to pull open your patio door as you move to retrieve your wine glass from the table.

Jungkook’s eyebrows pinch together as he watches you deliberately choose to avoid his confrontation, determined to continue giving you a piece of his mind. “I’m not done.” He growls, pushing up on his hands as his legs bend up to place his foot on top of the rail. He smoothly pulls himself up so that he’s crawling over the gap between the two platforms, causing you to gasp in shock as he animalistically makes his way onto your rented property.

“Jungkook, what the hell?” You complain, watching as he successfully makes his way onto your balcony, forcing you to listen to him. You don’t give him an opportunity to speak as you rush inside, Jungkook holding out his arms to block you from shutting the glass panel door.

You let out a frustrated groan as you turn to start walking through your living room, tilting your head back as you down the remainder of your wine. The sting of the alcohol burns your throat as you accommodate the large intake, your face squinting together as you gulp it back. Jungkook takes your momentary defeat as his invitation to follow you inside, annoyed that yet again you’re walking away from him.

“Anyone could’ve filed that complaint.” You offer, hoping to de-escalate the situation as you continue to make your way toward your kitchen. “So stop being a baby and deal with it.”

Jungkook huffs in amusement as he stalks behind you, finding your words comical. “Oh please.” He laughs, his eyes following you with laser focus. “You can’t even handle pranks without whining like a spoiled brat.”

Once you’re in the archway leading from the living room hallway into the kitchen, you stop in your tracks, turning around to glare directly at Jungkook, completely unfazed that he continues to step closer until you’re practically hovering inches from each other’s faces.

“Shut up.” You argue back, feeling the tension between the pair of you grow. You blink from the close proximity, forgetting that your neighbor invited himself into your apartment just to continue degrading your character. You refuse to back down, knowing the minute you pull away from him, he would take it as a victory.

Jungkook simply looks you up and down as the corners of his mouth stretch into a malicious grin. He leans forward so that his breath ghosts against your cheek, towering over you to force you into submission. “Bet that’s why your ex dumped you huh, princess?” He teases, his venomous intension stings as your heart lurches with memories of your past relationship. You recall your friends mentioning your ex during what was supposed to be your girl’s night. Jungkook must have picked up on your reluctance to comment much about it, spurring on this sudden rude attack. “Too much of a prissy brat?”

“How dare you!” Your patience has worn out as you press your palms into his chest, pushing him back as you take out your frustration on his toned frame. “You don’t know anything about me.” You continue on, feeling your body tremble from the wrath coursing through your veins. “You’re nothing but a narcissistic deadbeat.”

Jungkook reaches his boiling point as your insult bruises his pride. You have no idea how much he does for others not only in his personal life, but at his job. He constantly puts others before himself and works long hours to do so. When he’s free from work, he spends his time at the gym and with his close friends keeping busy. You don’t know shit about him yet here you are, accusing him of false accusations just as he is with you.

The toxic exchange leaves you both glaring at each other as you become a pit of anger and sexual tension. You desperately hold your ground, refusing to budge an inch as Jungkook takes another threatening step toward you, his nostrils flaring from his irritation. “Shut your damn mouth before I put you in your place.”

You narrow your eyes as you watch his irises darken, feeling another chill shoot up your spine as you step closer, your chest pressing against him as you practically hiss in his face. “Make me.”

Before you can even wrap your mind around the situation, you feel a large hand spread across the span of your back as Jungkook pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours. You gasp as your senses are overwhelmed with a hint of mint as Jungkook’s tongue bullies through the seam of your lips, invading your mouth as he greedily steals a taste of you. Your palms quickly press against his chest from his assault, your mind rapidly plummeting into oblivion as you relish in his warmth.

While his actions take you by surprise, you equally remember that this is Jeon Jungkook kissing you, your annoying neighbor. You push against his chest, twisting your head to the side as you try to escape his kiss. “What the fuck?” You hopelessly try to catch your breath as you turn to move into your kitchen, walking to the refrigerator to get yourself a bottle of water to help quench the building heat that’s simmering through your body.

You fight the part of you that didn’t want the moment to end, helplessly craving to let Jungkook ravage you and give into the sexual tension you felt since the moment you met him. Unfortunately, your anger is still spilling over, causing you to scoff at his actions. “You know what, you…” you try to retaliate as you pull open the refrigerator door, watching as Jungkook’s hand prevents you from opening it as he pushes against it.

“I said, shut your damn mouth, Y/N.” His guttural voice causes you to submit as his hands latch against your hips, twisting your frame around to trap you between himself and the appliance. You shut your eyes for a moment as he presses your back into the refrigerator, leaning in to steal another soul-sucking kiss.

The moment his lips meet yours once again, you feel your body submit to your desires, wrapping your arms around his neck as you return the same intensity, your bodies becoming a blur of tongue and cheek. Jungkook’s large hands travel up and down your sides as he continues pushing you back, your bodies clinging to each other as your limbs tussle the collection of refrigerator magnets you’ve acquired over the years, knocking a few off onto the ground.

Part of you longs to break apart from Jungkook to give him a piece of your mind, however, his kiss poisons you as you fall for the idea of letting him ravage you. You know you’re attracted to him, yet you never thought the sentiments were shared as you both claw and paw at each other’s clothes as your mind swirls into oblivion. The cold sensation of his lip piercing is a pleasant juxtaposition to the warmth of his lips.

You push back on his chest, breaking apart from your heated makeout as you gasp for air, feeling lightheaded. Jungkook equally pants for breath as he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes baring into you as if he’s hunting you down for the taking. Your body ignites with need, a dull pulsing between your legs exposes your arousal.

“Got any honks today?” Your voice is breathy as you attempt to throw in one more blow to his pride, watching his stare darken and intensify as the memory floods back. Jungkook scoffs, sliding a hand up from your waist until he’s gripping your chin between his strong fingers, moving your head up to stare directly into his pupils.

“It’s anything but small, princess.” He growls softly, leaning forward to grab ahold of your bottom lip between his teeth as he gently gnaws against your flesh. He presses his hips forward, the fabric of his sweatpants doing little to shield your thigh from the probing of his hard length.

You gasp, feeling your throat run dry as your body swelters in need. You gulp back your arousal, forcing your eyes shut as you try to avoid the handsome man manipulating you as if you are a marionette, pulling your strings as your body reacts for him instinctually. “I’m not impressed.” You lie, knowing your comment will only spur him on more as you persist in attempting to annoy him further.

Jungkook grinds his hips forward, causing you to shudder beneath his ministrations as the friction causes your imagination to sinfully picture what he’d feel like inside of you. He drops his hands to your ass, grabbing at the plump flesh as he lifts you up, guiding your legs to wrap around his hips. He takes a few steps toward the counter adjacent to the refrigerator, plopping you down on top with complete disregard for the small appliance being shoved back toward the backsplash.

“Stop being a brat and come here.” He hisses as he tugs your hips forward to tetter your bottom on the edge of the counter. His fingers dig beneath the waistband of your jeans as his fingers make quick work to unfasten the button and zipper, shimming the fabric down alongside your neutral-toned underwear. You willingly allow him access as your hands work to pull the oversized white t-shirt over his head, tossing the material to the side haphazardly as your fingers paw at his toned abdomen.

Jungkook slides his hands back up your torso before he pulls down his sweatpants and boxers to expose his strained dick, erect and angry for attention. Your eyes widen at the sight of it, realizing that you were completely false in your assumptions. It was far from small and your mind craved to feel him slide inside of you. It was a good thing that you were on birth control because the moment your surprise is exposed to Jungkook, he presses forward to wrap a hand behind your head, pulling your lips back to his as he savagely kisses you.

He pulls back just enough to stare at you once more as he aligns the tip of his cock to the center of your dripping vagina, his pride swelling at the manner in which your body is ready to accept him. “Now say sorry before I make you scream.” He threatens, your stubbornness causing you to bite your tongue in refusal.

“As if you could.” You bark back, completely stunned when Jungkook pulls your hips forward to impale you on his cock. You let out a small whine, tossing your head back against the cupboards as Jungkook thrusts his dick into your needy pussy. You fight back the moan that threatens to escape the barrier of your lips as you cling to his toned shoulders, your eyes drinking in the sight of his chiseled waist hammering forward as he pumps his dick in and out.

“Ah, fuck!” You finally moan, unable to keep quiet as each thrust sends a pleasurable shudder through your body as he fucks deeper into you, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix.

Jungkook’s eyes roll back at the sensation of your walls sliding against his member, leaving him huffing as your pussy strangles him for all his worth. “You’re so fucking tight.” He groans as he dips his head forward to feather kisses down the length of your jaw to your neck. He meticulously suckles at your skin, hoping to leave his love bite painted across your skin as his fingers grip your sides, threatening to leave bruises.

You can’t help but moan each time his length assaults your center as your legs tighten around his waist to help guide him deeper into you.

Your fingers claw at his back as the cabinet door rustles behind you from the impact of your body getting jolted into it, desperately reaching out toward the refrigerator to help steady you against the edge of the counter.

Jungkook swiftly moves his hands up your waist till he finds your breast, slipping his hands beneath the cups of your bra and squeezing the flesh within his hands. “Damn, Y/N.” He groans once more, feeling overwhelmed by the memory of you stripping in the elevator just to prove a point to him. Since that day, he’s imagined what your body looks like naked, and he fully intends on utilizing the opportunity.

He grips the fabric of your shirt, tugging at the seams as it splits down the center to reveal the bra you have perking up your breasts for ample viewing. You gasp at the tearing of your shirt, thankful to have worn something plain and unsentimental as Jungkook savagely rips through. He wastes no time finding the clasp of your bra, skillfully unfastening it with one hand while the other helps keep you steady on the counter.

As your bra falls away from your chest, you watch Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sight of your hardened nipples. He runs his tongue against his bottom lip before leaning his head forward to capture one of your nipples within his mouth. You sigh as the chilled texture of his lip piercing grazes the pert bud, your mouth hanging open as he swirls his tongue around it and continues fucking himself into you.

You feel your core tighten around his cock as he continues stimulating every sensitive part of your body, moving a hand up to your free nipple to pinch it gently between his thumb and pointer finger. As if you couldn’t handle any more stimulation, Jungkook’s free hand slides down to your sensitive clit, rubbing quick circles as he coaxes you to meet your undoing.

Your orgasm hits you like waves crashing against the shore, your body shuddering in ecstasy as you scream out his praise. Jungkook releases his grip on your nipple to hold your body from sliding off the counter. He pops his mouth off of your sweet bud, slowing the motions of his hips and fingers as he pries your legs off from around his waist.

Your legs fall limply to the ground as Jungkook’s strong grip rotates you to press your stomach into the counter, refusing to let this be the end of his treatment. “I can’t make you scream, my ass.” He groans as he pushes his dick back inside of you, your hands clawing at the counter space as you’re jostled forward.

The friction of him fucking back into you causes you to moan from the overstimulation, feeling completely full as he pounds against your cervix. You feel a sudden sharp sting across your backside causing you to yelp in surprise. Jungkook groans happily at the sight of your ass jiggling against his slap, causing him to quicken the pace of his hips. You arch your back as you toss your head back, stunned to find your body building itself back up.

Jungkook slides a hand up your spine before digging his fingers into your hair, grabbing a handful close to the root as he gently pulls back. You moan at his ministrations, feeling yourself come undone again as Jungkook has his way with you in the middle of your kitchen.

“Fuck, Y/n. I’m gonna cum.” He groans, feeling the pressure build at his tip as he shoots hot ropes of his cum into your welcoming pussy. Your vision goes white in rapture as you climax a second time, your body going limp against the counter as you feel his seed spill down your thigh. “Don’t move, princess.” Jungkook coos as he quickly retrieves some paper towels from the holder beside you, cleaning himself off before offering you one.

While you clean up, Jungkook pulls his clothing back on as your kitchen is filled with an awkward deafening silence. The animosity that once radiated from the pair of you simmers as you cope with the reality that you both just banged inside your apartment. You collect yourself as you get dressed, noticing that Jungkook is carefully watching you as if he’s still admiring your body before you conceal it beneath your clothing.

“I…I should get going.” He finally speaks, motioning toward the balcony as he starts to walk back down the hallway toward your living room.

You button your jeans as you follow behind him, “Yeah, good idea.” You respond weakly, tired, and blissed out from your two orgasms. Jungkook offers you a gentle look before he pulls open the balcony door, wasting no time to skillfully climb over the railings back to his apartment. You watch in amazement, your mind observing the way his muscles flex with each move, recalling how it felt when he was fucking you silly.

You both offer each other a final awkward stare before disappearing into your respective apartments. You pull your door shut, swiftly closing the blinds alongside it to hide from view as you let out the breath you must have been holding in. “Shit.” You sigh as you press your back into the section of the wall directly beside your patio door, wrapping your brain around the events that just unfolded.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut

[lavendertales]

Guilty pleasures: Chapter 4

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Tommy mentions the reason why Joel refuses to celebrate his birthday. A fight breaks into the bar, and Joel's reaction to seeing you hurt awakens something in both of you.

word count: 6k

warnings: mentions of injury, alcohol. tension my beloveddd😌

A/N: this chapter kicked my ass oh god. it was much better in my head lmao but I hope it's as good as I want it to be.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @iero

series masterlist | AO3

AUGUST

“Again.”

Your voice is decisive and even a little harsh, but you know that Ellie’s more than capable of handling it. Poor girl’s had a handful thrown at her, and after traveling with Joel for over two years, you had no doubt that the girl was a tough cookie.

“I’m telling you, this thing’s rigged,” Ellie sighs.

You watch closely her hand on the trigger, noticing she’s squeezing harder than she should. Instantly, you reach around her and take the shotgun from her. Unable to look away, Ellie watches you lean over the rock, your hands steady and eyes locked on the practice target in the distance. Within the next second, you shoot it right in the center.

“Son of a bitch!” Ellie scoffs.

You chuckle, returning her look. “See? It’s fine.”

“Well you’re used to handling big guns! What is it with you and big guns, by the way?”

You falter, simply observing her; then, as you shrug, you notice from the corner of your eye a silhouette approaching.

Unmistakable, broad and about to get on your nerves.

But you choose to ignore it for the time being.

“Havin’ fun?”

Ellie gets up from the ground and starts telling Joel how you’ve been teaching her how to use a shotgun, how you shared tattoo wisdom and how cool you are. Joel listens, nods along, stealing the occasional glance at you.

You notice how displeased he looks. You know he hates how close you’ve gotten with Ellie over the past few weeks. Although maybe hate is too strong of a word; he’s still being cautious about you lurking around Ellie for reasons you have not been told.

Reasons you figured all on your own and kept to yourself out of respect.

So you know that your spending time with Ellie isn’t to Joel’s liking, but you’ve grown fond of her.

“I still think that thing’s rigged so I can’t shoot with it,” Ellie points at your shotgun and at you, respectively.

Joel cocks an eyebrow at you, and your breathing becomes inexistent as you exchange yet another hungry gaze.

While you’ve gotten closer with Ellie in the past month, you’ve grown more distant from Joel. The tension between you two boiled at perilous levels, especially after that evening on your porch. That unprompted kiss, birthed from some manic desire that needed to be sated, remained an unspoken secret between you, nothing more but a mistake done in the heat of the moment.

Every time you see Joel though, every time your eyes meet, you are reminded of that kiss and how much of you it consumed.

“Rigged, you say?” Joel asks, extending his hand so that you hand him the shotgun.

Almost like he’s expecting you to follow his lead without much argument.

Weirdly though, you do. You hand him the shotgun, watching nearly breathless as he steadies himself in the right position on the rock, eyeing the practice target.

“You squeeze the trigger like you love it,” Joel tells Ellie.

“Hmm.”

“Gentle, steady, nice and slow.”

“Are you gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?”

Joel makes a face at Ellie, then steals another quick glance at you. Only this time, Ellie takes notice of it too, much to your dismay.

“Could you not look at me when she says that?” you frown.

“I didn’t,” Joel retorts.

“You did,” Ellie adds.

“At least buy me a drink before, damn, Miller.”

Joel goes back to what he was doing prior. He replies with stoic silence, unable to come up with a good reply. So he points the shotgun right at the target practice and fires without hesitation.

He too shoots it right in the middle.

“You dick!” Ellie shouts, and you stifle a chuckle.

“Told you,” you tell her rather smugly. “You just gotta work on your aim. You nearly shot me in the head twice, and that’s just today. I’m starting to think this is personal.”

Joel lowers his head, stifling a chuckle. It’s brief, barely existent, and yet he feels its existence warming up his chest. The moment he wipes it off of his face, though, he feels empty again. As surprising as it may have felt to laugh at something you said, the second it was gone, he missed it.

Shit. He actually enjoyed that?

“Listen,” Joel mutters to you, grabbing hold of your arm as Ellie walks in front of you, “this thing with you and Ellie, I’m not a fan.”

“Quelle surprise.”

“But she seems to like you. For whatever reason.”

You don’t break the touch though; you’re not really sure why. It just feels… nice. His calloused hands wrapped around your arm, barely applying any pressure, just enough to make you pay attention to him, it’s—not bad.

You swallow your pride and bite your tongue though, all in order to reassure him. You know a concerned paternal figure when you see one.

“I told you before, I have no intention of hurting Ellie in any way,” you whisper, now inching close to his face. “I like her.”

That’s when Joel lets go of your arm, but his eyes drop to your lips and just like that, he’s transported back to the night he hastily kissed you. He reminisces of your scent, something odd yet specific, a mixture of salt, lotion and summer. He reminisces of how it felt to press his lips against yours, to have you open your mouth to welcome his, almost too eagerly and desperately, and his knees nearly give out on the spot.

“But if you wanna take over and teach her how to shoot, you should get to,” you tell him, being the first to back away. “You’re her—protector.”

Joel gulps, closely watching your figure. It feels like you are both too close and yet too far, and he knows that letting you in, allowing him to consume his thoughts and emotions, it will only bring more pain in the end.

“What are you guys doing? C’mon!” Ellie shouts.

No glances are exchanged afterwards. You walk silently into the town, and you make sure to stay well behind Joel and Ellie. The occasional smile appears on your face when you see Ellie excitedly telling Joel about her day and the things that she wants to do. The same smile that vanishes mere seconds later, being replaced by melancholy.

You realize you barely remember your own father anymore. He’s a faint figure at the back of your mind, someone you used to know who was gone too soon. And then you smile again, gathering that Joel is enjoying those moments as much as Ellie is.

As you watch them interacting, quickly forgetting you as they mind their own way, you come to appreciate that Joel is far from being cruel as you once thought. He’s still got kindness left in him, still doing things from the goodness of his heart.

Which begs the question: what happened to Joel Miller? What did the outbreak take from him that left such deep marks on him, causing him to hate the world and everyone in it?

Almost everyone.

You theorize whatever you can, but never pose any questions. It’s none of your business. Curiosity strikes you, sure, but there’s nothing else to it. You and Joel are… complicated. Best if you keep your distance from each other, especially after that unwanted moment.

There’s a sudden tug at the hem of your shorts. When you look down, you notice a little girl staring up at you. Her eyes are big and green, hair the color of caramel chocolate, and your heart drops. The resemblance is striking; you can’t get over it. If you were to believe that you could be haunted by your past… this is all the proof you need.

“Our ball fell on your porch,” she says while you stare at her, completely dumbstruck. “Can you give it back to us?”

Slowly, you come to your senses and realize the girl is with a group of friends who all stare expectantly at you. You blink several times to wake yourself up and nod rather flustered.

“Why didn’t you take it yourself?” you kindly ask the girl.

“My mom says it’s polite to ask first.”

You smile as you hand her the ball. “What’s your name?”

“Maya.”

You suck in a deep breath, eyes getting teary within a split second. Mouth ajar, you can only stare at her, your hands frozen on the ball.

But you don’t want to scare her, especially since you’re carrying a shotgun on your back and a knife in your thigh holster, nor do you want a panic attack to overwhelm you at this very moment.

Instead, you hand her the ball and smile widely at her. “It’s a—very beautiful name,” you tell her.

“What’s yours?”

You give her yours and she compliments it as well. The tears are blurring your vision at this point, but you fight them relentlessly. That is, until a woman stands next to Maya, eyeing you, and then her.

“Maya, sweetie, it’s dinner time,” she says.

“Can I play five more minutes?”

“Only five more minutes. But not any more, okay?”

“Okay.”

Maya sulks, and your smile widens. You blink again, making sure you keep your tears under control—as much as you can, at least. Then, an idea strikes you.

“Oh hey, do you like stuffed animals?”

Maya turns towards you, nodding frantically as she stares with those innocent wide eyes that simply make you melt.

“I might have something for you,” you say. “If that’s okay.”

You address her presumed mother this time, and she nods as well. You rush inside your house, opening a forgotten box at the back of your wardrobe. The moment you hold the rabbit plushie in your hands, a wave of sadness washes over you. The years clearly got to it, but that’s mostly because you haven’t had the guts to clean it properly. You let it catch dust and fade away, like the memories locked with it.

“This was my sister’s,” you tell Maya as you hand her the plushie. “She carried it with her everywhere when she was little. A little during teenage years too. Her name was Maya. Like yours. It’s a bit old, but nothing a good wash won’t erase.”

“He’s so cute! Can I name him?”

“You can name him whatever you want. He’s yours now.”

“Thank you, thank you!”

As Maya hugs your legs—at her height, it’s all she can manage—her mother looks at you, a heartfelt expression residing on her face.

“Are you sure?” she asks you.

You nod. “A kid should have it.”

“Thank you,” she smiles and touches your arm.

You watch them walk away, and finally you allow yourself a moment’s rest; you close your eyes, and the tears come pouring down your cheeks without you even trying to make it happen. You let them stain your face, you let the grief make its way from the box you’ve buried it inside your heart.

With one deep inhale, you open your eyes, face to face with Joel again. You’re very much aware of how disheveled you look now, as opposed to half an hour ago, but you couldn’t care less.

“Don’t,” you warn him, though your warning is as soft and raw as you’re feeling right now.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“That was very kind of you,” you hear Tommy’s voice, and later noticing his silhouette in your vicinity as well.

“A kid should have toys.”

“Whose was it?”

Joel’s tone is calm and understanding as opposed to all the other times the two of you have interacted. Perhaps that’s why it tightens your chest further, building towards your anger a little more.

“Just—not today, okay?” you nearly snap at him. “I’m really not in the mood for some typical Miller crap. No offense to you, Tommy, I actually like you.”

Tommy makes a flattered and impressed face. “Hear that?” he tells his brother. “I’m good.”

“I was gonna say somethin’ nice but I see this ain’t the audience for that.”

With that, Joel simply walks away, leaving a dumbfounded Tommy and a hurt you behind like there was nothing to it.

“What’s with him?” you ask Tommy. “He’s a bit snappier than usual.”

You watch as Tommy stares you down, inhaling and exhaling slowly in a well-rehearsed manner before he replies, “He always gets like this before his birthday.”

“His birthday’s coming up?”

“End of September.”

You’re surprised at the information. You wouldn’t expect someone like Joel Miller to care so much about a silly birthday, much less during such dangerous and cruel times. Questions begin to swim inside your mind once more, begging to be answered.

“I don’t suppose it has anything to do with growing older,” you say, to which Tommy shakes his head in denial almost instantly.

“No.”

When you fail to ask the next logical question, Tommy gulps, unsure if he should answer at all. It’s a family matter. After all, it’s a loss for Tommy too, and it weighs heavily on him—albeit not as cruelly as it weighs on Joel.

“September 26th,” he commences, voice grave and low. “The day of the outbreak, on his birthday… his daughter Sarah died. She was shot. Stupidest damn thing.”

Your face drops, as does your heart. Truthfully, you figured it was something along those lines, and yet somehow, when faced with the truth, you still take it much harder than you would’ve anticipated.

“Fuck,” you murmur, taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been twenty years, but I wouldn’t bring up her name if I were you. I don’t. Joel never recovered.”

Perfectly understandable, you think.

Your mother used to tell you that there was no pain greater than the one of losing your child. The way she said it, guttural and barely breathed, made you understand how heartbreaking it must be. You prayed you’d never have to find out.

So you can only try to imagine what Joel must feel like at all times. It almost makes up for all the times you two have argued and all the times Joel left abruptly, avoiding all eye contact, as well as physical.

Of course he wouldn’t want to be close with anyone. Getting close meant caring, and caring, love, it meant one thing in the end: pain.

“I guess that explains him for the most part,” you murmur, still processing.

“He means well,” Tommy explains. “At least I hope he does. He’s just… not crazy about others in his business.”

“Understandable. So I guess… he wouldn’t be a fan of, say… having a drink with one of his least favorite people? Y’know, when his birthday comes?”

The way Tommy stares at you, in a concoction of curiosity and giggles, makes your stomach twist and turn. You expect additional questions but you dread them tremendously. Although you suppose your rivalry with Joel wouldn’t be totally lost on his little brother.

