#when in doubt poke 'em in the eye

[opbackgrounds]

Who knew that Robin and Luffy had similar techniques for dealing with enemies way bigger than they are

#opbackgrounds #one piece #ch454 #Oda's just foreshadowing laboon's upcoming relevance #when in doubt poke 'em in the eye #nico robin #ch100 #monkey d luffy

[hllywdwhre]

Bad Decisions

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

Summary: You meet up with your boyfriend and poke fun of media rumors

Warnings: Allusions to smut, but no actual smut. MDNI/18+

Word Count: 513

Notes: Based on the song ‘Bad Decisions’ by Ariana Grande

Let 'em keep, let 'em keep on talking

But it don't matter what they say

Cause you know when you hear me knocking

Gonna get that, ooh ooh

Familiar anxiety filled your brain, though you weren’t sure if anxiety was the right word anymore. Excitement fit better.

The long, dark coat hid what was hidden underneath; a lace, black bodysuit that was, honestly, a size too small. It being a size too small led to it hugging your ass and your boobs being squeezed just enough, though. One wrong move and you would be exposed, but it only added to the excitement.

He answered the door with a smirk on his face, already knowing who stood on the other side. He let you in silently and you followed his outstretched hand.

Smoothly, his hand grabbed the string of the coat and caused the delicate knot to come undone, opening the front of your trench coat to reveal just enough of what was underneath.

You heard his breath hitch in his throat and you couldn’t stop the smirk on your face.

You dropped the trench coat, looking up at him and chuckling at the look on his face.

“I’m assuming you like it… judging by the drool on your chin,” you said, knowing you would regret the words later tonight when he inevitably threw the words back in your face as he teased you until you were begging.

“Darling… fuck,” he said, his voice already dropping as he walked over to you.

One of his hands immediately went to your waist and one went to cup your face to pull you into a kiss.

You heard the shred of the lance mere minutes later,

“That was my favorite,” you grumbled against his lips as you tugged gently on his hair.

“I’ll buy you another. I’m supposed to be your sugar daddy, remember?” He replied sarcastically, his lips only moving to bite at your neck and leave a mark you knew would be a pain to hide later on.

You let out a mix of a chuckle and a moan at his words and actions. People had plenty to say about the two of you, especially considering the age gap, but it didn’t matter.

The way he made your heart flutter.

The way his skin felt against yours.

The way he seemed to be able to read your body like it was the simplest of books.

The way his body collided with yours, causing both of you to release near-pornographic moans.

The way only he could get you to show that submissive side of yourself that you kept locked away from anyone else.

Fuck what others thought.

The map his lips made along your skin caused your eyes to roll back in your head and the map your lips made along him erased any thoughts of doubt.

The moment your knock sounded on the door, any anxieties or doubts erased from your minds.

Your minds, souls, and bodies were meant to be pushed against each other’s and melded together in ways that would make the devil blush.

“You’re mine and I’m yours,” he said firmly, picking you up and holding your body to his as he made his way back to the bedroom.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian x y/n #Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

[miguel-owhora]

MIGUEL O'HARA x MALE READER

— 18+ , t4t , cunnilingus , 69 , established relationship , grinding , slight overstimulation , implied tribbing , not beta read

— happy new year everypony !!!! thank you to everypony within the spider society (my beloved moots) for making this year entertaining! and ofc, my followers! you guys have been with me through the thick and thin, through the beginning of my first blog to this one. i may not always show it, but i genuinely appreciate every single one of you, from my moots to my anons, to my followers and those who just stumble upon one of my posts - i appreciate you guys. thank you everypony, and my wife and i wish you all a very happy and fulfilling new year! cheers!!! 🎉🎉🎉

FEMS AND MINORS DNF, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

"You're so wet, mi amor," Miguel murmured, voice low and soothing as his pupils dilated at the sight of your cunt. He wasn't wrong. It was wet and slimy, slick dripping out from the foreplay Miguel had instigated moments ago, your cock sticking out and throbbing. Your pubic hair was slick and stuck to your skin, curly little things. The scent that wafted off your cunt was raw arousal.

Shock.

"Yeah?" You replied back, licking your lower lips, Miguel following the movement. His hands gripped at your thighs, thumbs rubbing along your lips. You were so warm, your heat so addicting.

"Yeah." Miguel whispered back as he leaned over your body to capture your lips with his own. You both moaned, getting lost in each other. Your movements were slow yet no less passionate, appreciating each other, addicted to how you slotted together so nicely, as if the universe made you for each other.

Miguel parted the kiss with a whimpery gasp when he felt your hands rub against his own clothed cunt, no doubt slicking the front of his briefs with his wetness. Miguel groaned underneath his breath and grinded against your hand, little gasps and groans involuntarily spilling out of his mouth. His cock rubbed against your hand, sensitive and needy, and he faltered when you removed your hand.

You were warmly smiling, eyes crinkling with mirth and affectionate. Miguel felt something warm spread along his body, pouring from his heart, and he felt vulnerable. It felt nice. He liked it. He liked how vulnerable you made him.

You tugged at his briefs moments later, leaning up to kiss him, murmuring against his lips. "I wanna eat you out, take 'em off."

Miguel softly moaned against your lips, pressing a sloppy kiss before pulling back to wrangle himself out of his briefs. Uou bit your lips and watched him, eyes trained on his groin, and shock, you clenched around nothing once he was naked.

His pussy was fat, matted with dark curly hair, his cock poking out from the hood. You licked your lips and moved out of the way when Miguel nudged you. He took your spot and laid down, spreading himself on the bed, taking the opportunity to pleasantly stretch his limbs before going pliant.

"I wanna eat you out, too." Miguel said, glancing away with embarrassment and with a smile that was almost shy. You chuckled, leaning down to kiss him again, tugging on his bottom lop once you pulled away, laughing when he tried to pull away.

"You wanna sixty-nine, freaky Miggy?" You teased, smiling when Miguel frowned. Though, it was weaked by the way his face darkened, by the soft look in his eyes.

"You're losing me," He said before shoving you over. You laughed, but nonetheless allowed him to move you until you were sitting on him, your knees bracketing his head while your face was positioned above his pussy. You could feel his hot breath puff against your pussy, and you felt yourself go warm, flustered but aroused.

"You look stunning," You heard him say, voice muffled. Seconds later, you felt him grab onto your asscheeks, spreading the fat globes and licking a flat stripe up your hole, and shock, how you clenched and gasped, tensing up.

"Just getting straight into it," You breathed out. You lowered your head and pressed a kiss to his mons pubic, through the pubic hair that lightly coated it. You grasped his thighs and spread them, opening up Miguel even more.

You moaned when he spread your folds and licked along the sides, teasing bastard. In retaliation, you also spread his folds and without any warning, took his cock into your mouth. The reaction was beautiful.

"Shock!" Miguel gasped, buckling into your mouth on instinct, his thighs tensing underneath your grip. He moaned, high and whimpery, as you sucked on his cock, twirling the sensitive nub around with your mouth with youe tongue, lowly moaning. Slick dribbled out of his hole, to which you scooped up with your finger and shoved back in, thrusting your finger in and out.

Miguel moaned, grinding into your mouth before he attached his mouth to your cunt. You moaned around his cock, clenching around his tongue when it slipped inside your hole. You felt it wiggle around, licking up your slick and juices, shamelessly grinding down on his face just as he grinded up into yours.

It was an erotic sight, two men grinding into each other's faces as fireworks exploded outside, and it wasn't even 12 am yet! Well, soon, in a couple of minutes.

All too soon, Miguel dug his nails into your thighs, talons unsheathing and prickling at your skin, as he wrapped a leg around your head and pushed you down into his cunt. He moaned, shamelessly, mouth falling open in a silent scream as he came.

His pussy throbbed, waves of ecstasy washing over him as you slurped on his pussy like it was your last meal. You let your man grind into your face, feeling absolutely filthy as you did whatever you could to make it amazing. And with the way Miguel squirmed and arched, with the way he squealed and trembled, hips jerking and cock throbbing, how shocking wet he grew, it was extraordinary.

Miguel kept you like that for a couple of minutes, whimpering and choking on his spit as you continued to suck on his cock, licking up his slick and slurping his folds. Then, he removed his legs and tried to push you away. Tried, as he was too spent to do it, instead, you rolled over.

"You okay, pretty?" You softly asked as you leaned back on your arm, hovering over him with a gentle expression on your face.

Miguel looked stunning. His face was flushed, pretty tears clinging to his lashes as he tried to catch his breath. His t-scars glowed red underneath his pecs, a softness to his belly that wasn't there months ago, only appearing once he got into a relationship with you, once he got comfortable with you. Once he got domestic.

You brushed a hand against his face, stroking him. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbone, so beautiful. He swallowed and opened them.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Miguel whispered. He subconsciously leaned into your hand and sighed, eyes fluttering before he glanced over at you. His lips curled into an almost shy yet flirty one.

"Trib?" He asked, spreading his legs open. His cunt was puffy. His cock was swollen and poked out from the hood, his pussy slick and dripping with his juice, and fuck, he looked delicious.

You licked your lips and looked down at Miguel, who looked so gorgeous you wanted to scream. Instead, you took a deep breath and exhaled.

"You know me so well," You murmured instead, pupils dilating. Miguel's lips curled into a smug one. He leaned up and pulled you down, kissing your lips, just as fireworks exploded outside, like an endless onslaught.

"Happy new year, mi amor," He purred, sickeningly sweet. "Now," Miguel pushed you away with a chuckle. "Fuck yourself against my pussy."

You groaned, gripping his thighs as you slotted yourself between them and positioned your pussy against his, your cock poking against him. You leaned down to kiss him again, just as you rolled your hips. You swallowed his moan, trading your own into his mouth.

"Happy new year, Miguel."

© MIGUEL-OWHORA

#mr. o'whora — miggy's drabbles. #mr. o'whora — miggy's miguel. #miguel o'hara spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #trans miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x male reader #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #mlm #gay #t4t mlm

[literaila]

the party 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: 

“i told 'em we were leaving."

"and there's no other reason i can't go back in there?"

"absolutely not." 

warnings: fluff, jealously, holiday party 

a/n: happy holidays!

*

"c'mon," you say, in some semblance of a whisper. "we're leaving." 

you grab peters hand, taking his cup of eggnog-whatever from the other one and putting it on a nearby table. you pull him along, giving a fake smile to everyone that laughs at you as you walk by. 

you're not very familiar with this house--or any of these people--but you're pretty sure that the door was just a couple of hallways away. 

and also absolutely sure that if you don't leave right now, the holiday season will be ruined.

"what's going on?" peter asks from behind you, only tripping a little bit as he tries to follow you. 

"where was the door?" 

"baby," he repeats. "why are we leaving? did someone say something to you? because--" 

you wave a hand. turn back to him with a pout. "i'm just tired." 

peter raises a brow. 

"it's getting late," you excuse, turning away. 

peter's hand brings you right back, stopping the two of you in this hallway, hand cradling your cheek--despite your many protests, and pulling on his arm. "it's nine." 

you fake yawn. "bedtime."

peter uses his other hand to grab your face, leaning down to get a view of your eyes. "what happened?" he says, slightly smiling, but mostly serious. 

"nothing, peter." 

"you're pouting." 

you pout even harder. "no i'm not." 

and then, after a single second of contemplating, you move your hands to peter's hair, messing it up until it falls in his eyes. and then you lean back, taking a second to admire your work before nodding with a smile. 

"there," you say, mostly to yourself. "okay, let's go." 

"nuh uh," peter says, pulling your arm back when you start to leave. "what was that?" he asks, fixing his hair and staring at you with an amused smile. 

a smile that is far too attractive and loving and all the things you usually like about peter but hate right now. 

especially because he's looking at you like that. 

and because if he asked you to do anything with that smile on his face you would do it. 

and so would everyone else.

"nothing," you say, still, frowning just slightly. "can we go?" you ask him now, looking around to make sure that no one can hear you. 

peter tilts his head and stares at you. "sure," he says, "if you want. but you gotta tell me why first." 

"peter," you groan.

he covers your mouth with a warm hand. "if someone said something to you, i want to know. if they started caroling, i want to know. and if you're not feeling well--" 

you say something under his hand. 

"what?" he asks, moving it. 

"nothing happened. i just want leave." 

peter leans back with furrowed brows. "all of the sudden?" 

"yes." 

"you're done with this party?" 

"so done." 

peter laughs. "alright, we can go. let me just say goodbye--" 

peter starts to walk away but you jump in front of him, hands on his chest, pushing him back. 

"what?" he asks, confused and exasperated. 

"you can't go back in there," you say, trying to make sense of the words. "because, well, i already--i already said goodbye." 

peter puts his hands on your shoulders, leaning down again. 

he raises a brow. "you already said goodbye?" 

"yup." 

"to everyone?" 

"all the important people. i told 'em we were leaving." 

peter looks only slightly doubtful. "and there's no other reason i can't go back in there?" 

"absolutely not." 

 peter laughs. "you're funny when you lie." 

"i'm not lying," you swear, promising to yourself that you're not. that this stupid boy in front of you means absolutely nothing.

and that his smile is rational. and that yours is nonexistent--even though you can feel your lip quirking. 

"why won't you tell me?" peter asks. 

"cause there's nothing to tell." 

he pokes you in the middle of your forehead. "c'mon, we both know you're lying." 

you huff. "we both know that we're leaving now." 

"i don't know," peter says, looking longingly at the room you've just left. "i think they were about to play charades. wouldn't want to miss that." 

"peter," you whine. 

"plus, i don't know if i want to go home with a liar." 

you cross your arms. "fine. good luck finding a ride," and you turn to go. 

"baby," peter laughs, pulling you back again. "i just want to know why you won't tell me what's up." 

"you'll just laugh." 

"i promise i won't laugh." 

you scowl at him. 

"what?" peter asks, raising his hands in surrender. "i won't. i won't even smile." then he drops his face so that he's just staring at you. 

and you are absolutely unamused. 

peter waits, looking around the room. 

you sigh. "do you know how many people were flirting with you?" 

peter frowns. "what?" 

"and making eyes and smiling at you and telling you that you should definitely try this new cafe on broadway, and if they just happened to show up--" 

"no one said that," peter says, both eyebrows raised, just a hint of a smile on his face. "are you jealous?" 

"yes!" you say hands going to cover your face. you groan. "i was just standing across the room trying to be nice to your friends while watching everyone you talked to drool all over you." 

peter laughs. 

"see?" you say, pouting at him. "i told you that you'd just laugh." 

"you don't have to be jealous--" 

"bug," you mock him. "'i didn't even realize if they were flirting with me because i'm completely oblivious and ridiculously handsome.'"

peter scowls. "i don't sound like that." 

"i didn't want to tell you cause i knew you'd just deny it and then try to distract me with your eyes or something." 

"my eyes?" peter laughs. 

"yes. or your stupid smile." 

"stupid, huh?" 

and you're so busy staring at the ground, feeling embarrassed and dejected--because you trust peter and you love him and you're being irriational--that you don't realize when peter steps towards you, hands wrapping around your waist. 

"hey," he says softly, trying to get you to look up at him. 

but you refuse. 

"nuh uh," you tell him. "you're not going to fix this by being sweet." 

peter hums. and then he uses a hand to tilt your chin up towards him. 

up to peter with his soft smile and warm brown eyes. staring at only you. 

"i was just talking about you," he whispers, finger tracing the slope of your jaw. 

"what?" you blink.

peter moves your hair out of your eyes, cradling your cheek. "i was talking about when we made all those cookies last week and got flour everywhere, and how you and may gang up on me about my terrible gift-giving skills--"

"--we don't do that." 

"you do. and how when it snows you curl up close to me in bed and stick your cold feet on my legs." 

you shrug. "you're warm." 

"even if they were flirting with me," peter says, smiling the certain smile he only has when he's with you. "i was just bragging about my baby." 

a bit flustered, you look away from his eyes. "really?" you ask. 

"yup. i'm sure that they're all glad i'm gone." 

you grin, looking back at him. 

"there it is," peter whispers, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. 

but you tilt your head, and your lips meet his. 

peter smiles into the kiss, a hand on the back of your head holding you as close as possible. your hands curl into his hair, soft and smooth and as messy as it always is. 

after a moment too long for this hallway, peter pulls back. 

"see?" he asks. "i'm all yours. you don't need to worry about that." 

you smile at him. "mine." 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl​  @greek-mythsnthings @sharkswaters

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #the amazing spider-man #The Amazing Spider Man #the amazing spider man imagine #the amazing spider-man x reader #andrew peter parker #Andrew!Spiderman #andrew garfield #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #andrew!spiderman imagine #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter smut #tasm!fluff #tasm!peter x reader #spider-man #marvel fanfic

[luveline]

Hiiii I’m the one who requested the Steve hickey fic, and I LOVED it!! You’re soooo incredible I’m obsessed <3 would you ever do a part 2? Maybe reader learning how to give Stevie a hickey back??? Love u xx

okay this is all your fault then love u to pieces ! best friend steve gets his hickey part one here but u don't have to read it

You can feel the heat from Steve's leg sinking into yours. Such a visceral sensation, it has to be real. You're not creative enough to imagine it. 

Tucked up at his side watching a movie on his big TV, you feel what's likely a one sided tension that won't fade. Present – almost burning – since he'd given you a neck full of hickies last week. 

They're all faded now but one, and thank god. Your friends had demanded to know where they'd come from and you hadn't been able to give them an answer, embarrassed. But Steve. 

"I gave 'em to her." 

He'd said it so casually. It had felt good at first that he wasn't ashamed for people to know what had happened, but then awful because the lunch club never shut up about anything. 

You laugh to yourself, remembering the looks of disgust, betrayal, and smugness, for some a mixture of the three. For Max, only betrayal. 

"What's funny, sleepyhead?" Steve asks, head held up by his hand, arms crossed over his chest. 

You pull your shoulder away from his. "Just…" He raises his eyebrows as if to say, go on. "Remembering Max's face. When you told them about the-" You gesture to your neck.

He grins but there's something strange about it. His fingers part, his pinky at one corner of his mouth, his marriage the other. 

"What reminded you?" he asks.

"Uh…" You smile and force yourself to laugh. "Nothing, really." 

You could swear he smirks.

It's gone as quick as it comes, and instead he nods and slouches down further into the couch. You worry for a second that he's upset but Steve looks as carefree as he usually does. His expression scrunches up at a bad action scene on screen and his hands search for the bowl of popcorn in your lap, his fingers brushing up the inside of your thigh. 

He mimes throwing popcorn at the screen. 

"Get out of here. Did you see that? Boom mic. Right there," he says. "Amateur hour." 

He tilts his head to the side as he talks, stretching. His neck clicks and he groans, loud. Loud loud. 

You bring your hand to your throat, poking at the last hints of your hickies, wondering if you can ask for more. If you should, if you could. If he would say yes.

"They're fading," Steve says. 

You wince, caught. 

"Dustin can finally stop looking at me like I've corrupted you," he says, grinning. 

"You did corrupt me." 

"That's not what you were saying when it happened." 

Like that, the teasing goes awry. You both quieten. 

"Sorry," Steve says awkwardly. "Sounded different in my head." 

"Not fully corrupted," you say. You're stitled, trying to be brave and not sounding anywhere near it. 