“See, I don’t get the two of y’all,” he says, arms crossed at his chest and his interest peaked to the max. “You almost always argue, and now you wanna have a drink with him?”

He looks downright amused, and that, in return, upsets you. “I’m just trying to do something nice,” you reply. “Call it pity, being kind-hearted, whatever. But you can’t share a story like that and expect people to not react. I’m not heartless.”

“Sure thing. Except—most people would leave it at ‘I’m sorry’.”

You huff. “What do you want me to say, Tommy?”

“If you’ve got anythin’ to say, don’t say it to me.”

What would you even say to Joel? That you still get flashbacks to that unprompted kiss? That it still consumes you? That you craved more of that heat, curious to know what pleasures ate at his soul, locked and hidden away?

“But just so you know,” Tommy resumes, “Joel’s not the best at… communicating.”

“I think I’ll just stick to the one drink.”

Then Tommy calls out your name as you’re getting ready to leave, catching your attention.

“A lil’ bit of advice?”

“Sure.”

“I shared a drink with someone once, got to know that someone… and now we’re married.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling.

“Really?” you ask. “What is it with everyone and marriage and kids today?”

“Who’s everyone?” Tommy asks with a deep frown.

“I thought I’d do something nice, okay? It’s not necessarily pity. I just… I get the pain, okay? I’m not heartless.”

“I know you’re not. My point was… take care.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

You don’t say anything in return. The memories attached to your family are both good and dark, with the latter tending to take control more often than not. You find yourself haunted by past mistakes, frozen by the inability to save your family, and those are things you’d much rather keep private.

Just like you suppose Joel wants to keep his daughter’s death. Locked in his past, far away from anyone’s prying eyes or pitiful gazes.

As the moon emerges bright on the sky and you settle on a secluded chair at the bar, ordering a whiskey, you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you now know the main reason for Joel Miller’s—everything. Suddenly you feel like an intruder in his life, learning about the darkest moment in his life without him consenting to it. Of course, you plan on saying nothing of the sort, but the knowledge still remains deep within your mind.

It all starts to make sense: the way he’s so overprotective of Ellie, always watching over her, laughing at all of her bad jokes and going out of his way to find things that’ll make her happy.

Maybe Ellie is his second chance at fatherhood.

And maybe you were far too quick to judge him.

You are far too immersed into the amber liquid that’s occupying the glass before you to accept the presence that’s settled onto the chair on your right. You can feel their eyes on you, scanning, almost judging you, and you all but groan. Instead, you take a larger sip, letting the alcohol burn your throat and slowly, your whole body.

“If you wanna know somethin’ about me, you ask me,” the voice to your right coos.

The tone is all too familiar at this point, husky and menacing, but it does nothing to you.

Well. That is not technically true.

Despite everything that you’ve gone through having that grumpy man on your tracks for the past year, almost, he makes you feel alive. Whenever he’s around you, you feel more inclined to simply breathe in and out, feel each moment as if it’s your last; and with your every argument, every vicious look thrown back at each other, it only manages to stir something inside you that you’ve just never felt before. It’s a bizarre yearning, a longing for something unclear, yet so perfectly understandable.

You huff, slowly turning towards Joel. “Would you voluntarily tell me things about yourself?” you ask coyly.

“No.”

You hide the smile that threatens to break from the corners of your mouth, one that you suspect would anger Joel.

“I take it you talked to Tommy,” you say, almost done with your drink now.

“I told you to stay away,” Joel retorts, and his voice sounds like he’s in pain.

For a moment, just a fleeting, temporary moment, you want to look deep into his eyes and tell him it’s okay to feel things.

But the moment passes as swiftly as it arrives, and you say nothing of the sort.

“Actually, you haven’t,” you tell him, cautiously this time. “You never said anything of the sort. All you said—well, all you did was—“

Joel turns abruptly towards you, catching your attention. His face isn’t its usual dark aura, the kind of silent anger that’s boiling just beneath the surface, ready to blow over should anyone come too close.

“I didn’t do anything.” He pronounces each word carefully, as if he’s trying to let you know that if so much as mention the thing that’s on both your minds, he will lash out.

“You know what, if you wanna deny things, say they never happened, fine, do what you want,” you lean in to whisper to him. “But maybe don’t do them in the first place. Because maybe those things might keep someone up at night, thinking and wondering. And maybe that person would hate lying awake thinking of something that… how was it? It’s not a big deal.”

Joel clenches his teeth, downing his drink and now fully turns to you.

“You don’t need to know about my past and I don’t need to know about yours,” he breathes.

“Fine. But I’ll just say this. Talking about someone you lost means preserving their memory. If you stop talking about them, it’s like they never existed. You keep them alive by talking about them, by—“

“You don’t have a goddamn clue what loss is.”

That’s what triggers you. That’s what sends you over the edge, to a point of no return. You think of your baby sister, of your parents and friends and the little Maya you met today, and your heart aches and trembles in your chest, tormented by past mistakes and ghosts.

“You’re not the only one whose world stopped when you lost someone. Sure as hell not the only one who’s experienced loss in this fucked up world. So stop acting like you’re the sole victim here.”

“Kid?”

You freeze, staring at Joel for longer than you probably should have.

“Baby sister,” you reply almost inaudibly, barely able to swallow your own saliva. “And many others. So don’t you dare think you’re the only one who’s suffered a loss, or the only one with demons to face. We all got ‘em. We’ve all gone through hell, we’ve all suffered. Some of us still are. Present company included.”

“That why you can’t use a handgun? Reminds you of shooting them dead?”

You can feel your pupils dilate, your pores diluted by sheer anger. You don’t know how he intuited that or how he knew, but it’s the one thing you won’t allow to have tainted any more than it already is.

“Joel,” you warn sharply and higher, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

“Joel… don’t fucking go there.”

Regret washes over him the moment he sees your face, filled with anger and pain.

“I asked about your stupid birthday because I thought you know what? I might enjoy having a drink with the man. Because there might be something more to him that I’d like finding out. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Like you said. What’s the point of it, anyway?”

 Joel wants to contradict you; he wants to grab your hands into his, squeeze them as he stares into your eyes and tells you that it does fucking matter, and it was a big deal, that kiss. He wants to tell you how you’re the first person he could even look at since Tess, how you sparked his interest without even trying and slithered into his life and mind without lifting a single finger, but rather pointing your shotgun and him, meaning business.

He says none of that. He only looks at you, ashamed of his prior words and reaction, trying to swallow them along with the whiskey. He barely registers the noises around him, the indistinct chatter, cuss words being thrown around with so much ease and the shoving. He only starts to notice something is amiss when you stand from your seat, eager to leave, and not able to navigate through the sudden crowd.

When Joel looks around, he sees a fight ensued. He stands up, willing to go after you and at the very least excuse his harsh words, but when he doesn’t see you, panic bubbles in his chest.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?!” Joel shouts around him, but there’s no reply.

Instead, Joel dodges a few punches thrown dangerously close to his own face. He soon realizes that the fight had escalated and that half of the bar was trying to break it apart. His heart is racing, and his mind is sending one signal: find her.

His eyes search through the crowd, elbowing his way through the people around him; he sees punches and kicks and he dodges them to the best of his abilities, but when he bumps into someone, his wrist gets caught onto some fabric. He pulls away sharply, the appalling aftermath of that one encounter shaking him completely.

Suddenly Joel’s eyes drop to the floor, frantically searching for his watch. It’s the first time in over twenty years that the watch is off his wrist and he’s never felt more vulnerable and exposed. Tears threaten to roll down his cheeks as he keeps searching, hopeless and maddened by the possibility that someone might step on the watch. He can’t lose it, he can’t be without it, he can’t—

The scream that he hears next chills him. Still frantic, heart almost bursting out of his chest, Joel finally spots you. You’re clutching your arm, facing away from the bar. He sprints towards you, unable to think of anything else.

“What happened?” he asks.

“One of these morons—popped my shoulder!”

���C’mon. Let’s get outside.”

On your way out, you hear Maria intervening and the fight finally broken. Then you faintly hear Tommy scolding whoever it was that started the whole thing, shouting in disapproval. Frankly, it’s kind of a blur with the blinding pain that you feel. You can’t feel most of your arm, and the warm air outside doesn’t lessen the sensation. Somehow, it gives the opposing effect and makes you feel like you’re about to catch on fire.

That, or it could also be the way Joel’s hands hold onto you so gently and carefully, guiding you to his house.

Foreign territory, you realize. But you don’t really look around, you can’t; not with white, hot pain searing through you.

Joel guides you to a couch, helping you down and taking a look at your shoulder. Then, his gaze shifts onto you, his eyes suddenly warm and soft and apologetic.

“I have to set it back in its socket,” he informs you.

You falter, spending one second too long staring at him. “Do it,” you nod.

Taking a deep breath in and closing your eyes, you try to ready yourself for what’s about to come. You’re familiar with all kinds of pain, but the one resulting from embarrassment of having someone who detests you help you in such a tense moment is something else entirely.

Nonetheless, it still takes you aback when it happens.

Joel pulls your arm, steady and carefully, but you still wail. You wail and groan, letting out the pain and a few beads of sweat protruding at your temples and on your forehead. And then you feel the same warm hands holding your arm at your chest.

“You’re good, you’re okay,” Joel coaxes you, his voice grave, yet oddly pleasant. “Focus right here, right here on me.”

You do as you’re told and lock eyes with him, breaths more even now. It hurts significantly less, though you’re not out of the woods just yet. You try to move your fingers to see whether Joel did a patch job or not, but next thing you know, his fingers are holding yours.

“Can you move them?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Show me.”

You move the index first, wiggling it tentatively, then the middle one.

“All of them,” Joel instructs gently.

You move the ring finger and the pinky, then all of them at once, nice and slow. As you pleasantly remark that the nerves in your hand seem to be intact, you stifle a gasp at the realization that Joel’s fingers are intertwined with yours. The feeling is that of warmth and coziness, and yet… there’s electricity in it. Static, wild and treacherous.

“Looks good,” Joel concludes, clearing his throat a little.

Your eyes look up at him, finally meeting with his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say you shivered.

“Feels good too,” you murmur, hoping it’s inaudible, or some figment of your imagination.

But it’s neither. Joel hears you, and this is very much real. Him, holding your hand and not pulling away like he usually does, it’s the realest thing he did in a while.

“Thank you,” you say.

Joel nods, back to his stoic self. He knows he should probably pull away, take his hand out of yours.

But he can’t.

“I’m—I’m sorry, by the way,” he manages to get out.

“For what?”

He falters. “For saying those things, back at the bar. I shouldn’t have said… it was cruel.”

“How did you know what happened?”

Your question is merely for pure information, nothing else. Yet shame won’t leave Joel’s body.

“The way you looked at that little girl. There was guilt in your eyes. The kind that stays with you forever, haunts you. For something you did.”

You don’t respond. You’re already feeling awfully vulnerable tonight, and opening about the biggest tragedy in your life isn’t something you wish to do. Not now, probably not ever.

“I’m also sorry for… oversteppin’ some boundaries, a while back,” Joel resumes, like he wasn’t anticipating an actual answer from your side.

You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting. That gets Joel impatient and flustered.

“You know what I—c’mon, don’t make me say it out loud,” Joel all but begs.

You smile in the slightest. “Humor me and say it anyway.”

With a loud huff, Joel manages to get out, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Again, mere curiosity and interest. You’re not trying to get him to open up about anything, given that he didn’t do it to you when it comes to your sister.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Like a lot of folks, I live my life one day at a time and I figured… I might die tonight, tomorrow mornin’… why not seize the moment with someone who ain’t half bad looking?”

You frown, unsure if you should feel flattered or insulted. “Oh, I’m not ‘half bad looking’? As opposed to what, the infected?”

“Better alternative.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and to your surprise, Joel does the same. His chuckle is deep, but heartfelt. It stirs something inside you, something pleasant that you wish wouldn’t vanish anytime soon.

“Anyway,” Joel resumes, feeling his cheeks flushed, “sorry about that.”

“You should be. It was pretty damn terrible.”

Joel’s the one who frowns this time around, staring incredulously at you. “What?”

You nod. “Yeah. Pretty awful. It was too short.”

Stunned, Joel can only blink and stare at you, unabashedly dropping his glare at your lips and licking his own subsequently. He’s painfully aware of the fact that he’s still holding your hand, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s overwhelmed and there’s adrenaline pumping in his veins, and you’re so close to him—but you’re still hurt, so he couldn’t—

“Joel,” you coo, bringing him back with his feet on earth, “you said it’s no big deal. So I didn’t—I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I tried to not let it get to me, but I—“

“It’s been a… long, long time since I felt anythin’ close to this. I thought I was over feeling these things. I didn’t expect to… want more. I don’t get close to people, not anymore.”

“You got close with Ellie.”

“It sneaked up on me. I didn’t expect to care about her so damn much, but I was wrong. And now, with you... you sneaked up on me too. In a whole other way.”

Your throat’s dry, heart pounding and you feel warm all over. You’re not sure if it’s from the pain, the glass of whiskey you had less than half an hour ago or Joel’s shy words—or perhaps a mixture of those three—but you do want to ease his worries a little, if you can.

“You think I went around making friends and dating?” you ask, and you see a hint of amusement on Joel’s face. “I sure as hell didn’t. Maybe scratch an itch here and there but I’ve never—I don’t think I’ve ever felt an urge like this one, right now.”

Joel’s face moves closer to yours, his eyes roaming all over your face to the point where your cheeks redden.

“What that might be like?” he asks.

“Like I want you around all the time. Like I… I think about kissing you again. And what it would be like to touch you.”

“So far so good?”

He’s looking at your hands, joined together by your fingers, and then back at you, and you shudder. You hate the impact this man has on you, the way he raises your blood pressure and heats your body with a single look.

But boy are you mesmerized by it.

“So far so good,” you confirm.

You lean in, perhaps foolishly so, but it’s what you feel the moment calls for. Even if it’s wrong, even if there’s a thousand reasons for why you shouldn’t do it, you’d still find one to go through with it.

“Hey, there you are!”

Ellie’s cheerful voice makes you and Joel separate in an instant, your hands no longer tangled. You meet Ellie’s gaze, who seems relieved to see you.

“Hey,” you tell her.

“I’ll get you something to hold the arm in place,” Joel announces rather awkwardly.

“I heard what happened,” Ellie says. “What a bunch of douche heads. How’s your arm?”

“Feels good. Joel reset it.”

“Ouch.”

“Eh, it wasn’t as painful as you might think.”

Joel steals a glance at you from the bedroom, smiling to himself. He can’t recall the last time he ever felt the urge to just smile because of someone’s presence.

“C’mere,” he tells you, tightly wrapping a cloth around your shoulder and arm. “Hold it still. Should last you a couple of days.”

“Thank you.”

You linger with your gaze, and so does Joel. However, Ellie frowns at the two of you, surprised that you aren’t at each other’s throats.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” she tells you. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Goodnight, Ellie. Thanks for checking in.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of practice tomorrow morning.”

“Wasn’t counting on it.”

You smile, watching Ellie leave. Once you’re alone with Joel again, you clear your throat, feeling oddly dry as you sit up.

“I should get some sleep,” you announce.

“I should too, I think.”

The warm air is thickened by unspoken words and silence, both your hearts racing unsteady inside of you. Joel walks you to your house, meeting your eyes when you’re on the dimly lit porch.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you tell him.

“Goodnight.”

If there was ever any moment to share a kiss, this would be it.

But as he walks away, shaking his left hand and realizing again how painfully empty it feels, he comes to realize that kissing you now, after the chaotic night you’ve had, would’ve led him to want more. He was already craving things that drove him insane with lust, and so putting an abrupt end to a potential kiss would’ve ruined him.

He knows that if he would’ve kissed you now, he wouldn’t have been able to stop.  

He thinks that if he’ll ever kiss you again, he definitely won’t be able to stop.

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[thatbanditqueen]

No One Walks Out Ch 4

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 4: Kaleidoscope

Summary: Elvis convinces Becky that this is actually a romantic gesture, and he brings her to Graceland to meet his family and spend some time together as he prepares to have his daughter come to Memphis. A fluffy, smutty nuzzlefest with some foreboding and Jerry shenanigans.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, vaginal sexual penetrative intercourse, cursing, drug use and alcohol, and, because it's Elvis, weird mind games and jealousy. Some historical inaccuracies.

Words: 18.6K EVERYTIME. Every. Goddamn. Time. With every fic. I tell myself, this time, 10 K is enough. And then I write more than i did last time. I think I loose readers every time it gets longer... but .. fuck.. I don't know. It's hard to kill your darlings.

I made a playlist just for this chapter in order of the songs that get sung or played.

I'm so bad at attention to detail, sorry for the typos.

This chapter is part of my on going fic about 1975-era Elvis and a single mom he meets after a concert in Jackson, MS. If you haven’t read it, you can here:

Catch up on Chapter One here

Catch up on Chapter Two here

Catch up on Chapter Three here

Thanks to everyone who has commented, sent asks, and supported this story. If you enjoy it, please, for the love of big daddy, reblog, comment, share. I always like hearing what works and what doesn't, because it gets into my fingers and shapes the way they write. Pretty sure the smut is ridiculous here....

Sunday, June 14th

1 PM, Pop’s Gas Station

Somewhere in Mississippi 

The coffee was hot as it rolled down Jerry’s throat, and he shifted against the raw wooden grain of the bench outside Pop’s Gas Station, somewhere off Highway 61. It was bright in the muggy, midday heat of Mississippi, and Jerry adjusted his sunglasses, intentionally turning his head away from the yellow Cadillac parked askew twenty or so feet to his right. Lush green trees lined the two-lane highway, and Jerry stared at the overgrowth, trying not to focus on Elvis’ laugh bubbling up as it was interrupted by yelps as Becky hit him again and again on his upper arm. Jerry made no visible acknowledgement that he could hear or see everything being said in the car twenty feet away.

"Elvis THIS IS NOT FUNNY! Turn around and take me home… I don’t appreciate being taken against my will…”

“Thought you liked being taken by me, ouch…. last night you said you wished you could co—”

“No, I never said—”

“Yes ya did, ya said,” Elvis’ eyes laughed and his lips pouted while he spoke in a high falsetto, “Oh Elvis you big strong manly stud, I wish I could stay like this forever, naked in your arms…c—”

“No, no, no, now.” Becky flipped her long, dark auburn curls over her shoulder and looked out the window at Jerry, still aloof, disinterested, his eyes focused on an indeterminate point in the distance. “I didn’t say it like that, I was caught up in the moment and I said ‘this is nice, just being here like this, together.. wish it could last forever,’ the kind of stupid thing weak-willed women like me say after making love….I never said I wanted you to go——”

“Well, I saw it in your eyes… and again this morning, when you were trying to play it cool while ya wa warshin’ my clothes for me, ironing ma pants…” His fingers rubbed the side of her arm, stroking up to the top of her shoulder then back down to her elbow, trailing lightly along her thigh. Becky settled a little as Elvis’ voice rumbled into her ears. She stopped punching him and crossed her arms with an exasperated sigh.  Elvis leaned in closer, still a few inches from her ear, murmuring while his hand circled the top of her left knee. “C’mon woman, ya really don’t wanna spend a few more days with me?”

Becky crossing her arms even tighter, and a guttural growl emerged from her throat with a “Humpf… Elvis…. I can't disappear on a whim just to be your fuck buddy for a week…”

“Whoa now, first a all, this ain’t just about screwing around-”

Becky arched an eye brow.

“Maybe for you, ya wanton woman…”

“Ha!”

“No, now a man can only do so much a that… now just come here a second….”

Elvis's hands pulled Becky across the front seat of the car and into his arms.

“Now honey, I like you, we have fun in each other’s company, hmmm?” He kissed the top of her dark curlscand her skin smoldered under the heat of his large hand massaging her shoulder. The bottom of his glasses bumped along the top of her head and she took another deep, protracted breath, uncrossing her arms.

“Mhmmmm… I… it’s not ok to go behind my back just because you want something to happen a certain way…it doesn’t feel good to be tricked into something…”

“Ok, ok… ya right…. See, I … I knew you was too shy to ask your folks… ” Becky jabbed him softly, playfully, moving her elbow up and down along the soft cushion of Elvis’ belly. “Ok, ok, simmer down, I’m sayin’ you are right, honey, I'll never trick you again or do something without asking….promise…I’ll never not consult you again when I’m planning a grand romantic gesture that sweeps you off ya feet…” 

“HA … that what this is? Awfully optimistic of you, thinking anything like this will ever happen again .. I have a mind to make you drive me back to Jackson on principle…”

“OK, well, now, look, we’re only ‘bout on hour from Graceland,  let's head in and if ya still set on leavin’ in the morning,” Elvis winked as he said this.  “I’ll have Jerry drive you back…”

Becky softened and leaned into him, her hand worked its way around Elvis’ waist. “Oh no, no Jerry, no Joe, you’re not gettin’ your friends to do your dirty work for you - you did this to your self, and you need to be the one sufferin’ the six hours driving me to Jackson and back…”

“So what I’m hearing is that you want the maximum time ta cuddle with me … I gotcha, I gotcha… so come an’ get it now, silly woman!”

Elvis’ right hand tightened around the edge of Becky’s shoulder, his thumb gently swiping up her shoulder blade as she scooted into him, releasing all of her resentment about this surprise trip to Memphis. Becky made a mental note to save any indignation that remained for Ida as she snuggled into Elvis chest, giving into it’s warm comfort and burrowing her nose into his breast. Becky smiled as Elvis let out a deep hiss as the tip of her nose traced over his nipple. Her hand moved down to tease him along the crease of his pants where his belly met his thigh. Slowly, her fingers crept further along the ridge of his tummy and onto the top of his legs, just to the point above his crotch, then giggling softly as Elvis gasped and exhaled with a low exclamation.

 “Gawdddddammit… lil gal… gonna loose my foot tryin’ to get us back to Graceland…show you that sound proof….roommmmmm,” his voice purred as Becky’s fingers needled the round flesh at the top of Elvis inner thigh. 

The friction created a heat between them, and Elvis fingers started to rub Becky’s shoulder with a blistering need. He kissed the top of her head, and Becky watched him push against her in the rearview mirror. Her chest filled with warm exhilaration at the sight of Elvis’ lower lip hanging down, his eyes blown wide with earnest, needy lust. She watched his lips smoosh sideways as he kissed her forehead, maintaining a charged eye contact with her through his glasses. The intensity of his stare was overwhelming, it made her heart beat so quick that she heard it in her ears, almost drowning out the sound of Elvis’ left hand rolling down the window to yell out for Jerry to get back in the car, never breaking the bond between his chin and her forehead. 

Elvis blue eyes simmered as they stared her down through the mirror, and Becky couldn’t stop herself from biting her lip. His fierce stare was juxtaposed by the softness of his voice as he whispered into her hair while they drove along the highway.

“He’s sawry if he upset ya baby …” Elvis voice went into a low, intimate babyish tenor, the movements of his thumb became more protracted, and Becky shushed him through his shirt. “Such a sweet baby ta me… baby baaaaby ba da di dooo, ohh… yeuahhhhh…..” His voice lulled into a gospel tune momentarily. “I cain’t wait ta show ya all ‘round ma house… all ‘round ma property… fourteen acres… ever stayed somewhere so big? Think ya… can handle that size?”

Becky chuckled, and Elvis’ face beamed at the soft rose color of her blushing cheeks. 

“Mhmmm… well, I’m not sure… guess I’ll just have ta see what happens….” Becky kissed Elvis chest, softly, murmuring into it. Her right hand snaked around his back, her left feathering over the round swell of his belly. “You know, I was just starting to like you this morning before you played this dirty trick on me …  you’re so funny and sweet …. But I just need to say… one last time, then we’ll put it behind us… I… don’t like plans being made for me…” Becky looked up at Elvis face from where she leaned on his chest. The side of his face loomed large above her, his lips pursed in thought above the bulge of his chin. “I can see how you meant this as a romantic gesture… but I … I don’t like being tricked…”

Elvis’ chin rippled above Becky as he nodded, and he drew her in closer. “Awright honey… from now, s’all ‘bove board… no more tricks… no more surprises, kay? I promise. Won’t ever lie or mislead you or keep something from you.” The softness of his chin pressed into Becky’s forehead as Elvis’ kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder.

Calmed into a tender embrace, Becky and Elvis retreated into their own little enclave in the front seat, where Jerry’s presence was ignored and almost forgotten about amid the sweet nothings Elvis and Becky exchanged along the highway up to Tennessee. 

“Ya know you got the cutest yittle eye lashes I ever seen,” Elvis whispered, and he kissed her forehead again, catching her mouth as Becky tilted up to him to kiss his cheek.

She murmured over his nipple. “You have the kind of chest a girl could get used to leaning on…” she rubbed her hand under the plush groove of his belly.