"No?" he asks.

"No, I- I still don't know how to. You know, how to give one." 

You realise you sound as hopeful as you feel; your words have a weight to them. An implication. You're basically begging him to let you kiss him. Or, to want you to kiss him. 

You don't want pity and you doubt Steve would give it to you. He doesn't look very pitying. Cheshire smile playing on his pretty mouth, a glint in his baby brown eyes. 

"You want to give me a hickey?" he asks. 

"If that's okay. I mean, you'll have to teach me how, 'cos I'm not kidding, Steve, I really don't know how to do it." 

"You want another demonstration, is that it? Babe, if you want me to bruise you up, you gotta tell me," he teases, voice sticky, saccharine sweet as he shuffles closer towards you. 

"That's not it," you say defensively, though it kind of is. His ability to read you for filth isn't new in your friendship, and like always you dig yourself a hole trying to prove him wrong. "I just don't wanna embarrass myself when I have to give one." 

"Who are you giving one to?" he asks. 

"You know. A guy." 

"A guy," he repeats dryly. He doesn't believe you and he shouldn't, but Steve's got a soft spot for you. He sighs, his skepticism melting away. "Okay. Sounds fun, babe. You can gimme a hickey." 

Steve doesn't mess around, taking the bowl from your lap and then leaning back. 

"Same as last time," he says. 

"You're not gonna sit in my lap?" you ask as you climb up on your knees. 

Steve takes your thigh into his hand. It feels foreign and not, his hand familiar, its position less so as he pulls your leg over his lap. You settle down, hands held to your navel. 

"Relax," he murmurs. Then, louder, "I can sit in your lap, if you want." 

Your laugh is a short fall from breathless as you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him close, pushing your lips into the soft hair at the top of his head. 

It's impossible to ignore the breadth and muscle of Steve's arms as they cross over your back. 

Your hands drift to the slip of skin at the back of his head, the top of his back. You push your fingertips under the neckline of his shirt and feel the bump of his spine. 

"C'mon," he says. You can hear his smile. 

You abandon his back and drop your weight back into his lap, stroking the hair away from his throat in a rush. His eyes are dark. Pretty, patient, and dark. 

He pulls your head to his neck. You brace yourself with a hand on his shoulder and hesitate, breath fanning over his skin in a hot wave. 

"Stevie, what do I-?" 

"Kiss me." 

Fingertips at your ear. A thumb brushing over your jaw.

"Kiss me," he says again. "It's easier than you think it is." 

You kiss his neck. Hesitant, you press your lips to him, part them a hair's width. You recall everything Steve had done, his teeth and how they dragged, the dampness to his mouthing, the half crescents he'd left behind. 

"Now just-" Steve's cut off by his breath hiking. Honest to god hiking as you start to suck. "Oh. You're…" 

His arms tighten around you. 

You finish up your hickey with a bite that's too hard. Steve hiccups – or something that sounds like it – and tugs you away. 

"Shit, Dracula," he hisses. 

You giggle nervously and take in what you've done, a red mark over his pale skin, the edges flowered in purple. "Sorry, Stevie. Really." 

"I kinda liked it. And uh, what's that saying? Practice makes perfect."

"You want another one?" you ask, surprised and excited. 

"Or let you go around maiming people?"

 Steve pulls a hand through his hair, lets it drop heavy on your shoulder. The look on his face melts you down, putty in his hands, his lap. 

"I'm sorry," you apologise again, looking at the tiny embeddings in his skin in mild horror.

Steve holds you by the neck, thumbs digging lightly into the column of your throat. He meets your gaze, his eyes skipping between one eye and then the other. You watch his pupils wobble. 

"How sorry?" 

"Really really sorry," you say, wrapping your fingers around his wrists.

"Kiss it better," he murmurs encouragingly. 

You try your best.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[cosmicjoke]

Hurt

The kid’s got lice.

Well, Kenny guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. Comin’ from that fuckin’ shit-ass, rat infested hellhole Kuchel’d given herself over to, ‘course the kid had lice. Probably had a whole buncha’ other shit wrong with him too. No doubt.

For one, the little bastard hadn’t said more than two words to Kenny in the whole time they’d been together. Quietest, unfriendliest kid Kenny’d ever met, and that was sayin’ somethin’, round here in the Underground.

He looks practically dead, sittin’ over there in the corner, gnawing on a piece of stale bread.

He ain’t wearin’ more than a ragged, threadbare gown that Kenny’s guessin’ was the boy’s only real piece of clothing. He’d ransacked the room in the brothel before takin’ the kid and leaving, lookin’ for somethin’ else he might be able to wear, but there wasn’t nothin’. Only some larger gowns, similarly worn thin, which he reckoned had belonged to his sister. And since she was dead, wasn’t no point in takin’ those.

The kid’s got nothin’ on underneath his gown. No kinda’ undergarments or nothin’. He’d made the kid go out ahead of him when they’d left that room, and the hem of the gown had ridden up, exposing the boy’s backside. Kenny’d seen what looked like bedsores, angry red welts, inflamed and painful lookin’ over wrinkled and filth ridden butt cheeks, and he’d wondered just how long the kid’s been sittin’ there, starin’ at his mother’s corpse. Had to have been a fuckin’ week, at least, for that kinda’ shit to happen. It was a damned pitiful sight, is what it was.

Just like it was now, lookin’ over at the boy, sittin’ there in the corner, chewin’ his bread and barely alive.

The collar of his gown sits stretched and too big on him, slippin’ off one shoulder entirely, dippin’ past his collarbone and revealing a milk white chest, bruised and mottled in spots. The kids ribs poke grotesquely through the skin, pronounced enough that Kenny feels a little sick just lookin’ at it, same as he feels lookin’ at the kids sunken face, eyes too big and set back deep and horrible, like a damned skull with nothin’ but skin stretched too tight over it, lips cracked dry and bleeding fresh each time the boy takes a bite of his food.

He’d fuckin’ told Kuchel, he’d told her, down here wasn’t no kinda’ place to try and raise a child. Tried to tell her there wasn’t no way she’d be able to provide for the two of ‘em. And now look. She was dead, and the kid wasn’t doin’ much better. He didn’t have no shoes or socks either. His feet and hands are filthy, black with grim and soot and dirt and who the fuck knows what else, toes and fingers all cut up. He keeps reachin’ up, scratchin’ at his tangled mop of jet black hair.

Just like Kuchel’s, Kenny thinks.

Thinks, if the kid got some meat on him, he’d look awfully like his mother.

He tries not to think too hard on that, somethin’ ugly and violent shiftin’ in his chest when he does.

Kuchel wouldn’t appreciate it, Kenny don’t think, if he let the rage get him around her son. That’d be low, he guesses, even for him, beatin’ on a boy who looked one stiff breeze away from collapsin’ dead.

“Oi, brat!” Kenny snaps, and he don’t miss the way the kid flinches hard back before he freezes, his eyes goin’ impossibly wider for a moment as he looks up, starin’ scared shitless at him. Kenny sneers. Wasn’t like he’d hit the kid yet or nothin’, but here he was, actin’ like he was expectin’ it. Wouldn’t surprise him, if he were to find out some of Kuchel’s John’s took to beatin’ him. That’s how those types were. Lookin’ to hurt someone who couldn’t fight back. Made ‘em feel big and strong, hurtin’ someone who couldn’t do nothin’ about it. “Slow down there, would ya? You’re gonna’ make yourself sick if you eat too fast. I’m guessin’ you already feel stuffed, huh?”

The kid… Levi… he’d told Kenny his name was Levi, just stares at him, not movin’. Kenny can see his skeletal fingers round the bread, trembling and weak.

“Can’t you say nothin’? I know you can talk. You talked before.”

Still nothin’, and Kenny sighs.

“Well, shit, I hope you ain’t simple. I’m gonna’ have to take ya’ out back and drown ya’ if you are.”

That gets a reaction. Somehow the petrified look on the kid’s face only grows more so, and then those cracked lips of his start wobblin’, and the bread slips, sad and pathetic, from his grasp, fallin’ against the ground.

“… S-sorry. I’m sorry.” He rasps, and jeez, Kenny almost wishes he hadn’t said nothin’, his voice so dry and weak and broken, it sounds like it should belong to an old man, not a seven year old boy, or whatever. It’s fuckin’ unnerving, is what it is.

Though, if Kenny didn’t know when it was his sister got herself pregnant, he woulda’ thought Levi was 3, maybe four years old at the most. He was so fuckin’ small.

He shakes his head, nudging the brim of his hat up higher.

“Welp, seems like you’ve had enough for now. Let’s go.”

Kenny pushes himself to his feet, and the kid shrinks back from him as he comes round the table and toward him.

Kenny rolls his eyes, grabbin’ hold ‘a the boy’s wrist and yankin’ him up to his feet.

“Quit actin’ so jumpy, brat. I ain’t gonna hit ya ‘till you give me a good enough reason to.”

He can feel the boy stumblin’ after him as he pulls him along. It’s his problem, though, if he can’t keep up. Kenny ain’t gonna’ slow down for him, with those short ass legs ‘a his.

Kenny can feel the eyes of ‘a the tavern’s other customers on ‘em as they leave, but none of ‘em say shit, too concerned with their own skin. That suits Kenny just fine. Stinkin’ cowards though, the lot of ‘em. For all they knew, Kenny was gonna’ do somethin’ awful to the kid, but none of ‘em cared enough to even try and find out.

Well, Kenny wasn’t gonna’ do nothin’ awful, though he couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t hurt the kid in some way. He knew himself too well for that.

“Are you gonna’ drown me now?” He hears that low, cracking rasp somewhere below him.

Kenny stops, glancin’ down.

Levi’s standin’ there, lookin’ up at him with those too big eyes in that wasted, skeletal face. Kid barely comes up to his fuckin’ knee. He looks at Kenny, stricken and resigned, and Kenny lets go of his wrist.

“No, I ain’t gonna’ drown ya! Don’t ya know when you’re bein’ fucked with?”

Levi just keeps starin’ up at him, and Kenny sneers, disgusted.

“Maybe you really are simple.” He mutters low, turnin’ away. “Well, come on. Ya can’t keep up, it ain’t my problem.”

He starts walkin’, and a moment later, he hears the kid’s bare feet slappin’ against the pavement as he tries to catch up.

Maybe this’d been a bad idea, Kenny thinks as he makes his way to the latest shithole he’d found to occupy. Keepin’ some kid around, even if it was his sister’s, was gonna’ be nothin’ but a pain in his ass. ‘Specially one as ratty and fucked up at this boy was.

Maybe he really should just drown the brat.

Ah… but he couldn’t do that. Just thinkin’ about it had Kenny feelin’ sick inside. Guts all twisted up when he imagined the poor bastard’s little face, scared outta’ his mind, cryin’ and pleadin’ not to die.

Fuck…

Kenny couldn’t do it to some poor kid.

He glances back, and sees the boy still struggling after him, his face bent toward the ground. He keeps stumbling, like his legs just can’t keep pace with what he want’s ‘em to do.

Kenny’s not surprised when the kid finally trips and goes crashin’ to his hands and knees.

He half expects the brat to start wailin’, the way he’s seen the little shits up on the surface start up when they hit the ground, screamin’ bloody murder for their mommy’s.

But Levi don’t make any kinda’ sound.

He sits there for a second, not movin’, before struggling back to his feet, and startin’ forward again.

Kenny can see his knees scrapped raw and bloody. Knows the boy’s palms are no doubt the same. It must hurt.

He frowns, shakin’ his head. ‘Least he wasn’t a whiner.

“You ever hold a knife, boy?” He asks as the kid nearly reaches him.

Levi stops, blinking up at him. As usual, he doesn’t answer.

“Tch. Here.”

Kenny pulls the blade he keeps in his hip holster, flippin’ it round and catchin’ it by its tip.

Levi’s eyes watch the motion, almost mesmerized, and Kenny smirks as he holds it out to him, handle-first.

The boy only stands there, starin’, like he don’t know what he’s supposed to do.

Kenny rolls his eyes.

“Take it, you dumb shit. I wanna’ see how you handle it.”

The kid’s hand shakes as he finally reaches out, bony fingers wrappin’ round the knife’s handle.

It looks absurdly oversized in the boy’s grasp, palm failing to come all the way round the circumference, the blade nearly big as his whole head. He stares at it like he don’t know what it is, holdin’ it up, his arm trembling with the weight.

“Well?” Kenny presses, a lick of annoyance uncurling in his chest.

Levi keeps lookin’ at the knife, liftin’ it higher, an almost fascinated look in his flat eyes.

But it’s plain as day the kid’s got no fuckin’ idea what to do with it, and finally Kenny snatches it back, Levi’s eyes goin’ wide at the suddenness of it, stumbling back, his backside hittin’ the dirt.

Kenny watches his face screw up in pain, those sores on his ass no doubt.

He huffs, turnin’ away and beginning back down the street.

He don’t know why he thought the kid would know how to handle a blade. He was too young, and Kuchel never did show the strength of the Ackerman bloodline. Skipped right over her like a stone over water. It only made sense, it would skip over her son too. Lookin’ at him, Kenny don’t know if the kid’ll even make it. If he’ll even survive past another year, another two. He���s weak and frail and pathetic. Smaller than he should be. By far smaller. He doubts he’ll ever get that strength.

It’s too bad, Kenny guesses.

Well… he could still try to learn the kid. If he ever found the strength, well then, maybe he’d survive. No skin off Kenny’s back, either way, he gathers.

The boy follows dutifully behind, somehow keepin’ sight of Kenny despite his refusal to slow, and pretty soon they’ve made it to the worn down shake Kenny’d found empty a few weeks back, deciding to take as his own.

“Alright, in ya go.” Kenny ushers the brat through the door.

He dumps his hat and coat on a worn out table he’d scrounged up someplace, before he goes about lighting the lanterns he’s got set up, washing the room in a low light.

The kid stands there in the middle of it, lookin’ lost and wide eyed as he gazes about. His tiny hands fidget nervously in the hem of his gown, unaware or unconcerned how he’s pulled it up past his hips. Kenny gets an eyeful of the boy’s penis and bloated out stomach. Malnurioushed. ‘Course he is.

Kenny shakes his head.

“Wait here. Don’t move from that spot.” He tells him, before headin’ back out. He’s got a big, wooden bucket hangin’ on a hook outside the front door, and he grabs it up before trudging off to a well about a quarter mile down the street. He fills the bucket with water and takes it back.

The kid ain’t moved, only sat down on his bottom in the same place Kenny’d left him, knees pulled up against his chest and arms round his legs. Just like how Kenny’d found him back in that brothel.

Kenny don’t say nothin’, just carries the bucket over and sets it on the ground.

The boy’s so small, he’ll fit in it, easy.

“Alright, get that fuckin’ rag off. Yer takin’ a bath.”

Levi looks up at him, bemused expression across his ugly little face, like he don’t understand what the hell Kenny’s just said.

“You’re god damned filthy.” Kenny snaps. “Go on, take that rag you got on off and get in the water.”

Kenny don’t know what the fuck it is he’s said, but suddenly the kid’s face breaks all apart, his lip trembling, eyes goin’ all wet and shit… shit… he’s cryin’all of a sudden.

“What? What the hell is it?!”

“I tried t-to keep clean. M-Mama… Mama told me it was… it was good. I tried, I cleaned every day. Every day. I tried, I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

The kid’s blubberin’ all over the place, a spew of words from his mouth that Kenny can’t make no damned sense of. All he knows is the kid’s freakin’ the fuck out, for some reason, and he’s got to get him to stop.

“Alright, alright, calm the hell down. Come on.” He tries, but the kid just keeps cryin’ and moanin’, somethin’ about Kuchel and keepin’ their room clean and Kenny’s about had it.

“HEY!” He screams, and the kid gasps, harsh and ragged, collapsing onto the floor and coverin’ his head with his arms like he’s sure Kenny’s gonna’ hit him. Well, he’d been about to, if he’s bein’ honest with himself. If the kid’d kept up that mewling, he was gonna’. But he’s gone quiet as a mouse now, sittin’ there with his face pressed to the dusty floorboards, shakin’ all over.

Kenny stares at him for a long moment, tryin’ to figure out what to do.

Damn, he ain’t used to this kinda’ shit. Normally anyone blubberin’ and carrying on like that in front of him just got a bullet to the brain, and that was that. But he couldn’t very well just off the kid. Not after he’d gone to all this trouble.

He flicks at his nose, tryin’ to think.

“Now you listen here, boy. None ‘a that sissy shit around here. You start cryin’ and hollerin’ like that again, all you’ll get for your trouble is a slap in the mouth. Ya hear?”

Levi nods frantically from where he’s still splayed on the floor.

Yeah, the kid’s taken plenty ‘a beatings, Kenny thinks.

He sighs, reachin’ down and haulin’ the boy to his feet. He don’t weigh shit.

“Come on already, get undressed and get in the bucket.”

The kid listens this time, and Kenny watches, a kind of gnawing pit formin’ in his gut as Levi strips, pullin’ the gown up over his head and revealin’ the most pitiful little body in the world.

He’s bruised all over, varying shades ranging from deep blacks and blues to mottled yellows and greens, washing over skin pale as milk. He’s sickeningly, painfully thin, arms and legs like sticks, shoulders pathetically narrow and bony. Every one of his ribs presses visible and awful against his skin, his chest a sunken, tragic nothing, little nipples hardly darker than the rest of him. His stomach stick out, round with bloating.

Kenny knows what starvation looks like.

The kid’s starvin’ to death. Another week alone in that room, and Kenny’s got no doubt he’d have been dead.

The kid looks up at him then, holdin’ the scrap ‘a cloth he’d been usin’ to cover himself in trembling fingers, wide, scared eyes uncertain.

Kenny rolls his eyes again.

“In the water, kid.”

He watches as the boy hesitates, head swiveling back and forth a moment, like he’s lookin’ for somethin’. And then he takes the rag in his hand and starts foldin’ it up, all neat like, before shufflin’ over to the table where Kenny’d dropped his coat and hat. The kid has to stand up on the tips of his toes to reach the surface, where he places his gown, before turnin’ and hobblin’ back over to the bucket.

His back’s just as bruised and hideous as the rest of him, shoulder blades juttin’ out like the peaks of mountains, every ridge of his spine a large, visible bump. He really ain’t more than skin and bones. And those bed sores Kenny’d spotted before, he’s gonna’ need to do somethin’ about those. Red, angry welts. A few of ‘em were seepin’ out puss too. Fuckin’ disgusting.

Kenny stares at him, watchin’ as he climbs in. Water sloshes over the edges as he lowers himself down.

The water comes up just beneath his chest, and he stares down at it like some kinda’ sad, kicked dog.

Kenny huffs, steppin’ forward. No use standin’ around, he guesses.

He reaches down, pullin’ a smaller blade from his boot, and sees the kid’s face lift.

For a moment, the dull, listless expression wipes away, and his eyes go wide with fear.

He recoils as Kenny takes another step closer, sloshin’ more water onto the floor, and Kenny pauses.

“What’s all that about?” He snaps, rollin’ his eyes. “I ain’t gonna’ do nothin’. That rats nest ya got on your head needs cuttin’, is all. You got lice, kid.”

That seems to get the boy to relax some, though he still watches Kenny with wary, mistrustful eyes as he closes the rest of the distance and kneels down.

“Now just hold still while I cut yer hair. Alright? You squirm around too much, and I might slip and slit yer throat.”

There’s those wide, frightened eyes again, and Kenny laughs to himself at how still the kid goes as he takes a big clump of gnarled and matted hair in a fist. Black as midnight, he thinks, just like Kuchel’s.

He shouldn’t think ‘a her now, though, Kenny reckons. Not ‘less he wants to get real mad. And Kenny knows himself. Knows when he gets mad like that, he’ll take it out on whoever’s most convenient. Right now, that’d be the kid, and Kenny ain’t too particularly wantin’ to lay his hands on the boy. Not when he’s already more skittish than a scared rabbit. Kenny hits him now, he figures, the kid’ll roll right up and never come out.

It’s hard, though, when he looks at Levi’s face, and sees Kuchel’s lookin’ right back. Even starved and wasted as the boy is, he looks just like her. Even his eyes. Those same, thin eyes, a blue so soft, they look more gray.

Shit…

A soft whimper pulls him outta’ his thoughts, and when he comes back to the present, he sees the kid tremblin’ in his grip, a sad, pitiful keen slippin’ past his dry, chapped lips.

“Whats’a matter?” Kenny grumbles. “Didn’t I tell ya to hold still?”

Levi don’t answer, his whole body shakin’ like a leaf, and Kenny realizes suddenly how hard he’s grippin’ the boy’s hair.

Well, fuck…

He loosens his hold.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. I got lost in my thoughts a minute. Ya know how it is, huh? I didn’t mean to hold ya so hard. Now quit that whimperin’. What are ya, a dog?”

Levi shakes his head, his face turnin’ away.

Jeez, but he’s a timid little bastard, Kenny thinks, frownin’. That kinda’ shit wouldn’t do. Not down here. Kid’d get eaten alive, if he kept on bein’ so wiltin’ like that.

“Now just hold still.” Kenny tells him again, and begins slicin’ through clumps of thick hair.

It takes a while, but Kenny eventually manages to get it trimmed down ‘till there’s nothin’ but a short fuzz coverin’ the kid’s noggin’. He even manages to stop tremblin’ so bad about halfway through, and Kenny thinks he almost feels proud ‘a the little sucker.

He rinses him off with just straight water after that, (ain’t got no soap), before pullin’ him from the makeshift tub.

“Feels better, huh?” He asks as he dries the kid off, rubbin’ him down with some old rags he had lyin’ around.

Levi nods, not sayin’ nothin’ otherwise.

Once Kenny’s through rubbin’ his head dry, the boy keeps liftin’ his hands and runnin’ his fingers through what’s left of his hair, seemin’ fascinated by the way it feels.

He looks even uglier with like this, Kenny thinks. Somehow even more skeletal.

“I ain’t got no clothes that’ll fit you ‘round here, so you’re just gonna’ have to keep yerself wrapped in this here blanket for now. Alright?”

Kenny hands him some worn out old thing he’d found stuffed in a drawer, ridden through with moth holes. He thinks it might’ve been a possession from his childhood with Kuchel. From before they were run off their land, their house engulfed in flames at their backs, gun shots peltin’ down into the earth around ‘em, loud, whizzing cracks in their ears.

He shakes his head of the memories, shakin’ the blanket when he realizes the boy still ain’t taken it.

Tiny hands finally reach back, fingers foldin’ into the offered material, and Kenny watches the kid struggle with its weight as he wraps it clumsily round his pitiful little body.

He regards the kid a moment longer.

“Alright, well, I gotta’ go out and get us some supplies. So you just stay here and I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go runnin’ off nowhere while I’m gone. Not ‘less you wanna’ get yourself killed or picked off by some freaked out pervert. Ya hear?”

Levi nods, clutchin’ the blanket around him like his life depends on it, squattin’ there on the floor.

“If ya gotta’ take a piss or shit, there’s a bucket out through the back door there where ya can do your business. Don’t you go messin’ on the floor in here, or I’ll beat you upside your head. Got it?”

Another nod.

“Y-yes Sir.” He actually talks, voice nothin’ but a cracked whisper.

Kenny frowns.

“Don’t go callin’ me that. Kenny’s just fine.”

Again, the boy nods, and Kenny huffs.

“Alright, well… I’ll be seein’ ya.”

He turns to go.

“… Th… thank you.” He hears behind him, that weak, rasping voice.

He stops, lookin’ back over his shoulder, and sees Levi lookin’ up at him. His eyes too big for his face, overbright.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, boy. I ain’t gonna’ be soft on ya, if that’s what yer thinkin’.”

The kid’s head shakes no, and he falls back onto his bottom, curlin’ away.

Kenny sniffs, flickin’ at his nose.

“Good. Stay put and I’ll be back.”

He strides from the hovel he’s been shakin’ out in, slammin’ the door shut behind him, back out onto the streets.

Somethin’ ugly twists in his guts, then. An awful, sinking mire in his brain. The boy’s face in his eyes, wasted and tragic.

He thinks he wants to put his hands round the pathetic animal’s neck. Squeeze and squeeze and squeeze ‘till those sad eyes ‘a his pop right outta’ his skull.

Thinks what a rotten bastard he is, and somethin’ pained lances in his heart, a hideous weight.

The boy’s hurt seared into his mind.

#attack on titan fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #Levi Ackerman #Kenny Ackerman #fanfiction #fanfic

[em-harlsnow]

I wanted to do another speed write, so here it is.

They're sitting in the living room, and for once they're all together.

Together, except not, because each of them is off in their own bubble and it feels like when they were kids. When they could just be around each other without reason or need to talk or have a purpose to be there for.

Ian and Mickey are beside each other on the couch, watching something from Ian's phone. Debbie absentmindedly braids Franny's hair as she watches some documentary which is playing. Carl is playing a seemingly very intense game of draughts with Lip across the living room table. Liam pours over his homework on the other end. Tami is messaging one of her coworkers in the armchair.

The only one missing is Fiona, and the loss is acute but bearable.

Lip cheers as he manoeuvres his piece to take three of Carl's at once. Carl huffs and rolls his eyes, clearly losing but choosing to continue playing anyway.

It's then that Liam closes his maths book and opens up his backpack, placing the completed homework inside and pulling out a coloured cube.

"Lip." Liam states, tiredly.

"Mhm." He's focussed on the board, trying to absolutely annihilate his brother.

"Can you solve this?" He asks, holding up the Rubik's cube in one hand, staring at it like an enemy.

Lip turns and looks at it, frowning. "No. Why?"

Liam sighs. "If I can bring it in solved my teacher said she'd give me extra credit. We all got one."

"Just move the stickers around." Lip advises.

"I already thought of that. It doesn't have stickers, the colours are just on each piece. It's a fancy one."

"Liam, your teacher's scamming you. Those things are impossible. The only people who can solve them are magicians or just really lucky." Lip tells him.

"They're not impossible." Mickey snarks, rolling his eyes. "Give it here." He makes a gesture at Liam.

"Why?" The boy asks skeptically.

"I can solve it." He explains, like it's obvious.

"Really, Mick?" Lip says with a voice full of doubt.

"Yes, asshole. Now hand it over."

Lip raises his eyebrows but Liam tosses it to Mickey.

"You can solve a Rubik's cube?" Ian questions.

"Yes." Mickey replies as he starts shifting the sides and the middles, turning it around in his palms to figure out the patterns. His tongue pokes out of his cheek as he focusses. "It's been a while, I'm rusty. So it might take a minute."

Lip snorts. "Just admit it's impossible."

"Shut the fuck up, dick."

The rest of the room goes back to their own devices, momentarily entertained by the conversation but ultimately disinterested. Only Ian continues to watch as Mickey plays around with the colours, slowly building the cube to completion. Even Liam turns away, choosing to start on his English homework instead of watching something he doesn't think will yield results.

It's clear no one thinks he'll actually be able to do it.

Ten minutes of clicking pieces ensue, and Ian returns to his phone.

After another ten minutes, the cube is slammed onto the table, six perfectly neat and completed sides displayed clearly.

Ian glances up to see it, and has to double take. Lip looks stunned, and Liam looks at the cube like it's his greatest enemy.

"Woah." Carl states.

"How did you do that?" The youngest Gallagher rages. "I've been trying all day!"

"I learnt ages ago. Found one of 'em in the back of a car we stole. Got bored and used YouTube to learn it. I could probably do it in less time now that I've figured it out again." Mickey shrugs, and Ian looks fucking awed.

"There's no fucking way you just solved that. You didn't mix it right, Liam. I'll make it really messed up, then I bet he can't." Lip challenges, messing up the solved puzzle again.

Mickey shrugs again. "It ain't about how 'hard' you make it, Phillip. It's a system."

Lip ignores him, then presents him with a thoroughly scrambled product a few moments later.

"Solve that." He says, smugly.

"Easy, bitch." Mickey smirks, then starts again.

Ian watches with extreme interest, this time and the rest of the Gallaghers are just as transfixed.

He completes the white side first, slowly building the red, green, blue and orange, then working on the yellow. At a point, it looks almost done, only the yellow corners are out of place. Then, Mickey messes it all up.

"Don't do that!" Ian shouts. "You're messing it up again."

Mickey's attention never leaves the coloured squares. "Fuck off, I know what I'm doing." And he keeps turning the faces until suddenly it all comes together again. "See, Lip. Doesn't fucking matter."

Lip looks horrified. "There's no way."

"That's cool, Mickey." Debbie chirps, grinning at Lip's reaction.

"That's so cool." Carl's eyes are sparkling. "Even Lip isn't smart enough to do that."

"Shut up, Carl." Lip rolls his eyes, kicking at his brother playfully. "It's a kids game."

"Yeah, a kids game you can't do." And then the two are tussling light heartedly.

But Ian's attention is completely on Mickey, who seems absolutely calm about the whole thing.

Later on, they're lying in bed together and Ian won't stop staring at him.

"I can feel you looking at me, man. What's up with you?" Mickey asks, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Solve it again." Ian orders without explaining, extracting Liam's (again messed up) cube from the nightstand to his husband.

"Why? You don't believe I can do it?" Mickey counters, prepared to prove him wrong.

"No, I think you can. But-" Ian leans in to whisper into his ear, "-I wanna see you do it again."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Coloured squares turn you on, Gallagher?"

"Mmm. Hot husbands who know how to solve the coloured squares turn me on." Ian grins down at him salaciously.

Mickey laughs and Ian shoves at his hands where they're clutched around the cube.

"I'll suck you off while you do it." Ian tells him, moving down his body.

"I like the sound of that." Mickey drawls and starts moving the pieces hurriedly.

Ian smiles.

Okay, I don't know what happened to this, it wasn't meant to get smutty but my brain went to kink and I obey my brain.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed.

This may or may not have anything to do with how proud I am that I can solve a Rubik's cube.

#gallavich #shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction #speedwrite #speed write

[onmyyan]

🌲 for ashley

🍪for gabe

🎄for diego

Hiii! Can you do any of these?

🌲  ─  visit a tree farm to pick the perfect christmas tree + Ashley

It was a cold winter, the kinda cold that sunk into your bones, thankfully you had a man by your side who ran as hot as the devil himself so you just huddled against him as you walked though the massive tree farm he'd found a few towns away, and Ash wouldn't have you any other way, his big arm wrapped snug around your side, fingers drumming along to the song softly playing on an old radio, his hat sat atop your head as it usually did when he took you out, his cheeks and nose were dusted the prettiest shade of pink. "Whadya' think of this guy sugar?" He smiles using his free hand to pat the thick trunk, "Looks perfect." you turn to the salesman so they can help you two load it into ash's pickup, only to hear the man gasp his face dropping open comically, you felt yourself snort at the sight when you turned around, Ashly had taken the tree across his right shoulder, holding it up with an ease that unnerved the man before you. With his free hand Ashley pulls out his wallet and nods his head towards the shell-shocked salesman, giving him a wide grin, "We'll take er."

🍪  ─  bake & decorate christmas/holiday-themed sugar cookies+ Gabe

"I swear to god-" Gabe seemed to be wrestling with the stand mixer you'd stuck him at, all he had to do was add the butter to the batter, that's all, and yet, when you returned from poking at the fireplace, the batter had turned a concerning gray color and Gabe was covered in it. "Do I wanna know?" you snort to yourself, bringing a damp towel to his face, he leans into the touch, pushing the still running mixer away from him like it offended him. "I put it in like you said, but it was taking forever so I touched that little knob and the shit went flying." he pouted, "Aw my poor baby- don't worry we can always make more." you giggle, softly holding his face, pressing several kisses along his jaw a lips, he grins, his pout melting away, his hands rubbing along your hips, "Ya know what? You're right." he noses up your throat nipping along the skin, his hands smoothly move to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him, "But right now I wanna eat somethin' sweeter than cookies."

🎄  ─  decorate a christmas tree together + Diego

"This is the last of em'," Diego calls out as he backs down the attic ladder, the large no doubt heavy box looked small in his arms, the Christmas sweater he had on fit like a second skin, the scent of fire and warm vanilla drifting throughout your home, he brought the box to your feet, immediately poking though it, his little gasp as he pulled out a string of multicolored lights made your chest flutter, his largo frame sat eagerly, as if he was bouncing in place at the sight of all the decorations. "C-Can we start?" you grin down at him cupping his cheek and thumbing across the warm flesh, "Course we can." that was all it took for him to bolt up from the floor, a cheek splitting grin on his face showing off his sharp canines, he held a bundle of lights in his palms, looking so excited he didn't know where to start. "I cant remember the last time I did this." He admits as he begins stringing them up, you stood by his side placing your own set of lights adjacent his, every time your fingers were close enough to touch he made a point to brush against you, and when you'd put the last of them up he spun you around, leaning down to press his full lips against yours in a warm kiss, the twinkling of the tree reflecting in his eyes as he nuzzled his nose against yours, "Thank you princessa."

#yananswers #anon submission #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #ashley hunt #ashley x reader

[celtic-crossbow]

Whumptober 2023

No. 22 Glass Shard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Injury, Blood

“Don’t take it out!” You swatted Daryl’s hands away from a large glass shard protruding from his right side. “You might bleed out. We don’t know if it hit anything vital.” He scowled at you and murmured something you couldn’t hear but dropped his hands to his sides. “Shouldn’t be picking fights.”

“Ain’t pickin’ no fights. We needed the meds n’ we got ‘em.” He snapped, walking toward the bike with his left hand below the injury. 

“Wait a minute! You can’t possibly think you’re driving us back like that!”

He looked at you like you’d sprouted another head. “Why wouldn’ I?”

Lord, give me patience. Don’t give me strength because I’ll kill him. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’ve been stabbed, Daryl. You’re bleeding. When someone bleeds a lot, they sometimes pass out. I’d rather not be behind you on a fricking motorcycle if that happens.”

Scowling again. Typical. “Ain’t gon’ pass out. Le’s go.”

You started to follow but decided against it. Appeasing his pride would get you both killed. Planting your feet, you crossed your arms. “No.”

Daryl had thrown his leg over and plopped heavily onto the seat, raising his brows at your brazen refusal. “Wha’?”

“You heard me. I said no.”

“Woman, don’ make me leave ya here.”

“You would never.” Your eyes narrowed in challenge, flickering down toward his boot when he toed up the kickstand. He really would never, right? When he started the engine, you really started to doubt but would not be swayed. He was already pale and sweaty, droplets of blood pooling behind his boot. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Daryl cared about you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t leave you. 

He watched you with a stoic expression, only faltering once you stood straighter. He must look like shit if you wouldn’t trust him to get the both of you home. Lowering the kickstand, he shut off the bike. “Wha’s the plan?”

You blinked at him. 

“Ya let me start up the bike n’ make enough noise ta attract ev’ry walker in there n’ ya didn’t have a plan?” 

“Well I didn’t exactly think you’d try to bully me into letting you kill us, Daryl!” You dropped your arms and looked around while he muttered to himself. You spotted a pick up next to the gate. It must have belonged to the men that attacked you. The driver’s door was still open. Maybe they just happened to leave the keys and you wouldn’t need to hotwire the stupid thing. “Wha’re ya doin’ now?” The archer called after you when you sprinted toward the truck. 

You leaned inside with a spirited ‘yes!’ upon finding the keys in the ignition. Next up: fuel. “Please be enough. Please be enough.” You turned the key and watched the fuel gauge before leaning out. “Will just below half get us back?”

“Should.” He yelled back, getting off the bike. He stumbled but caught himself, leaving your heart hammering. You definitely couldn’t drag him to the passenger side, much less get him in there.

Climbing back out, you jogged over to help him. “Let’s get the bike in the back and I’ll drive, okay.”

Daryl only nodded. You pushed down your concern and opened the tailgate, helping him lift the bike into the back. Damn thing was fucking heavy but if you were hauling it, that was the only way to get it loaded. Panting, you closed it up just in time to see the man beside you sway on his feet. 

“Whoa!” Small hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “You okay? You’re looking a little pekid.” He was panting just as hard as you were, which wasn’t a shocker since the two of you just bench pressed a 400 pound bike into the back of a pickup. Probably not the best idea when one of you has a large piece of glass playing poke-the-vital-organ. 

He lifted his hands to gently grab your wrists, lowering your arms from his shoulders. “M’fine. Le’s jus’ get outta ‘ere. We got company.” A nod toward the area behind you had you turn toward the group of walkers approaching. 

“Okay, hop in.” You walked around him but slowed your steps to make sure he made it all the way to the passenger door. Sure, he was using the truck to steady himself the entire way but he finally climbed inside. You quickly slid behind the wheel and started up the engine. Once you pulled out onto the road, a little of the anxiety churning inside your chest dissipated. “We’ll get back just after dark, I think. Get Hershel to take a look at you.”

When he no more than hummed in reply, you glanced over at him. His head was against the window, eyes closed, lips parted to release shallow pants of breath. His skin glistened with sweat while holding a sickly pallor in stark contrast to the dark circles around his eyes. You would bet anything that if you touched his skin, it would be cold.

“Daryl? Daryl, your wound. How’s your wound?” You asked frantically, trying to split your attention between him and the road. 

“S’fine, Y/N. Jus’ drive.” 

“Let me see.” You requested softly, still trying to stay on course. 

“Drive. M’fine.” Daryl replied. He hadn’t opened his eyes at all. 

Mindful that neither of you were wearing seatbelts, you slowed to a stop and turned in the seat, grabbing at him to turn where you could see. He was slow to open his eyes. 

“Knock it off. Why we stopped?” The shove he gave you was gentle but enough to put some space between you. He didn’t expect you to come right back, this time to roughly grab his vest and pull him down across the seat. 

“You pulled it out?!” You yelled, pressing your hand over the steadily bleeding wound. His blood coated the interior of the door, the seat, and had puddled on the floor. “I said not to take it out, Daryl!”

“Didn’.” He replied quietly, sounding more than tired. “Got…got pulled out loadin’ the bike.”

You gaped at him. “And you didn’t think to say something?”

“Didn’ wanna worry ya. ‘Sides, m’fine.” His eyes slowly closed. “Doc’ll fix…me…righ’…”

“Daryl?” You kept one hand on the wound and used the other to shake him. “Daryl?! Goddamnit!” Peeling off your flannel overshirt, you folded it and pressed it against the injury, laying his arm over it to hold it in place. You climbed back behind the wheel, glad to have him lying across the seat so you could check his pulse while you hauled ass back to the prison. 