It was only when they got to the state line that Becky began to feel a slight unease creep up from the bottom of her tummy and take residence at the top of her bosom. An icy chill followed up her spine, she felt anxious as she realized they were entering Tennessee. She was about to experience another layer of Elvis’ home life that she hadn’t had any time to prepare for or even think about. She squirmed out of his tight embrace and sat up straight, looking out the window at the big sign announcing they had entered Tennessee.

Elvis’ left hand remained straight, steady at the wheel while his right palm chased after Becky’s, grasping at her fingers and intertwining his between them at the top of her knee. He turned his head from the road, momentarily, looking at the back of her head as it stared out the window. Elvis’ hand engulfed her’s, squeezing it tight, lifting her palm to his mouth and kissing the top of her hand.

“Hey - ya nervous?” 

Becky’s big brown eyes met his tentatively. Her lips pursed together, then wiggled back and forth as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Mhmm… what is your family gonna think of me… this random girl… coming back to your house with you? What if they… don’t like me…. What about these six girlfriends you told me ‘bout? I…. Anyone gonna be chasing me out the house with a rolling pin?” Becky’s voice stopped abruptly, and her words hung in the air. 

Elvis released Becky’s hand and looked over at her, then turned to look at Jerry briefly for the first time since they had left the gas station. “You watch too many soap opera… Graceland ain’t The Guiding Light… I lay down the law, and there ain’t no drama… no other chicks living there right now, and everyone’s gonna be just as crazy about you as I am, lil girl… but I’ll tell ya right now, my opinion’s the only one that matter’s at Graceland… so’s you jus’ let me know if anyone… anyone… disrespects ya, hmmm? Trust daddy, now, everything is gonna be fine….”

Elvis turned up the radio and rubbed Becky’s knee, and the sound of The Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin Man” filled the car.

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

The white mesh gates opened back and Elvis flicked his cigarillo out of the car window and steered the yellow Cadillac up the curved driveway. A wistful smile spreading over his face. Exhaling, he seemed to relax as he paused the car at the little brick guard house behind the gate. Elvis motioned at Becky to roll down the window and yelled at the older man standing watch.

“Why hellloooo der Vestor, stayin’ awake I see?”

The guard nodded, and Elvis chuckled, ignoring Becky’s questioning eyes as he drove the car around to the front of the house. Jerry was out of the car first, waiting as Elvis popped the trunk and squeezed Becky’s knee, turning to give her a soft kiss followed by a second, more vigorous smack. His fingers tousled her curly locks as he comforted her.

“S’gonna be great…” his voice lilted up into a refrain. “Welcome ta my world… Becky Butt” he grinned, giving her a wink as he slapped her thigh and opened his door.

Elvis pulled himself out of the car and strode around to grab Becky’s door just as she was about to pop it open. Taking her hand, he adjusted his sunglasses and smiled wide, tugging her up the portico behind Jerry. Opening the front door, Jerry glanced briefly at Becky, then told Elvis’ he’d run the bag Ida packed upstairs. Elvis stopped them in the front foyer, his arms hugging Becky from behind as he clasped his large hands around her waist and notched his chin into her neck. He nuzzled into her right ear as Becky looked from one side of the entry way to the other. Her eyes took in the scarlet red carpeting that trailed down the grand staircase in front of her and lined all the floors that she could see, punctuated by the occasional white fur rug.

“Welcome to Graceland….” Elvis whispered. Becky’s cheeks began to match the carpet as Elvis hummed “Amazing Grace,” into her neck with a mischievous grin that told Becky he was also thinking about the same intimate moment they had shared two nights ago. The image of Elvis mouth singing this song as he licked her pussy was now indelibly linked to in her mind. 

“So… whatcha think?” Those same lips asked.

Red. That was Becky’s first impression of Graceland’s interior. The color was so overwhelming, it was the only thing she could think of as she looked around. Deep, scarlet velvet drapes lined with golden fringe hung down to meet the carpet at the entrance to every room. The dining room table on her left was enclosed by high-backed candy apple colored chairs covered with rhinestones. To the right was a parlor with a long Victorian settee that was, you guessed it, a deep Burgundy color held up by a white wooden trim. Becky momentarily mused that this might be what Belle Watlings' vagina looked like: an ornate opening lined by red velvet drapery welcoming customers into its cavernous warmth. It was the sort of place a girl would feel comfortable getting an unexpected visit from Aunt Flo. Or the perfect setting for a villain to hold a clandestine meeting with James Bond. Becky kept all of these thoughts to herself, inhaling deeply as she took it all in.

“Wow… it's … so… fancy… like no where I’ve ever been, that’s fa sure…”

Elvis seemed pleased by this response, and kissed Becky’s neck. She murmured at the warmth of his breath on her skin as she continued.

“Gosh… s’not what I expected… S’much bigger than I thought driving up…”

“Mhmmm…. That’s what all the girls say— ouch!”

Becky reached her hand above her to playfully slap Elvis’ face, and he bite his lip and waggled his eyebrows down at her. Elvis’ thumb nestled inside inside Becky’s palm, swiping up and down slowly over her soft skin as he led her excitedly around through the dining room and into the kitchen where they came upon a short, stout Black woman filling the refrigerator with Pepsi bottles.

 Elvis dropped Becky’s hand to make a loud “CLAP,” chuckling as the woman jumped back and shrieked. 

“Oh lawd, Elvis, ya scared me outta of my skin!”

Elvis hugged the woman, speaking through his chuckles. “Jus keepin’ ya on yo toes Miss Mary, I reckon it’s been too quiet round here since I been gone…”

“Hmmm, well your daddy been callin’ over to ask if you back yet, want me to —”

“Nah, let the old bugger stew… he’s pestering me ‘bout that plane, an I don’t care ta hear it.” Elvis rubbed Mary’s shoulder, then turned to look back at Becky. “Mary, I got a lil girl I’m awfully fond of that I want ya ta meet, this here’s — ”

“Why it’s Becky!” 

There was Charlie, a big beaming smile radiating happiness through the kitchen as he walked in from the other side.

“Hmmpf… if it ain’t ol Waterhead ‘im self….” Elvis walked back over to Becky and drew her into him tight, kissing her forehead as his eyes narrowed and Elvis’ left hand grazed the top of his belt. 

Charlie’s expression toward Becky shifted immediately from joyful greeting to a more solemn “Glad to see ya ma’am.”

Mary asked Elvis what time he wanted dinner, exclaiming, “Well, an early dinner, huh,” in response to his 8 pm request.

“Woke up early ta day, Miss Mary… Becky Butt here’s harsh mistress, had me up all hours a the night,” he winked and then smiled deeper as Becky’s face grew red. “Then she had us up at 8 ta drive her baby to summer camp… who knows when her demands will end?”

“Ha, you have some nerve, Elvis Presley…” Becky whispered into Elvis armpit, pinching him under his jacket and causing him to chuckle and kiss her forehead again.

Elvis twirled her out from his side, looking at her as he swung her around. “Ain’t she just got the perfect hourglass figure Mary? Just need to get her some nice clothes, add a lil’ make up, and she shines like the Hope diamond...” 

Becky swung herself back into his armpit with another pinch and reddening cheeks, whispering “Considering everything you put me though today, I look like a movie star…”

“Yeah…ya sure do look like a movie star, honey…like Bette Davis in Baby Jane….” Then Becky’s face fell and Elvis stopped snickering and rubbed her back, his lips on her head. “Oh sweetheart, I didn’t mean it now…” he laughed as she hit him and burrowed into his armpit further.

Jerry’s footsteps announced his entrance into the kitchen behind them and Becky turned to see him nod at Charlie before briefing Elvis on some scheduling and business matters. Becky stole a glance at Charlie and smiled at his shrug and eye roll, half of which Elvis caught and responded to with a sharp look in Charlie’s direction, tightening his grip on Becky’s waist. 

“Huh, well, keep me posted when Dave lands at the airport tomarra with Lisa… alright, enough pleasantries, c’mon lil’ gal, Imma give ya the VIP tour….”  

Becky smiled and called out behind her, “Nice to meet you Mary, good to see you Charlie!” before she felt the clack of the swinging door her backside.

Elvis lugged her into the back hallway to a room with bright green carpeting and wood panelling. The coffee table looked as through it had been sliced out of a tree, and the soft trickle of falling water drew Becky’s attention to the north wall as Elvis sank into a brown fur-lined couch. He pulled her onto his lap, twin sea serpents roaring out of the carved wooden armrests to meet Becky’s hand as she steadied herself to keep from falling off Elvis. To balance, Becky settling her bottom into Elvis’ groin, and he pulled Becky closer, leaning back as his fingers worked their way under Becky’s tee-shirt to caress the softness of her belly, his voice rumbling into her neck.

“This is the den…whaddya think?” 

Becky turned to look at him, his hands shifted her around so she was now straddling him where he sat at the sofa’s edge.

“It’s magical… this is my favorite room so far… right here…” 

Elvis lit up behind his lavender glasses at the wonder in Becky’s upturned eyes; he relished her gasp at the green carpet covering the ceiling above. His right hand massaged the tender hip flesh spilling out of her jeans, while his left hand moved under her shirt to where her shapely bosom jiggled ever so slightly with the delicate thrusts Elvis’  begin to send upward into her, and he leaned in to kiss her clavicle.

“Elvis… you.. havta… I wanna… you’re in the middle of giving me a tour…” Becky whispered, the burn of desire beginning to brush at her base. She grasped his left wrist to stop the jaunty beat his index finger was flicking into her nipple. 

He ignored her, his eyes singularly focused on her bust. “Honey, I don’t know if you are aware of this, but you are not wearing a brassiere….” 

“Mhmm yeah, that was a clothing choice made in a hurry this morning, out of comfort and necessity… it is NOT an invitation…”

Elvis smirked to himself as his fingers relented, only to be replaced by his warm mouth pressing into Becky’s pebbled nip through her tee shirt, mumbling into her breast.

“Well sho seems like an invitation …*suckle* …to this humble wanderer …*suckle* …feel like I been stuck in the desert …*suckle* …seeking sustenance…*suckle*… an now ya’d deny me…” his mouth pressed his teeth through the now damp fabric onto her nipple, “this ripe fruit I’ve found…that I so desperately need ta nourish …*suckle* …ma soul…” 

Becky couldn’t stop the moan escaping from her chest despite her exasperated fatigue and self-conscious awareness. Elvis’ hands moved to fondle her bottom and pull her further onto him, and he squeezed her cheeks as she giggled. Suddenly she wasn't that tired and instinctively surged into Elvis’ lap, before pushing off of his chest and wriggled backwards. She felt his growing erection as she stumbled off him and balanced her self on the ground. Shakng her head, Becky smoothed down her tee shirt and tried to keep a straight face striding backwards along the couch, stopping at the dual staircases at the back of the room.

“Hey now… mister… there are people in the next room over… why don’t we continue the tour …”

Elvis stood, lips parted below a predatory look as if he might leap over the sofa and devour her right there and then. Becky shrieked as he stalked toward her.

“Hmmmm… s’my house honey, and I do what I want.. where I want… so no reason to be worried… this is all part of my hands-on, personal tour…” He caught up with her and pulled her into him.

“Well…” Becky leaned up, her lips faintly hovered below his. “Those hands are… gonna havta catch me… don’t know what kind of girl you think I am but I don’t go ‘round making love in public places… or before this tour is finished!”

She giggled again as she rushed down the staircase to the basement, Elvis' loud belly laugh followed her as the sound of his heavy foot steps filled the passage way. Turning back briefly, Becky saw that Elvis’ body  blocked out all the sunshine from the corridor. His ravenous expression sent a thrill up her spine as she tripped down into the darkness of the basement and ran smack! into a doorframe. Elvis caught up to her as she massaged her fingers into the side of her forehead, that's probably gonna cause bump... how sexy.

“Mmhmmmm … look what I caught … think this tour is over… for now…” Elvis kissed her shoulder from behind, his breath trembling out a chuckle between his words. “Oh no, ya not hurt?”

She smiled. “No, I’m fine… just stupid.. runnin’ round a basement in the dark…”

Elvis pulled her in, replacing her fingers with his lips. “Aww, baby, let him kiss it and make it better…” He peppered soft, sweet kisses on her temple and Becky felt the cool sheen of perspiration on his chin from the jaunt down the stairs. The soft, damp sensation of his skin against her was electrifying, and she absorbed him eagerly, her hands went under his jacket till he shouldered it off,  his hands trailing down to her waist. She groaned out as the heft of his body insistently impelled her into the doorframe. 

Becky bit her lip as her hands meandered over Elvis’ back, cherishing the soft, pliable ridges and rolls, then daintily moving up to clasp his neck. He muttered out an “OH baaaaby…” and she responded with a whimper. Elvis grinned wide, stroking Becky’s cheek with his knuckles, down to her mouth, his kisses moving lower along her neck, more  passionate and insistent with each smoosh. 

Elvis grunted and heaved as hee lifted Becky up, carrying her moaning body through the doorframe an onto a dark, velvet, sectional, her head bump all but forgotten. Her eyes sort of noticed her surroundings, yellow and black walls lit by a dim solitary table lamp at a bar. Becky’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and watched Elvis kneel down in front of her and place his glasses back on the coffee table behind him. Looking up, she realized the ceiling in here was made entirely of mirrors.

“So… is this another den?”

“Mhmmmm ….  tvs, movie screen, record player, bar…” He leaned into her, hands on Becky’s thighs. “Got all the entertainment i need right here though...jus wanna look atcha ....  still a second… no moar running …” 

Becky exhaled and sat up, stroking the hair off Elvis’s face as he caught his breath, captivated by the pull of his deep, blue eyes. They were like the middle of the ocean and called her to jump off her life raft and dive right in.

“You are… you are …” she mumbled, running her left fingers through his sideburns, trying to think of the right words to tell him how attractive she found him, how his smile and that impish way his mouth quirked and his eyes danced with desire commanded her to body forward toward him. But all the phrases that came to Becky’s mind seemed inadequate and cliche. Also, she was reluctant to let him know how she felt, insecure and afraid it made her boring, easy, a push over. She had the impression Elvis needed validation, but also enjoyed the pursuit. 

Becky looked down at his thumbs trailing over the ridge of her jeans, his eyes intent on her.

“Hmmm… yeah baby, whatcha trying ta say?”

“You are… not so bad… for an… Elvis Presley…” Becky closed her eyes and held him to her cheek, as he chuckled softly, and started unbuttoning her pants.

“Well I like you too, darlin’… mmhmm…” His eyes were earnest and she inhaled as they narrowed, his hands were needy as her pulled off her jeans and threw them behind him. Becky guffawed watching them fall over a white, porcelain monkey that gleamed in the dark. 

Then he suckled at her nape, and Elvis’ cheeks scrunched up in a smile at Becky’s moans, inhaling as he moved to draw off her panties. She could feel the excitement scorching up her center as he looked into her eyes, tugging her panties off. Becky sucked in her tummy, maybe he won't notice the soft stretch marks at her hips. Stretch marks were the last thing on his mind, and her full, round hips beckoned him to grab on and smother himself within her. Elvis’ eyes looked into Becky's with a fiendish gleam, and he arched his left eyebrow as his hands continued to pull at her underwear without looking down. Becky giggled while he pursed his lips, removing her pink cotton skivvies one leg at a time. Elvis’ baritone voice dipped low as he lifted her legs over his shoulders, his thumbs teasing over her soft, curly fur, then slowly parting her lower lips.

“Hello darlin’ nice ta see ya….….It’s been a long time…” he sang, kissing the hair at the top of her entrance,  once, twice, three times. “…Ya just as lovely as you used to be…”

Becky started chuckling, “I think Conrad Twitty would be horrifi——” her commentary on Elvis’ serenade to her pussy was interrupted by the flick of his tongue on her clit.  She arched her head involuntarily as his chuckles hummed in to her. Opening her eyes, Becky saw Elvis’ body in-between her legs above her in the mirrors. His head bobbed forward and back as his fingers sought out the silkiness within her, prodding her pleasure point. Elvis tongue seared a path along her center, and a warm throbbing began to ache causing Becky to shift her hips forward to meet his mouth, twitching in sync with the glide of his fingers. Moving his index and forefinger up and down into her, Elvis let up from his efforts momentarily to look at her face, beaming at the way her lip hung down and her face convulsed in time with his fingers' movements. His head turned up into the mirrors reveling at the view of himself pleasuring Becky, widening her legs a bit so he could get a better view of his hand inside her. Becky cried out as his index finger made contact with that special spot once more, and he looked her dead in the eyes.

“Enjoy watching you squirm, darlin….”

Becky had trouble forming a sentence, stuttering out “Uhh.. well.. that… you know…” 

Elvis laughed and returned to her cunt like a man who'd been fasting a month, consuming her with firm, generous strokes. Becky felt the tension build, and her eyes went back up at the mirrors when she arched herself into him, watching as Elvis’ devoured her and his strangled breath filled the room. He was knuckles deep inside her, flexing back and forth in tandem as his tongue cleaned her, each round bringing her a step closer to absolution. Her fingers threaded through  Elvis’ dark hair, and in the dim light of the mirrors, Becky would swear she had a wild boar between her legs. A grunting,  dark, wild beast snorting and rooting for treasure in her depths. Her hips thrust up into Elvis’ face with a powerful whack and he grabbed her buttocks, his lips sucking her nub through the waves of heat that broadcast out through her entire body. Thrashing, twitching and cursing like a sailor, she tried to free herself from the overstimulation of Elvis’ soft mouth and hard tongue.

“Fuck fffffff fucking FUCKKKKK ing FFucccKKKKKK cocksucking motherfucking FUCK I can’t believe that……”

She panted hard, shaking her head at the smug, devilish look on Elvis face as he lowered her feet in front of her and wiped himself on her thigh. His fingers did a squeeze inside and a chuckle came out watching Becky twitch and jerk on his hand. She grabbed his shoulder, tightly, a sign to stop. “S’too much … to intense.” He did it one last time chuckling, then relented and glided his fingers out from her, licking them with filthy glee.

“Ha! I've never met anyone… who did that… who cared.. or liked the way women taste … like you do….” Becky exhaled, catching her breath.

“Mhmmm… not all women… but you … you taste amazing… I could eat this for breakfast, lunch and dinner…. And still be hongry fa moar…..” 

Becky laughed, sliding forward on the sofa and pulling his head to hers to crush their mouths together. It was like being inside herself. The hands cupping her cheeks, his entire face, it all smelled like her. And him. Sweat and spit and cologne and lavender oil and dirty hair. All melded together. It was intoxicating, and they stayed like this for several minutes, locked in a lover’s embrace, the smacks of their sloppy kisses replacing the sound of  Elvis face slapping against Becky’s thighs. Becky wound her legs around his bottom, and he grabbed her, lifting her up off the couch then thumping her back down as he ambled  over to the bar.

“Pffft… need.. some…water…”

She followed, and Elvis grinned at the sound of Becky’s wet nakedness squelching over the yellow bar stool.

“Thanks for polishin’ the furniture, baby…..” Elvis winked, as she inadvertently squeaked again against the leather.

Becky blushed, and Elvis’ jaw widened with a deep breath. 

“Damn, honey, I’ll never get sick a watchin’ that blush creep up ya widdle cheeks…” He leaned over the bar and squished her cheeks with his right hand, kissing her forehead.  

She stood and backed away as he came around the bar.

“S’not nice to tease a girl… first you offer to give me tour, but then corner me in this here tv room, and now ya making fun of the way all your cavorting makes me squeak and blush——”

He grabbed her to him, pulling her lips back onto his. She giggled and squirmed away.

“Oh no you don’t—”

Elvis stepped toward her again, but Becky squealed and turned, running back into the basement corridor. She didn’t have a plan, and when she remembered she wasn't wearing pants she scurried into the dark room across. Elvis’ body clambered loudly behind her as he growled. “Though we agreed no more runnin.’” 

She stumbled back onto a large table as Elvis caught up and lifted her onto the thick barrier of a pool table. Becky’s hands half-heartedly pushed back against his chest as she whined.

“Now Elvis… pretty sure I was promised sound proof walls ….”

Elvis mumbled into her ear, “Hmmm.. that why you got me chasin’ you round, tryin not to excite me???? I’d rather be in the comfort an privacy of that a room too ...  but it is much too far away… two floors too far ta be exact… don't worry, though, this basement is sound proof too … I've tested it ma self…" He winked. "Ain’t no one gonna know …” 

Becky stopped nuzzling back into him, her tone became earnest. “Have you done it lot… down here…? Made love, I mean?” 

Elvis stood up straight and grunted, his hands steadying her precarious position on the edge of the pool table.

“That was probably the wrong thing ta say, hmmmm?”

Becky’s eyes trailed to the dark hall way she had just run through, and told her self to be cool… you knew he has more experience than you… a lot more… what did you expect? Would it matter if you were in his bed? Probably fucked even more women there….

“Nooooooo…I guess I’m a idiot for asking…” she shifted up to look into his dark eyes. 

Elvis wiped his forehead while he pushed himself between Becky’s legs. His hands were rubbing her thighs softly up and down, and he glanced down at her chest before returning his gaze to those big brown eyes. The look there made him regret even conjuring up past sexual escapades. The wholly unfiltered, self-conscious insecurity in her eyes made her all the more alluring. Becky was unvarnished, unaffected, and the way she didn't try to cover up her nervousness in order to impress made him throb with yearning. Acting like a damn teenager, running after women in hallways or corridors, he thought, your gonna feel this in the morning. Who are you kidding. In an hour. Elvis really would have preferred to take Becky the comfort of his bed, but at this precise moment comfort was from from a priority, all he knew was that needed to feel Becky’s skin against his, feel himself inside her, possessing her completely and defusing all her misgivings about him with the warm deluge of his adoration. 

“Nah, not an idiot at all… look, we’re both grown ups… we have histories…” he kissed her neck slowly, tenderly. Her eyes closed with a quiver as his voice dissolved in her inhibitions. “Make you feel better if I tell ya it’s been years since I fooled round down here? Aw honey…. I can't even remember their faces ... don’t want anyone else but you…” 

Will you remember mine in a year? She wondered, but her body didn't care, and it's instincts propelled her back into him. She pulled his neck to her and his lips hit her forehead. He felt his manhood stiffen even more and it made his fingers needier as they trailed up her sides. Elvis’ lower lip hung down with longing and his eye lids drooped with lust. Becky hastily began to unbutton his white dress shirt.

“Ahh, sweet baby, you’re so goddamn beautiful….” Elvis voice made Becky stop mid-button  and she looked up at him, her hands moving up to his cheeks.

“Please don’t lay that charm on too thick… I’m already here… I’m naked…an… I know you like me an…  I can feel you’re attracted—” 

Elvis pulled her hand down to feel the pulsating steel rod bursting along his slacks “ — Ya can, huh? Feel my attraction?” Then he saw the hesitancy in her eyes. “Wuss tha matter sweetheart?”

Becky sighed. “I just….I know I’m not beautiful, not like the super models I’ve seen you with in newspapers and magazines…. I just… if you exaggerate, go too over-the-top… well,  it ruins it for me… I hate false compliments…”

Elvis’ eyes narrowed. “Honey, over-the-top is my middle name… ”

Becky let out an involuntary guffaw. “Say that again… I mean, this whole house... But what I mean is, I wish you would stop givin’ me your pretty movie star lines —”

Elvis shook his head and grabbed Becky by the chin, the look in his eyes an intense warning. “Sometimes you make me think no one has ever told ya you were beautiful…” The way she pushed his hand aside and looked down, uncomfortably told Elvis he had accidentally stumbled on the truth. “Nooo….. never? I don believe it….. no, cuz ya really are… here, I gotta turn the light on jus so’s I can see ya better….” 

He flipped a switch on the wall, and suddenly the pool room was bathed in a warm glow. Becky gasped as the light revealed a cacophony of textured colors along cloth-covered walls. Her eyes followed the fabric up to the ceiling, feeling as though she had slipped under the skirt of a Victorian lady. Colorful pleats lined the walls and gathered into the middle of the room above two hanging Tiffany lamps. Elvis lips on her shoulder as his hands took off her shirt brought Becky back into her body. A breathy giggle worked it’s way out when Elvis’ knuckles stroked Becky’s face. She quit resisting and just held up her hands, watching as he lifted her shirt over her head and gulped, his eyes languidly roving up and down her body. 

“Mhmmm… yessiree… fit right in here with all the other beautiful things I fill this ole house with…ya know… I have an eye for beautiful things —”

“Elvis, please… quit teasin,’”  Becky wiped a lone tear drop from the side of her right eye.

Elvis brought her hands up to his lips, kissing each top as he held her gaze. “Woman, you better stop that… might think you’re questioning my aes -thee- ET-ic taste.” He drawled, clearly amusing himself with his pronunciation of aesthetic. 

Inhaling, Elvis pulled Becky’s face back towards his with a kiss that lingered on her soft lips. Elvis coughed as Becky pulled off his shirt and his tummy jiggled with a wave of laughter. Looking down, she saw him flinch at his own belly and Becky dragged the back of her hand across it slowly, sensuously.

“You are… the most handsome man…” Then she blushed and hid her face in his chest hair, her hands curving up around his neck as she tried to crush herself into him, kissing his sternum and muttering how she was glad she’d met him.

“Why honey… there she is… there’s that sweet girl I like, been hidin’ underneath all that sass…”  Elvis breathed into her ear, his hands moving over her head, tousling her hair, then using his right hand to bring her chin up to his. “Becky, ya like a goddamn Greek goddess … if I say your beaut - TEE - full, then ya are, end of story …. Don’t ever wanna hear you tellin’ me what I can or can na say… ’specially when I’m in the throes of love making,” he chuckled. “Derails my manEUvers …”

Elvis hot breath clucked into Becky’s ear, he kissed her cheek and waggled his eyes. Becky pulled herself to him, and began unlatching his pants. Elvis stopped her, drawing out his pistol and pushing it across the pool table. Becky watched the metal of the gun glisten, the carved handle was elaborately engraved and she caught his grin watching her eyes follow it.

“That thing s’not loaded, is it?”

Elvis laughed. “Course it is, baby, how else arm I s’posed to use it? I’m always ready for action…”

“Hmmm. Speaking of which….” Becky’s hand returned to Elvis’ pants. “Are you aware, Mr. Presley… that you are not wearing any underwear?” She asked, in a high, breathy refrain pulling down his pants and and gripping his cock gently. “Someone might say s’its … almost an invitation…?” Elvis bent his head back as a loud belly laugh escaped his throat. 

“There ya go, using ma own words against——uhhh fuck, baby girl!” Elvis looked down to watch as Becky lowered herself in front of him and kissed the tip of his cock, her eyes all innocence.

“What? Just bein’ friendly… responding to that open invitatioOOM…..” She grinned as she plunged her mouth around him half way through the last word, humming the syllable onto him while her eyes widened and she grasped the rolling handles at his side to hand on to.

Elvis tried to pull her arm back up. “Honey, I don’t wantcha to do that… s’not something I like from women I respect…”

Becky pulled his hand off, her puzzling eyes searching his face. “I did this the first night we met…”

“Well… didn’t think I was ever gonna see ya again… didn’t realize how much I liked ya til I woke up and you were gone…”

“Well, s’too late… I got a taste for this lil fella, and it’s hardly hospitable —” Becky kissed his tip and Elvis shuddered. “To invite me to dinner then not feed me…” she grinned, as he shook his head and put his hands up in defeat, giving in to the irresistible movements of her mouth over, under and on his johnson.

Becky tried to exude a sexy playful confidence, but then gasped and choked as she forced his girthy length to the back of her throat, giggling at Elvis’ bemused expression. His heart swelled with reverence as his cock thrust into the glorious traction of Becky’s mouth. His fingers gently dragged through her hair, and he sucked in his breath while expelling a succession of needy “fucks.” Elvis lifted his head to the heavens in prayer when his tip banged into the softness of her throat, moaning while Becky stubbornly sucked in further, her cheeks hallowed and her mouth coughing down the gag reflex as best she could. Making eye contact, Elvis couldn’t help the way his hips surged back and forth almost of their own volition at a increased pace, spurred on by the determined look in Becky’s watery eyes. 

“Fuck honey… whooo…hey…. ok…I am gonna compromise and say…ya can do this anytime ya want…” 

Becky giggled at that into his cock as she glided forward.

Elvis could feel his orgasm bubbling up, and seized the side of Becky’s head to stop her, “Darlin, I wanna be inside you…. Come up here…” Elvis held out his hand and gently turned her against the pool table with a questioning eyebrow. She nodded and leaned into the wooden ledge of the pool table, sighing out as she felt Elvis kiss her shoulder and tilt her hips to him. She watched his dazzled expression over her shoulder as he pushed in and out of her slowly. He looked into her eyes while lunging in farther and groaning out a “FUck honeeeyyy.” Becky gasped sharply, savoring the tight pinch this position created.

“Damn, baby… you wuddna hardly think I been breaking you in all week..”

Becky giggled, “Elvis, how can you talk about me like that? Ughhh …. I’m not a horse…. Ughhhh….”

“I know, honey, I know… and I wantcha ohhh god damn…. Unnnnhhhhh…. meant no disrespect… but ….I am just always surprised how I wished I had a damn shoe horn with me... every time.” He laughed at her pout, and then moaned. “Now Becky Butt" he hit her bottom as he pulled out with a slight pat, "Don't look at me that -a way, s'its a compliment… should thank me… god DAMN woman….”

Elvis shifted positions to steady himself and smiled when he noticed that Becky sighed out with a crescendoing “oohHHHHhhhhhhhahh” every time he speared her at this new angle. Elvis let out a low chuckle, muttering, “Can ya hear ya self Becks? Like a goddamn accordion, suga… think... I found… ma new favorite instrument… Becky’s squeezebox…”

Becky shook her head, giggling and then moaning out again as she leaned into the hard surface of the pool table. Elvis’ heaved and breathed a little harder as he moved his right hand around Becky’s waist and began to rub her clit, grunting into the pale alabaster skin of her shoulder. 

“Oh my fucking Gawd Elvis… what are you doing to me? I don’t know if I can take any more” She moaned out, looking back at him through messy hair.

He kissed her neck. “Shhhhh…. now... let daddy take… care…UNGHHH… a ya…” then grunted again, burrowing back into her.

Eyes squeezed shut, Becky shuddered with each thrust backwards, her body clapping onto his in a rhythmic tug-a-war chasing the heat churning in her core. It broke loose, galloping over her like a runaway horse, and Becky screamed a long, loud guttural cry that echoed through the basement, up the stairway and through the entire north wing of Graceland. Mary sat at the kitchen counter drinking her coffee and smiling into her newspaper, shaking her head. It had been a long while since the sounds of lovemaking had ricocheted through the halls of Graceland like that.

“Uhhhh, there she goes… good girl…. ” Elvis slowed down, his lips planting a succession of soft pecks along the back of Becky’s shoulder, pushing her hair gently aside, and then moving his hands to tap out a pitter patter along the top ridge of her bottom where he continued to dip in and out of her.

“Oh goodness… ughhh… do you t think they heard me up stairs?”

“Nah, honey…don’t trouble ya self… I promise you, no one knows what we’re up to down here… could be playing billiards... mmHHMMm…unghhhhh… or watchin’ TV… or making a porno for all they know..”

“HA! Unghhhhh” Becky bite her lip, forgetting to be affronted enveloped by the comfort of Elvis' sweaty, warm body.

He leaned further and further into her, the thunder of each thrust reverberate up through Elvis’ tummy onto her, his hips crushing her even harder onto the pool table. Becky rocked back and forth with Elvis’ body in a post-orgasmic high, looking up at the colorful walls through blurry vision. She was inside a kaleidoscope, and she smiled watching the technicolor spectacle dance in front of her eyes. Elvis increased the tempo of his efforts. 

“Honey, I’m bout ta explode…”

His fingernails dug into her sides as he moaned out deeper, his head throttled backwards, hips prodding into her slowly and deliberately, evincing a moan with each thrust until he came with a loud grunt, singing breathlessly as he sputtered into her.

“Aaaaamen….. aaaaamen…. AAAAMEN… amen … ammmmmennnnnn.” 

Then Elvis collapsed head forward into the space between her shoulder blades, wiping sweat and hair onto her back as he whispered, “Thank ya Gawwwd… for bringing this lil gal ta me …. Lord… I feel your spirit.” 

Becky shook her head with a breathy chuckle. “Well, now I feel your spirit all over me…”

Elvis kissed her with a laugh, fondling her hips and pressing back into her deeper as he softened.

“Hmmmm… good… s’holy sacrement…” Elvis said, eyes closed, as he kissed her cheek, rubbing her sides slowly up and down as lil Elvis savored the warm, wet cloister of her cunt.

He almost collapsed over her, muttering goddamns until their breath synchronized. Elvis’ hands stilled on Becky’s hips and he coughed out, grunting, then laughing. She rolled over, gazing at him with amusement as he staggered back for effect and pulled up his pants. Her eyes danced over his wide, glistening body, the chest hair matted down, the belly that heaved forward and distended over his waist, his goofy boyish smile beaming from ear to ear. It was almost regal how he held his hands pushed into his hips, below a belly that jutted out. He took his shirt and bent to gently wipe between, gathered the cloth into his face with a loud, effected sniff before putting it back on. Their eyes met, giddy laughter echoed through the room.

Elvis  zipped up his pants and retrieved his gun, giving Becky a naughty wink as he pushed it back into his waist. His shirt hung open as he turned to move across the passage way walked back to the TV room and collapsed on the sectional. His chest heaved and his breath was ragged.

“Goddammit woman… tha most exercise since ma last concert.” Elvis combed his hand through his damp sweaty locks, looking over as Becky followed him, barefoot in just her her shirt and bending to finding her panties near the couch. Elvis pulled her on to him at the couch, kissing her belly.

“Got me runnin’ round like a 20 year old horn dawg…." Then he slapped her bottom. Again. "Well, don’t just sit here women, do something… help me...go get me a Pepsi, huh baby?”

Glancing into the mirrors above her, Becky’s eyes met Elvis’ smirking reflection.

“Nex time we’ll have ta try it in here… ”

Becky guffawed loudly, and pushed his shoulder with her head, then getting up to grab some drinks from the bar.

“You truly are a lecherous old goat…”

“Aww Becky, love it when ya talk dirty ta me… you have no idea what a dirty old goat I can be…. Jus you wait…” Elvis chortled.

She dropped next to him with the sodas, and watched as he drained half of his in one fell swoop. She leaned her head into the curve of his arm, bouyed up by his chest, she listened to the sound of his heavy exhales as he fiddled with a strange contraption pointed at the TV.

“What’s that?” Becky asked, soothing her hands over his belly.

“This… this is really high tech stuff… s’ a remote control…welcome to the future, Twitch…got all the latest gear ….let me show you how it works.” Elvis sipped his drink and excitedly explained the science behind his gadget , showing Becky how it turned the TVs on and off using blah blah blah radar gizmo whatevers. She vaguely ohed and ahed, happily trying it out as his hand guided over her over the switches and buttons on the device. Just enjoying the feeling of his chest under her head. Becky scootched closer as Elvis’ left hand trailed down her side. She let her head sank down more and more into the top of his tummy, rubbing his belly hair as she watched the three TVs in the wall flicker on. Before she passed out, she wondered how anyone could possibly follow three different news programs at once.

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

Becky awoke to the sound of voices behind her, alone on the sofa and uncertain where she was for a moment. She closed her eyes again instinctively. Someone else, an older man perhaps, was speaking in a whispered hush with Elvis in the hallway.

“—— well I wish you had made your damn mind up ‘bout which airplane ya wanted before I gave the other one a down payment. Now I have this new contract with Delta … just don’t know what was wrong with chartering —”

“Aw hell, daddy, s’just money… you think I’m gonna stand by while Killer gets his own plane, an I’m still waitin’ on the runway with my dick in my hand for a charter? No sireee… ya got another thing comin’” 

There was a long silent pause.

“Well… ya tied my hands now anyway… and I’m left cleaning up the mess… Speaking of people who clean up ya mess, where’s Linda?”

“How should I know? In the condo I bought her in LA, or the house I got her round the corner… actin’ like a hurt puppy dog sulking back and forth and hardly sayin a word to me in the last few weeks… refused to come on tour…”

“Well, she isn’t refusing that credit card you gave her, just got the latest American Express bill and let me tell ya, it’s a doozy…”

“Now, I promised that girl I’d take care a her, long as she wants, so don’t bring all that up again… don’t care if she charges $30 or $30,000… still my gal….”

“IS she? Maybe she’d be ‘round more if you didn’t bring floozies like that un home —”

“Now daddy, that lil gal right there is a good, sweet kid, won’t have you disrespectin’ Becky—”

“Uh huh, and what pills is Becky on, hmmm?”

“Nothing… she’s just tired.” Becky could almost hear the smirk in Elvis’s voice as it went lower. “Poor thing ain’t had a lick a sleep in the last three days… but she’s a good girl. Comes from a good family back in Jackson.”

“Mhmmm… well, I never know who I’m gonna find here, some stranger you picked up at the gate? A baseball announcer? The local PE teacher? Or a random super model you’ve decided to buy an apartment for and put on the payroll without telling me… probably just be cheaper to give the local brothel a full retainer…”

“Ok, now, daddy… that’s enough… I don’t wanna think bout all this right now…”

“Son, all I’m saying is, I don’t blame Linda for being sore atcha…”

Elvis voice raised by several decibels. “Well, you get your woman under control and then you can come lecture me… last I heard you’d been kicked out of yourn. And got a new house. Let’s not forget who’s payin’ for it all….”

About thirty seconds of silence passed.

“Well, I ——“

“I’m ‘bout to wake that lil gal up, so we can go dress for supper - SO leave it. Nuff. I don’t wanna squabble no more….you should join us to eat, I know’d the gals be happy to see ya…”

“Hmmmm… any other mouths knockin’ ‘bout?”

“Hardly no one tonight… Jus Charlie, Jerry, Billy and his family… ”

“Yeah. No one, just ten people he says… that’s no one… hmmm….I’ll think about it…” 

Becky waited until she heard the footsteps go up the stairs before opening her eyes to see Elvis hovering over her, his shirt was still unbuttoned and he held her jeans over his left arm.

“You’re a bad faker, Becky….”

“Hmmmm?” Becky said, unable to stop the blush returning to her cheeks. “How’d… how’d ya know I was awake?”

Elvis grinned. “Ya snore… s’cutest itty bitty breathy heavin’…. But I noticed a few minutes ago that ya’d stopped, when daddy quit yapping.” He handed her jeans to her. “Here, don’t want no one seein’ ya half naked… Let’s get you covered up….”

Becky flashed a feeble smile as she pulled her pants on, and crooked into Elvis arm, he kissed the top of her head and slapped her bottom to signal she was to trudge up the stairs in front of him.

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

Going through her bag, Becky held up another pink halter top and sighed. Before her shower, she had chewed Ida out on the phone for aiding and abetting Elvis with her the surprise trip to Memphis. And for packing an assort of really tight halter tops, mini skirts and a few dresses, all of which she suspected came from her 22 year-old cousin Harriet’s wardrobe. 

“Ida, these clothes barely cover me….” 

“Oy vey, Rebecca, that’s the point….. Ruth’s at camp, I put Saul back at the store, everything is fine, you go have fun… with Elvis Presley….” she screeched his name.

“Ida, don’t get your hopes up…. this is just a short term affair… I don’t want you to be disappointed when this plays itself out…”

“Becky,” Ida’s voice grew stern. “That is exactly the point, my meshugganah kindela… of all the people who get to have an affair with a rock star, why not you? What I would have given for one night with Rudy Vallee….”

Becky sighed. “Ok, ok…. maybe I’ll thank you one day…. give Saul a kiss for me.”

Now she stood in the master bathroom, hair up in a towel, Becky looked back in her traveling bag. No bras, five pairs of underwear, sandals and a pair of nice pumps. Other than this, she had the jeans, tee and converse sneakers she's worn to drive Ruth to camp. There was also little case with her toothbrush, and a bag with some of Ida’s Avon make up, perfume and matching talcum powder in Avon’s original Sweet Honesty scent. Becky grimaced at the sickly intense floral smell, but did a half spray on her wrist anyway. She coughed as the talc powder wafted into her nose when she spread it under her arms and between her thighs to dry and smooth her skin. She straightened the towel wrapped around her wet hair and looked at her face in Elvis’ bathroom. A line of small red bumps had started to form around her chin. Ughhh, this always happens when you start having sex again… you break out. She inspected them closely to make sure they weren’t white heads, and then rummaged through the Avon bag for foundation and concealer. Keeping her make up simple, Becky applied a light layer of mauve eye shadow to match the flowers on the white floral dress she had picked out, and the pair of light mauve shoes Ida had packed. She shimmied into the dress, smoothing it down, looking at the way the thin white floral pattern stretched over her breasts and then clung to her body's ample curves. The top only had one tied, petal sleeve, her other shoulder was bare and she sighed. This had been the most modest clothing nice option for dinner she had found in the bag.

When she finally emerged into the bedroom, glanced over Elvis’ large, black bed frame and the dark Burgundy bedspread covering it. Shivering in the cool air, she walked over and checked out the assortment of pistols, rifles and hand guns on top of his big dresser.  Elvis footsteps brought her eyes up from the arsenal, and she smiled at the white tailored suit and blue silk shirt ruffled he wore. Her breath hitched in her throat as he straightened his sunglasses, and ran his hand through his long shag hairdo. Then he moved closer and Becky felt the elastic give of her dress ripple when Elvis' fingers snapped the tie holding her lone sleeve up.

(Just imagine this dress but one asymmetical sleeve ^)

“Hmmm, couldn’t you find anything revealing to show off how pretty ya are for my folks, hmmm?” 

Becky’s bottom lip dropped down with her eyes, and she lifted her hands to nervously fix some of the hair pinned on top of her hair in a messy bun, a worried expression on her face. “I thought this was too revealing—”

Elvis smirked, chuckling, “No, I know honey ...  seems like they forget a whole sleeve… not that this sleeve has much to it neither… that little knot is holding on for dear life…” His hand moved under her breasts to jostle them up with a soft swat and eyes watched with delight as her bosom bounced up and down. “Hope you didn’t pay full price for this half a dress…” his eyes lit up when Becky elbowed him. “… Aw, no, I like it…  sexy as hell…”  He whispered in her ear and the warmth of his breath sent a tingle up her spin and through her core. 

Becky’s nether regions shivered, still sensitive from earlier activities, moreso as the soreness settled in from the vigorous pounding Elvis had given her. She had felt a slight burn when she peed, and she made a mental note to drink a lot of water. You don’t want to get a UTI on the first fucking day here. Maybe do some kegels during dinner too.

Elvis’ kissed Becky’s cheek, breaking her train of thought as he led her downstairs. Feeling her shiver, he covered as much of her bare skin as he could by hugging her into his jacket. “Maybe wouldn’t be so cold if ya invested in some long underwear…”

Becky nuzzled into his armpit. “Maybe if you didn’t live in a meat locker people could dress comfortably…” 

The sound of Elvis’ hand walloping Becky’s bottom (AGAIN) rang through the stairway with the rumble of his “Quit ya fussin’, woman, ain’t gonna change the temperature a this house jus' cuz you can’t be bothered to own a bra.”

Dinner was laid out in the kitchen, and Becky retreated further into Elvis’ embrace as he introduced her properly to his younger cousin Billy, who she’d seen from afar at the Jackson concerts, Billy’s wife Jo, their sons Danny and Joey, his father, grandmother Minnie Mae, and Aunt Delta, who was curt, quiet and smelled of a heavy rose perfume with an undertone of vodka. She felt naked when Elvis parted from her to make up a plate of food, spooning out black eyed peas with bacon, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and more from the large serving dishes on the counter. She felt even more awkward as he followed Jerry into the dining room while she looked for options not smothered in some sort of pork, smiling nervously at Mary who filled up the pitcher of sweet tea and then stacked more bacon on top of the salad.

When she entered the dining room, Elvis clapped his hand on the red cushion next to him at the head of the table, then stopped mid-sentence in his conversation with Billy to do a double take at Becky’s plate.

“Just cornbread and potatoes?” he asked in an accusatory tone, looking from the plate to Becky’s eyes. The whole table went silent. “There’s salad in there.”

Becky straightened and looked at Elvis. “I’m good. There’s bacon all up in that salad-”

“Well, use ya head, now Becky Butt, you can jus pick it out  - there  I solved ya damn probl—”

“I like this fine,  Presley, mind ya own business.”

Jo gasped, and Billy put his hand over his wife’s under the table. Billy then coughed uncomfortably and tried to change he subject. “You don’t eat bacon? On account of being a Hebr—” 

Elvis put his hand up to stop Billy “On account of being a doggone vegetarian.” Then he looked Becky squarely in the eye, and spoke with a benevolent humor. “No reason to be a bitch ‘bout it.”

Aunt Delta whispered loudly to Jo, “What Billy say?”

“He asked Becky if she didn’t eat pork cuz she’s a Jew.”

Vernon called down to Becky. “That true?”

But Becky was staring back at Elvis. “Look, I was eating my dinner just fine, you’re the one trying to tell me what ta do… I like mashed potatoes an cornbread… mind ya own business…”

“Everythin’ that happens in this house is my business, oughta box ya jaw, talking’ to a man like that in his own damn house …”

“YOU the one that kidnapped me Presley on account of how fond ya are of me, why, I bet you’d sooner hit ya granny there ‘fore you’d hit me.” She arched her eyebrow with a smirk.

“Oh you better shut that big ole mouth, get ya into trouble.” Elvis pulled Becky on his lap, arms around her waist.

She made a tepid attempt to get out of them, squealing loudly. “I don’t havta, you ain’t my boss.”

Before Elvis could answer, Minnie Mae announced, loudly. “Hesh up, canna eat ma supper.” Becky was shocked to hear such a powerful timbre from the frail, thin woman. 

Elvis squeezed her sides, and kissed her neck, whispering. “You heard Dodger, hesh that big mouth up .”

“You better shut up, you love my big ole mouth….” Becky murmured back into his ears, arms around his neck. Elvis leaned his head back, laughing, and Dodger shot Becky a stern look, as if her grand son’s unseemly behavior was somehow her fault.

The others went back to eating and low polite conversation, but Becky finished her meal in another dimension on Elvis lap. She took a large forkful of mashed potatoes, enthusiastically humming “MMMMhmmm MM!” as she swallowed. Elvis shook his head and let out a belly laugh, chewing his meatloaf in her ear and then giving her a big kiss, during which she feigned disgust. 

“Get that meat off my lips, Presley,” she muttered. 

“Huh, ya love my meat, honey.” He growled under his breath, pushing another big bite in his mouth and pressing his mush against her ear. 

Becky writhed silently in her seat, wiping off the greasy ground beef granules sticking on her lobe. “Didn’t no one ever teach ya any manners?” she hissed back at him.

“Gonna teach you some manners…you and that big mouth…” Elvis grinned like a goofy clown, and Becky couldn’t stop his contagious smile and playful energy from taking over her body. 

She beamed back, still trying to seem irritated, murmuring into his fluffy shagged out hair, “Like to see you try…” 

The thin soft knit fabric of Becky’s dress grazed her skin as Elvis massaged the top of her thigh, his strong fingers pinched the side and rubbed the rolls of her hip together, whispering in her ear. “Jus you wait… …”

They spent the meal thusly, in their own dimension at the head of the table, flirting, whispering, pinching, rubbing and feeding each other food. 

Elvis took some black eyed peas, biting the piece of ham hock off his fork, before feeding them into Becky’s open mouth with a “mhmmm... he thinks she needs some veGEeeables…”

Then Becky broke the edge of her corn bread off, “Better shut you up with something sweet in that mouth... know you like sugar on your tongue... Get any a this? Mhmmm… sweetest corn bread I ever ate…” 

He chuckled, talking with her fingers in his mouth. “Honey, I live on sweet stuff... like this cornbread... s'my house…. course it’s the best….”

They were only roused when Vernon stood to leave, followed by Aunt Delta’s movement helping Minnie Mae to her room. Becky started to help Mary clear the table, but Elvis grabbed her hand, telling her to let the woman do her job, and pulled her to follow the rest of the party into the den.  Mary caught Elvis in the back hall to pass him a note, and he motioned to Jerry after he read it, slapping Becky on her butt, which she realized was code for "hi," "get to it," "bye," "good idea," "uh nuh," and many other expressions as he begged off to make a business call in his office. Becky sat making small talk with Billy, Jo and Charlie for a time, then excused herself to fix her face upstairs, a happy excuse to go settle her nerves for a short spell alone and try to salve the self-conscious anxiety gnawing at her diaphragm. As she rounded the top of the stairs, she saw Jerry come out of the office, and he left paused to make sure he left the door ajar as he saw her.

“Everything ok?” Becky straightened her dress strap.

Jerry looked Becky up and down with an uncertain stare, then nodded. “Mhmmm…he’s just talking to his girlfriend in LA, Mindi.” 

Jerry’s heart dropped when he saw Becky’s ashen response, her lip trembled, just for a split second, before she forced a smile. “Oh, ha, well that’s good, was just about to call my sugar daddy in New York….” She changed the topic after shivering from the second floor’s cold air. “Cold, isn’t it… why is it so cold up here?”

Jerry frowned, and decided to go all in. “It’s the downers... the painkillers… makes you feel like you’re in a warm hug, like you are wrapped in a snug wool blanket… “

“How do you know that?”

“Cuz I’ve taken them, Becky… makes me drink gallons of lemonade, only wanna eat ice cream… never have enough of that cold sensation in your mouth, on your skin….”

“Oh.” Becky looked down. “Why does Elvis take them…” She shifted her feet.