You found yourself carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his jaw, feeling his pulse, anything that let you know he was right there. His skin was so cold, his breaths so shallow that you could hardly feel the exhale at all. 

When the prison was within sight, you almost didn’t even stop to let them open the gates. 

Carol found you pacing outside by the picnic benches three hours after you had returned with Daryl. Three hours after you had leapt from the cab of the truck screaming for help. Three hours after you had collapsed to your knees watching Rick and Glenn carry Daryl inside. Three hours after you couldn’t find a pulse.

“He’s alive, Y/N.” The woman said softly. She sat down on top of one of the tables and watched you. You were thankful she had led with that but still couldn’t bring yourself to stop wearing a hole into the concrete. 

“But?” You weren’t naive. There was something more if she wanted to give you the good news first. Wanted you calmer. A very Carol tactic. You loved her for it but couldn’t entertain it. Not now. 

Carol could sense that. “Whatever he was stabbed with nicked his liver. Hershel was able to repair it but there was some internal bleeding. Hey,” she reached out to grab your hand. “He lost a lot of blood so he’s not out of the woods yet but he’s tough.”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?” You laughed wryly. “Everyone thinks he’s invincible, so he feels like he has to be. He didn’t even tell me that he was bleeding out, Carol. He was just gonna sit there and…and…”

“Okay, okay, come here.” Carol pulled you to sit next to her, hugging you tightly. “You’re right. We need to make sure he knows that it’s okay to need help.” Pulling you back by your shoulders, she swept your hair out of your face. “And when he is better, we’ll get to work on that, okay?” You nodded, allowing her to wipe away your tears. “He’ll be okay.”

You sniffled and nodded again, more softly than the first time. “Can I see him?”

Daryl made it through the night. Hershel had said his chances of a full recovery only increased after that. You hadn’t slept much, but couldn’t bring yourself to close your eyes just yet. So you just sat in a chair by the bunk with your head lying on the mattress by his hand. Your own hand looked so small wrapped around his, your skin so much paler than his tan. You counted any freckles you found on his arm. You even cleaned from underneath his nails. 

Carol eventually came by with two bowls of oatmeal. You thanked her quietly while never raising from your spot. True to form, she came over and kissed the top of your head, giving your shoulder a squeeze. Her dainty hand then on Daryl’s bicep, gently rubbing up to his shoulder and back down before she walked out of the cell. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. When you opened your eyes again, it was dark inside the cell. An almost burned out candle filled the room with dancing shadows but it was the eyes that reflected the flame that had your attention. 

“Daryl!” You leaned closer, touching his face, his neck, anywhere you could while his eyes followed you. “I’m so glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” His voice was rough from sleep and lack of use. He coughed weakly, face scrunching in pain before smoothing out again. “Thirsty.”

“Be right back.” You jogged from the cell to fetch some water and to let Hershel know Daryl had finally awoke. The veterinarian came not long after you had finished settling Daryl against the pillows once he had taken a few sips. 

“Blood pressure is a little lower than I’d like but that’s likely from the blood loss. Everything else looks real good, son.” He patted Daryl’s leg before standing with his crutches. “I’m sure you know you’re benched for a while though.”

“Yeah, figured.” Daryl shrugged a shoulder. He looked as though he could fall back asleep at any given moment. 

“Alright. I’ll check in tomorrow morning. Get some rest.” The older man stopped beside you and added “the both of you.” You gave him a nod and wished him goodnight. 

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked before you could even sit back down. You chose to sit on the edge of the mattress instead of the chair. 

“I’m fine now that I know you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He answered quietly, his gaze falling away from yours. He knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “You should have told me.” 

“Hey.” You reached up to brush his hair away from his face, smiling and letting your hand come to rest on his cheek. “Don’t worry. We will be talking about this but I won’t yell at you until you feel better.”

“S’real comfortin’, Y/N.” His smirk was half-assed at best, either from fatigue or guilt. 

“I know. I have a great bedside manner.” You beamed. Getting to your feet, you moved closer to his own and crawled onto the bed and across his legs to his left side. He turned his head to watch you, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. 

“Guess it ain’t half bad.”

“Oh come on, it’s phenomenal. What other caregiver’s gonna crawl in bed with you and snuggle?”

“Hope ta hell Hershel don’ take notes from ya.”

“He had a hard time with the missing foot but you two looked super cozy when my shift began.” You snorted when he shrugged the shoulder you had cuddled against, jarring you back a little. 

“I can’ stand ya sometimes.”

“Pft, you love me.” You nuzzled your nose against his cheek before kissing it. He huffed a tired laugh and let his eyes drift shut. 

“Eh, I migh’.”

“Wait, what?” You blinked. “You might what? Daryl?” The only replies were his deep, even breaths. You laid your head back against his shoulder and watched him, biting back a wide smile. Now you had even more to talk about. 

#whumptober2023 #no.22 #glass shard #the walking dead #fic #injury #blood #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl drabbles #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl x you #twd daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n

[jaxxsoxxn]

Do you think boomer would ever be comfortable talking about his son’s death? I mean losing the kid is way harder.

Or he hasn’t never told anyone he ever had a son and when he just mentioned it out of the blue everyone’s like surprise and I can just imagine Harley saying oh my God you have a kid can we see him and Boomer just said it’s so normally you can’t, he’s dead he got murdered anyway, I’m hungry 

I feel like Boomer doesn't deal well with death of people close to him. He probably just doesn't actually think of it as a thing that happened, but more like as a fact - my son was also ginger, he was young, he died.

He gets into his feelings only when he has to recall the way he died and it's like it happens all over again. I'd say it's something like shock for him, just staying way longer than for normal people.

Digger can be childish, but he's also kinda... Apathetic to most things that happen around him. Most people would probably tie the "he's dead" under it, but I feel like Harley, ex psychologist, would try to get some more information and with every push, it'd just make Boomer more jumpy, more scared.

If the kid would die in front of him, I imagine he'd remember every single detail. Especially since I hc it that the kid died at his 8th bday. (you know, just for fun)

So, for me, it would be way more like the second version.

~~~

The squad was mostly tired right now. The after-mission high was slowly dying out, when they sat down in the random Gotham fast-food and Flag went to get their orders in. The subject was technically started by Harley, one of her painted nails pointed at a kids meal with a toy.

"Ya think we should get it for my gal and Toyboy?" she said, a genuinely happy smile on her face. "And the toys aren't bat-themed!"

Shark grabber the menu and pulled it almost comically close to his face, while Floyd rolled his eyes.

"Zoey has been into green lantern theme lately, though she says Wonder Woman is still her favourite..." he mumbled, trying to keep his typical for Gotham look.

"My kid loved the toys back in Australia, doubt he'd like them here though."

Boomer said, shocking most of them. Deadshot looks at him with worry mixed with anger, while Shark tries to decide if it's another weird joke. Only Harley smiles wider, though there's slight surprise in her eyes, too.

"Ya have a kid? Oh me, are they ginger like ya? How old are they? Why haven't we met em?! Do ya have pictures?" her voice is delighted at the idea, even though a smaller Digger doesn't sound so great.

"Uh, ye, a son, yeah, eight and he's dead, been dead for a while, so I don't have pictures." he counts the answers out on his fingers, missing how everyone freezes. Before anyone tries to say more, he softly whispers under his breath, like it's a memory hitting him suddenly: "I didn't have money for his burial..."

And Harley catches the shake of his hand, the tremble of his voice and the way his eyes look down in shame and something so close to self-hatered that it makes her stomach flip.

By the time food comes, Boomer's acting like he never said anything, eating with vigor of someone who didn't have a meal for weeks. The rest of them just send each other worried stares in silence, poking at the food and trying to regain their appetite.

#idk #probably bad english #bsing trough life #ssktjl #Somehow not Boomerflash! #captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #George “Digger” Harkness #tw child death #Tw child death mention #Rip Owen you would love Batdonald #suicide squad kill the justice league #suicide squad #I love em my favourite forced found family #It's not that he's not feeling bad about it it's that he never let himself grieve #He's stuck in space between the loss and the grief and it doesn't matter because his kid is dead anyway

[vexing-imogen]

a warm embrace

Auggie leans back against the wall in Charlie's office with a sigh. He runs his hand over the left side of his face, feeling the weird texture of the rocks that are just part of his face now, apparently. He resists the urge to poke at his eye, to try and force sight back into it. It had been hard to tell in the bowels of Oldfaire, but the doc had confirmed it. He'll never see out of that eye again.

It could be worse. At least he's still got a face.

"Auggie?"

Arlo stands in the doorway, swaying slightly. It could be exhaustion, or it could be the nearly empty drink in her hand. Either way, he makes room for her on the cot, pats the space beside him.

She perches on the edge of the cot, staring into the amber liquid in her glass. "How are you?" she asks softly.

He shrugs, even though she's not looking at him. "I've been worse."

A noise escapes her, almost like a laugh. "I highly doubt that, Auggie," she says, finally turning her face to him. She looks like she's in pain, her black eyes shining in the dim light. She turns away just as fast, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry."

Auggie frowns. "What for?"

"Your eye, Auggie," she says. Then softer. "I hurt you."

"Ah, c'mon, that wasn't your fault," he says.

Her hands tighten around the glass. "But if I hadn't destroyed that portal-"

"If you hadn't destroyed that portal, that Ficus dude would'a brought even worse shit through it." That gets him a ghost of a smile. "You did what you had to do, and if it weren't for you, we'd all be fucking dead." He puts a cautious hand on her shoulder, pleased when she leans into his touch rather than flinch away. "You saved our lives, plus a whole bunch of other people. You're a hero."

She turns back to him, raises an eyebrow. "Do I really look like a hero to you, Auggie?"

"Sure, why not?" he says, grinning. "I never seen one until now, so..."

She looks down, but not away. "You're very sweet." She downs the rest of her drink. Hiccups. "And I am quite intoxicated."

"Yeah?" he asks. "From one drink?"

"Two," she corrects. "And Charlie told Mr. Stinson to 'make them strong'."

"Jesus," he mutters. "How are you doing after all of that?" (He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but it feels rude to not check on her after she came to check on him.)

"Oh!" she says, as if she hadn't stopped to think about herself. She's quiet for a moment. "Very poorly."

Shit. "You wanna talk about it?"

Arlo shakes her head. "Not particularly."

"Okay."

They stay like that for a while, leaned against each other. His arm ends up around her shoulders, while her head ends up settled somewhere on his chest. He digs a handkerchief out of his pocket when he realizes she's crying, and she takes it but doesn't use it. Charlie eventually steps in to let them know that Alexandra is on her way, and should be there soon.

Arlo sits up straight as Charlie leaves, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. "Eddie was there," she says, out of the blue.

"Oh," he says. "Like, one of the faceless bodies, or..."

She shakes her head, and she's crying again. "He was the one stealing faces." And I killed him hangs in the silence that follows.

"Shit," he whispers, taking her hand. "I'm really sorry."

She nods, dabbing at her eyes again. "I didn't-" Her voice breaks. She swallows and starts again. "I didn't realize how much I'd hoped he was still alive somewhere until I was watching him die."

Auggie doesn't know how to respond, and she dissolves into a mess of tears, so he just wraps his arms around her and lets her cry into his shirt. Howard is knocking on the door after a few minutes, letting them know that Alexandra is there.

He helps her up, both of them a little unsteady. "You don't gotta go out there if you don't wanna," he offers. "I can cover for you; tell 'em you passed out or something."

Her smile doesn't even begin to reach her eyes. "That's very kind of you, Auggie, but I'll be alright." She reaches up to smooth out his collar. "Thank you.

He shrugs, trying and failing to act casual. "Anytime."

#critical role #candela obscura #candela obscura spoilers #candela obscura fic #auggie james #arlo black #could be arlo x auggie if you squint #but really i just thought they both deserved some softness after that ending

[lamaenthel]

Good Big

Obi-Wan's morning meditation is interrupted by a little Togruta youngling who wants some attention.

|AO3|

Fandom: Star Wars

Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn

Total Word Count: 1,443

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Obi-Wan let his mind go as flat and tranquil as the surface of a still pond. It was imperative that he get his thoughts in order before his mission. He reached out, as Master Qui-Gon so often reminded him to do, to the Living Force; he surrounded himself with the soft, green whispers of the plants that echoed through the Room of a Thousand Fountains and used them to anchor himself to the present moment.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Despite his best efforts to stay in the here and now, doubt crept in like a fog around his presence in the Force. It brought a sticky layer of apprehension with it; was it a warning from the Force about his mission, or something else? It was frustratingly omnipresent. It felt like eyes were watching him from the dark, like bubbles of a cailpeach were breaking upon the surface of a loch. There was no definitive scream of danger he could identify, just a vague sense of dread.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine. The feeling of being watched intensified and split off into something more tangible; he cracked open his eye and glanced to the right. A bush of aura blossoms shook and he heard a distinct, tiny, ekekeke noise come from somewhere within. He bit down a smile and pretended not to hear it. The bush growled and shook again, then an orange and blue blur launched from within the iridescent flowers and landed on him.

"Hi Bobi!" Ahsoka said, giggling madly. She settled on her back in his lap like a tooka begging for belly scratches and blinked up at him with her big, blue-rimmed porg eyes.

"Hello, mo nighean." Obi-Wan gently booped her nose. "Were you hunting me?"

"No," she said innocently. "Just, um, just making sure nobody else was." 

"How very thoughtful of you." Obi-Wan lifted her up, recrossed his legs, then settled her upright in his lap. "And who should we expect to come looking for you? Plo, or Vereixem?"

"Vereixem," she admitted. "I can be here, though. He put up the squashes for me."

"The squashes?" Obi-Wan rapidly searched his memory for what she could possibly be referring to. 

"Full of meats." She pointed straight up; Obi-Wan followed her finger to a blue sǫnkë squash with pink stripes hanging from a tree branch high above their heads. He squinted and thought he saw a sausage poking out of one of the hollowed-out sides. "He said I can hunt 'em. I'm not 'posed to hunt the birdies because it, um, it hurts 'em, even if I careful."

Obi-Wan was impressed by the creativity of the casualty-free enrichment activity for the tiny huntress. "Would you like to meditate with me? I've a very important mission to prepare for."

"What's a mission?" Ahsoka asked, tilting her head. 

"It's a task that the Council gives a Jedi when they're grown up," Obi-Wan replied. "I'm headed to Naboo. Have you ever heard of Naboo?"

"Naboo?" She slipped her chubby little hand behind his neck and played with his Padawan braid. "I like that name. Naboooo—"

"Yes, Naboo," Obi-Wan chuckled. "Perhaps I should bring you along. We can use your Empathy to make trade negotiations smoother, hmm?"

"Negoshins?" Ahsoka asked worriedly. Her face screwed up in thought. "I don't know what they is." 

"It's when people want to do things in different ways, but they can only do it one way," Obi-Wan explained. "So they have to talk it out and decide what's fair for everyone."

"Oh." Ahsoka still looked worried, but she raised her chin bravely. "If you, um, you need my help with 'em, then I help."

"It would make things easier, but I believe Master Qui-Gon and I will be able to handle them." Obi-Wan rested his chin between her montral nubs. "I leave in a few hours. Would you like to help me meditate, or would you prefer to keep hunting your squashes?"

"How long will you be gone?" Ahsoka asked, disappointment heavy in the Force around her.

"I don't expect the negotiations to take too long. A few days, perhaps."

"Then I can help you, with, um, do this." Ahsoka closed her eyes and matched his breathing. "There is no emotion, there is peace." 

"Good girl." Obi-Wan pressed a kiss between her montrals before he closed his eyes and allowed the Living Force to envelop him again; this time, with a small, purring anchor in his lap emanating happiness in a way that felt oddly… blue. "Is that you helping, mo nighean?" he asked her with a quiet chuckle.

"You wanted help, so I give you special 'Soka help," she said. She brushed his arm hair back and forth against the grain with careful little fingers. "I not pushin', don't worry."

"I didn't think you were pushing, dearest," Obi-Wan assured her.

" 'Cause we talked about it and you said it wasn't nice." Ahsoka craned her head back and looked at him upside down. "I don't push feelings anymore."

"That's because you're a very good girl who listens." Obi-Wan kissed her nose, making her giggle. "But why are you giving me special 'Soka help?"

Ahsoka reached up and gently touched the mole on his forehead. "You got all buzzy and… and, um, light. White, I mean. Why you nervous, Bobi?" 

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just have a feeling that something very big is about to happen."

"Bad big, or good big?"

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek. "Both, I think," he said softly. "It's hard to say right now."

"I think it'll be good big," Ahsoka decided. "It's gonna be really, really good, and it'll make us smile and make us happy."

"I certainly hope so." Obi-Wan suddenly felt the strong urge for a nap, but its abruptness made him suspect that it wasn't an urge that belonged to him. "Are you tired, mo nighean?" 

"No," Ahsoka lied, yawning.

"Mmm. I think maybe you're a little more—"

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was so unexpected that it made him jump. "Didn't you tell me you were coming here to meditate?" 

"I did, Master," Obi-Wan said defensively, immediately blushing. "I got a bit… distracted, is all."

"Mmm. You seemed to have picked up a little tick again. I did warn you about going through the brush, did I not?" Qui-Gon's hair fell forward around his face as he bent over. "Hello, Ahsoka."

"Hi, Kai-Gon," Ahsoka said cheerily. Though her Basic had strongly improved since she had come to the Temple a year ago, she hadn't quite mastered the first syllable of his Master's name yet. 

"Are you distracting my Padawan, little one?" Qui-Gon put his hands out to pick her up. 

"No, I helpin'," she insisted, settling on his hip. "Special 'Soka help."

"Ah. The very best kind." Qui-Gon rubbed his nose against hers gently and made her laugh. "Vereixem asked me if I'd seen her when I arrived. Given that I knew you had come here to meditate, Obi-Wan, I had a feeling that she wouldn't be far." He looked down his nose at her knowingly. "It's nap time for you."

"Not tired!" Ahsoka protested, fighting not to yawn again.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "That, little tick, is a fight you'll have to have with Vereixem. Now say goodbye to Obi-Wan."

Ahsoka reached a hand down to Obi-Wan. "Bye, Bobi," she said sadly.

Obi-Wan kissed her fingers. "Goodbye, little one."

" 'Member, it's a good big." She waved at him over Qui-Gon's shoulder as he walked away with her, taking away the warm blue feeling of happiness with them.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the Force. By the time his Master returned, he'd begun to gently float a few inches off the ground. "So what is this, ah, good big I've heard about?" Qui-Gon asked lightly as he rejoined him.

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan answered honestly. "I have a feeling things are going to change, Master, but I'm not sure for the better."

Qui-Gon crossed his legs on the ground across from him with a quiet grunt. Obi-Wan could tell by the way he leaned to the side that his back was bothering him today. "Stay in the present, Obi-Wan. The Force decides what will come next. All we can do is make sure that we are in the place where it needs us the most, and that we let it guide our hands when the time comes."

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan bowed his head and ignored the way that the loch in his mind bubbled.

MÁOR-GRASTA TRANSLATIONS

Mo nighean: my girl

Cailpeach: an equine ambush predator that lives in lakes, native to Stewjon

MORE NOTES

Vereixim: Veh-RAY-shim

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @soliloquy-of-nemo

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

#ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #fanfiction #star wars #star wars tcw #star wars prequels #dngg #do not go gentle #lamaenthel #ahsoka tano fanfiction #obi wan kenobi fanfiction #qui gon jinn fanfiction #tcw #sw #good big #baby ahsoka tano #padawan obi wan #meditation #empathy #my writing

[mouschiwrites]

can you please do a snake jay X reader basically you know the episode once bitten twice shy well in this jay is parliamentary a serpentine it's been over a month so everyone is used to it but jay is still a bit nervous and anxious about it so the reader help him both jay and the reader just cuddling and other fluff stuff and jay is just happy to have the reader as his girlfriend (the reader and jay are already dating this takes place a few month after the episode so everyone is used to jay being a serpentine only jay and the reader are in this)

This is too adorable!! I really hope I did it justice o7

Word count: 759

Ninjago - Comforting Part-Serpentine Jay

Jay had been staring at the full-body mirror for five minutes straight now. Occasionally he would reach and touch the glass or poke at his fangs or run a hand over his scaly skin, but for the most part he was just staring silently at his reflection. 

You knew that he had a habit of ruminating, which always made his anxiety worse. You weren’t going to let him do this to himself.

You put your book down, furrowing your eyebrows. “Jay,” you called, frowning at his complete lack of response. It was as if you weren’t even there.

“Jay,” you said again, more firmly this time.

“Hm?” He replied after a moment of silence. You could tell he wasn’t really paying attention to you.

Standing up, you made your way across the room. You stood behind Jay, looking into the mirror with him now. You looked at his eyes’ reflection, gently placing your hand on his shoulder as he raised his gaze to meet yours. He gave a small smile, but the disturbed look in his eyes gave him away. It was a look you could recognize a mile away; he was anxious about something. No doubt about it.

You placed your chin atop your hand on his shoulder, pressing your cheek against his. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

Jay lowered his gaze again, watching his hands fidget where they were clasped at his abdomen. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Let a long breath out through his nostrils.

“I look sscary,” he said finally, “like a ssnake.”

“Well, you are part serpentine now,” you hummed casually. You were used to it by now. The others were, too. It was just a fact of life that you had all learned to accept; except Jay, apparently, you realized with a saddened heart.

“People are going to be sscared of me when I try to help them. They’ll think I’m… I’m one of…”

You didn’t let him finish the thought. “People don’t do that anymore, remember? When was the last time someone tried to fight back when you helped them?”

“An old man hit me with hiss walker.”

You suppressed a snort at the memory. Instead, you smiled gently. “That was two weeks ago. Haven’t you noticed that people aren’t scared of you anymore? Just on our last mission, no one batted an eye, even when you took off your mask. Word’s spread that you’re part serpentine; people know this. They aren’t scared of the serpent-ninja.”

Jay’s brows shifted as he thought. You could see his expression soften a little as your words resonated in his head, but there was still doubt. 

“What about the oness who don’t know?”

“Some rock they’d have to be living under. Maybe they’re serpents themselves!” You grinned at the little smirk you got from him. “If they try anything, I’ll beat ‘em up for ya.”

Jay snorted, turning to face you. Still smiling, he planted a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thanks. I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“You better. No one gets to be mean to my boyfriend for being different.” Then, pecking his face between each word, you added: “Especially (kiss) when (kiss) he (kiss) looks (kiss) so (kiss) cute!”

Jay chuckled, trying to push your face away to no avail. “Okay, okay, enough!”

Things escalated quickly into a play-fight, which ended with you both on the floor, giving up only because your laughter drained your energy. 

You clung to Jay’s side, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder in an attempt to muffle your own giggles. He wrapped his arm around you, his hand resting on the small of your back. Your bodies gradually eased from convulsing laughter to more steady breaths, synchronized perfectly with one another.

Your laughter long gone but your smile still lingering on your lips, you looked up at him. He looked back at you with pure joy in his eyes; no trace of the worry that had plagued him a mere few minutes ago. Now you really beamed. There were few better feelings for you than knowing you had helped your worrywort boyfriend be just a little less anxious. 

You were willing to be patient, listen to him, offer as much reassurance and comfort as he needed. That was why he loved you so immensely. You were the ice pack to his headache, a headache that few people had patience for. But you were special. You, and only you, were the one for him.

“I’m sso glad you’re my girlfriend.”

Thank you for this cute request!! And thank you for reading <33 take care loves!

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #jay walker #jay walker x reader #jay x reader #jay ninjago

[latibvles]

hi poet!! can i request "fireworks" for june? :) so excited to see what you come up with!

##19 — fireworks

that one video of gumbull crying montage but it's me talking about June Cielinski. I'm on a DeMarco kick. Here's more of them. Please support me in these trying times. send me a prompt for the bomber girls!

—

The sound of the air raid siren is unwelcome — chills her straight to the bone actually. That long droning — only broken up by Viv clapping her shoulder twice, shaking her until she moaned in sleep-induced protest: up and at ‘em, June. We’ve gotta get to the shelters.

It was dark out, but there’s movement all around her. June doesn’t have a hard time keeping up with hers. Ahead of her Inez is pressing a hand into Harrie’s back, urging her forward as she marvels at the light show. Behind her, she can hear similar shouts of people telling each other to move and hit the shelters. It’s all too much noise for the middle of the night — she figures her own grogginess is what makes the whole thing feel less like an emergency at the moment and more like an inconvenience. A neighbor being too loud through the walls on a schoolnight. She tries to justify it, internally, with the fact that the explosions are far enough off that they wouldn’t hit Thorpe Abbotts.

Hopefully.

It only takes her bare feet hitting the duckboards for her to decide she hates this: hates it more than trudging through the wet grass to get over here, more than being up at this hour. This waiting, sitting and watching Norwich go up into flames. The word cowardly crosses her mind, briefly, as the ground shakes beneath her. Only a coward bombs at night. You can’t even aim right. She can feel the irritation she’d garnered at being woken up transmutate into what always felt, to her, to be a more righteous anger of sorts. The thing that made her want to jump in a Fort and drop bombs.

Her hands curled into tightly wound fists — she shuts her eyes, unable to watch for too long.

The sound reminds her, vaguely, of the Fourth of July. The silence of the trench feels a little louder as they all watch in some twisted sense of wonder and anxiety. If she lets her mind wander beyond here, she’s six years old again, sandwiched between her two brothers on the porch, watching colorful explosions light up the sky, stretching up and past the buildings that seemed to poke at the stars. Piotr would be covering her ears. She hated the sound as a kid.

Come to think of it, June could also fall asleep standing, which is a little embarrassing, so she opens her eyes again to keep from wobbling.

In time with her opening her eyes, she hears a high pitched whine, feels a wet nose pressing her lower thigh and her stomach drops as she looks down. Meatball has elected to take a seat right by her, looking at her with ears pinned back. He goes back to licking her knee in an almost frantic way, whining as the ground shakes beneath them.

“Jesus Christ, Meatball,” June crouches down, reaching to pet at his head, brows furrowed as she looks this way and that for his owner. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this, buddy.”

No doubt, Benny was probably losing his mind right about now. She has half a mind to go looking for him with the dog in tow when she hears the repetitive excuse me’s and sorry’s accompanied by mildly irritated groans of his name as Meatball’s rightful owner weaves through the other people in the shelter. By the time Benny is upon them, she’s already deduced where he’d be coming from. They lock eyes the moment he spots them.

“He didn’t crush your spleen this time, did he?” He offers, half a joke and half a worry that he’d caught her offguard.

“No, but I had to stage an intervention so he wouldn’t lick my leg raw,” she continues to scratch at Meatball’s head as Benny approaches, standing just behind her as she straightens out. “I don’t think he likes the noise.” Benny looks down at his friend with a frown, reaches to give him scratches of his own that have Meatball leaning into both of their hands, seeking the comfort of it.

“Me neither buddy,” Benny agrees. June turns around at that point, but she’s hyper-aware of his position adjacent to her. Even if she wasn’t, Meatball is still insistent on pressing against her thigh. It’s not like they’re really supposed to be running up and down the trench anyway.

Silence again — the silence of the trench somehow louder than the sirens, but also some sort of tentative quiet shared between them that makes June’s stomach turn a bit. Rarely did she ever get nervous, but the proximity had her palms sweaty. Rarely, did she ever have a need to talk, to say something just to hear a response.

This time, inexplicably, she did.

“Sounds like fireworks.” June says, offhandedly. Benny scoffs, something light and disbelieving behind her, the ground shaking beneath them in an attempt to disprove her opinion.

“Y’think?”

“Shut your eyes. Sounds almost exactly the same.” She challenges with a small shrug.

Benny lets out a small sigh and an “if you say so”— she turns and watches as his eyes flutter shut, a puff of breath escaping his lips as he does so. June could look away after that, but she doesn’t. She can’t help but stare at him right about now. Dark lashes, dark brows, strong jaw — she thinks she might need to get her head checked. He’s… handsome, lit up by flashes. There’s gotta be something seriously wrong with her, for that to be the first thing that crosses her mind.

It’s when his lips start curling into that smile of his that June forces herself to look away, feeling that she’s somehow intruding on him now. Of course, Benny has smiled at her a million times and it always managed to put her on the right side of annoyed. Not this time though.

Maybe that’s why it feels like an intrusion. Maybe he’s the one intruding.

“Alright. You win. Can I open my eyes now?” He only sounds mildly inconvenienced. June bristles, folds her arms over her chest, and tries to find something else to fix her stare on that isn’t the bombs.

“Do what you want, I’m not your boss,” And Benny snorts at her quick remark. And she’s thankful for the dark, for the fact that it’ll adequately hide her now, flushed cheeks.

#ch: june cielinski #ship: june/demarco #*poet writes #masters of the air oc #mota fic #mota oc

[sevikasmainwhore]

hi tink tink!!

how do u think the arcane ladies would react to seeing their thick gf in booty shorts? it’s getting so hot here it’s hard to wear anything else

btw i luv ur writing 💕

please cause it’s hotter than a mf out here 😭 omg yes please keep using tink tink, it’s so cute and makes me feel special 💝💝