“Back pain, insomnia, night terrors… at first… but it's easy to grow a tolerance and he needs more and more… can make him seem out of it.” Jerry stepped closer, and grabbed her arm. “If you are gonna be here, sleep with him, you need to watch him…if he goes to the bathroom , you go to the bathroom, if he passes out, make sure he is breathing… got it?”

The blood drained from Becky’s face, and she thought of the pills he took after the concerts in Jackson.

“Didn’t seem so bad when he was at my house.”

“Cuz he only had the random pills in his pocket… that was an impulsive trip, we didn’t even pack a tooth brush.”

“Oohhhh, haa…”

Her voice trailed off as Jerry patted her shoulder with a sympathetic wink, banking that she wouldn’t tell Elvis about their conversation. Jerry half regretted his bluntness, but her wounded look reaffirmed his commitment to show Becky as much of Elvis’ selfish nature as he could, as quickly as possible. With any luck, he’d have her hightailing it back to Jackson within the next 48 hours. Content with the work he had done, he excused him self for the night, while Becky stayed in the second floor landing, waiting for the sound of Jerry’s footsteps to end so she could creep closer to Elvis’ office and indulge her morbid curiosity.

“—no, no course, no, don’t even talk bout Rome… cuz I said I would… why honey, of course — why all ya gotta do is ask — no, now who’s name is on the marquee… that’s right darlin - my daddy works for me, not t’other way round…. Of course , s’no problem, how much ya need? Well …. Now, Joe’s out there himself, Jerry’s gonna square the wire first thing tomarra —— well, now, that’s more like it… I miss you too… whatcha you wearin’? Ohhhhhh you little minx, I oughta—” 

Becky felt sick to her stomach. It had only been a few minutes since that warm voice had been murmuring honeyed words into her neck. Her hand shook as she slunk over to the bedroom, and shed a few tears in the bathroom, then slapped herself in the face. 

“Shut up you big baby. You’ve been giddy as a school girl since you got here. You are just here to have fun. If you’re blue, well, that’s what you get for eavesdropping. People just having fun and enjoying free love don’t sneak around eavesdropping. It’s like Ida said, just enjoy the fucking experience… don’t get too deep, don’t take anything on...” She forced a smile. “Shepard’s pie. That’s what Charlie said. You’re comfort food... he doesn’t like one night stands, he likes to fool around for a set period of time. Maybe he’s your shepard’s pie too. Who are you kidding? You might be his comfort food, but Elvis fucking Presley is filet mignon to you, Rebecca Grace Hoffman. No one knows that name. Because you’re a nobody. Are you gonna ruin this trip by nagging him about other women? Or sleeping pills? No. Just. be. fun. Becky.”

The cold marble of the bathroom sink transferred from her hand to her cheek as she slapped her self again. “OK. Fun Becky.”  She nodded at herself and felt a little better after she washed her face and fixed her make-up. Taking a deep breathe, Becky shivered in the chill of Elvis’ bathroom. “Shake it off, baby…” she repeated to herself, rolling her shoulders and wiggling out her arms. As she walked downstairs, she told her self that if she felt uncomfortable, she could get a cab to the Greyhound station tomorrow,  or, worst case scenario, call her sister. This calmed her down, and Becky looked at her reflection one last time in the foyer mirror and smiled, happy with how she looked. Content with her decision to make no decisions and ready to enjoy the rest of the night if it killed her.

She instantly felt better when she peeked into the den and saw Charlie’s friendly face waving her in. The the woodsy decor, low lighting and water fall created a soothing atmosphere. Charlie was strumming a guitar while Billy got up to grab beer from the bar downstairs, an offer which Becky responded to almost too eagerly as she slide into the sofa next to Charlie. She nodded at Jo sitting on the floor against Billy’s chair. The women spoke for a little, Becky asked about the kids playing cards at the back of the room while Charlie played the melody for the Gordon Lightfoot hit “Sundown” on the guitar. Billy came back up with cold bottles for everyone, and the cool sour bubbles refreshed Becky while she struck up a conversation with Charlie. 

“Hey Decatur.” She said, smoothing her lap and crossing her legs. 

Charlie was now strumming chords aimlessly on his  guitar, a shy grin curled at the corner of his mouth. “Hey yerself, Birmingham.”

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

The chords from George Jones’ and Tammy Wynette’s hit duet “Something to Brag About” met Elvis’ ears as he thumped downstairs, and he stood at the entry of the den noting the five empty beers on the coffee table. He watched Becky take a sip from her beer bottle as Charlie played guitar and sang the duet’s male part.

But I've got something to brag about 

Something to brag about 

Something to brag about in you

Becky closed her eyes as she sang out Tammy’s verse vigorously to the green carpet above her head, the deep emotion in her voice warmed Elvis entire body and he watched her with the keen eye of a voyeur. He felt the prickle of desire buzz along the back of his neck as he gazed at her sing and bounce on the sofa. The curls on top of her head seemingly had a life of their own, animated by the intensity of her delivery.  He liked power he felt watching her from doorway, knowing she had no idea he was there, knowing she wasn’t responding or performing for him. Just existing in the world as the free spirit that she was.

When you're with the fellas, I know 

You start braggin' 'bout 

My hour glass figure and my big brown eyes

Becky giggled, moving her hands suggestively over her body as she sang.

Then a you tell your girlfriends 'bout my 

Sweet, sweet lov—‘

Just as Charlie started to sing the word lovin’ he looked at the door and gulped, his hands froze while the last chord still reverberated throughout the den’s acoustics. He knew the power of that stare all too well, and the horror on his face showed his recognition.

Becky turned her head upside down, leaning back over the wooden serpent armrest,  that second beer had made her back impervious to the wood carving’s hard ridges. A goofy smile spread across her upside down lips.

“Heyyyyy daddy!”

Elvis stepped forward, towering above her. The waddle under his chin hung down as he tousled Becky’s hair from above, then pulled her dress strap up from her shoulder where it threatened to slip off and release her heaving bust. 

“Mmhmmm … hey baby…don’t let me interrupt y’all…” The edge in his tenor went over Becky’s head as she giggled, a dreamy look on her face as she blew a kiss up at him.

Leaning back as she was, Becky missed Charlie’s nervous glance at Billy, and she pulled herself up, slapping Charlie’s knee. “C’mon Decatur, where were we.”

“Ummm, uh… I uh, forget how it goes on from here…” Charlie coughed out.

Elvis staggered around the sofa behind Charlie, leaning down on his hands at the back of the couch. “Hmmm….. maybe it’s time ta let a professional take over…?”

Becky guffawed, slamming down her beer on the coffee table and raised her hands out for the guitar. “Professional skunk, more like. Don’t let him bully ya that way, Charlie… I can play if you... if you forget how it goes from here….” Charlie shot Becky a weak grin, and leaned over to hand her the guitar as he shakily stood up.

“Thanks darlin, but uhhh, need to use the John anyhow… y’all go on with out me….” Charlie twisted to look over his shoulder as Elvis plopped down in one of the large arm chairs across from the sofa. 

Billy sat in the other large armchair, his face was blank and inscrutable to Becky as he nodded at his cousin, and squeezed Jo’s shoulder below him.

Becky looked down at her hands, finding the chords on the neck of the guitar, then smiling at the others as she strummed lightly. Her voice was solemn and sad as it lifted up into “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Old,” pausing at the chorus to yell out, “C’mon on y’all, sing it with me….” 

The night they drove old Dixie down 

And the bells were ringing 

The night they drove old Dixie down 

And the people were singing 

They went, "Na, na, la, na, na, la"

Jo joined in exuberantly, and elbowed Billy into singing. Elvis grinned, he did not sing during this song, but rather, leaned back and watched Becky intently. After a few minutes, he pulled out a cigarillo and looked expectantly at Billy, who paused his contribution to the next chorus’ “na na nas” in order to hastily jump up and light Elvis’ cigar.

Becky laid the guitar down on the couch next to her when she finished singing and stood slowly, throwing her hips back and forth as she paraded around the coffee table to sit on Elvis’ lap. He looked up at her, blowing his cigar smoke to the side.

“Dontcha know… that’s a man’s song?”

“Hmmm…” Becky purred as Elvis belly bounced into her and she leaned into his face, her fingers edging around Elvis’ cigar to pull it out of his grasp to her own lips. A sly smile emerged on her lips as spoke. “Oh ya know…. I like…” she sucked on the sweet, woodsy smoke from his cigar, exhaling as she finished her thought. “Men’s things….”

Elvis pulled his cigar back from her fingers, his lips hovered below her chin. “Already know that…” 

Becky leaned her forehead down against Elvis’, his left hand jiggled her closer and he chuckled up into her mouth, his eyes danced behind his sunglasses.

“You know, you have a sad melancholy in that voice a yourn….” He murmured just to her, pulling Becky in the warm enclosure of his arms, a world where only the two of them existed and they spoke to each other in hushed, intimate voices as if no one was around. Here there were no external problems, no girlfriends, no downers, no children, no 200 miles stretching out between their houses. The only barriers were the clothes they wore and the space between their bodies. Billy and Jo looked at each other and shrugged awkwardly.  

Becky didn’t notice. 

“You don’t like my voice?” she stammered, her lower lip trembling.

Elvis brushed his lips over her chin, closing his eyes as he tilted his forehead into her nose and growled into her breasts below. “Honey… I don’t like your voice……” he paused for effect, his left hand grabbing the back of her hair, loosening the bobby pins that held it up with the force of his fingers. His jowls vibrated as he intoned, deeply. “I loooove your voice…..”

Charlie coughed as he walked back in, and picked up the guitar to put it back with its stand against the wall. Elvis’ eyes shifted, momentarily brought out of his trance, but he left his head resting against Becky’s chin.

“Hand that over here, son…. nah, give it to Becky … yoar a better gee tar player than I am any how…”

“Liar…you just lazy and wanna smoke that cigar...”

“Shut your mouth and get to playin’,” he blew his cigar smoke in her face.

“You still ain’t the boss a me… ”

His left hand lowered down to slap her side. “Hesh woman… c’mon, what are we singing…”

Becky grinned, and played the opening bars twice as she asked, “You know this one?”

“Ohhhh baby, I had that stuck in my head since the first night I met ya….” Elvis confessed, stubbing out his cigar in the green glass ashtray stand next to his chair.

“Alright, I’ll count us off.. one, two three…”

Their voices roared together in unison as they sang the opening stanza of June and Johnny’s “Jackson…” Elvis’ face lifted up to Becky’s, her breasts bounced as she strummed and his left hand drummed out a fast rhythm on the bottom of the guitar from where it squeezed her waist. Her body rocked back and forth into his belly, relishing the way his low voice took the melody somewhere new for her, and she belted out a “HA!” as he sang this verse.

When I breeze into that city 

People gonna stoop and bow (hah) 

All them women gonna make me 

Teach 'em what they don't know how

Charlie looked at the others, his brows raised, and Billy shrugged again, his eyes conveyed a knowing weariness. Neither Becky nor Elvis noticed this exchange, their eyes were otherwise occupied, and Becky leaned her nose down to nuzzle Elvis’s as she breathed out the next verse into his face through simpering amusement. Her warm breath sent a lightening bolt across Elvis’ body, and the thump of her bottom against his tummy and worked to increase the humming of his skin, amplified further when he sang and his lungs expanded swelling up his belly into derriere even more.  Elvis kissed the top of Becky’s shoulder softly as she leaned into him, finishing her stanza.

Yeah, go to Jackson 

You big-talkin' man 

And I'll be waitin' in Jackson 

Behind my Jaypan Fan

Becky purred along as Elvis sang the last chorus, swaying back and forth over his lap, and his arms closed tight around her as they hummed the last few notes together. They stayed in the den for hours singing, long after Billy and Jo found their children and said goodnight, Charlie tottered after them with a farewell. Their voices joined in happy harmony, mingling in the air was they started, stopped, paused, laughed and crooned together the melodies for “I Saw The Light,” “Don’t Think Twice,” “The City of New Orleans,” “Louisiana Women, Mississippi Man,”  Elvis changed the words to Alabama woman in this last one, to which Becky responded with a chuckle, which made him laugh and they giggled into each other’s cuddles on the furry arm chair.

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

Becky lay back in Elvis’ bed, sniffing under the silk navy pajama top she had borrowed from him to sleep in. His monogrammed initials met her eyeline as she checked how her armpits smelled. After brushing her teeth, she had dusted herself with talc powder again, she was now covered in that old familiar Sweet Honesty scent by Avon. It was starting to grow on her.  The beside clock told her it was 3 a.m. Elvis had been in the bathroom for twenty minutes, what is taking him so long? She thought of what Jerry had told her, what’s so wrong with taking downers to sleep? If he has night terrors and insomnia? Yeah, so far she had watched them knock him out, but he had been fine otherwise. These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something sliding across the tile in the bathroom, and Becky jumped up to check on it, only to be met by a swinging door and revelation of Elvis’ broad, dark silhouette. He swaggered towards her, taking her hands and waltzing her around, then dipping her back into the exposed silk sheets of her side of the bed.

“You ok? Thought maybe you stubbed your toe…” she mumbled up to him, his piercing dark blue stare made her chest ache. Lost in the deference Becky’s brown eyes offered up to him, Elvis hummed, savoring the way she turned her cheek into his knuckles as they roved up her face.

“Mmmm… what Twitchy?” His eyes narrowed, processing her question. “Oh, nah, just me stumblin’ ‘round tryin ta give myself a shot of B 12 … s’apart of my vitamin regimen, ya not the only one tryin’ to be healthy round here, miss veg a ma tarnation ..” Becky’s questioning face followed him as he rolled over on the bed and she cuddled into his chest once he joined her under the covers, half-sitting up pushed into the pillows. He took a ring off his pinky, the design was a wide platinum metal band that tapered off as it bent towards the back, in the center was a flower made of six large, glittering diamonds. Picking up Becky’s right hand from atop his chest, Elvis pushed the ring onto her finger, bending her hand up to watch the jewels catch the light. A gleeful grin bobbed his round, full chin and his eyes gleamed.

“Wannn ya ta have this….” Elvis dropped Becky’s hand, and began rubbing her belly, pushing up the silk button down top warming her skin.  

“Elvis…” Becky shook her head, and started to pull the ring off, readying her diatribe on how she didn’t want gifts.

“Honey don’t… “ Elvis palm glided over her soft, bare belly, pressing into its plush expanse as he trailed from side to side, smiling when he noticed these movements made her bust jiggle. “Now…. Can’t believe ya aint evvvva had sum un tell YOU that ya beautiful….” His speech started to slow as he spoke, each syllable seemed to get caught on the roof of his mouth. “Cuz you arrrre… so beautiful…. And beautiful people deserve beautiful things…. Help ya sparkle…. Help others seeee how beautiful you are…”

Becky could feel tears pooling behind her eyes at this declaration, unsure if she should protest. As if he read her thoughts, Elvis began to preemptively console her.

“Shhhhh…now shhhhh…. Let me do this…. I wanna give you deems … uh..” His eyelids fluttered closed, and a growl worked up his throat as waves of demerol warmed his chest and slowed his heart. “…. uh…” he jerked open his eyes, fighting to stay awake, his lips open and pouting like a baby. “Huh, what was I sayin, now…. oh yeah… it means somethin’ for me to give you deese things on account that you never had ‘em before… means more ta me…. knowing…. that I found you … gonna show the world how beautiful you are…” 

Becky shoved her face into his, and pelting a series of soft kisses across his cheeks as his eye lids began to droop down again, his hand still slowly tracing over her tummy,

“Gaawd, your skin is sooooo soffftt, like a baby’s….. wantcha ta be my baaBY…. I can be your daddy, ….an you can be my mommIEEE ….. and we can beeee each udder’s babies…..” His voice lilted in a higher tone, like a little boy musing about what he wanted to be when he grew up. His eyes completely closed, then struggled open, looking into her face.

“You’re sayin’ you want this to last more than a few days...” Becky thought of the other girlfriends in his life. It was one thing to spend the last week screwing around with a rockstar whose girlfriends, plural, knew or even condoned his polyamorous proclivities. It was another thing to join their sorority. “I’ don’t know if that——”

His jowls rippled as he shushed her, index finger softly held to her lips. “Jus thin ‘bouuutt it…. I know you a stubborn independent woman…. like ta make up your own daaaMN mind…. ya don havta decide now…. In fact, I don want ya ta, mean more if I earrrrn sit…. Stay here for a month, see how much you like me…. I know ya will… be my baaby, my little baby…..”

“Elvis,” Becky whispered. “I cannot stay here for a month…” She looked up from her position snuggling into the silk shirt over his hairy chest, and realized his eyelids had completely dropped down. A low, staggered breath forced out of his mouth. Becky hoped maybe he was so out of it on his sleeping pills that he would forget everything he just proposed. But as she noticed his breath decrease, she pushed in closer to him, her fingers softly skimming the hair across his forehead and rolling down his nose, just as did to put Ruth to bed. 

“Oy gavolt, daddy… what’s in those vitamins, hmm?” she yawned, then frowned, leaned her head on his chest to make sure it was lifting up and down with life, her own fatigue put off by the cold air and lifelessness of Elvis' body. Nuzzling further on to his chest, she thought of what Jerry had told her, and tried to stay awake, monitoring his breathing. Eventually she dozed off listening to the hum of the air conditioner.

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

Monday, June 15th

12 p.m. Graceland Master Bedroom

The creak of the door woke Becky up, and she lay on the mattress trying to remember where she was and what she was doing. It must have been five am when she finally fell asleep, but she couldn’t tell what tie it was now because the room was still so dark and cold. The large padded black leather door was ajar, but Becky didn’t see anyone, and as her eyes adjusted to being open, she realized Elvis’ head was on her breasts, and his right hand was cupped over her pubic hair, settled at the apex of her legs between her thighs. I guess he still has some life in there somewhere while he sleeps. She smiled, only to jump up at the sound of a little voice from the side of the bed.

“Who the hell care you?”

Becky shrieked “Fucking cock—mucker...” She threw Elvis’ hand off her and pulled the red, satin bedspread over her legs and panties. Elvis barely stirred, his snores only increasiing as Becky rolled him off her. 

She took in the patch of dirty blonde hair propped up at the edge of the bed, and then sat up further, pushing back against the headboard and smiling at the little girl who stood before her with hands on her hips and a look of disgust on her face.

“Why… hello there. Sorry for yelling… you uh… ya startled me… I’m Becky, who are you?”

The girl looked her up and down with those the same blue eyes and sneered curling her lip as the man sleeping next to hear. She ignored Becky’s question, emphasizing the edge in her voice.

“Where’s Linda? Does she know you’re here…?”

Becky sucked in her breath as she tried to think how she was going to navigate this scenario. This was not what she had in mind when Elvis had invited her to come to Graceland and meet his daughter. She had pictured a sweet, coordinated meeting in a living room or foyer. After having been briefed on Lisa’s likes and dislikes, Elvis would fondly introduce them to each other and handle any of the hard questions about his choice of companionship. As she sat there flummoxed, loud footsteps stopped at the entrance to Elvis’ room and Lisa scurried to hide behind the door just before Aunt Delta’s grimace poked around it. She squinted at Becky, and somehow her frown seemed to deepen into the wrinkles at the side of her mouth.

“You seen that little she-devil?” Delta huffed.

Becky looked over at Lisa Marie behind the door, who was vigorously shaking her head.

“Nope! Why?”

“Ughhh, that little gal needs to come unpack her suitcases… if we don’t do it now, I’s reckon she won’t do it all. That boy just let’s her run wild.”

Becky nodded, although Delta seemed to be talking more to herself, muttering as she turned and pulled the door closed behind her. Becky rolled off the other side of the bed, pulled her jeans off the chair they hung over and stepped into them as she made her way around the bed to Lisa Marie.

“C’mon, she-devil, I’ll help you unpack…”

Lisa Marie crossed her arms. “Chores’ for suckers… Nancy’ll just do it for me when she gets here… you can’t tell me what to do… you’re not my mom… you’re not even Linda…”

Becky chuckled and shook her head, then looked back at Lisa Marie as she opened the famous sound proof double doors that didn’t seem to do anything to keep the rest of Graceland out.

“Thank god I ain’t yer mama…already got one daughter who doesn’t listen to me. Though I find in general I can’t make anyone ‘round here do anything they don’t have a mind to do themselves…” Becky looked over at Elvis’ body on the bed as she said this, then lowered herself on her legs so that she was eye-level with the little toe-haired firecracker. “But I am your guest here at Graceland… so if I like unpacking clothes, you have to let me do it…wouldn’t want to wake up your papa and tell him you aren’t being a good hostess?” She watched Lisa Marie hesitate. “Well, are you the lady of the house or not?”

Lisa Marie uncrossed her arms and sighed up into her bangs. “Sho nuff I am...daddy told me this is my house...an.. I'm... I’m gonna inherit it, have my babies here… s’the Presley legacy… so.. um yeah, I am THE lady of the house…. Ok, well if you wanna be a sucker and unpack my clothes, it's your funeral…”

The slight girl led Becky down the hall towards her bedroom, stopping in front of a glass showcase filled with award trophies below a banner reading “Miss Tennessee 1972.” Lisa Marie paused in front of the shelving and looked at Becky, her eyes rolling up and down Becky’s body in judgement as she announced: 

“These are Linda’s awards, she’s my daddy’s girlfriend… they’re gonna get married one day… she’s a real beauty queen. She’s teaching me ‘bout fashion, how to get into a sorority, which ones are the best ones….”

Becky swallowed, groaning internally. This kid knows exactly what she is doing, she took one look at you and already twigged that you don’t belong here with her daddy. She’s just trying to get a rise out of you, it’s almost sweet. Can’t be easy to be Elvis’ daughter. Breathing deeply, Becky pushed any idea of competition with Linda aside.

“Mhmmm, Linda certainly deserves these doesn’t she, I mean, she’s gorgeous.” She walked beside Lisa. “People always told me I had a nice sense of humor in high school…. You know what means, don’t ya?”

Lisa Marie shook her head. 

“S’nice way of telling me I wasn’t beauty queen material….”

Lisa Marie let out a loud laugh, the tried to hastily suppress her smile as she continued to lead Becky to her bedroom. Becky tried distracted Lisa, asking her what the best sorority was, how to join one, what college she wanted to go, what music she liked. As they talked, Becky soaked in the sheer excess of Lisa Marie’s bed room. There was a round faux fur canopy bed larger than Becky’s bed at home, and it had a stereo and mirrors in the top. There was also a big television, a jewelry case filled “with real diamonds,” Lisa Marie explained, and several large sets of drawers and a big armoire Becky opened the suitcases and started unpacking, pausing to ask for help with every piece of clothing she took out, while asking Lisa Marie about herself. 

“Hey where does this dress go?” Becky asked casually.

Lisa Marie took it with a huff, walking it to the closet, “In here, obviously,” the little girl said as she hung it, and Becky nodded, muttering how silly of her, then folded some tee shirts and skirts into piles.

“So Lisa Marie, what are you into?” Becky asked, handing the little blonde a bunch of rolled socks.

“Lisa… you can just call me Lisa.” Becky nodded at this. “Fast cars, karate, guns and hawwwt music.” Lisa said with a deep affect and an impish smirk

Becky laughed. “Really? Hmmmmmm sounds like someone else in this house… you forgot beauty queens…”

“True… I’m fixing to be a beauty queen ma’self… gonna do karate as my talent at pageants…that or target practice…”

Becky grinned and shook her head, fingers locking the clasps and holding up the empty suitcases with an eye brow arch. “You know, I’ve never even held a gun - you good at shooting?”

 A devilish expression energized Lisa’s face as she turned. “Wanna learn?”

Becky stood, wondering if she should shower and get Charlie or Mary or Jo to take her out to buy a bra and some more modest blouses as she looked at the pajama top over her jeans, mumbling in response. “Learn what, sweet girl?”

“How to shoot a gun a course…” Lisa began walked through a swinging door outside her bedroom, next to a second narrow staircase.

Becky glanced down its dark depths as she ambled behind Lisa, realizing she was being led into Elvis’ dressing room on their way back to the master suite. Becky followed slowly, frowned at the bags under her eyes as they walked through the master bedroom. Dressed, get dressed. Becky struggled, and she took a purple halter top out of her travel bag and slinked it on as Lisa Marie gasped from her position tip toeing over the dresser showcasing Elvis’ arsenal.

“Did you just flash me?” Lisa made a disgusted sound.

“We’re all girls here... sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable honey… I guess maybe I feel a little too comfortable….”

Lisa looked Becky up and down again. “You really are different from his other girlfriends…. Here, any preference ta which one do you like… oh wait, never mind, you already said you don’t know nothing bout guns, better let me do it ... I’m an expert.”

Becky walked over, clipping her dark brown curls in up, her lips pursed and her eyebrows knitted in concern. “What does your daddy say about you using his guns?”

“Ta never ever touch ‘em.” Lisa said as she gatheredd two pistols in her hands, the same way that Ruth would glance over and select Barbie dolls to play with. Lisaa tilted her head to the door, and Becky followed with a disturbed expression as Lisa led them out of the room, downstairs and out back to the smokehouse. She wondered if she should be doing this, but then again, several kids in Ruth’s class already had marksmanship awards. What did she know, did she want her first interaction with Elvis's daughter to be a power struggle?

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

Becky’s barefoot feet wriggled further into the sawdust, and she inhaled deeply shutting her eyes. The pressure of the exploding bullet from the shaft of the colt 45 revolver caused Becky to jump back with a little scream. She looked up, there were no holes on the target sheet hanging at the end of the room. 

Lisa laughed, and came over. “You havta keep your eyes OPEN for starters.” She took aim with her gun, as Becky stepped back and watched her squint and stay perfectly still shooting a perfect bullseye. Lisa then turned with an elated gleeful smile, blowing over the top of the gun as her eyes met Becky’s.

Becky chuckled. “Wow… impressive… do you have a favorite gunslinger?”

Lisa turned and shot two more rounds, each one hitting the red center of the bullseye. “Dirty Harry.” She answered without skipping a beat, then flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

“Wow…. Have you seen that movie?”

“Only about a thousand times…. it’s one of my favorite movies….”

“Wow, well, what about a girl shooter? Have you seen Annie Get Your Gun?”

“Of course.” Lisa huffed, refilling the cartridge of her gun. “I even used to have a pink cowgirl vest just like Annie Oakley, ‘cept it’s too small for me now.”

“Well, if we had a sewing machine I could make a new one for you.”

Lisa looked up at Becky with an excited expression, and took her hand, dragging her out of the smokehouse. “Dodger has ‘un…. Let’s go find Charlie, we’ll get him to take us shopping…”

Becky’s bare feet stumbled over the grass and pebbles as Lisa’s hand took them towards the long white building at the back of the mansion. “Um, let’s not bother Charlie… he might have other things to do.”

Lisa’s face turned back to Becky as she rapped on the door, announcing with all earnestness. “Are you kidding? Charlie always does everything I say….”

Three hours later, Becky was sitting at a very large, heavy cumbersome metal Singer sewing machine that Charlie had lugged out from Minnie Mae’s room into the adjourning living room. Becky had given him an apologetic grin as he stumbled and told her that it “Really weren’t no trouble.” Her fingers pushed pink suede through the stitcher and she bit her lip in concentration as she controlled the lever with her foot. Lisa hovered over Becky, perched on the sofa attaching rhinestone beads to the fringe on the smaller vest Becky had already cut and sewn together with Lisa’s proportions. 

“You think this is really gonna fit him?” She said with excitement and Becky nodded, grinning at the thought of Elvis wearing a matching pink suede vest. Not as gaudy as those jumpsuits but in the same family, she thought. Lisa turned to grab another bead from the bowl of glimmering silver rhinestone beads.

Lisa jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “It’s SO perfect! They match…”

Jerry walked by and stuck his head in, a middle aged white lady behind him. “Hey honey - I set up the film reels of The Pink Panther for you down in the TV room like ya asked this mornin…”

Lisa’s eyes stayed fixed where she tied another silver bead on her vest fringe, then waving Jerry off. “Thanks Jerry, maybe later…. We’re busy… oh hi Tish…”  Lisa added, seeing the older woman. Jerry looked at Becky, bewildered, but didn’t inquire what they were doing, turning to escort Tish upstairs.

“Whose that?”

“Oh that’s jus daddy’s nurse… he has some back pain and digestible issues… she’ll start coming by to give him his medicine every day now that he’s home… she takes real good —— ok, is it done ?” Her voice trailed off as she watched Becky pull the large pink vest out of the machine.

"Not yet, I gotta slice the fringe and get some of this shiny beads on here…” Becky smacked her lips and squinted at the stitching. 

Lisa nodded, nothing another bead, heat feet dangling over the edge of the couch. “Say, where did you learn to do all this? Ya mama?”

Becky turned to Lisa, grabbing a bead as she worked on Elvis’ vest. A “Ha!” escaped her mouth at Lisa’s question.

“No, my mama  was busy being a lawyer…. Our nanny, Helga, taught me everything I know… and I try to teach it to my little girl, Ruthie…”

“You’re mama was a lawyer?” Lisa’s eyes were wide, and she paused her work.

“Yeah, everyone in my family is a lawyer… ‘cept my sister, she’s actually a judge up here in Memphis… I think she was the third lady judge in this town.. Maybe I'll see her while I’m here…” Not if I can help it, Becky thought.

“And you? You didn’t wanna be a lawyer?

Becky chortled. “No…. Not alll…. “

“Are you a working mom?”

“Oh honey, all moms are working moms…. We’re like CEOs of small businesses. And those businesses are you,” she said, poking her finger into Lisa’s belly and conjuring a playful squeal.

“OK, but do you work work?”

“Sorta … still trying to figure out what I wanna do when I grow up…. When I was in high school, I wanted to be a park ranger in the Great Smokies…. Sounds silly, huh?”

“Noooo…. What happened? Couldn’t you still do that?”

“What happened…. Oh what happened…. Well, I got real lucky, and the universe put baby Ruth in my arms…. Hard to be a park ranger with a baby strapped to my back…”

 “What would you do now if you could do anything? As a working working mom, I mean.”

“Well, I’m already a working working mom, I’ve kinda always had to be... I help my folks with their hardware store…. If I could do anything…. I guess I’d like to own something, a little book store, maybe sell records too, have a juice bar and a kitchen serving up vegetarian food, maybe I run it with a husband, a nice divorced man I meet one day back in Jackson, living out a Brady Bunch fantasy….”

Lisa patted Becky’s shoulder. “You can do anything you put your mind to, Becky. S’what my daddy always says. If you want to find a divorced man to own a juice bar with, I believe in you…. What’s a vegetarian?”

Becky giggled, putting down the vest after tying the last bead on. “Someone who doesn’t eat any meat.”

“Wait, so you really don’t eat any meat?”

“Mhmmm….”

“That’s ridiculous… how can you even have a complete meal?”

“I have my ways…they involve tofu, peanut butter or beans….”

Becky and Lisa stayed in the living room talking, as Becky explained some of the reasons she didn’t eat meat, asking Lisa if she would eat a horse or pet dog, and then why a cow or chicken was different. She looked at the large, ornate golden clock over the fireplace and realized it was 3:30. 

“Speaking of food, I’m honnnngry, haven’t had anything to eat all day.. y’all have peanut butter and jelly?”

Lisa smiled and jumped off her perch on the sofa, laying her vest over the larger one and waving for Becky to follow her. “I’ll do you one better, I’ll make you one of my famous peanut butter banana sandwiches.”

Just as she jogged into the foyer, a pair of large hands reached out and grabbed Lisa and lifted her over the shoulder of an Elvis shaped frame, pinching her sides.

“Ya mean my famous peanut butter banana sandwiches….” Elvis voice tumbled out with a chuckle as his daughter squealed in delight. “See ya met my friend here…” he added as he put his daughter down, his face aglow as he looked at Becky. This shifted to a look of displeasure when his eyes saw the dirt on her feet. 

“Honey, what’s with ya feet?” He tisked.

Lisa bumped into Elvis waist, pushing his arm around her shoulder as she giggled. “She’s been running ‘round outside without any shoes on…. And she flashed her big boobies at me getting dressed this morning…. AND she’s teaching me how ta be a vegetarian…”

Elvis left eye brow arched up high, looking from Lisa to Becky. “Oh reeALLLY…. Hmmm…. Looks like y'all been getting to know each other good..." He stepped over to Becky, hand around her waist, and whispered in her ear. "Honey, why don’t ya go wash up and put something nice on, maybe a little make-up?”

Becky frowned. “Think you can snap your fingers and I’ll —” 

Elvis walked her to the staircase, his hand rubbed her bare shoulders, his eyes melting away all the retorts forming in her mind as she took in the track suit he was wearing. His voice was soft but firm, “C’mon, go get presentable... want my daughter to see how beautiful ya are when I introduce ya…. Go on now.” He slapped her butt playfully as Becky turned, unable to stop her body from complying with his directions as her mind spun in a tizzy from the feel of his hands and the way his big blue eyes looked into hers with a mix of lust, admiration and smug bravado. Introduce me to your daughter my ass, I’ve spent the last six hours unpacking clothes, shooting guns, shopping and sewing with her.

But she thrilled with elation as she bounced toward the kitchen twenty minutes later, proud of the way she had done her make up and fixed herself after taking a quick rinse in the shower. Sweet Honesty was now her favorite perfume and she smelled her wrists backing into the kitchen’s swinging door,  gasping with delight at the sight of Lisa and Elvis in matching pink fringed vests. Lisa sat on the counter next to the sink, eating a sandwich, and called out with a full mouth. Her white Mary Jane shoes hit the cabinets below. “Becky! Lewk ift figs!!!” She pointed to her dad, and Elvis turned from the stove, running his hands over his vest.

“Jus what I been needed… a pink shiny vest… ! Gonna hafta keep ya round, I have a list of mending been tryin to get Delta to do for the last year.”

Becky curled her lips. “I won’t be darnin’ your socks, Presley…”

Elvis grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek with “Hesh… now, let me look at ya.” He twirled her around in the middle of the kitchen. “There she is…. now that’s better honey…  look, Goobernickle, the most beautiful girl in the world jus wandered in ta our kitchen, ain’t we lucky.” Lisa kicked him. “Sorry, how silly a me, second most beautiful gal in the world after that lil gal right there.” 

Becky blushed and Elvis kissed her hand, taking her to sit on the orange kitchen stool near the TV. Back at the stove, he flipped what looked like a grilled cheese sandwich out of the pan and onto a plate, cutting it in half and blowing on it as he brought it over.

“Get ready to have the most delicious thing in that mouth of yours since you got to Graceland…. I mean second most delicious…” Elvis stood in front of Becky, taking up a sandwich to feed her, chuckling at her horrified expression. Good, she got my innuendo, he thought, then looked back at Lisa who was obliviously chewing on the second half of her sandwich. “I meant after the corn bread you ate last night, whatcha think I meant? Crazy woman.”

Becky sighed, closing her eyes, her exhale a mix of exasperation and excitement as she opened her mouth to taste the sandwich Elvis guided in as he held her chin. 

She couldn’t help the instinctive reaction her body had to his voice, touch, and the way his eyes danced with impish joy at her unease. But Becky also found herself sickened by how weak she was, how her pussy tingled when she swallowed the salty, sweet goodness of the sandwich. Elvis thumbed along her jawline, much the same way he had when she had sucked his cock the previous day, and her eyes widened as she felt the buzzing energy of his touch caressing her face. She swatted him away and stifled the deep sensuous moan threatening to increase. Lisa Marie seemed unperturbed, jumping off the counter to get some milk from the fridge. Elvis chortled loudly at Becky’s angry stare and pushed another bite in her mouth. She rolled her eyes, then whimpered involuntarily at how the fried, buttery carby goodness hit the back of her throat. Becky had never been with anyone who pushed and pulled and blurred the boundaries between all the different aspects of her personality together at once.

Elvis winked.

“Tastes good, don’t it?”

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

Read Chapter 5 Here

Taglist : @whositmcwhatsit @woundmetender @powerofelvis @tacozebra051 @heartbrake-hotel@butlervol6 @ab4eva @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @azzawrites @searchingforgravity @sharebearkk @18lkpeters @elvispresleywife @moonchild-daniella @bisexualwvtson @eliseinmemphis @avengen @father-of-2cats @j-v-9-2 @lillypink @notstefaniepresley @stylespresleyhearted @godlypresley@literally-just-elvis-fics @coolgirl462 @elvisabutler @beeandheroddobsessions

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#no one walks out on big daddy #elvis x OC #big daddy elvis #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fan fiction #elvis fan fiction #elvis fan fic #1970s elvis

[queerfanfiction]

Topic of Study (Ch. 4)

Thank you all for being so, so, so patient as I worked on updating this story. :)

Larissa Weems x PhDstudent!Reader

AO3 link

The previous week’s assault was still on your mind. You were kind of confused that queer or queer-allied punk people would be so narrow minded and aggressive towards outcasts. Surely they could empathize with people not understanding their identity or how narratives are used against marginalized groups.

Regardless, you could usually read people better than that. Then again, you didn’t really know the people Imogen brought with her. Hell, you barely knew Imogen if you could be honest with yourself. She had reached out via text a few times, but you couldn’t give it your full attention at the moment. Curse your high sex drive making you reckless when it came to who you sought company with.

Your mind wanders to Larissa and the last conversation you two had. She was certainly firm and more reserved. Her desire for you pushed down and masked. It’s one of the reasons you felt so compelled to see Imogen; you wanted your own desire quenched. The older woman was too magnetic.

You can’t help but anticipate your next interaction with the principal. Mrs. Cunningham had sent you an itinerary for the first week. Apparently there were a lot of speaking engagements scheduled for the first normie graduate student to study at the academy. After the chaos of the previous year, good publicity was a necessity. Because of this, much of your time was spent with Larissa. Local news interviews, a public guided tour of new accommodations, a town hall style briefing at the Weathervane, a ribbon cutting ceremony to symbolize a fresh start with the community. You could go on. On one hand, this meant time with the older woman—time you could use to clear the air and reset the energy between you two. On the other hand, the programming barely leaves a quiet moment for the two of you. You wonder if Larissa intended that to be the case to minimize awkwardness.

With the arrival of the new semester, Nevermore students were rapidly arriving, and the faculty were finalizing their lesson plans. The days since coming back from Burlington felt a bit isolated since you didn’t know anyone, and you were nursing a bruised ribcage from the comfort of your living quarters. Now that you’re feeling better, you hoped to get a few things done before students started overtaking the quiet study areas.

Still feeling low effort, you pull on a baggy brown knit sweater and brown high-rise slacks. You were thankful that the monochrome outfit seemed more high effort than it actually was. Wanting to feel comforted, you packed your bag with some books to research while sipping something soothing at the Weathervane.

You opted to walk and absorb the already changing air of Vermont in September. It was still humid out, but it was cool enough to enjoy the stroll. Almost in a trance from the light breeze and gentle woodland sounds, you started to wonder how Larissa would respond to your presence in the coming weeks.

Would she act distant and removed? Would she be stern with you? Would she mention your shared kiss and how heated and passionate it was? Would she acknowledge that you two would have gone much further without the interruption from the car horn?

In what seemed like no time at all, you arrived in Jericho.

Almost at the entrance to the café, you remembered the multiple unanswered texts from Imogen hanging over your head since the assault. Well, no time like the present to confront things you’ve been putting off from a lack of knowing how to proceed.

You step through the threshold to…not Imogen. Phew. The barista working barely looked up at the chime of the entrance jingle. Thankful to have more time to your thoughts, you pick an empty booth to spread out on.

You ordered your coffee and brought out a couple different texts from your bag. One was “Other” as Monster: Deconstructing Bias for Marginalized Outcasts. The other was Foundational Concepts in Shapeshifter Cultures—the book you reached for at the library with Larissa and failed to open until now. You decided to forgo your computer and opt for your notepad instead. You didn’t need more distractions, and you knew any access to recent Nevermore news articles would end up with your eyes on the tall silver-haired woman.

An empty mug, color-coded sticky notes, and a slew of highlighters and pens cover the table in front of you and your two open books. You’ve been told to go through one reference at a time, but it made sense in your brain to work on both at the same time. You felt like it was easier to see how the texts worked together and differently regarding the subjects. You pulled quotes and read for more context between outcast identities and their history. However, you were so disappointed in the shapeshifter cultures anthology. There were hardly any sections on universal shapeshifters; instead, there were a lot of details of metamorphoses in Greek mythology, lycanthropy, and even vampires. You were surprised the book even mentioned East Asian kitsunes since it focused so heavily on Greek, Roman, and Norse histories. According to this account, shapeshifting was often punitive in nature and had connections to mischievousness and deceit.

While reading, you furiously tagged quotes and wrote your own commentary on post-its to mark in the book. Some of your handwriting looked feral, and you hoped you could decipher it later. You were too focused to slow down and write neatly.

Annoyance and righteousness cut through you as you continued through the anthology on shapeshifting. You knew covering so many different histories was difficult, but so much of the positive or holy connotations regarding shapeshifters was missing. Needing to vent, you spam texted your best friend, Komeha’e.

Her own outcast experience was riddled with marginalization from mostly white, normie culture. She would always tell you stories about varying Native American shapeshifter cultures. Most were stories of protection or healing within Native communities. You can hear her cute, know-it-all voice now, “Shapeshifting not only provides benefits for individuals and their communities, but it also deepens the bond between human, nature, and wild animals—an important component of indigenous teachings, beliefs, and spirituality.” Neither of her parents were shapeshifters, so she learned a lot about her identity and its ties to her culture through her grandparents. Komeha’e loved to recount every morsel to you, and you cherished it right back. That’s how you knew the information perpetuated by even the reputable book in front of you was skewed.

You sipped your latte while fully engrossed in your text conversation. Because of this, you weren’t aware of Imogen’s entrance into the Weathervane. Well, that is until she was right in front of you waving a hand in front of your face.

“…h-hey.”

You internally scream that your chance of studying at the Weathervane in solitude is now ruined. “Imogen. Hi.”

The next 45 minutes are spent debriefing on what happened at the club in Burlington. Imogen promised you she didn’t know her friends would do that to you and wanted to make it up to you. You ended up letting her know you needed time to think things over. You’re not sure you can trust her if that is the company she grew up with and continues to keep. Whether you’re an outcast or not frankly had no influence on how you felt. Their behavior was abhorrent. Exhausted from the long and unexpected discussion, you make an excuse to pack up and walk back to Nevermore.

The following morning you met with Mrs. Cunningham to go over the questions Vermont News & Entertainment (VNE) sent over in preparation for your interview. You memorize down to the third question before you two are interrupted by none other than Principal Larissa Weems herself. Her abrupt presence makes your stomach drop and your heart race.

“Ah, Mrs. Cunningham. I assume you’re prepping our new graduate fellow?” Bright smiles get thrown to you both. God, that woman can make someone feel unstoppable. You flash a quick and innocent grin back. Before small talk can continue, Larissa proceeds, “The new academy newspaper, Marginalia, would like an official interview.” Her fingers motion to you and beckon you to follow her. You gather your things and thank Mrs. Cunningham for her time before walking toward Larissa and the door.

“After you.” A shiver shoots down your spine and you feel your mouth go dry when the older woman’s hand rests on your lower back to guide you through the doorframe and halls.

You can barely contain the urge to gaze upon Larissa in confusion and shock. Your mind had conjured up many different scenarios for what the dynamic between you two would be, but this was not one of them. After walking across the quad and through two wings of the academy that you haven’t explored yet, you and Larissa finally reach what you imagine is the room for the school newspaper.

Walking in with confidence, the principal begins, “Yoko, Enid, this is our newest addition to Nevermore.” Larissa turned towards you and finished, “This is Yoko Tanaka and Enid Sinclair. They volunteered to revive Nevermore’s very own student newspaper.”

A sweet and excited figure comes into your personal space, already mid-hug before you can make sense of what is happening. A singsong voice to match rings out, “Oh my gosh, this is so cool. I can’t wait to publish our first issue. It’s going to be so much better than my Nevermore gossip blog. And you’re our first interviewee!”

Over Enid’s shoulder you see a slightly taller figure with blackout glasses and impeccable dark lipstick. She steps forward and peels Enid away from you. The one who must be Yoko mutters, “Let’s get started.”

“I’ll be right over there.” Larissa mentions as she steps away with an amused look on her face. Larissa uses this time with you distracted to collect her thoughts and watch you interact with the two students. She knew her hand placement on your lower back walking here was reckless; the principal normally didn’t act without thinking. However, her hospitality and interest leaned too flirtatious when it came to you. That much was apparent from your very first meeting. Your success at Nevermore would mean redress for the events of the past year—proof that normies and outcasts could get along and even thrive. Tainting that endeavor for the academy and community in Jericho would be inexcusable in her eyes. So, then, Larissa asked herself, why does she continually risk everything to be close to you?

In the interview, Enid and Yoko take the approach of each asking a question back and forth. Kind of like a good cop bad cop thing. You think that anyone who reads it and knows them will be able to tell who asked which questions. For instance, Enid asks about normies from where you grew up to start off the interview. Yoko proceeds to ask why you chose to study at Nevermore specifically. Enid, as if she’s an old friend catching up, wants to know how you’re finding the town and school. She then proceeds to tell you to check out something called Hawte Kewture, but you have no idea what it is.

In between questions, of course your mind wanders to the silver-haired blonde seated nearby. Larissa was friendly—almost as if the last interaction you two had was not a chastening due to making out passionately in the academy’s van/shuttle. Her demeanor caught you off guard, but you’d rather have the opportunity to be close with her than not.

A strange echoing disrupts your thoughts. Uh oh, Yoko and Enid have been waiting for you to respond and are now asking if you’re okay.

“Sorry, I’m still in the process of transferring my ADHD medicine over. What’d you say?” You hoped to not have to explain yourself too much. Otherwise, you’re sure you’d blush a bright red.

Yoko repeats, seemingly unfazed, “Why study outcasts and normies when you’re not as affected by the issue? You know…since you’re a normie.”

“Oh, it’s kind of personal, but I-” A knock on the door interrupts before you can continue to answer. Larissa had sat forward in her chair in anticipation, interested in the answer. Disappointed in the intrusion, she makes a mental note to ask you later.

“Apologies, ladies. We are needed elsewhere. The interview will have to continue another day.” Larissa reassures the two girls in front of you. Well, mostly Enid who looks pitiful.

“Hey, I had a lot of fun. And now I know who to turn to when I have questions about Nevermore. That would really help me out. I’ll see you around, okay?” You try your hardest to sound like a supportive big sister. It seems to work, because Enid beams a toothy smile and nods excitedly. You begin to walk out and don’t catch Larissa’s affectionate gaze due to your efforts. She then leads you outside to the quad where news anchors and cameras are set up and waiting.

The next interview commences. You and Larissa sit together since you’ll both be answering questions about the new fellowship position and its legacy for Nevermore.

After the interview and a lot of social pleasantries, you can tell you’re dehydrated and hungry. You hadn’t eaten that morning, unfortunately. You went straight to Mrs. Cunningham’s briefing without breakfast. As if she could read your mind, Larissa offers for you two to eat in her office before any further engagements. How can you pass that up?

Once in her office, she disappears. You’re not sure where but you can assume it is the same place she went to get the scones and fig spread you two devoured before in the faculty lounge. When she returns, she gestures for you to sit while she gathers plates and drinks. Larissa takes a seat next to you and lets out a long sigh.

“You okay?”

Larissa pours herself a glass of red wine and turns toward you. “What happened the other night?”

Surprised she wanted to discuss what happened between you two, you confess, “Well, a lot of repressed sexual energy got released, and I couldn’t stop myself from finally kissing you, an-”

“No,” Larissa corrects. “What happened that left you stranded and needing to be picked up?” Larissa urges the warmth between her legs at the memory of how heated the two of you became to calm so that she can focus on understanding why it seemed like you were physically assaulted and abandoned.

You take a moment to configure your answer, making sure to not mention that you were desperate for release due to fantasizing about Larissa and texted Imogen to fulfill that need. “I invited Imogen out dancing, and she brought friends along. Her asshole friends thought I was an outcast and didn’t appreciate that possibility.”

“So they hurt you?” Her face was marked with concern and contempt. All you could do was nod. You didn’t particularly want to dwell on it. The older woman in front of you takes a long sip of wine. Apparently still making sense of the threat posed that night, Larissa queries, “Why did they think you were an outcast?”

You omitted why you sought out Imogen in the first place, so you’re not about to explain to Larissa that your mouth was essentially fused to Imogen’s neck while on the dance floor. You hoped this placated the woman beside you, “Uh, they picked me up from Nevermore and had just assumed I was a vampire.”

Sensing that she was not being given the entire truth, Larissa eyed you curiously. Her familiarity with outcasts meant she could understand each give-away for various species. Unfortunately, these precautions were to ensure safety when out around the town. Sirens were instructed to hide their amulets around their necks in their clothes. Gorgons were taught to wear baggier hats so that tight fabric didn’t show the outline of their snakes. Vampires were taught to drink their blood packs out of opaque tumblers and wear special contacts if they were light sensitive. Even sunglasses started to be questioned by townsfolk for those who wore Nevermore uniforms. Larissa never saw you wear sunglasses or carry around any travel mugs. The image of you against Imogen’s neck appeared in her mind and wouldn’t leave. She despised the thought, even though it was the most likely explanation.

At a loss of what to say next, the two of you passed time by eating sandwiches and breaking down the interviews thus far.

“Your answer to Yoko’s final question before being interrupted, what were you going to say?”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, making way for an adequate answer. You didn’t know how much to divulge to the woman in front of you. “My best friend, Kome. I’ve always been a bit justice-oriented—guess that comes with being queer and neurodivergent—but I am fiercely protective of outcasts and what they represent. Kome is the strongest person I know and has been through so much at the hands of normies. Hell, even from other outcasts that have internalized normie narratives.” Your eyes flare, as if you are remembering a specific incident.