Arcane Ladies reacting to your booty shorts ♥︎

Requested ⇢ Yes/No

Type ⇢ Headcanons❥

❤️ Vi knew it was getting hot. It was doubt in that so when she first saw you in your shorts she couldn’t blame you. Until she started noticing you in them a bit more. How your thighs made the perfect bulge, how they made your ass look nice and round. Vi could’ve sworn she felt a little bit of drool out the corner of her mouth. You were getting a popsicle from the freezer when Vi came from behind you, claiming she wanted a “hug”. “Vi stop, it’s hot baby” You complained. You could feel her hands lowering down your ass. “Let me cool you down a bit” Vi did not in fact cool you down at all.

💙 Caitlyn was in disbelief really. Of course it was over 80° outside so she really didn’t think too much of it. She’d stare anytime you’d walk by her. Always have the urge to grab your ass, like it was just staring at her. Of course she’d be respectful and keep her hands to herself. Because they were so short a bit of your ass would peek out and Caitlyn couldn’t help herself. You were laying down on a blanket in the living room in front of the fan when Caitlyn came from behind you just planted her head on your ass. Like it was a pillow. “Caitlyn, it’s hot” “That’s not my problem” You scoffed “Get off” She nuzzled up more “Do I have too?” You let out an exaggerated breath. She wasn’t getting up anytime soon so might as well just let her stay.

💛 Mel had actually taken a day off her counselor duties to take a trip to a private pool area she thought you’d like. Everything was going well. Bags were packed and ready and she had her swimsuit on underneath a covering. But when she saw you in your shorts, she was at a loss of words. “You ready??” You ask, so happily. “Yea…” For the whole day, Mel couldn’t stop staring. How your ass just peeks out of the shorts, How you took your sweet time, prancing around the pool before actually getting in. You were probably doing this on purpose because you could feel her eyes on you. Whenever you walked you made sure to sway your hips because you knew you’d get something out of her.

🧡 Grayson knew you had a fat ass. She also knew that it was getting hotter by the minute so when she’s home just enjoying her day and you happen to walk by with your shorts on and a tank top she didn’t think too much of it. Until she started noticing how your ass pokes out of them every time you bend down, or even when you’re putting them on and she’s just watching you jump to pull you then up. If it wasn’t already how outside she’d be burning up already. “You like em’? I made them out of some old pants I wasn’t wearing” Grayson chuckled “You look absolutely delicious, would you wear those for me again?” She pulls you by your waist in for a hug. You couldn’t help be flustered at her words. “Grayson, it’s hot” “Oh well”

🤎 Ambessa was a very intimidating, powerful women. You wouldn’t think she’d think or look at you in such a way. But she’s only human so when you came out of the bedroom in your shorts and a tank top she was speechless. It was a hot day in her kingdom so it was only right for you wear something that revealing, she just won’t let you leave anywhere in it. You tried walking her out the door and she stopped you halfway out. “That’s far enough” You huff and pout. “I wanna walk you out” “Not in those in your not” You looked down at your outfit confused. “Amby, it’s hot” “Yes, but that’s for me and me only” She was referring to your ass. You could tell from her voice and with that she left you feeling all hotter then before.

💜 Sevika had actually made you a pair out of some pants that were a bit too tight on her. She didn’t think they’d fit so tight on you though. You were getting ready to go out with Sevika when she stopped you half way out the bedroom door. “What’s wrong?” You asked her. It was a really hot day i’m the Undercity, hotter than usual, and it was only right you wore the shorts today with a tube top and nice crop top jacket. Sevika didn’t think so though. “You’re not leaving like that, at least not without me doing something about it” You wasn’t sure what she meant but leaving the house with hickeys and love bites all over your thighs and neck wasn’t what you had planned.

🤍 Cassandra had taken off a few days because of how hot it was. She’d stay at home with you and cool off, laying on the couch or even sitting in a chair reading a book while a fan blasted on her. You’d come in with her with ice cream in your shorts and a shirt she gifted you. She lost all her focus. She couldn’t stay on one sentence anymore. She’s glance up from her book and she you with a spoon full of ice cream and your legs propped up on the couch. You were showing a lot. She kept her composure or at least she tried too. “Y/n, could you bring me some too?” She asked so sweetly and you obliged. She didn’t really want any she just wanted to watch you walk away and how your ass poked out of them. She didn’t feel guilty about it at all.

💟 Renata liked the way they squeezed you. It was a hot but chill day in the Undercity and Renata was having the best day of her life. Just watching you walk around doing things she asked you too. It was like a game to her but it wasn’t fun at all too you. “Can you bring me that file from my desk?” “A drink of water please.” And so on. It was tiring and you were sick of it but being able to watch your ass bounce and poke out of your shorts made Renata the luckiest women alive. Of course she did make it up to you by just letting you rest, bringing you your own cold beverage and even letting you nap in front of an electric fan, but she’d never tell you why she had you doing all that.

𝗕𝗼𝗻𝘂𝘀 ⇢ Do they eat ass?

𝗩𝗶 ⇢ Yes

𝗖𝗮𝗶𝘁 ⇢ No

𝗠𝗲𝗹 ⇢ 50/50

𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗼𝗻 ⇢ No

𝗔𝗺𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 ⇢ Yes

𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗸𝗮 ⇢ 50/50

𝗖𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗮 ⇢ No

𝗥𝗲𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗮 ⇢ Yes

note: my body just shuts down every time it’s too hot. the amby nickname is so cute to me. 50/50 means either they’ll do it on a really good day or other times they won’t do it.

#☞ shhhh #❥ arcane hc’s #vi x reader #arcane caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x reader #mel x reader #enforcer grayson x reader #ambessa x reader #sevika x reader #cassandra x reader #renata glasc x reader

[whositmcwhatsit]

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Chapter One Chapter Two

Summary: Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed. Warnings: swearing, drug use, smut, angst, violence, temper tantrums, all the usual.

Chapter Three: Good Little Girl The tour continues and Chancy continues to enjoy, fret and marvel at the ride. Surprisingly fluffy (for me) with a bit of smut. I have been so overwhelmed by the response to my little comfort blanket of a story. Thank you to everyone who has liked, messaged, reblogged, or even just read it! You make my day brighter! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Yet another airport, and Chancy had already forgotten the name of the city when she entwined her fingers with Elvis’ and gave them a squeeze as the plane taxied up the runway ready for take-off. She marvelled at how he and the rest of the band and crew coped with touring, particularly the one-nighters where they landed, slept, performed and left before their bodies could even register that they had stopped.

The world outside the windows of planes, cars and hotels could get very blurry, distorted and unreal. The only thing that seemed to be in focus was what was right in front of you. For Chancy, that was Elvis. She wondered what it was for him. 

It was a short flight that they spent making out in the bedroom suite at the back of the plane. Chancy had no doubt that some of the guys were already muttering about how much of Elvis’s time she was monopolising, as if anyone but Elvis could be blamed for what he did.

As the plane began its descent, they returned to the Star Trek seats and Chancy held out her hand before Elvis had to reach for it. He met her eyes and looked so grateful that she had to swallow a lump from her throat.

“I should’ve gone to the bathroom before,” she said to make conversation and keep him distracted. “Put myself back to rights. I must look just like I’ve been rolling around on a bed for a couple of hours.”

“A little,” he admitted with a crooked, boyish smile. “You’re getting those curls back. Boy, I missed ‘em.” He reached across with his free hand and tugged at a ringlet by her ear.

“Well, I don’t miss being called Slinky Head and Shirley Temple,” she returned, poking the curl behind her ear. He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh as his eyes twinkled.

“Yeah, you can laugh because that was mainly you,” she snapped with no real fire. “And you know that once you call someone a name it just sticks like glue.”

“Sweet darlin’ Slinky Head,” he cooed, his voice quivering before he burst into loud laughter. She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop herself from beaming. It’s all her face wanted to do.

When they emerged from the plane, it was dark and raining and the pressure on Chancy’s brow told her that there was a thunderstorm on the way, but there were still a couple of dozen people standing at the fence. Elvis gave them a wave before he climbed into the waiting limo.

At the hotel, Chancy followed them all into Elvis’s suite, which was prepared and set up the way he liked it: dark, cold and cave-like.

Red was explaining where the venue was, how big it was, what the stage looked like, all things that held importance to people who weren’t Chancy. She thought she would take the opportunity to slip out and find Jerry to get her room key and her things. The little fresh air she had got stepping into and out of cars had reminded her that she had barely any sleep the night before and she was beginning to feel heavy and slow.

Jerry was in his usual place in the hallway, admonishing Ricky that mini bars were for people who paid for their own goddamn hotel rooms and were over twenty-one.

“This isn’t a damn frat house!” he called as Ricky rushed past with luggage.

“You might want to get that made up as a pamphlet,” Chancy remarked. “Especially for the older guys.”

“Oh hey, Chancy,” he said, turning. “What can I do for you?”

“Just getting my key,” she sighed. Jerry blinked the longest blink a person had ever taken.

“Uh, I- I don’t have a key for you. I was told you’re staying with- you’re with the Boss.”

Chancy blinked too, because all the thoughts and emotions rushed her at once and she couldn’t quite cope with them and less important functions like opening her eyes at the same time. 

“No, there’s been some kind of mistake,” she said with a smile, the panic hiding behind her teeth. “I need a room, Jerry.”

“Uh…” He smiled too automatically and handed off a key to one of the guys walking past with a shoulder full of suits in drycleaning bags. “I can look into it for you.”

His words were a promise, but his tone was a refusal. She was about to fight the futility and press harder when Sonny appeared at her shoulder.

“Hey, why’d you leave? Boss wants you.”

Chancy looked between the two men and heaved a sigh, before biting her lip and following Sonny back to Elvis’s room.

The rest of the guys had cleared out and Elvis was kneeling by the television, flicking through the channels. She couldn’t even see what the picture was before he flicked to the next one.

“Where’d you go, lil’ Slinky head?” he asked over his shoulder. Despite the words, his tone was not playful.

“I went to turn back time to before I reminded you about that stupid nickname,” she replied, stopping at the end of the sofa.

“I’m only fooling around,” he replied. “You gotta stop this sneaking off though, baby. Every time I turn around you’re gone. Like a damn ghost.”

“Sorry, I thought you were busy, so I-”

“I was busy, but busy don’t mean I don’t want you here with me. C’mon and sit down next to me.” He held out a hand to her and she took it, perching beside him as they both sat on the sofa.

“Elvis, I was just speaking to Jerry and he said I don’t have a room.”

“Sure you have a room.” He lifted his arm to encompass everything around them.

“I meant a room of my own.”

“Well, it’s just that it’s kind of silly, ain’t it, having two rooms? We gonna keep going back and forth all the time? Might as well just have the one.” His eyes were fixed on the television and his voice was a little too casual.

“That seems like a decision that I should’ve had some say in,” she murmured, torn between wanting to keep him happy and not wanting to lay down and be steamrollered. She had seen that happen to too many too many times before.

“You know how that would’ve gone, Cha-Cha. You’d have thought about it and thought about it and gone round in little circles, trying to be a good girl, and we both know how it would’ve ended up. We’re supposed to be together, honey.” He sighed and stood up.

“I’m going to the bathroom, you gonna be here when I get back or do I have to make you come with me?” She glared up at him. “I’m only kidding, relax.” He bopped her on the nose with his finger as he passed by and she seethed.

The childish part of her wanted to skip out, go find Sandi and Charlie and let him come out to an empty room to show him what she thought about his controlling ways. It would be satisfying for a sweet minute until she had to face the consequences of the stunt. And, as always, she had to consider the show that would be happening in a few hours. She wasn’t going to be the reason thousands of people came to see a show where Elvis was off his game.

Before he could return, the door to the room opened at the same time as someone tapped on it, which seemed to be the wrong order of events to Chancy. She hadn’t even considered how everyone and their neighbour had access to Elvis’s room and this sudden realisation heated up her thoughts until they were broiling.

“E ordered dinner,” said Lamar, glancing round the room as he wheeled in the trolley. She nodded towards the bathroom, which satisfied him.

Well-trained, she addressed the trolley, setting out the condiments and glasses and cutlery on the coffee table. There were several different covered plates, she lifted the covers to find the usual bacon, fried potatoes, sweet rolls, black-eyes peas, and so on. She wondered how they managed to rustle up these kinds of meals in the middle of the Midwest.

“Finally!” said Elvis behind her. “I’m starving.” She didn’t respond.

When he came round the sofa, he was wearing pyjamas and a robe. He dropped down next to her on the sofa, close enough that his arm brushed hers as they both reached for the plates. She noted with a humourless smile that she had the exact same meal as his, just a quarter of the size.

Elvis was trying to be sweet, pouring her a drink and getting her a blanket from the bed because he knew that his preferred room temperature was another person’s idea of a trip to the Arctic Circle.

Chancy was less sweet, but still trying, thanking him for his thoughtfulness. It was like a new play where the cast hadn’t memorised the lines yet and the director was wondering whether it would ever make it to opening night.

It also didn’t help that one of the main leads had no idea he was supposed to be performing altogether. Elvis always ate like his house was on fire and he needed to finish his meal before he called for help, but he was usually neat and well-mannered about it. Chancy shifted slightly in her seat as his elbow collided with hers for the third or fourth time.

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbled, going to put his hand on her knee, but missing the first time around. 

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm, yeah, just a little tired.” He shook his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, but this didn’t seem to help as he reached out for his drink and knocked it over.

“Shit, motherfucking glass got a mind of its own.” 

Chancy jumped up and grabbed a handful of paper napkins, dabbing up the puddle before it dripped onto the carpet.

“Leave it, baby, leave it. Someone… I’ll get someone to…” He tried to rise, but only managed to lurch back onto the sofa.

“It’s fine. Orange juice stains if you don’t get to it quick,” she said, wondering even as she spoke why she was bothering. Even clear-headed, Elvis Presley did not have to worry about stains.

With a grim sinking sensation in her gut, she finished mopping up the mess and started collecting the plates and other items, putting them back on the trolley. Behind her, Elvis was still and quiet and, though she didn’t have the courage to check, she thought he might have fallen asleep.

The coffee table cleared, she dared a look over her shoulder to find him watching her, his head resting tilted against the back of the sofa, and a sweet, loving smile on his face.

“You about done there, Mommy?” he remarked with a hiccupping laugh. She wanted to be mad at him, to convey how much he was scaring at her with his pill-taking and unpredictability, but how could she do that when he was looking at her like that? “You wanna help put your baby to bed?”

With a groan, Elvis heaved himself up and Chancy provided the counterbalance to keep him on his feet. He didn’t let go of her hand when he threw his arm around her shoulders, almost throttling her with the crook of her own elbow. Somehow, they made it across to the bed, no thanks to Elvis, who was nuzzling her face and hair. She could feel sweat trickling down her spine as they collapsed together onto the mattress.

“Whoa, you’re strong, Cha-Cha! I didn’t know you were so strong,” Elvis mumbled in a small, breathless voice.

“I’m a farm girl, remember,” she replied, rolling free and taking in a deep breath.

Elvis reached across and dragged her back towards him, saying something she couldn’t make out. Within seconds, he was asleep, snoring quietly into her ear, smothering her like a blanket.

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

The next thing she knew, she was being jarred from perfect, black silence by someone gripping her hip and rocking her roughly.

“C’mon, baby, time to get up!”

Chancy inhaled sharply, disorientated, and not entirely convinced that she wasn’t falling from something. Her squinting, gritty eyes took in Elvis as he moved around the room, humming to himself.

“What time is it?” she croaked, clearing her throat. The ache in her limbs led her to believe that she hadn’t slept very long, but seeing him so energetic and alert didn’t make sense.

“Nearly five, I think,” he replied. He climbed up onto the bed behind her, sliding in to spoon her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and licked her dry lips.

“Still tired, baby?” His voice in her ear sent tingles down to her core, but they were muted by her exhaustion. If she had been asked to choose between him and sleep right then, she wasn’t sure what her answer would be.

“Hmm, a little,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his arm.

“You want me to give you something to help?” It took her a moment to realise what he was asking, and as she did she also understood how he had regained his energy.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, dragging herself up and out of his arms. His voice was studiedly casual as he replied:

“Okay, well, you let me know if you change your mind.”

Chancy surveyed the room, noting that the food trolley from earlier was gone, which suggested that other people had been in the room while she was out. She really didn’t feel comfortable about that, but it was a fact of life for Elvis and she had never had cause to really think about it before. She started as he came to her side, eyes fixed on her in a way that most women would have found overwhelming.

“After the show tonight,” he said gently, “we’re gonna have a proper talk, you and me.” She was nodding along with him, her arms wrapped around herself. “But, until then, honey, I need you to go get ready. This place is going to be full of guys in a matter of minutes and I ain’t having any of them catching sight of anything that’s meant only for me.” He slid his finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that he could plant a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips.

Before he had even stepped back, she surged forward, burying her face in his neck. He was so warm and all-encompassing; heart enough for both of them indeed.

“C’mon now,” he murmured, his voice lighter, she could hear his smile. “You’re fixing to get me all revved up before I gotta work.”

Chancy took the world’s fastest shower, which was so out of character she half-expected some sort of award ceremony when she emerged from the bathroom.

Elvis hadn’t been exaggerating, the room was a swarm of activity with guys bringing in plastic covered suits for him to choose from, his hairdresser setting up in one corner, and Charlie running over the set list in case Elvis wanted to add in something new that they needed to prepare.

“Hey CC,” Jerry said. “I got the room next door, and it’s all ready for you to… do whatever.” Which was at least a friendly way to be told to get out, she reflected. She nodded and grabbed her make-up and hairdryer, walking to the door.

At the last minute, she glanced over her shoulder at Elvis. His back to her, he was studying two of his suits as Ricky held them up helpfully. She thought back to his words earlier about her disappearing and wondered whether he would consider this one of those times. Better safe than sorry.

“You always look so amazing in dark blue,” she murmured into the back of his shoulder. He half-turned, his face lit up by a boyish little smile and his eyebrow raised. “I’m going next door while the magic happens.” She tugged a little on his arm until he leant down enough for her to kiss his cheek, simultaneously giving his ass a little pinch.

As she returned to collect her things from Jerry, who was tempering his grin, she heard Elvis say:

“Well, c’mon then, you heard the lady!”

In Jerry’s sparse bathroom, Chancy smiled at her reflection, but did not really see it. Instead, she was seeing Elvis’s face as she left and the pleasure she knew that she had put there. It was an empowering feeling. Then, sighing, she focussed on the person standing in front of her. She looked pale and drawn, the brown of her eyes blending into the dark shadows underneath. Sighing, she opened her make-up bag and began to apply the layers.

At the first sight of Elvis clad in his midnight blue stage suit, Chancy’s stomach did a little flip. It was tight around the middle like most of his clothes at the moment, but the colour complemented his dark hair and pale skin beautifully, and made his eyes glow blue.

“I’m a genius,” she reflected, walking over to where he was shuffling his feet nervously. “You look so good, honey.”

“Hmm, thank you, darlin’, so do you.” He grabbed her chin and pulled her in for a kiss, but his eyes were everywhere except on her. She could feel the tension thrumming inside him. His hair was already damp with sweat and it was glistening on his chest. She watched him gulp down the water that Jerry handed him and realised that she had not had anything to drink since she had woken. It occurred to her that she was desperately thirsty, but when she went to walk across to the dining table where there was a case of bottled water, Elvis grabbed her wrist so fast she thought she was being mugged.

“Where you goin’?”

“To get some water. I’m thirsty.” She winced at her tone, hearing the irritation clearly, and several of the guys had too from the suddenly blank expressions on their faces. Luckily, Elvis was far too distracted to hear tone and he just offered her his bottle.

In the car, Chancy made the most of the dark to close her aching eyes. She was careful to not actually drift off, even though Elvis and the rest of the guys decided to launch into some sweet gospel to warm up on the way over. At one point, Elvis reached over to take the new bottle of water she had swiped off the hotel room table before leaving and she started, caught out.

“Think we bored Cha-Cha to sleep, fellas,” he observed, drinking her water.

“I was listening!” she protested.

“Just resting your eyes, right?” Joe teased. She made a very loud snoring noise in response.

“Sorry, Joe, what was that?” They snickered and Chancy felt Elvis slide his hand between her thighs. She immediately clamped them together, gritting her teeth as his oversized rings jabbed into the soft skin.

“Ow, goddamn bear trap!” he hissed in her ear playfully. “I was just trying to keep you awake.”

“Oh, I’m very much awake, sweetheart,” she replied. She squeezed harder.

“Shit, Cha-Cha! I gotta play the guitar in a minute!” he yelped. In a panic, she relaxed her legs, only for him to immediately slip his hand higher, his fingertips brushing the front of her underwear as he cackled. The bottle of water disappeared as she grabbed at his arm, elbowing Joe in the ribs on the other side of her in the process.

“What in the hell is going on back there?!” Lamar queried as Joe groaned, Chancy shrieked and Elvis just laughed harder.

“Big surprise, Crazy is acting crazy,” Chancy grumbled, tugging down her skirt.

“Right, that’s it!” Elvis bellowed, turning and grabbing her from so many different angles in so many places she was convinced he had grown extra arms.

“Damn it, let me out! I’ll just walk!” Joe cried.

“We’re coming up on the entrance,” Lamar called as a warning.

Chancy tried to hold in her sigh of relief. She knew that when Elvis was hyped up like this, there was no telling what he could do, or what crazy idea might cross his over-stimulated mind. It didn’t pay to be the focus of his attention at times like that.

“This ain’t over,” he mumbled in her ear, settling himself back into the seat and spreading his hand over her knee. She tried to keep her face pleasant as the flashbulbs started to go off, besieging the interior of the car with light. Elvis lifted up a hand to wave that also somewhat shaded his eyes, ever the well-experienced professional.

At the stage door, there were about a hundred fans, along with a local news crew to capture the moment of Elvis stepping out of the car. Red, Joe, Dick, and Sonny crowded in to make sure no one got too close or too handsy, their ever-vigilant eyes sweeping the huddle of mainly women from early teens to late thirties, looking for dark assailants.

Chancy climbed out after the main attraction, smiling at no one in particular. Lamar had his hand underneath her elbow, trying to guide her without really putting hands on her. It was such a pantomime that she wanted to roll her eyes, but her role required her to be happy yet unseen.

“You look beautiful!” Chancy turned in the direction of the voice just behind her shoulder. A lady with large green eyes and cropped red hair was smiling right at her. “I love your hair.”

“Thank you,” she replied bashfully, “but you’re the one who’s beautiful, your eyes are stunning!”

“Are you Elvis’ girlfriend?” another woman called out.

“Uh.” Chancy glanced at Lamar, who had his face turned away like a damned coward and then towards Elvis himself, who was signing a record sleeve further up the line.

“Don’t we all wish we were?” she replied to the crowd, who seemed to collectively groan and sigh in agreement. She couldn’t help laughing to herself as Lamar got her into the building without further incident.

“Good answer,” he remarked with a look that almost seemed impressed.

“I didn’t realise there would be a pop quiz!” she replied, following him into the dressing room.

“You gotta be prepared for anything.” Like he was telling her something she didn’t know.

“It’s different now,” she reflected. “Back when… When he was first starting out the fans could be kind of mean. They’d say some really hateful things to any girls that were around. They could be vicious.”

“Oh believe me, they can still be vicious,” Lamar intoned, rolling his eyes. “We’ve all got the scars to prove it.”

“Hmm,” Chancy answered, still marvelling on it.

Elvis and the rest of the guys burst into the room in a bubble of noise and activity. He made a beeline for the bottles of soda on the table and downed one in one go, letting out a huge burp afterwards.

“Greatest sex symbol of the twentieth century right there,” Lamar quipped.

“Like you can talk!” Sonny sneered, giving Lamar a warning look of caution behind Elvis’s back.

“Hey, it’s gotta come out, man!” Elvis shot back. “Better here than out there on stage in some little girl’s face. Although, I wonder how loud I could get it with a microphone with these kind of acoustics…” Chancy shook her head, marvelling at how little men actually grew up.

“Still wish you were his girlfriend?” Lamar joked to her, clearly missing Sonny’s warning.

Elvis’s eyes sharpened and his smirk dissolved as he looked at the two of them. Lamar, trying to repair the damage, explained what had happened outside with the fans and how Elvis would have been proud of her answer.

“How’s your junk, Lamar?” he said softly, stalking slowly towards the two of them. Chancy felt like an antelope that had wandered too far from the herd and had now spotted a lion moving through the tall grass. At least she wasn’t the one that seemed to be the prey; if she had been Lamar, she would have been thinking about how to run without being caught. “Notice you ain’t limping no more. Wanna keep it that way?”

“Run, boy,” one of the guys murmured in the background. Lamar heeded their words, stammering something about heading out to check everything was okay with the lights, side stepping Elvis in a wide arc. This left Chancy in his sights and she shuffled backwards as he advanced, finding herself with her back to the literal wall.

“Nowhere to run, baby,” he observed quietly. He rushed forward and grabbed her in a bear hug, spinning at the last minute so that he crashed back against the wall with her squashed to his chest. “Got you. You’re mine now.”

“Looks like,” she agreed nonchalantly, nodding even as her heart was ramming itself against her ribs.

“That make you happy?” he asked. The change in his voice from playful to serious had her glancing behind them, but none of the guys were looking their way and they were very good at seeming as though they were deep in conversation about something important. So very well trained.

“Does it make you happy?” she countered, with a playful quirk of her eyebrow.

“Nuh uh, I asked first.”

The way his voice turned whiney and babyish in her ear had her giggling like a child herself, the sound stuttering into a gasp as he released his arms only to encircle the front of her ribs with his hands, sliding his grip down over her stomach and onto her hips.

Inhaling deeply, she let her eyes flick upwards to stare into his and lifted herself onto her toes, almost on the points, so that she could touch the tip of her nose to his. Of course, this indirectly led to her sliding upwards in his hands, leaving them clutching the widest part of her hips and her ass.

“You always make me happy,” she murmured, their lips brushing as he smiled. She was touched to see his cheeks go pink too. He kissed her, she couldn’t get enough of his kisses, his hands openly cupping her ass and holding her against him.

“That’s good,” he whispered into her lips. “That’s real good.”

“Your turn now,” she reminded him.

At which point, the stage call came and Joe cleared his throat and passed on the message. Elvis let Chancy sink slowly back down from the tips of her toes and released her, giving her a helpless shrug.

“I gotta go,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. She played at being outraged, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Baby, I can’t help it!” He backed out of the room, the guys seemingly dragging him away, and she kept up the façade until he was gone.

It felt as though the minute she could no longer see him, the oxygen swept back into the room. She inhaled desperately and her thoughts cleared, the questions and worries multiplying by the second.

“You okay?”

Chancy started, having missed the fact that Jerry had stayed behind.

“Sure.” She winced at how utterly unconvincing she was at lying even using just one word.

“We should probably head out. He’ll want you out there when the show starts.”

“Mmm hmm.” She followed him out of the dressing room and along the impersonal corridor towards the door to the auditorium.

“You distracted him,” he said over his shoulder. Chancy, who always anticipated criticism but especially now, looked up warily. “From his nerves, stage fright. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him leave to go onstage.”

“That a good thing?” she volleyed quietly.

She wasn’t quite sure about Jerry. Truth be told, at the moment she wasn’t quite sure about much. She was looking at everything through funhouse mirrors, distorted and disconcerting. Looking at him, she could see her own doubts reflected, the same mistrust.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he shrugged.

The opening theme had already started when they pushed through the doors into the main hall. For a moment, Chancy reeled, blind and deaf in the booming darkness and besieged by the flashing halos from the flashbulbs burnt into her retinas. This is what Elvis experienced every time he stepped out on the stage, she realised. Love and adulation as an violent attack.

At that moment, the spotlight on the stage found its focus and an inhuman roar rose up. Chancy was almost at the soundboard, Jerry’s hand steering her shoulder like she was a skittish horse, when she felt compelled to glance up and found Elvis was striding towards her at the front of the stage on his way to acknowledge his screaming admirers in that part of the auditorium.

Cradled in that light, cocooned in the velvety blackness that was crying his name, he had never looked more right, more at home, more perfect. In just a few seconds measured in the strobing lights of camera flashes, her thoughts finally slid together like a puzzle piece had been rotated to fit.

He needed someone to be at his side to finish the tour, to warm his bed and scratch their nails through his hair to help him sleep in the fuzzy, grey dawn. She could do that; who better than her? Hadn’t everyone been saying that she knew him well, knew his moods and his preferences, knew how sensitive and how fickle he was. Who better than her to play the part for now and step aside when he found Gail’s replacement, the next girl that he had been looking for all his life? No one else could endure that intensity and then step back and away from it unscathed. She already had once before.

Back at the microphone, Elvis’s voice blasted out over the screams, the devotion and the wordless need that besieged him. The band could barely keep up. Chancy saw a couple of the female backing singers flash each other a look of appreciation, acknowledging that they were going to have fun tonight. They weren’t wrong.

It was an hour and fifteen minutes of non-stop stimulation. At one point, Elvis decided he wanted to play the piano and Chancy could see the musicians all scrambling to figure out how they were going to accompany him on a song they had never even rehearsed before.

Then he was sliding onto his knees in front of a trio of hysterical girls who had evaded security, and their ecstatic cries flooded the microphone as he kissed them, smushing all three of their faces together between his hands like they were at some sort of bacchanalian orgy. 

“We’ll finish this later,” he murmured to them in the microphone, prompting one of the girls to almost leapfrog over the shoulder of the security guard who was gripping onto her for dear life, and the auditorium to erupt into laughter.

How he moved straight from this risqué comment into a gospel number with a straight face, Chancy had no idea. She watched the man, who ten minutes earlier had worn a bra thrown onto the stage as a pair of sunglasses, squeeze his eyes closed and propel his rich baritone towards heaven, beseeching it for answers. Chancy knew that both actions were true, both reflected who he was as a person, and one made the other that much more endearing.

Later, he collapsed onto the stage in an uncontrollable fit of laughter after he snatched up a pair of lurid pink panties (Honestly, half of the women in the first few rows must have been experiencing an uncomfortable draught by the end of the show.) and pinged them like a catapult in the direction of the backing singers where they caught JD the bass-singer in his perfectly coiffed grey hair.

It took Elvis a few minutes to calm down enough to continue, and then he just announced to the band that he was going to do the next song laying on the floor.

Yet, as the song started to build to the chorus, he somehow leapt up in a way that shouldn’t have been physically possible, still holding the notes. The audience started applauding and cheering before he finished the chorus, making him order the band to repeat it because he didn’t want anyone to miss anything. He seemed more than human and so exciting that no one could take their eyes off him, even the other people on stage. 

Chancy didn’t want to leave when Lamar reappeared and tapped her on the shoulder. It was unfair that she had to lose out on any part of it and she envied the audience that last few minutes as she traversed the cold, dark hallway that would take them to the limo at the stage door.

“That was one damn good show,” she said as they reached the car, listening to the bass of the song reverberating in the distance. There was a group of people clutching placards being corralled by a couple of police officers a few feet away.

“Yeah, it was,” Lamar nodded. “Make sure you let him know.”

“Please, Lamar, like I need advice from you on that front.” He tilted his head, giving her that one.

“It feel weird?” he asked suddenly, glancing back up towards the door as if Elvis would burst through at any moment. “I mean, after all this time, to just pick up where you left off?”

“That’s not-“ She wanted to laugh at the idea of them picking up their tragic teen romance unchanged after so many years, but she knew that when you spoke with his friends/employees, you had to imagine that Elvis was always there, watching and listening.

For all the insanity they had witnessed and experienced in their time with Elvis, loaded up with the money and means to indulge every impulse and fantasy, all of the men, Elvis included (and probably the most of all) had some weird notions about love and relationships that remained unsullied and revered. There was a strange contrast of romanticism and pragmatism surrounding them all. Sure, there were girls on the road that you screwed, but there were also wives or girlfriends- at the same time- that you loved, and that love was utterly unaffected by the other.

Chancy felt a kind of condescending affection for Lamar that she was obviously firmly ensconced in his head as the second kind of girl. It was pointless and self-defeating to try and convince him otherwise.

“It doesn’t feel weird,” she said instead. He mused over this, his brows knotted in thought.

“I guess,” he reflected, “it’s not like it ever really ended. Not really.”

Chancy gathered up the oxygen to address this, because it infuriated her the longer that she heard it echo in her head. The hardest decision that she ever had to make in her life hadn’t actually really happened? His marriage to a beautiful woman and their child hadn’t really happened? Chancy’s relationships, her achievements, her independence, again, hadn’t really happened? How dare he?!

The stage door flew open and a blur of people crashed through it. They had missed the end of the song as well as the ungodly bellowing that followed and were caught completely unaware. Chancy felt hands grab and bundle her into the car after Elvis and she barely had time to right herself before Joe was shoving in behind her and the doors were all banging shut one after the other.

Ricky, who was sitting in the bucket seat in front of them, handed Elvis a towel as soon as he had waved and smiled at his cadre of well-wishers out the window and he awkwardly wrapped it around his neck, struggling to catch his breath as the car shot out of the narrow alley and into the vast parking lot.

There were police officers on motorcyles ahead of them with their lights and sirens going to ensure that they got out of the parking lot before the gridlock of concertgoers started. 

“Great show, man,” Sonny was saying gently, repeating it until Elvis finally tuned into the present and nodded wearily in acknowledgement. Chancy looked at Ricky desperately trying to balance a cup of water until Elvis was ready for it and took pity on him. She leant forward and took it; from the consternation on his face at this change to routine, she wondered for a moment if he would fight her for it.

“Here, drink this, baby,” she murmured, holding it in front of Elvis until he finally lifted his head from where he had let it drop back against the back of the seat.

“Thank you, M- darlin’,” he murmured, catching himself, but his lips tilted into a faint, embarrassed smile anyway. He twisted in the seat, she caught the small, exhausted groan he made as he moved, and then he was leaning against her, his head resting on top of hers.

“What did you think of the show?” he asked quietly. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even turn her face with the end of the towel that was around his neck tucked between her shoulder and jaw. So, she had to make do with staring at the taillights flashing in the distance through the windscreen.

“You were utterly spellbinding,” she said in the same soft, intimate tone. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“I know, I could feel ‘em,” he replied, sliding his fingers between hers and clasping her hand.

Chancy’s back began to ache from the strain of holding them both up, but she bit her tongue. She could feel Elvis’s pulse beginning to slow towards something more normal, more human, and his breathing was finally evening out. His suit was completely soaked, they would both need to change when they got back to the hotel.

“The sound was better,” Elvis remarked suddenly in his normal voice, breaking the unnatural silence of the car. Immediately, the guys leapt upon it, agreeing emphatically.

“It sounded good, sounded really good. I guess Bruce figured it out,” Joe replied. “I’ll let him know to keep it that way.”

“The sound was fantastic. When those three little girls started squealing I think they heard it all the way in the parking lot,” Sonny said. “They should think about a career in the opera.”

“Forget the damn opera,” Red cut in. “The way they dodged and leapt over the cops, they should try out for wide receiver!”

Elvis didn’t respond, at least not verbally so that Chancy was aware, but he gave her hand a little squeeze and continued to sip at his water as they drew closer to the hotel.

It was relief to get out of the limo back at the hotel. There were only a few diehard fans still lingering around the service entrance and they got through the kitchens and into the elevator without incident.

On their floor, the crew began to peel away. Joe went to call the Colonel and check on arrangements for the show the following night. Red said that he wanted to call home and catch his kids before they went to bed. When they got to the door of the hotel room, Chancy wondered whether she was supposed to go back to Jerry’s room, but Elvis’s grip on her hand was unquestionable.

The room was still lit up the way they had left it earlier in the evening. Chancy went to get a drink from the mini bar fridge, but Ricky was already there, obviously harbouring resentment about the water in the car. He opened the water bottle and put it on the nightstand as Elvis wearily sank down on the side of the bed with a sigh.

There was a routine, as there was for everything, and Chancy didn’t know her role within it, if there even was one. As she was considering this, Jerry walked into the room without announcing himself and asked what Elvis would like for dinner.   

“Honey, why don’t you get comfortable on the couch,” Elvis said wearily, catching sight of her standing awkwardly by the door. “I’ll be with you as soon as we wrestle this damn suit off.”

Glad to be given an instruction, something- anything- to do, she stepped hastily across to the living area and perched on the couch. This felt just as uncomfortable as standing to attention by the door, so she went over and started to flick through the channels.

Behind her, she could hear Ricky and Elvis talking in low voices. Her chest clenched when she heard Elvis grunt as if pained and she had to hold herself steady to stop herself from turning to check on him, to help. He was trusting her enough to be there, to witness his vulnerability, she didn’t want to betray that. 

Searching the channels, her eyes lit up at a familiar face. It was one of Elvis’s movies from the mid sixties, all Technicolor and gorgeous locations. The sound was down low enough that she couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but it still amused her that there were people all over the state watching this and she had the real article right in the same room.

Chancy glanced up as Ricky walked past her on the left, heading for the door with the suit hanging over his arm. She flashed him her brightest smile, trying to make up for upsetting him earlier in the evening. She found it quite adorable that he obviously took his job and his duties so seriously. She must have been forgiven because he beamed back and promptly walked into the closed door.

“Oh my goodness, Ricky, are you okay?” She jumped up from the sofa, but he scrambled at the handle and was gone before she could reach him.                        

“Leave the poor kid alone!” Elvis ordered, his voice full of sympathy for Ricky. Chancy looked over to where he was standing by the doorway to the bathroom, wrapped up in a dark blue silk robe. “Man, he ain’t gonna hear the end of that for weeks!”

“But how will anyone else know-” Her frown cleared as Elvis grinned mischievously. “Oh, poor Ricky. You shouldn’t tease him, he really looks up to you.”

“It’s the way of the world, honey, gotta make a man of him. Besides, don’t want him getting too comfortable mooning over my woman.”

Before her revelation at the concert, being called his woman would have undone her and got her bones rattling and her brain whirring. Now she understood her role, she could accept that a lot of women were Elvis’s ‘woman’, it was a section of society rather than an obligation.

“I’m gonna take a shower, honey. Why don’t you get ready for bed before Jerry shows up with dinner?”

Again, she nodded and took on the task. She wasn’t being ordered around, she wasn’t ignoring her own agency to please someone else, she was performing a responsibility, a duty. It was a little like being an actress with a role. This wasn’t her.

Chancy had changed into her nightgown and robe and was smiling as she listened to Elvis singing in the shower- some goofy jingle from a tv ad- when there was a knock on the door. She waited for the person to enter, but the door stayed closed for once. Unsure of what she was supposed to do in this situation, but figuring that Elvis’s world couldn’t be that far removed from reality, she went to answer it.

“Oh, Jerry!” He was standing in the corridor with the food trolley like he worked for the hotel. “I thought you guys just came straight on in?”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I figured you might want a little more privacy.”

“Well, thank you, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Turns out it was a good thing,” he said. She frowned, not following. “The distraction. That was the best show I’ve seen in a couple of years.”

Chancy glanced towards the bathroom and then pulled the door into her hip.

“Wasn’t he amazing? I swear that every time I think I understand how talented that man is, he goes and blows my expectations out of the water.”

“I think that was kind of the point,” Jerry remarked wryly. “You are not going to be impressed just seeing him on stage, are you.”

“No, I still pretty much am,” she admitted, ignoring the implication that she had anything to do with the night’s performance.

“Well, maybe don’t tell him that.” They laughed conspiratorially.

“What are y’all whispering about?”

Chancy lurched as the door was pulled out of her hand and away from where her hip was resting on it. Elvis gave Jerry a cool stare as he rubbed his hair with a towel.

“Uh, dinner, Boss,” Jerry stammered, moving the trolley in front of himself like a barricade.

“That need a whole conversation?” Elvis snapped.

Chastened, Jerry wheeled the trolley into the room and murmured a hurried good night before closing the door behind him.

“We were talking about you,” Chancy admitted. “Gushing like a couple of lovesick fans about how amazing you were tonight.” Her face dropped as she registered his face.

“And you just had to answer the door dressed like that,” he muttered, nodding at her pale peach satin nightgown and robe. She followed his look, seeing only that she was more covered than she had been wearing her dress to the show.

“You told me to get ready for bed,” she returned, trying to keep her voice even.

“I also tell you to hang on the door whispering and giggling with another man in the hallway while my goddamn back was turned?”

“We were talking about you,” she repeated, gritting her teeth.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he muttered. He threw the towel he had been using for his hair towards the armchair, but it missed and landed on the floor. Chancy could feel all the warmth and giddiness she had been swimming in since the show draining as quickly as if someone had pulled the plug. Swallowing, she reached down to pick up the towel and return it to the bathroom.

“Wait.” He grabbed her shoulders, his long fingers pressing into her shoulder blades as his thumbs rested into the dips above her collar bones. 

“Wait, really?” she asked wearily. “You’re stealing my lines now?”

The snort of laughter this provoked was all the sweeter since it was clearly a surprise even to him considering the mood he had gotten himself into.

“Lord, did I ever get sick of waitin’!” he intoned, sounding like a preacher starting to warm up the congregation.

Chancy tried to capitalise on this favourable mood swing by drawing in towards him, but his arms remained firm holding her shoulders.

“So, tell me,” he said in a low voice. “What were you two saying about me?”

“Well, you know Jerry, he was obviously going ga-ga over how sexy you were, but me being a distinguished music critic of good standing…”

Chancy glanced up at him slyly and was struck by his warm and amused expression; the way his heavy-lidded eyes were fixed on her, lips tilted up so minutely and mouth open, utterly unself-conscious. It was a powerful feeling being the focus of his undivided attention and it chimed in her, finding an echo in so many memories that she kept close and did not examine too often because of the dissonance she usually felt between the sweet, intense boy she had once unravelled her unprepared heart for and the showman he was now, always giving a performance no matter the size of the audience. She could see him clearly now, her first love, and the unexpected recognition hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her chest.

“You okay?” he asked, frowning slightly. “Honey, why’d you stop?”

“Uh sorry, I just… had the strangest feeling...” His hands slid over her shoulders and down to her wrists, his fingers encircling them loosely like heavy bangles. “You know, I was so mad when Lamar came to take me to the car at the end of the show because I wanted to stay and gaze at you some more, I didn’t want to miss anything. You’d think after all the times I’ve seen you on stage that I’d stop being so overwhelmed by your gifts, but somehow you just get better and better in ways I can’t predict or understand.”

“You practised that beforehand,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “No way that came off the cuff.”

“Like with cue cards?” she asked, giggling. “I am nowhere near talented enough to predict anything you might do or say to me, let alone think about how I’d respond!”

“You’re so damn good with words,” he commented, shaking his head. “Thank you, darlin’, that was beautiful and real sweet.”

Chancy thought that she had managed it, changed the course of the evening and steered them away from stormy weather. She thought it, but found out when she tried to take a step in towards him and his grip tightened on her wrists. She accepted that he was not going to let her ‘get away with it’ and decided to give in sooner rather than later.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” she found herself saying and hated herself. “I wasn’t thinking, I was just excited to talk about the show with someone.” She felt his fingers graze the side of her palms as he finally released her, but there was no other response. She took a contrite step forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, nuzzling into his side. “Let’s have dinner, huh, baby, before it gets cold?” He made no move to return her affection or even move until she released him, then he trailed her to the couch.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Chancy glanced up from the trolley she had been unloading and followed his disgusted gaze to the television, where the other him was currently singing a love song to a beautiful bikini clad woman. Chancy snorted, biting on her lip as his eyes flicked to her.

“Oh I, uh, missed you while you were taking a shower?” she offered in answer to the question in his raised eyebrow.

“You are really pushing me, woman,” he said in a soft voice, gritting his teeth. He changed the channel, muttering, “Get lost, fool.”

“Now I’ll never know how it ends,” she sighed, passing him his plate.

“It ends the same way they all ended, darlin’, a big shoot-out and every motherfucker dies ‘cept the dog.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that was in the theatrical release. Hate to tell you but they might have cut that scene.” 

“Aw shit, that was the best part.”

Chancy asked if he wanted her to cut up his steak and he passed over his plate wordlessly. While he waited, he poured her iced tea and reached over to scoop the onions from her steak onto his plate. If only everything was easy as eating, she reflected with a wry smile.

“You spoken to your sister?” he asked once they had started to dig in. Chancy glanced back from the television where a reporter was broadcasting from what looked like some kind of county fair.               

“Um, not for a couple of days, I think. It’s really hard to keep track of the days, isn’t it.”