Continuing while staring into the fireplace, you add, “When she confided in me about being an outcast, I was so sad that she worried how I would react. She deserves armies of support, and I can’t imagine a better person. Making the world just a little bit safer or more understanding regarding outcasts is the least I can do. As a normie, it’s so fucked that my voice is privileged above others’. Because of this, I will always defend those who are marginalized and uplift their voices instead. That’s why I’m a little wary of all the interviews this week. So far most of the questions focus on who I am, but this isn’t about me. It’s about the issues at hand.”

Larissa didn’t expect to be so moved by your response—the raw vulnerability that you had shared with her. Once again, you were proving to be a conundrum for the principal. Senseless attraction or lust was something that could be managed. The tug in her chest pleading to share secrets, small joys, trauma, and deep desires and goals? That was exactly what Larissa didn’t need to deal with.

No response was given by the older woman next to you, not for many moments. Glossy eyes find yours, and Larissa clears her throat to speak. “I had a brother, you know.”

Of course you didn’t know; Larissa was a pretty private person about family. Sensing she needed assistance to get the rest out, you nudge gently, “You did?”

“A twin brother. He-…” Tears bead against Larissa’s lower eyelids, threatening to spill over and ruin her impeccable foundation and blush. “He’s no longer with us. He passed when I was young.”

You nod slowly, almost gravely at her. Anything to let Larissa know you were here and that whatever she uttered in the space between you would be safe. Safe and tucked away again. Almost involuntarily your hand reaches out to caress hers. You tried to convey everything you were thinking through the simple touch. You didn’t dare speak and break the intimacy between you two in this moment.

A ragged, cathartic sigh resonates out from Larissa after awhile of sitting together, hands embraced. “I’ve only ever told one other person about him. A roommate from when I was a student at Nevermore.”

As if she was suddenly aware of her openness and how near your face was to hers while leaning over to hold her hand, Larissa breaks her hand away and rises to stand against the fireplace. The absence of her hand is replaced by cool air dancing across the skin of your palm.

“We don’t want to be late for the press release in Jericho!”

Without missing a beat, you retort playfully while also standing, “And I’ll be driving, Miss Two Glasses of Wine.”

It seems that getting to know Larissa would be challenging, but you understood the significance of today. You knew it wouldn’t be a race or a sprint. In fact, you were prepared for a marathon. If the best things take time, then so be it.

—

Tagging: @readingtheentrails, @justcallmelittleone, @enchantressb, @jeepingay, @gwendolinechristieiscute. Let me know if you want tagged or untagged. :)

#topic of study #chapter 4 #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #phd student #grad student #attraction #lust #eventual smut #age difference #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #wednesday

[oval3000]

"Hello" ch. 2

Simon Riley x Reader

Not my art! Not my characters!

After defeating Makorav, Simon went back home to enjoy his night rest. The next day he heard noises outside his apartment. When he went to see who was making those noises, by peaking through the eye hole on his door, he saw you. He never thought you would change his life forever.

!WARNING ⚠️ Terrible grammer, past abuse, abuse, ptsd, trauma, swearing, Obsession, Possessive, death,boring story. Different story plot then the game (Makorav dead)

New to this wanted to try it out. Maybe making it to a series idk .

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A few weeks has past since then. You were able to get everything settled in. You still felt bad about Simon helping you, especially when your new bed arrived. It wasn't your fault though. Simon peaked through when he heard noises of two men carrying a big box to your apartment. He saw how you thanked them. When you gave them the same treatment you did to him, it pissed him off. Now, he didn't know why, but he knew that they didn't deserve your 'Thank yous' they were just doing their job. So when they left he went in saying that he heard a ruckus and wanted to help, not because he was watching you through his peak hole

You made a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. As you placed them on the cooling rack you took out a cute treat bag and a twist tie. You grabbed a gift box from the store plastic bag aswell as other things like snacks and an assortment of good teas that your heard were good, the price really showed it. You didn't care, you really wanted to show him gratitude. You placed everything perfect. You carefully placed half of the batch of the cooled chocolate chip cookies into the cute treat bag. Carefully placing it in the center of the box along with a handwritten note you did on top. You placed on the lid and grabbed a piece of ribbon that matches the box perfectly.

Some say this is extreme and unnecessary, but you really didn't want to feel like a burden especially being new to the building. The last thing you want to cause any problems in your new home.

You took the box and walked in front of Simon's door. You knocked on the door three times while holding the gift box. You were nervous, don't know why, but you were. Your overthoughts were taking over you. It made you think on how you can just turn around and walk away.

However, those thoughts disappeared when you heard the door knob giggle and Simon opened the door. He knew it was you.

He was ready with whatever help you needed, he didn't even noticed the box as he was too busy staring at your eyes.

"I just wanted to say thank you for helping me move in and for building my bed, so please take this as a gift as my gratitude." You handed him the gift box as he looked at you.

"You really didn't have to. It was nice to help" Simon looked at you with a humble look on his face. As for how he feels on the inside, seeing you standing in front of him with a gift just for him.

"I know, I just really wanted to do it." You gave him one the most sweetest smiles.

He reached out with hands as he grabbed the box. You felt his fingers glazing over yours. You felt heat rising in your cheeks. You looked up as he stared you down with a smirk on his face. "Thank you, love"

He saw as you walked away and closed the door. He carefully shut his door, ignoring the locks. Why would he lock his door when an angel moved accross from his place?

He places the gift box on the counter and undid the ribbon. He took of the lid and saw all the things you put in it. He first took the note out and read. His fingers glanced on the cute little drawing you did of a smiley face.

He placed the note down as he took the bag of cookies out. He read the little gift tag 'homemade chocolate chip cookies'. He opened the bag and took a bite of the cookie. He tasted it and it was delicious. Was it delicious? Was he just hungry? Or maybe...just maybe. He found it delicious?

He didn't want to eat the rest in one go. His excuse was simple 'don't want to gain weight' even thought he himself knows he can burn off whatever fat he would gain if he did. He placed the bag of cookies down and admired the rest of the items you gave him. One in particular were the asserment of teas. He knows that brand. Everyone in town knows that brand. The most popular well known brand of good tea and more on the pricy side. He felt spoiled. Never in his life has he felt spoiled.

Feeling things he never felt before. Satisfaction. You gave him so much satisfaction for only knowing him for a month . This emotion felt so good. He wanted more.

Now he isn't selfish. He knows you deserve to be satisfied as well. He just needs to find the right time.

He needs more time with you. He placed the cookies you made him into a little air tight containers, placing it in the center of his kitchen island. He made his way towards his peak hole just to check, simple as that.

He grabbed his laundry basket from his room and made his way towards the laundry room on the down label ground. When he got there, only a few people were there. Some already left while two men still stayed behind. He was never close with anyone in the building, how could he when he's busy serving his country, so his interactions with others were limited. After all he has someone he could spend his energy for.

He shoved his dirty clothes into the washer and poured in the detergent. He wanted to leave and come back, but he knew people like the two men who remained there would do something stupid like throwing his wet clothes on the floor, so he waited patiently.

He could hear the two, young, looking men laughing like hyenas. "Shit men. It wouldn't fucking hurt to get a women doing this shit for us," one of the guys said with a smug look on his face.

Simon didn't bother turning his head, only giving a side eye."you know non of these old fucking hags would do the work" another said has he shook his head.

"But that girl that lives on the fifth floor." Simon felt body tense up as he stood still for a second.

"Lucky bastard, I didn't get to see her" the guy sad, throwing his drench clothes in the dryer.

"I only got to see when we shared an elevator together." The other guy said, tormenting his friend on the sign of seeing a young, beautiful, woman like you.

He leaned in closer to his friend, "how was she?" He looked back to see Simon still standing infront of the washing machine with his hands resting on top.

"If I was there with her for another second I would've bended her over and-" There conversation were quickly interrupted by a loud banging sound. When they turned around they saw Simon with his hand on the lid of the washer, yanking his clothes and throwing them into the dryer.

"You alright there, mate?"

"Say, don't you live on the fifth floor? Do you know that beautiful doll that lives there?"

Simon turned around to fully face them. He saw the way they stood and the look on their faces. It reminded him of the men he would see when his father would take him to those weird shady places."It's non of your concern or your business where someone lives."

One of the guy who has dark brown long curly hair looked at his friend who made that comment about the elevator. He saw the way Simon stared at him. He knew those looks, afterall, he was given those looks when he didn't have the money he owed to some drug dealers. He felt his throat dried up as he took a gulp of whatever was left in his mouth. "Whatever, mate"

His friend, who still had a smug look on his face, still proud for what he said looked at him with a confused look. "The fuck do you mean 'whatever' we fucking live here. Don't we have the right to know who else lives here too?" He looked at back at Simon, who never broke his eye contact. "It's a simple bloody fucking question."

Simon turned his eyes towards the guy with the curly hair. He felt as if he was in the dark alley getting his ass beaten up for not being the right amount of money to his drug dealer. Coming home with bruises on his torso, a broken nose, a busted lip, and an ankle that could barley hold his body weight. "C'mon man, let's just leave."

He tugged the arm of his friend trying to get his attention. "Whatever, I guess. Couldn't be to fucking friendly."

Simon watched as the two guys left. He felt the nails of his finger slowing releasing from his palm, which left in marks of his fingernails from how tight he had his fist. He looked at it, sighing at how they got a reaction out of him.

'Bloody fucking hell'

Did he felt weak when two pathetic loosers made him react this way? Yes. Did he know he was feeling this way? No. Was he proud of it? Debatable. Did he feel good? I mean, he did it to protect you. A delicate soul like you shouldn't be going through this.

His mind and thought weren't coherent. His body was moving while his mind was telling to stop and go home. But like before, you could never be too careful, especially someone like you.

You heard a knock on your door. When opened it, Simon rested his head on his arm, which was resting on your doorframe. He looked up and immediately straighten himself back up. "Simon? What's up?"

You look down and saw a white, plastic, shopping bag in his hand, "I got something for you. Don't worry, it's more for your safety."

He pulled out a box that had a picture of a camera. "A camera?" You looked at him with a concerned look. Were you in danger?

"Their security cameras. Just in case. I heard there's a creep out there so I figured a camera will do for you. That way you can see if anybody tries to break in or so. I'll set it up for you."

"..uh...thank you, Simon. But are you sure it's necessary?" You honestly didn't think a camera is what you needed when you moved into your new place. However, when it comes from your neighbor who has been nothing, but helpful during your entire change of environment, you think to yourself that maybe having some cameras around won't be too bad.

"Trust me. It will help you."

"Okay then. Thank you, Simon"

"No problem, love."

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod mw2 #fanfic #yandere simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #yandere ghost #simon riley x you

[rehfan]

And now we have the moment you have been waiting for...

Chapter 9 of...

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph Penbury X Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: meet-cute, eventual smut, slow build, angst with a happy ending, class differences, fantasizing, implied/referenced drug use, non-consensual touching, sexual inexperience, first kiss, kissing, first French kiss, neck kissing, sexual education, angst, emotional hurt, handjob, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal sex, PIV sex, first time, blow job, cream pie, fluff and smut, anal play, rimming, cunnilingus

Warnings: 18+ and over only please. Eventual smutty smut - NOT for children! Non-consensual touching, implied/referenced drug use.

PLEASE DO NOT POST MY WORK TO ANY OTHER SITE. MY WORK IS MINE. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

If you want to read this and my other stuff, find this work on AO3

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10

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

CHAPTER 9: Lessons in Botany

It was the matter of a minute or two when you heard the door close again and his footsteps bounding up to you. He was breathless, cheeks ruddy from the exertion and you smiled at him from across your sitting room. Beckoning him with one crooked finger and a devilish grin you slipped into your bedroom and began to unbutton your blouse.

He was behind you inside of moments, his outer jacket, coat, waistcoat, and hat already gone, no doubt deposited against the back of your settee in a neat pile. His hands were about your waist and his mouth was against your neck just as you turned on your bedside lamp. You had cut your hair into a bob weeks before which showed off your neck and framed your face and you were so grateful to not have to fuss with bringing your hair down for him. You leaned back into him, unbuttoning forgotten, one hand on one of his as it spread over your hip and along your upper thigh, the other at the back of his head, pressing his mouth closer, encouraging his kisses.

“I missed you so much, Ralph,” you sighed as your heart swelled with love for him. “Take me to bed.” The smell of him, the feel of him. It was almost too much. If it weren’t for his arms around you, pressing into you, the heat of his breath on your ear, you could have sworn it was another dream.

“It would be my pleasure,” he murmured. “I’ve been dreaming- hoping for this moment.” He whispered your name like a prayer and you felt yourself get wet.

Turning in his arms, his eyes were filled with the longing you had dreamed about night after night. His kiss was the same one that would be the last thought in your head as unconsciousness took you. His arms were just as warm and strong around you as you remembered, wrapping around you the same way the darkness of your empty bedroom would surround you and close in on you as you finally slept.

Tonight there would be no torture. Tonight your hands touched him, your skin on his skin. There was no rushing. You had all night. As his tongue moved against yours, you smiled against his mouth. You let the thought sink in. He was all yours. All night.

Instantly, you were ravenous.

You pulled at his clothes, a button skittering across the hardwood floor. You paused only a moment and laughed with him as the two of you rushed to divest yourselves of all those clothes.

Your bedsheets were as cool but not as silky against the skin as his were. You barely registered it because he was right there, hot hands warming you and cupping your sex eagerly as one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you close for a deep kiss. He didn’t give you time to think before he pressed between your folds, seeking out your clit.

He hummed with satisfaction at the wetness he found there. “Such an eager girl,” he remarked. “I see now how much you truly did miss me.”

“I would never lie to you, Ralph,” you whispered to his skin, tongue licking at his neck and sucking a bruise into his pulse point. Your breath caught as he slowly circled your bud. “Yes yes yes.” The mantra repeated and echoed in your brain: yesandyesandyes…

His mouth found your breasts. Guiding one to his lips, he suckled there, steady and lovingly as you cooed praise into his ear. “So good, Ralph. Such a wonderful man. Ah! Oh I can’t w-wait for more, sweet boy. You’re going to f-feel so good inside me.”

He pulled off your nipple with a wet pop and with eyes blown dark asked gently: “May I see you? All of you? Spread out before me? Or is- is that not the done thing?”

He took your breath from your body with the question. “Oh, Ralph. It is very much the done thing. You may, my love. Please.”

He moved downward. It was as if he didn’t want to spook you. Like you were some wild creature who had walked out of the woodlands to grace him with your presence. You parted your legs for him with much the same attitude. He was such an innocent, you didn’t know what would offend him and the sight of you may just do that. Some men didn’t want to know what it looked like, only what it felt like. After all, blood and babies came out of there and those things had nothing whatsoever to do with a gentleman.

But there he was, showing you how different Lord Ralph Penbury could be as he knelt between your thighs, hands guiding you wider, more open than you’d been in an age. You smiled down at him, thinking of how proud Charlie would be of the both of you: you the teacher, him the student.

“It’s just like a flower isn’t it?“ asked Ralph, his dark eyes filled with wonder and amazement. “Perhaps that’s where the phrase “deflowering” comes from, eh? Only the petals don’t change, do they? The flower blooms forever.” He put out a finger and gently touched your clit, circling it again and watched you fall apart under his touch. “Goodness.”

Whimpering softly as he worked, your hips rolling, needing more from him as the seconds ticked by. Perceptive as ever, he asked, “What more can I do for you, love?”

“Fingers. Inside. Just one. Start slow.”

“Right! I remember this part."

He moved inside you as before, perfectly replicating what you had taught him all those months ago, finger in your cunt, thumb on your clit. As you gasped and sighed at the feel of him, he kissed your tummy. Soft, slow, barely-there kisses littered along your skin just below your navel, stretching from hip to hip. “Is this alright?

“Yes, love,” you said, carding a hand through his hair, the other gripping the sheets as he worked your clit inside and out. “And you can kiss me down there too.” He looked up at you in shock, his hands halting their movement.

“Pardon?”

Giggling, you explained: “It feels lovely to have it happen. But only if you want to, Ralph. No need to feel obligated.”

“I don’t- I just- It’s- um…” he said. As he mulled it over, his hand began to move once more.

“It’s alright, baby. No n- need to worry,” you soothed, your breath catching with his ministrations once again.

“No. No I shan’t shy away from this,” he said. “You said you would teach me and I am here to learn. I only hope-“

“You won’t hurt me,” you said.

“No, I worry that I won’t do it correctly,” he said, concern painting his features. “I haven’t seen you in months.” Here he placed another kiss to your abdomen. “I don’t want to lose you again.” Another kiss landed on your thigh. “I don’t want to do anything that would be the least bit imperfect.” His voice became softer as he kissed your inner thigh. “And you are so very precious to me.” His mouth found your vulva at the top of your slit and you whimpered.

“More, sweet boy. You’re right… there….”

“You smell so good,” he whispered. You felt him part your lips and kiss your clit. Your hips came up against him and you heard him hum again, Where he at first began softly and tentatively, he soon gained confidence and, obeying his instincts, his mouth took your clit in and he suckled there as he had on your nipple, his tongue pressing against you over and over in a rhythm your hips soon obeyed, ripples of pleasure moving through you.

“Fuck- Ralph! So good. So good, my love.” Your thighs burned and your toes curled. He was moving you toward orgasm as though he were born for it.

Then Ralph added a second finger.

The moan that escaped your mouth shocked you both, but Ralph pulled his head away with a concern that you quashed by pressing his head back downward. “So close, baby. Please. So good. So good,” you pleaded.

As he went back to work, the heat in your belly built steadily, his fingers hitting that spongy spot that drove you mad. You bucked up into him, your rhythm becoming more unsteady as your climax approached. Gasping, writhing and moaning were all you could do as you felt Ralph attempting to keep contact with you, spit mixing with your slick, wet filthy sounds coming from his mouth.

You felt yourself come all over his fingers as your hand cradled his head, hips pressing up against his hot tongue as it flicked against you and you cried out Ralph’s name with what air was left in your lungs.

Shuddering, you came down and he pulled away from you, gently removing his fingers. Through heavy-lidded eyes you saw him, face shiny with your arousal. He looked fucked out already and you hadn’t even touched him.

“Are- are you alright? Did I do everything alright?” He looked so deeply concerned, it broke your heart.

You raised an arm to him in welcome, too exhausted for words. He crawled on top of you, his cock tip pressing against your aching swollen folds. He gasped at the contact. ‘Sorry! So sorry! Have I- Are you alright?”

Glancing down between you, his stiff prick was thick and long and instantly you moaned, thinking about how good it would feel inside you. You wondered if he would want you to suck him off before taking him in, but judging from the look he was giving you and the breath he was unable to take, you thought he wouldn’t last past your first spit-covered stroke. You ran a hand through his hair. “It’s all alright, Ralph. You did beautifully. And now, I think we’d better take care of you.” You kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

It took a bit of effort, but you raised your knees and brought them up along either side of Ralph’s torso. “Get the tip slick and wet first. Rub it against me. Then carefully push inside. Slowly and gently as you have done.”

“L-like this?” he said. You weren’t sure if he stuttered due to nerves or whether it was his arousal making him a mess. Either way, it was so sexy. There was practically no trace of brown in his eyes as he panted his way through your instructions.

He pressed into you. “What a good student you are, my brilliant boy.” He made his motions steady, yet firm as you both waited for your body to allow him entry. He slid his tip into you with a grunt of surprise and instantly halted.

“Darling?” was all he managed. You could tell he was barely hanging on.

“God, Ralph. So good. Keep going. Need every inch of you.” You wrapped your legs around him and dug your heels into him, pushing him further inside you.

Slowly, your cunt swallowed his cock, and when he bottomed out, you relished the full feeling of him, his warm balls against your perineum. Ralph stared at you open-mouthed in disbelief. Was he really inside you? Were you allowing this? And not in pain? Not pushing him away? All these questions seemed to pass behind his eyes and all your aching heart could do was kiss him. You kissed away all doubt and fear. You kissed life into his hips as he slowly withdrew and pushed inside again. His tongue followed the rhythm his hips had set and you rocked with him, moaning your pleasure into each other’s mouths until yours fell to his thick neck and throat as he worked himself into you, Adam’s apple bobbing with every nervous swallow, eyes watching your every expression, on high-alert for any sign of discomfort or annoyance.

But there was none.

His cock was perfect and veiny, thick and pressing deliciously into you, and when you angled your hips just… like… that… “OH! My god Ralph! Goddamn it! Yes! YES!”

You reached a hand down to stimulate your clit as you sucked another bruise into his neck, humming as you did so. The coil spring inside you wound tighter and tighter as you felt his rhythm falter. You were truly surprised he had lasted long enough to give you another orgasm, but you weren’t going to complain. If anything, you were proud of him. As proud as you had ever been. 

“Such a good boy. Such an amazing- FUCK! God, Ralph! Don’t stop. You’re so-so sooo perfect! Yes! YES!”

Ralph let out a strangled moan that melded into the shape of your name as he came hard inside you. You felt him, warm, wet, coating your walls. The sensation took you over the edge and you came again, soaking his cock.

You breathed into each other’s mouths as you came down, your tongue darting out to kitten lick and bite at his lips until he finally captured yours in a deep kiss.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” he said, burying his face into your hair, his lips brushing your ear. “But I want to thank you for this. For everything you are. For seeing me and offering friendship and understanding. For being so lovely.”

Your limbs felt loose and shaky, but you cradled Ralph with them just the same, cocooning him with your body and running soothing hands down his back. “You deserve me and so much more, my darling boy.”

“May I stay?” he asked, proposing himself up on his elbows as his cock slipped out of you along with some his issue mixed with your slick. “I don’t want to make you feel as though-“

You kissed away his next sentence. “Lord Penbury, I’m not letting you leave my bed any time soon.”

His smile could have lit up all of London. He dipped in for another kiss. His mouth found your neck and peppered a trail to your collarbone. He hesitated, frozen to the spot, before bringing his head up to look at you. “May I ask you… something else?”

“You know you can ask me anything, love,” you said, your fingertips tracing over his jawline and down to his shoulders. Indulging in the feel of him in your bed, in your life.

He dipped to kiss between your breasts gently before whispering into your skin, “May I see your backside?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but you soon quelled it once Ralph’s ears got pink and he ducked his head down. “Ohhhh no, Ralph. I’m sorry. Of course, darling. You can see any part of me you want.” Obligingly, you turned over for him.

His arms bracketed you on either side as he balanced above you. You peeked back at him and saw a curious Ralph taking in your bare skin, openmouthed and adoring. His head fell toward you and out of your view, but the single press of his kiss to the skin between your shoulder blades made you whimper. How could you think of letting this man leave your life when he was this sweetly romantic without even trying?

Another kiss pressed to your spine; this one lower than the last.

Followed by another even lower.

And another.

Warm hands smoothed around your ass cheeks, Ralph’s feather-light kisses fell here too. You didn’t dare move for fear he’d shy away. He was experimenting. You closed your eyes and felt yourself melt into his touch, hands squeezing the globes of your ass, softly kneading them, his lips trailing along the skin there, skipping over the crack of your ass and onto the other side. His tongue came out to play next. It left a cool trail in its wake. You shivered. Gooseflesh broke out all over you.

“Alright, darling?” he asked.

“Mmm…fine. Just fine,” you replied, fascinated at how pliant you had become yet how completely stimulated by what he was doing. “So nice, Ralph. So soothing. So completely sexy.”

“Well then,” he said, sounding bemused, “allow me to continue.”

You wiggled your butt at him, teasingly. “Oh yes, please.”

His low chuckle had you wet again and you moaned gently. He placed more kisses to your cheeks, mouthing at the flesh, sucking it in, sloppily kissing, moving ever closer to your hole until he parted your flesh and the tip of his tongue licked right there .

You gasped. You were completely expecting it, yet you gasped. The touch was expected, the way he touched you was not: so softly you almost thought you imagined it. A ghost of a touch. A barely there promise of a touch. You wanted more.

“Let me help, lover,” you said and you lifted your hips helpfully, getting your knees underneath you and presenting your ass to him wantonly. You could feel your slick and what you were sure was his cum trickle out of you as you did so.

“Is that-? Oh,” he said.

“What is it, Ralph?” 

“Wait- I just-”

You gasped again. His tongue lapped at your cunt. He was tasting you - and himself - as it came out of you. “Jesus Christ!” you managed as he continued to lick up your arousal. “Oh my God, Ralph.” You couldn’t manage much more thought than that as he hummed around your hole and lapped his way up toward your pucker, tongue circling the tight ring of it before pushing his tongue inside.

Soon, he was relentless. He nipped at your ass cheeks, tongue fucked your ass, and dipped back down to your cunt for minutes at a time, leaving you undulating, pussy clenching around nothing and whining for more. More touch, more pressure, more everything. You were about to break. You needed to come. “Ralph,” you whined, reaching back for his hand, “need you. Need your cock. Please, Ralph.”

“But you taste so good,” he murmured, clearly lost in the feel of you on his tongue. Pussy drunk, Charlie had called it. Only you were sure he was also drunk on your ass as well.

“Oh Ralph, please .”

He couldn’t say no to you. He settled himself behind you and, following your previous instruction, you felt him press the tip of his cock inside you. The tight fullness of him filled you with a slight burn that soon melted into ecstasy. Ralph groaned behind you when he bottomed out and settled himself inside. “Oh my sweet love, you are so absolutely amazing. You’re better than any bubbly. You’re more exciting than the best cocaine. And your wet, sweet center?” Here he pulled himself out to his tip and slammed himself back into you, his voice a feral growl you barely recognized, “bloody fucking wizard .”

His hips kept a rhythm that had your reeling within moments. His cock brushing that perfect place inside you over and over and over until you were gasping. Keening sounds came from you, mixing in the air with his panting behind you. The smack of your bodies as your juices flowed from you was filthy in the extreme. It was beautiful.

You had thought Ralph a quick study. You had been impressed with his initiative. But you were doubly impressed when he pressed fingertips to your clit as he heard you gaining your climax. “Come on, sweet lady. Let me hear you once more. It’s my favorite sound. Go on. Do it for me. Orgasm for your Ralph. Just for me. Such a good girl. A clever, beautiful girl. Let me hear you. My angel. Mine. My own.”

It was the ‘good girl’ that really got you, that pitched you completely over the edge. You cried out, praying your neighbors wouldn’t hear and call the law. He fucked you through your orgasm, fingers never letting up on your clit as you writhed and gasped, stars bursting behind your eyelids, a stream of babble coming from your lips. “So- fu- ugh … so good. My- my- my Ralph. Always. Mine. Fuck - Shit! Ah! My Ralph.”

He was gaining more stamina, but his hips were stuttering now. You were bursting with pride as you felt him use you to his own end. You grabbed the hand that was still circling your now overstimulated clit. “Suck on your fingers, baby. Taste me when you come.”

His hand vanished and you heard him hum, his other hand steadying himself on your shoulder as he thrust into you harder and harder, deeper and deeper, until at last he cried out your name, fingers now gripping your hips with bruising pressure, a desperate and shattered man. You felt his cum inside you, gushing there, mixing with your own and you knew the both of you were a mess.

He pulled out and away from you. “Oh my,” he said. “I’m afraid we may need a bath.”

Giggling, you turned on your side and patted the mattress space beside you. “In the morning, my love. Please? For now, let’s just be here with each other. Come keep me company.”

“Delighted,” he said and lay beside you, facing you, just like on that first night all those months ago.

Kissing him softly, sleep crashing over you like a tonne of bricks, you said, “You are the perfect lover, Ralph. You have such good instincts.”

“You flatter me,” he said, blushing beautifully once more. “Shall we turn out the light?”

“Good idea.” Snuggling into him and closing your eyes, you felt him reach past you and pull the chain on the light on your bedside table. He settled beside you, warm and comfortable. With the extinguishing of the light, the shadows showed up again. You happily ignored them.

~080~

Morning came all too quickly and you stretched and yawned and smiled into the face of a very awake Ralph. “You are simply beautiful.” That was all he said. But that was all you needed and you were down below the sheets and sucking his cock like it was your only occupation. 

Ralph screamed and gasped, finally giggling with delight before making completely unintelligible sounds as you lapped at his balls and stroked him off, your spit coating your hand. Swallowing him down, he hit the back of your throat with a sudden thrust, causing you to choke.

“Oh GOD! I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” You pulled off of him, a trail of spit leading from his dick to your mouth, tears in your eyes.

“S’alright, baby. It happens. Let’s begin again, shall we? You let me know when you’re going to come.” Your tongue darted out and skimmed along his slit. He gaped at you, breath stuttering until you spit on his cock and he moaned. Opening wide, tongue out, you watched his face as his cock invaded you. You could tell he was using everything he had not to push his dick hard inside your mouth again based on the way his hips rocked. But he was as good as gold. He writhed, he moaned, he whimpered, he gasped, but his hips remained as still as possible.

Dear God, he was a natural-born thoughtful lover. It made you want to swallow more of him, but you were never that talented. Spit drooled from your mouth as you curled your lips against your teeth, used your tongue to press and tease, caressed his balls with your free hand, pumped his length with your other and otherwise did everything you knew in order to pull an orgasm from him.

It wasn’t long before he was a panting mess, moaning your name, hands hovering over your hair, lost entirely to his own growing oblivion. “Going to- Lord God! Going to- Please! God please!”

Hot spurts of cum filled your mouth. Swallowing as much as you could, licking up the rest, you stroked him down from his climax. “Such a good boy for me,” you said against the skin of his shaft. “So beautiful and thick and hard for me. And you taste so good, Ralph.”

He was blissed out above you, eyes unfocused and glassy, a sex-stupid grin on his face. He sighed a thank you to the ceiling as you crawled up his body and lay your head on his chest, straddling one of his legs.

You nodded off for a bit, thanking the Lord above when you woke that it was Sunday and the shop was shut. The sun was at an entirely different angle and Ralph had suggested lunch instead of breakfast. You didn’t care what you ate as long as it was food; you were famished. You bathed and dressed quickly, eager to leave to eat so you could come back and be naked with each other once more.

The chain across the stairs was still undone and you smiled back at Ralph saying, “You were in such a rush, you forgot the chain, sweetheart.”

“He also forgot to lock the front door.”

You froze. Ralph froze too. There, facing away from you in the chair reserved for customers trying on your wares, sat Lady Victoria Penbury. She had one of your latest creations perched atop her head and was gazing at her profile in the reflection, turning her head side to side, her expression unreadable.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel Ralph’s rising panic behind you. You could feel her judgment of you - even though she hadn’t even glanced at you. All you could do was wait.

She put the hat aside and turned to face you both. “Well! Aren’t the two of you a picture!”

Ralph came behind you and placed a warm possessive hand on your lower back.

“Such a lovely couple,” continued Victoria. “Both had your orgasms? Was he worth it, my dear? I hear my brother can be very stupid in the bedroom as well as in hat shops. I wonder if he’s twice as clumsy in the flat above a hat shop?”

“Your brother is the finest man-“

“Oh stop it, dearie,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Did he at least tell you the news?”

“About you selling the building? Yes. And I will have to no doubt pay more rent. And you’re pulling your support from the shop as well.”

“Oh no! Not that! I wouldn’t dream of kicking away this little earner. But I do have plans for changes,” she said, smiling. She looked like the cat with all the cream.

“Ch-changes?” said Ralph. “You said you wanted to wash your hands of-“

“That was before I saw what a tidy profit this place makes,” said Victoria, picking up another hat and admiring it. “And before I knew what percentage of it we own, you and I, Ralphie dear.”

“What?” you asked. You knew that he was a silent partner, but as for percentage of ownership, you hadn’t thought to ask. “What percentage? I own the shop, you’re just a silent partner.” You looked from Victoria to Ralph and back again.

“We own fifty-one percent,” she said. “And I’m no maths whiz, but I believe that’s the controlling interest.” She put down the hat she was handling and walked toward you. “I also believe that means that you-“ here she pointed at you, “work for us.” Her finger swayed in the air between Ralph and herself.

“Fifty-one…?” you asked and looked at Ralph, utterly at a loss. “What?”

“Oh dear,” said Ralph. “I gave all the writing up of the business documents to our lawyers to draw up. I suppose they were just looking out for our interests, and… I didn’t think-“

“No, dear Ralphie. You never do,” said Victoria. “I suppose I should thank you for it this time, though.” She gave you a wicked grin. “So you see, my dear. You will continue to run your little shop and turn a profit, or we will buy you out, sack you and hire someone who will.”

You were speechless.

“Oh! And before we go,” she said, hooking an arm into her brother’s and moving him away from you, “The biggest part of this deal is that you keep both your hands and eyes - and all the other parts of yourself - off my brother. No jumped-up little shop girl is going to seduce a Penbury into marriage. It’ll happen over my dead body.”

Your tongue was thick in your mouth. Ralph looked terrified and desperately sorrowful as he disappeared with his sister who never gave you a second glance.

The bell on the shop front door jingled merrily with their departure.

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

MASTERLIST LINK

Tagged readers: @h-ness1944 / @eddie-is-a-god / emma77645 / @hahahafucku / @paranoidmunson / @honey-eyed-munson / @mystars123 / @bl4ckt00thgr1n / @live-love-be-unique / @ becca-alexa / @aysheashea / @bohemianrhapsody86 / @luvrsbian / @etherealglimmer / @ladybug0095 / @pollenallergie / @iyagikkun / @vladersira / @nightonblogmountain / @quinnsmunson / @aysheashea / @bubbabugbee / @dylanmunson

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR THIS STORY, COMMENT OR SEND ME AN ASK. THANKS FOR READING!

#fanfic #writing #joseph quinn #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters #ralph x reader #The Hat Shop Girl #thsg #ao3 #ao3 writer

[liloinkoink]

Lamplight AU

What is Lamplight? Short answer, a DnD/Fantasy Third/Last Life Renchanting AU!

Long answer, here’s 20 Questions, the ficlet meant to introduce the concept.

Medium answer, Ren is a powerful god stuck in the form of living fire. Martyn is his sole follower. Martyn and Ren help free one another from imprisonment by the Watchers and are now traveling the world on a two-man adventure of fond companionship and occasional arson.

This AU has been written as I feel like it with absolutely no regard for chronology. If you have any questions about it feel free to ask! I also have a tag for it, “lamplight au,” which is where any writing, asks, or art go.

I’ll update this post with writing and art as it happens. Writing is organized chronologically, art is organized by artist and as it’s posted.

This AU was planned with the help of @/unexpectedly-haunted, whose designs for Martyn and Ren are linked at the start of the art section!

You can also find an archive of Lamplight on my writing blog, @driflew, under the same tag.

[AU itself is platonic, but ship content gets made for it occasionally]

[Please do not spam the chats or the askboxes of Martyn, Ren, or anyone else with talk of this fic! Don’t need to annoy anyone with it, thank you!]

Lamplight writing

(for any works posted on both ao3 and tumblr where there are differences in content, consider ao3 the ‘correct,’ ‘updated,’ or ‘canon’ version. The AO3 versions are better, edited for quality, pacing, and often with extra bits not found in the tumblr versions)

The AO3 series with all works can be found here.

[If you enjoy Lamplight, I have a kofi? Please don’t feel the need send me anything excessive! The option to tip simply exists if you enjoy the series and are feeling generous.]

Canon

Torchlight Arc

Torchlight

[Torchlight short fic: Ren POV] [this scene is also on Ao3, in Moonlight ch2]

Heliography (multi-chapter, complete)

[tumblr preview scene, incl in Heliography ch1]

Lamplight Arc

Strange Traveler (ao3) (tumblr)

From Here to There (incl 20Q and other scenes)

Incident at the Sleeping Hound (ao3) (tumblr)

Winter's Herald (ao3) (tumblr)

Moonlight Arc

Moonlight (multi-chapter, in-progress)

(ch one is also on tumblr, but significant edits were made when it was moved to ao3. i’m leaving the first version here unchanged, just for fun, but be aware it’s different)

Non-Canon

worship the ashes (ship, noncanonical)

featherlight (Treebark Week D2: Light/Dark. ambiguous on both the ship status and the canonical status… anime filler arc status lmao)

somniphobia (ship, noncanonical) (og version is also on tumblr, a fic from taking treebark Lamplight requests: Ren doesn't sleep)

Heat Haze (Treebark Week D4: Warmth/Breeze) (ship, noncanonical)

the only place i don't feel cold (Treebark Week D3/4: Build/Burn, Infernal/Divine) (ship, noncanonical) (og version is also on tumblr, a fic from taking treebark Lamplight requests: God of...)

Leaflight Series (Lamplight Roleswap) [ask about the Leaflight concept]

Cover Me in Roses

Ficlet of a different Lamplight offshoot

Other Writers

Help with plotting the AU has come from my friend Haunted, whose contributions to design, plot, and general function as a rubber duck have been greatly appreciated

Series

Desert Duo subplot series by @/cosmicretribution (Haunted's designs)

crystalline

Boat Boys subplot series by @/boatboysrowout

i said fuck it long ago

Canon-divergent horror series by @/sixteenth-days

so no head?

Oneshots (non canon)

the heart of the pyre by Zeph

striking steel by Apollo

Lamplight Art

if you want to draw Lamplight art, go ahead! i would love to see it! @ me and/or Haunted and i’ll put it here! if i don’t see it, send me a message! and be sure to check out these artists’ work and show them some love!

Haunted’s Lamplight Official™ Martyn design

Haunted’s Lamplight Official™ Ren design (ft. Martyn)

Haunted's Lamplight animatic, FIRE--this is an animatic for the latter half of the fic Torchlight and is really cool!

I hit the fucking link limit so the rest of the art can be found HERE

#lamplight au #lew library #top hits

[queenvidal]

The Missing Piece

Chapter 1: Just A Tingle

Chapter Summary: It's been a long time since Hancock wasted his time thinking about soulmates. Until the night Nick brings a woman from a vault into his town.

Wordcount: 2481

Chapter Index:

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

Masterlist

The night air is cool against Hancock’s overheated skin. The sweet taste of mentats dances all over his rough tongue while he's leaning on the balustrade of his balcony. The streets below him are mostly empty except for only a few loner souls wandering around.

Behind him, he can hear his office door getting closed silently, careful not to attract attention. John has a smile on the remains of his lips as he lights up the cigarette. It's not like everyone in the Old State House heard him doing that gal just a few minutes ago.

There was no need to go outside for a smoke, but John wanted to give that woman some privacy to get dressed again and the said toy’s just left. Lover would be a too hard word for that lass, what was her name again? Never mind, toy is as a fitting name as any other and John doesn't intend to learn her actual name anyway. It was just a one night stand, like always. No strings, just hurried sex for the sake of the release.

The ghouls smile slowly fades and he takes a long drag, the gleam of the cigarette the only light source up there. The smoke fills his lungs and is kept in there for a long moment, before getting exhaled through John's broken and scarred nostrils.

On the street below, he can see the gal from before hurrying to the hotel. Poor thing probably doesn't want to be seen escaping the Old State House this late in the night. John's eyes linger on her as she makes her way. Red ginger hair, freckles on her nose, cute but other than that? Meh. Nothing that would keep his interest for long. And obviously she doesn't want a second run herself, if her lowered gaze and fast steps are any indicator.

In times past this would have hurt him, no one wants to be known as a ghoul fucker, even if the ghoul was the damned mayor of the damned city they were living in. But John doesn’t really complain in his position. After all, quite a lot of folks found their way into his bed regardless.

Sure, all of them were seeking something - power, caps, chems, you name it. But John’s not naive, he knows they are always trying to gain something from him with sex. And that’s something he can use for his own advantage. He'd sleep with them and wave them out, simple as that. With no shame or regret really. Most of the time he doesn't even bother to get undressed, removed sash and open pants are enough to get the job done.

After another long drag, John tries to think of something else, there is no point in indulging in reminiscences of past releases. Almost automatically his eyes wander down to his left underarm. His scarred skin, all grooves and ridges ruined the name that used to be there long ago.

For whatever reason the very spot of what used to be pitch black letters doesn't stop tingling. He first noticed it when things got heated between him and the little toy a while ago. His eyes instantly went to her arm. Veronica. John didn't know if should laugh or feel pity for her.

After all this years he didn't give one single fuck about soulmates. Why should he? Even if there was someone with his name on their arm, he'd scare them right away, no doubt. He knows what he looks like and if he is honest with himself, that's the main reason for staying dressed when fucking gals he most likely won't remember the next morning.

Damn, he should have taken jet instead of mentats, he is not in the mood of overthinking this bullshit, for stupid emotions. And he doesn't believe in finding his mate anyway. For a soulmate you actually have to harbor a soul and John is more than certain he's lost his in Diamond City. Well, if you are believing in the spiritual part of that, which he doesn’t also. The tingling is most likely just a symptom of his drug abuse, it has to be.

With the burning smoke captured between his lips, he traces the line of where the name used to be with his free hand. Sotiria. What a fucking odd name. Never, not once has he ever met someone with that name. Sure, better a rare one than those everyone seems to call their kids nowadays, like Lisa, Mike - or John. Fuck, how many gals and guys has he seen with his name on their arm? And fucking allways he felt hope inside him rising. Pathetic.

But there was never a connection, not the weird feelings people used to describe once they found their missing piece. A pleasant prickle of the name on each other's arm. The attraction, the unsatisfiable need to be close to the person - like an addiction.

Maybe it's just an itch. Yeah, that sounds plausible.

Suddenly there is yelling at the gate of his town, catching Hancock's attention. Was that Nick Valentine’s voice? What the hell is he doing in Goodneighbor this late in the night? John flicks the butt of his cigarette away and goes back inside. He grabs a new pack of smokes on his way to the stairs. He'd prefer alcohol right now but one of his supply lines got cut by raiders, a problem he has to deal with tomorrow. Hm, maybe buffout? That's a topic for later, first of all he has to know what is going on at the gate.

The tingling on his arm seems to increase as he takes the steps down to the exit of the State House. When he opens the door, the guy Finn can be heard talking. Hancock rolls his eyes, Finn is doing his old insurance scam again. Damn this idiot, does he really dare to threaten his visitors again? Finn already got a warning and is really testing Hancock's patience. Looks like John will have to send a few guards to visit him later. A quick reminder to behave inside the town's walls.

Once stepping outside, John’s eyes land on the new visitors. It sure was Nick Valentine’s voice he’s heard but the old synth is not alone. A woman is with him, one arm around Nick’s shoulders for balance and her other pressed on her abdomen. Blood is leaking out of what seems to be a nasty wound, turning her blue suit crimson red. She looks up from her wound towards Finn.

Damn, she's a sight! She looks like she’s stepped out of one of the pinup posters. Blonde, shiny hair, pinned up in various rolls, a light blue bandana wrapped around as decoration, sharp eyeliner, purple lipstick, curves to die for. Damnit, if she wouldn't look so disheveled and injured - injured?

"Fuck your insurance! Move, rassgat or you’ll gonna need one!”

John is blown away. He’s forgetting how to breathe, his lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen.

John immediately snapps out of his trance. Shit, that woman needs a doctor at once!

"Nice try, doll." Finn sneers at her. "You'll pass out before you could raise your little pistol. Caps or bleeding to death, your call, sugar."

That's enough! Line crossed, brother. John is more than fed up, ready to beat Finn out of the misery he calls life. "Move your worthless ass out of the way, Finn." John starts, walking up to the other man. "You lay off that extortion crap right now. Obviously she needs help and we ain't turning people in need away, nor do we threaten 'em."

Not impressed in the slightest, Finn turns to face the ghoul. "The fuck do you care, Hancock? You don't know her, she ain't one of us, would be a waste of stimpacks!"

Slowly and a bit over dramatically Hancock moves further towards the stupid bastard. "Better keep your tongue in your mouth! I said she can pass."

Finn crosses his arms over his chest, not stepping to the side like he was told to. He even straightens up, trying to look intimidating. "Soft, Hancock. Way too soft. Keep letting scum enter our city, let them benefit from our supplies. But one day there will be a new mayor."

John just huffs a laugh. That daring asshole. "Heh, lemme tell you something, brother." With the flash of a smile the ghoul comes closer and when he is close enough to smell the jet in Finn’s breath, he rams a knife into his chest. Twice, no better make it thrice, for good measure. Finn is dead before he hits the ground, blood slowly pooling around him.

"Quick." John stresses. "Bring her to Amari in the Memory Den."

Nick nods and tries to help the woman walk through the street. John takes the lead, while cleaning his knife off of Finn. "Sorry for the harsh welcome, this probably wasn't the best first impression but the rest of us are civilized - usually."

John can hear Nick snicker behind him. "Uh-huh, always making a show, huh, Hancock?"

"You know me, Nicky. Ain't gone miss a chance to show off." Although Hancock is playing cool and collected, he is everything but at the moment. His arm is killing him. The tingle got really bad, now it feels like tiny electric shocks are running through his skin and flesh. That's not tingling anymore and it's starting to get fucking annoying. He'll have to talk to the Doc himself later, maybe his last batch of psycho was bad. But didn't he use his right arm? Hm, maybe -

"Damnit, Blue! Stay awake!"

Nick's sudden panicked voice brings Hancock’s mind back to the street. He turns around to find the Synth trying to stabilize the woman. "Shit, we better fuckin' hurry!" Hancock says, when Nick quickly picks her up, carrying her.

Both men start to run towards the Memory Den. John slams through the door, holding it open for Nick and Blue to enter. Was that her Name?

"There!" John points at Irmas chair in the middle of the room. "Lay her down there. Doc! Quick, got an emergency in here."

Nick carefully puts Blue down onto the lounger. His clothes are blood soaked as well. Hell, she lost a lot of it.

"My lounger!" Irma yells in anger when she enters the room as well, woken up by all the noise.

Doctor Amari storms into the room with a bed head and in her pajamas. "What's going on, what happened?" She asks. Hancock just nods at the lounger and the doctor quickly moves over to Blue.

“A gunshot wound.” Valentine answers. “Got ambushed by Supermutants. We had the upper hand until they sent a suicider. We had to retreat but she got hit before we found cover."

John rolls his coal eyes. "I'll buy you a new one." Damn, she's really worried about that stupid piece of furniture, while the girl is bleeding to death?

“Looks like the bullet got caught in her rip.” Amari tells them. She takes a pair of thin tongs out of her bag and buries them into Blue’s flesh.

Irma is about to argue about that, when Amari orders her to shut up and get her medi-bag. While still mumbling to herself, Irma is doing what she’s been told and hands her friend the bag.

The doctor skips on the gloves and gets straight to work. Everyone watches Armari unzipping the woman's suit in order to get better access to the wound. Hancock recognizes the suit, she's a vault dweller? Vaulties usually never leave 81, what the hell was she doing out here and in company of a synth?

Irma gags before she quickly turns around, covering her mouth. "I want a giant couch after this!" She glares at Hancock before heading for her bedroom again.

"There you are." The doctor smiles slightly when she removes the tongs with the bullet inbetween it. She drops her equipment on the ground and continues. After a quick inspection of the wound, she gets two stimpacks out of her bag and injects them on each side of the lesion. The tissue starts growing back together but only very slowly. Amari frowns at that, this doesn’t look too good. With quick hands she wraps a bandage around Blues middle. “Alright, all done.”

"Will she make it?" Both Nick and John ask in unison.

The doctor nods in confirmation. "Yes, but she'll need rest, a lot of it. It was a very close call, she’s lost a big amount of blood. Two weeks of strict bed rest would be the best for now."

“No problem, Nick.” Amari smiles at him for a moment, before continuing to search her bag. She returns back to Blue, after she found what she’s been looking for. She rolls up Blues sleeve on her right arm and injects a dose of sedatives. This way the vault dweller should sleep through the majority of the pain. Amari zips the suit back up and covers the sleeping woman with a blanket.

Nick lets out an artificial breath in relief. John can't recall having seen the synth that distressed ever before. Must have been a hell of a fight. "Hey, Nicky, go and get a room in the Rexford. At my expense." John knows synths don’t sleep, but Nick seem to be in need for some space to cool down.

“Thanks, John.” Nick gladly takes the offer. “And thank you as well, doctor.”

“Nicky, don’t worry,” John grabs Nick’s shoulder, trying to sooth him. “We're gonna take care of her.”

Nick only nods a few times before patting John’s shoulder in return, his silent thanks. After one last glance at the sleeping blonde, Nick eventually takes his leave, disappearing through the door.

“Your arm.” She turns around to face him. “You kept rubbing it the whole time. Bad batch?”

“Alright, Mayor. What was it this time?” Amari asks while gathering her equipment.

John raises a nonexistent eyebrow in question. “What was what?”

Only now does Hancock realize he’s holding his left arm. “Heh. Can’t do shit unnoticed by you, huh?”

He tries to play it off, but Amari won't let go. “Come one, let me check you.” Amari stands up and moves to her office. “Bare your arm, Hancock. You probably missed the vein again.”

Hancock follows Amari into her office. On his way he decides that he doesn't care about the name.

Hm, yeah. Maybe he missed it.

John takes one final look at the vaultie. For a moment he considers to roll up her other sleeve and have a look on the letters of her arm. But something's holding him back. Maybe his deeply flawed conscience. Afterall he can’t just put his hands on a blacked out woman, also the name of someone's piece is a very intimate matter. He has no right to know.

Soulmates are bullshit.

Masterlist

Chapter Index:

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #john hancock #fallout companions #fo4 oc #john hancock x reader #john hancock x sole survivor #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #soulmates #hancock x reader #hancock x sole survivor