“There are days?” he replied sardonically. She half-smiled and went back to stirring the food on her plate. Her stomach was not fooled by her thinking of the meal as dinner. It knew that it was past midnight and it was firmly informing her that it was now off the clock and not prepared to receive anything until morning.

“So, she don’t know about-?“ He wiggled his index finger between the two of them. “You ain’t told her?” If her appetite had been miniscule before, it evaporated then. She reached for her iced tea to wet her suddenly cotton-dry mouth and studiously avoided looking at him.

“Um, it’s like you said before, I don’t even know what this is myself. I wouldn’t know what to say.” He finished his mouthful and put his empty plate to one side before turning towards her. She gripped her own like it was a shield and her whipped potato an army ready to defend her.

“You done?” She reluctantly nodded and he took her shield away.

When he turned to her again, she could see the same anxiety she was feeling reflected in him. His jaw was clenched, the muscle flickering, nostrils flaring and his eyes gazing just off her left knee. In a way, that made her feel more at ease because she didn’t feel like she was the only one being towed into the unknown by a strong current.

“It’s okay,” she said, finally gripping her nerve. “You don’t have to try and explain it.” His eyes focussed on her. “I know you can’t just go out and meet someone like a regular person, especially not on tour. It doesn’t have to be… You don’t have to pretend with me that it’s any more than it is, you don’t have to waste time acclimatising me to this whole situation. We can spend time together without it being a big production. I don’t have any expectations and I won’t make any demands of you-“

“Darlin’, I’m gonna stop you there,” he said abruptly, talking faster than normal. “First of all, it is beyond easy for me to get a chick anywhere. I could go downstairs and turn around and come straight back up here with a girl, don’t you worry about that.”

Chancy chewed on her lips to stop herself from smirking. It was so like Elvis to listen to her awkward, heartfelt speech and hear only a need to defend his sex appeal.

“Second of all, woman, how can you spend so much time thinking and watching a-a-and still end up so damn wrong?!” Her smirk dissolved into bemusement. “You think I want you with me because it’s easier?! Cha-Cha, this whole thing has me scared to fucking death.”

His voice cracked and it felt as though someone cold-cocked her in the diaphragm. She opened her mouth to ask why it was happening then, but he shook his head and put his fingertips over her lips.

“Let me talk, goddamn it!”

So, she waited, but he didn’t continue, just stared in frustration at the hand he had pressed to her mouth.

“I ain’t much for thinking when it comes to what I want,” he blurted finally, when she had been about to pull his hand away. “I- I know I get led by my… feelings. Mama’d always scold me for it and I never learned my lesson but with you. Lord, the number of times I’ve wanted to kiss you and stopped myself because I knew how badly it could upset everything.” She asked a question that was entirely muffled by the hand over her lips. He reluctantly dropped it.

“What changed?” she said again.

“I don’t know,” he returned edgily. “I guess this time I felt that you would kiss me back, but, shit, it was touch and go for a second there, weren’t it?” She laughed and covered her face, feeling her cheeks scalding her palms. “Hey, I’m the one pouring his heart out here, ain’t no reason for you to be embarrassed!”

Chancy let her hands drop.

“You’re kinda good with words too, you know,” she observed.

“Would’ve probably been more romantic without all the cussing though, huh,” he observed with his small, natural smile.

“Nope, I wouldn’t have believed it came from you,” she replied, dipping her head, embarrassed by how much her cheeks seemed to be throbbing neon.

In response, he leant forward and cradled her jaw in his hands, enveloping her in a kiss that seemed to keep deepening until he was stealing the breath from her. Her hands couldn’t settle on what to touch, gripping his shoulders, encircling his neck, rubbing down his biceps. So much territory for her to rediscover that it was a little overwhelming.

As for what he had said, she refused to delve into that, because she knew that he was good at telling people what he thought they wanted to hear. That was the source of his infamous ‘where have you been, I’ve been searching for you all my life’ come-on that he had apparently refined and reused throughout the years.

It was the secret of his popularity, both in terms of his career and with the people around him. He figured you out and then he offered you some of what you needed, just enough to keep you hanging around for more.

Of course, Chancy’s traitorous brain was questioning why, if it was all a strategy, he had fed her the line about wanting her over the years when he had admitted in the same breath that he knew she had not wanted the same. She could not answer that, but then Elvis had mastered people the way that some people master chess. It was possible that he was just several moves ahead of her.

Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he pulled back from where his lips were tickling and nuzzling her neck and his eyes narrowed. She panicked momentarily that she had spoken them out loud.

“I swear that I’m gonna figure out how to switch that brain of yours off, honey, or turn down the volume at least. I can hear the goddamn buzzing going on in there.”

“Hey, I was just thinking that this would be even better on the bed,” she replied. So, they decided to get ready for bed and she cleaned up after their meal while he used the bathroom.

Opening the door, she wheeled the trolley out into the hallway. Forgetting where she was, she almost screamed when she found Red sitting outside her room cleaning one of his guns. She pulled her robe tighter around herself and gave him a taut smile, not wanting a repeat of the situation with Jerry. Red noted the lack of conversation with a frown; she was not exactly known to be the shy, retiring type after all.

“Hey, kid, you al-“

Chancy closed the door quickly and threw herself at the bed as the bathroom door opened. She hurried round Elvis as he came out because she knew his eyes saw everything and she was too tired to explain why she was looking guilty for taking out the dinner trolley.

By the time she had brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face, and silently screamed at her reflection for a couple of minutes, Elvis had turned out most of the lights in the room apart from a desk lamp on the far side. The TV was off, but the radio was playing ‘Cry to Me’ by Solomon Burke.

As she padded across the room to the bed, she was hit by a memory of dancing to the song in a bar. The recollection was so strong it passed through her like a wave, making her falter as she climbed onto the bed.

Elvis was lying in bed with one hand behind his head. He smiled at her as she primly folded back the blankets to climb in next to him and outright laughed when she settled herself down about two feet away from him with her arms very demurely tucked into her sides on the outside of the blankets. 

“Were you always this weird?” he asked, reaching under the covers, grabbing one of her arms and legs and dragging her sharply across to him.

“Says the guy throwing me around like a caveman,” she retorted, glad that the low lighting was hiding her blushes.

“How long were you freaking out in there before you got up the courage to come on out?” he asked with irritating insight.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, clambering onto her hands and knees, and laying her palms on either side of his face. It was very difficult to kiss someone when they were laughing at you, as Chancy soon discovered.

“Stop it!” she whined. “Right, that’s it!” She feigned climbing back out of the bed and he reached up and grabbed her by the waist, yanking her back down and rolling on top of her.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he informed her, all humour gone from his face. Although he was supporting himself with his hands, his remaining weight pinned her to the bed and she had a very real sense of being trapped. She stared at him above her, his face wreathed in shadow and his dark hair hanging down, and shuddered as her nerves all started firing at once.

As he brought his head down so that he could brush his pillowy lips against hers, she could feel his arms beginning to tremble. So, she reached up and hooked her arms up behind his, her hands settling on his shoulders, and pulled him in.

“Baby, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbled into her mouth.

In answer, she tugged again and then pushed up against his lips, whispering his name along with a desperate sounding ‘please’.

“Oh God,” he groaned, lowering himself onto her at the same time as his groin ground against her. “Honey, you’re gonna be the death of us both.” She smiled as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, breathing heavy through his nose at being pressed so tightly against her.

As the minutes passed, Chancy’s thoughts and awareness shrank until they encompassed only the bed and the bodies upon it. Her skin was burning, covered not only by Elvis’s weighty and fiercely hot frame, but also the blankets over him. She dragged her lower lip along his jaw and pressed her mouth into the crook of his neck, licking at the salt collecting there. This earnt her another roll of his hips and sharp hiss through his teeth. The lapping turned into sucking and tentatively she closed her teeth against his skin. He grunted as he pulled back, pushing himself up on one elbow, which had the effect of nudging the firm bulge of him into the crease of her inner thigh. She wanted to squirm to position him more favourably, but he took hold of her chin.

“No biting,” he growled in a low voice. “I ain’t getting up in front of fifteen thousand people with hickeys like I’m nineteen!”

“No biting where anyone else can see,” she gasped. “Got you.”

In response, he smothered her with a breathy, hot kiss, his tongue ploughing into her mouth, choking off her moan. He had finally positioned his hips exactly where she needed them and she thrusted against him, wrapping her leg over his hip when he pulled back.

“Goddamn, you’re feisty!” he panted, running his hand from her foot, the heel of which was nudging into his ass, and all the way along to her hip, managing to get hold of it despite all her wriggling. She whined as he pinned her down, forcefully putting a stop to her rutting against him.

“I think we’re a little unclear on who’s in charge here,” he said hoarsely, shoving himself back onto his knees. “Jesus, it’s like being in a damn oven.”

He threw the blankets to one side and the cool air came surging in, sweeping across Chancy’s skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. She looked down, baffled at how they were both still fully clothed in their nightwear when she had been edging temptingly close to pleasure. She shivered as the sweat on her skin began to cool and sat up, reaching for him and his warmth. 

“Now, see, this is what I’m talking about,” he muttered, sounding irritated. “You got too accustomed to being in charge, honey. You forgot who the boss is around here.” She shivered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“You don’t want me to want you?” she asked in a half whisper.

“Baby, of course I do. I- I- It’s just… Good little girls let their man set the pace. They’re not so damn pushy.” He might as well have poured a glass of cold water over her. She drew her knees into her chest and folded her arms around her legs.

“Well, maybe the problem is that I grew out of being a good little girl a long time ago,” she returned hotly. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears that she angrily blinked away. It had been a long day, she was exhausted, and if she had to hear about one more thing that she had done wrong…

There was a long, uncomfortable pause and she considered that it had all begun and ended in a matter of days because she dared to be enthusiastic about reaching second base with a man who had slept with hundreds, if not thousands, of women. 

“No, you’ll always be my good lil girl,” he cooed softly, shuffling closer so that he could pull her tightly contorted body in between his legs. She resisted the pressure of his hands to shift her back against him, and locked her grip around her knees by clamping onto her forearms. “When you’re not being a stubborn lil brat, that is.”

“I’m not either of those things,” she insisted in a low voice into her kneecap where she was pressing her mouth.

“Sure you’re not,” he murmured, not even trying to hide his amusement. He gave up trying to draw her into him and instead moved round so that he was facing her. His hands were deliciously warm as they rubbed up and down her chilled arms and when he added his hot breath as he kissed each of her knuckles, she couldn’t help but release her grip.

Like he was positioning a doll, he lifted her arms, one at a time, and placed them at her sides. Then, he turned his attention to her legs, opening them and setting one of her feet on either side of his thighs. Holding her breath, she did nothing to adjust the hem of her nightdress, and his gaze sank down to the shadows at the apex of her legs. The room was so still, with even the radio seemingly broadcasting dead air, that she could hear his soft, shallow pants as he beheld her. 

“You gonna be a good little girl for me, baby?”

Deep in the rational part of her mind, she still railed at that description. It felt wrong, whether because she felt he was sticking her on the shelf with all his young and desperate to please girlfriends, one amongst many, or because it felt like he wasn’t seeing her, not all of her, the way she was now.

“I am good,” she managed finally. After a pause, adding, “Boss.” 

“So fuckin’ stubborn,” he muttered, as he leant down and manoeuvred himself backwards off the bed. She shrieked when he grabbed her ankles and yanked her to him.

“You know, you could just ask me to move instead of throwing me around like a rag doll,” she snapped, nevertheless rubbing the top of her foot up and down the back of his thigh as he stood at the side of the bed.

“Could,” he agreed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“You just want everyone to hear me screaming.”

She caught the smirk that passed over his face as he considered this and only had a second to regret putting the idea into his head before he dipped forward and his hot mouth clamped onto her erect nipple right through the satin material. She gasped and writhed as she felt teeth and her hands flew to his hair, though she had no idea whether she wanted to pull him away or hold him there.

“We ain’t going all the way tonight, baby,” he told her, tugging down the top of her nightie and pressing a wet kiss against her areola, flicking the nipple with his tongue. “Don’t have the time to do it the way I want to.”

Chancy heard the unspoken ‘or the energy’ and felt a twinge of guilt. She had seen his exhaustion up close after the show, and her stomach had clenched with each suppressed groan and grimace he had tried to hide from her since then. 

“We don’t-” she began, only for him to talk over her.

“But I’m gonna take care of this ornery streak so I can have my sweet baby back again.” He snorted. “Ornery, almost right.”

“I’m not hor-” She cut off as his mouth closed on her breast again and it became a vacuum as he sucked and swirled his tongue to deadly effect. “Ohhhhh. My God.” Her fingers flexed and she absently petted his hair, even getting off on the tickle of the fine strands against her palm. It threw him off as he smothered a laugh at being stroked like a cat.

Recovering, he turned his attention to her other breast and gave it the same treatment, his hands cradling and palming the weight of them.

With a flash of anxiety, she wondered if he was making comparisons, noting the changes since he had last seen her without clothes on. She was fairly satisfied with her body, as much as any person could be, but she knew that she no longer looked like a teenager.

Even if she had wanted to hold onto them, these fears scattered as his hands slid down her sides and fumbled with the bottom of her nightgown where it bunched at the tops of her thighs. He tugged it upwards and she lifted her hips to help, earning herself a sweet peck on her bended knee. He left the bottom of the dress tickling her ribs as he stood at the side of the bed, framed in her eyes by the v of her open, bent legs.

There was a long pause as she watched the path of his eyes from the core of her, up over her hips and ribs, her back arching as if being drawn back to his warmth, her exposed breasts still glistening from his mouth, and up to her flushed face, where her hands had slid up to her own hair, needing desperately to cling to something. She tried to categorise his expression as she watched him suck his bottom lip in between his teeth and let his gaze slip all the way back down again.

Elvis took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, tugging up the legs of his pyjama bottoms at his thighs. Before she understood what was happening, he slowly and, she thought with alarm, somewhat tentatively, sank to his knees.

“Oh honey, you don’t need-”

“Aw hush!” he snapped, his fingers wrapping around the tops of her thighs. She tensed as she felt the first breath of warm air on her sensitive skin, not at all comfortable with being spread out before him with no way of knowing what to expect. This had definitely not been part of his repertoire before and the men that she had been with since either demurred or, quite frankly, floundered when it came to oral.

Chancy bucked in surprise when she felt the flat of his tongue slide confidently up through her folds and over her clitoris, and she cringed at the squeak that she emitted.

“Watch it with them crazy legs,” he mumbled, pressing down on the inside of her knees to stop her from jack-knifing them into his head. She went to apologise, but he got straight back to work with his tongue and a series of sounds came out of her mouth instead.

Elvis didn’t let her get comfortable as he explored her, testing her response to each tactic he employed. He altered the pressure, the speed and the direction his tongue and lips took as they devoured her. It was as if he was cataloguing the sounds and twitches she made, returning to moves that got the biggest reaction just like he did on stage. Her blood felt like ice, her body tensing and tingling entirely out of her control. She tried gripping hold of the sheets, but the silk just slipped through her fingers. She tangled them in her hair, but she was scared that she was going to start pulling it out as she became more undone, more frantic. When he slid his fingers deep into her warmth, she threw back her head and cried out his name, her muscles squeezing onto him, finally having something to hold onto.

Chancy felt caught in an ever-intensifying loop, the pressure and crackles of electricity cascading up from the arches of her feet, through the inside of her legs, and forever building in the centre of her.

With each moan and plea she heard coming from her own mouth and her almost pained panting, it turned up the dial and took her further and further towards mindlessness, just as Elvis was lapping at the centre of her. The sloppy sound of his fingers plunging in and out of her combined with his unexpectedly boyish moans and mumbling finally lifted her over the edge. She squeezed her eyes closed as fluorescent fireworks exploded on the inside of her eyelids. Her entire body was wracked with muscle contractions as if she was being electrocuted by pleasure. She had no idea what she was saying, but she could hear her voice crying out as if from far away.

It took a moment for her to return to herself, to feel the cold air, to notice the tears sliding from the corner of her eyes into the shell of her ears, and hear her breath as it shuddered out from her chest.

Elvis grunted as he rose from his knees, using the mattress to drag himself up. She watched him wipe his face with the back of his hand and sneer a self-satisfied grin as he stared down at her. Then he clumsily climbed back onto the bed and dropped beside her with a sharp exhale.

“Feeling more like my good lil baby now?” he asked, sounding younger than he had in years, and so, so familiar and missed.

Still incapable of words, she rolled towards him and buried her face into his neck, pressing the length of her trembling body against him.

“Yeah, there she is,” he murmured to himself, wrapping his arms around her. She sniffled, taking gulping breaths of his scent to anchor herself, even as aftershocks made her thighs quiver. “Talk to me, baby, let me know you’re okay.”

Elvis nudged her with his shoulder, pushing her back from the warmth and safety of the crook of his neck, so she pulled back and nodded as she clenched her jaw, trying not to let her bottom lip tremble.

“Did you like that?” he prompted, suddenly the insecure boy and not the brash, confident man he tried very hard to pretend he was. She nodded again, which seemed to displease him, so she kissed him instead, nudging and leaning as hard as she could until he finally surrendered and relaxed onto his back, letting her drape herself over him.

“That was incredible,” she whispered, stroking his cheek and nibbling at his plump bottom lip until he relaxed into a smile again, this one small and intimate. “You are incredible. I hope you’re not wanting more than that because incredible is the only word in my mind right now.”

“So, that’s where the button to turn off your brain is!” he exclaimed with faux wonder, a hand slipping down to cup her mound.

Even the feint of a touch had her overstimulated body flinching away from him and he laughed into her ear as she writhed. Her hand missed grabbing his, but slid against his hip, where she felt the firm length of him lifting the silk of his pyjama pants. She kneaded her palm along the shaft, making him groan softly, but this time it was his hand that caught hers.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Let’s go to bed, darlin’.” She nodded, pleased that he would be getting the rest he so obviously needed even if she didn’t get the opportunity to shower him with the affection and attention that he had shown her.

As he crawled back up to the pillows, he asked her if she would get him some water, cheekily wondering aloud why his mouth was so dry. She laughed, though her cheeks were burning.

She had to put out her hands to catch herself against the wall when her knees failed to lock as she stepped out of bed, her legs rubbery and weak. She heard a faint snort and turned back, wincing, as of course he had seen her walking like Bambi.

“You okay there, baby?”

“Lookin’ so proud of yourself,” she muttered. It took her a minute to get to the mini fridge and a lot of concentration to pour the water into a glass and then make it back to the bed without spilling it. Her body didn’t seem to be fully under her control anymore.

By this time, Elvis was rifling through orange pill bottles on the nightstand. Chancy could make out at least five different containers.

“Just give it to me straight, is what you have very contagious?” she asked, perching next to him.

“They’re just to help me sleep,” he replied, shooting her a half smile.

“Do you really need all of them, even tonight?”

“Well, see, they all do something different,” he answered, warming to the topic. “These get me to actually fall asleep, which can be tough after a show, you know. And then there’s the red ones that knock me out for a few hours. The white ones take longer to work- s’why I need the others- but they can keep me down for a whole twelve hours sometimes. These ones here help with the sleepwalking… They’re all prescribed by a doctor, honey, and they’re completely safe.”

He certainly seemed familiar with them, nudging pills from the various bottles into his hand with a practised ease. She handed him the water when he reached for it and watched anxiously as he swallowed the medication. He shot her sideways look, a smile faint on his lips.

“Bedtime,” he murmured, squeezing her cheeks between his fingers to make her pout. He positioned himself in the centre of the bed and held out his arms for her like she was a custom-made teddy bear. She shook her head slightly to erase the acidic tone of her thoughts.

Elvis tucked her into his side, her head resting on his chest and his arm cradling her like they were made to fit together. She rested her free hand on his soft stomach, fiddling with the button on his pyjama jacket, but he promptly snatched up her fingers and lifted them to his lips before placing them on his chest. It was a brief glimpse of insecurity and she ached to say something to reassure him, but knew that anything she said would only make him defensive.

“We should call Alicia and tell her about us,” he said abruptly. She frowned, glad that her face was turned away.

“You mean together?”

“Uh huh, she should hear it from both of us. I think she’ll be happy, don’t you?”

“Sure,” she whispered, sliding her fingers into the unbuttoned opening of his pyjama jacket and rubbing circles through the hair on his chest. “Just feels a little like we’re ganging up on her. She’s gonna be surprised.”

“Not that surprised, honey, she knows how we feel about each other. She’s always said that we’d get back together one day.”

This was news to Chancy because her sister never said such things to her. Maybe early on, when everything had been raw and uncomfortable, Alicia had struggled with their breakup. She had been just seven years old when Elvis had come into her life as Chancy’s sweet, charming boyfriend and eleven when everything had imploded so horribly. It had felt like the end of everything for all of them, Chancy most of all. She had not just lost Elvis, but a whole family.

Gradually, though, they had all learnt that the bonds of family could withstand more than they thought. Now, she suspected that Alicia might focus more on the pain another break-up would cause since she no longer needed Chancy to be with Elvis to have him as her ‘big brother’.

“Mama used to say it too,” he murmured, yawning. “She’d be so happy about this, wouldn’t she?”

Now, Chancy thought this was more likely. She also knew that Elvis carried a lot of guilt for what he saw as letting down his mother by not granting her dearest wish to see him married and settled with her grandchildren running around while she was alive.

“She was always happy just as long as you were, darlin’.”

“I am,” he nodded- she felt the movement behind her head. “I am now.”

Chancy’s chest tightened at his words and the seemingly breathless sincerity with which he said them.

Gradually, Elvis’s breathing deepened and slowed and Chancy felt her own eyelids grow heavier. She could not imagine feeling more relaxed than cocooned in his arms, warm and protected. Thank you @thatbanditqueen and @be-my-ally for the cheerleading. I think this means you both owe me a new chapter of yours now. I'm going to be calling in that IOU.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis fic #baby big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis #70s elvis #an enjoyable slide to oblivion #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction