#[ thinking about verses lately not that i ever get to use any of them but still they haunt me sm lmao ]

[enavant]

sometimes i think i could give isu a gumiho verse n be very powerful about it idk

[rip-quizilla]

There Will Be No Tenderness (Band Politics)

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 8: Band Politics

A/N: This is a two-part story. Both parts can be read as one-shots, but together they create one complete narrative. Part 2 will be posted for Day 12: Ow! and while this post does not contain any mature content, part 2 will be a strictly 18+ smutty story.

WC: 985

Tags: Eddie Munson X Henderson!Reader, backup singer!Reader, female!Reader, enemies to lovers, bratty reader, arguing counts as foreplay, strong language

Summary: You've been stepping on Eddie's toes ever since you joined Corroded Coffin, and he's finally had enough.

Divider was created by @strangergraphics

Eddie wouldn’t call you an enemy. 

He might call you an adversary. A rival. He’d most certainly call you a pain in his ass. 

He told himself he had the power to kick you to the curb if he finally decided he’d had enough. All it would take was one ‘you’re out!’ from him, and you’d be gone. That’s what he had to tell himself. 

Because he knew the rest of the band loved you too much to let him simply kick you out without consulting them first. 

He hated it. Hated how quickly you’d gotten on their good sides.  

His word used to be law around here- the most argumentative band member had always been Gareth. At the most, he’d grumble a bit when Eddie disagreed with him but he’d never contradict him. 

Then you came along.

When Eddie had mentioned to Dustin that they were looking for someone to do some backup vocals on a track, he’d laughed when the twerp suggested his older sister since she “had a background in musical theater”. He’d still been laughing when you showed up to one of their practices asking them to give you a shot. The laughter had only stopped when you’d suggested they play Flash of the Blade, and you’d known every word. Hit every note. Given him fucking goosebumps. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d assimilated into the band’s culture without any discord. If you’d been just as agreeable as the rest- but you had a lot of opinions, and they always seemed to contradict Eddie’s.

“We were a little flat on the second verse,” he would say, to which you would reply, “I thought we were perfect!”

“You came in too early on the chorus.” he would tell you, and you would bite back, “I was on time, you were late.”

Then you’d had the gall to suggest staying in the band as a permanent member- in front of the entire band- without consulting him first. 

The guys had all been so happy to agree- fuck yes! They’d exclaimed. About time! They’d cheered. Nobody asked Eddie if he thought it was a good idea. Which he didn’t. 

You were too argumentative. Too quick to disagree with him even though this was his fucking band. You were insubordinate. Fucking mutinous. 

The last straw was that gig in Bloomington. 

The band had been asked to play a college party. Eddie hadn’t established any kind of uniform for the performance- he wasn’t a drill sergeant. He’d simply told the band to dress casual.

And then you had shown up in an outfit that was so slutty, it looked like it jumped out of a porno. 

A black skirt made of pleated black pleather, just long enough to skim the bottom of your ass. A tiny black baby tee that was so ripped, he could see the black lacy bra you wore underneath. Black combat boots with platform heels. Lipstick red as fresh blood. 

“Absolutely not.” Eddie had declared, turning his back on you within seconds of laying eyes on your ensemble. 

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, incredulously. Already arguing, Eddie noted. Not surprised. 

“I’m wearing exactly what you told us to wear!”

“I’d hardly call that casual.” he countered.

“This is my casual.”

“Yeah, for casual Fridays at the brothel you look like you came from!” 

“Haven’t you heard the phrase sex sells? Eddie, rockstars put girls in bikinis onstage all the time, why is this any different?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. Of course you didn’t get it. “If we resort to selling sex, it’s like we’re openly admitting that we think our music isn’t good! It’s saying that we don’t think our music is worth paying attention to, so hey! Let’s put some tits and ass up on the stage, that’ll get people’s attention!”

“Oh, and I’m the tits and ass?’

“You said it, sweetheart, not me.”

“Fuck you!” you spat. 

“Yeah, right back atcha.”

He half expected you to walk away, but he should have known better by now. 

“Why don’t you like me?” you asked, blunt and demanding as you took a step closer to him. 

Eddie blanched. “I like you just fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“God, you always have to argue, huh?”

You scoffed. “I do when you’re wrong. Or lying to me, which you’re doing right now because you most definitely do not like me.” 

“God, you’re infuriating.” Eddie raked his fingers through his hair, searching for somewhere more private to hash this out before you caused a scene in the middle of this party house. Spying a nearby bathroom, he grabbed your wrist and hauled you to it before closing the door and locking it behind him. 

“Fine. You wanna hear it?” Eddie seethed. “No, I don’t like you. You’ve never agreed with me, not once. You always have something to say, and-”

“Are you saying I’m not entitled to an opin- mmph!”

Eddie silenced you with a hand to your mouth, launching your eyes from angry slits to saucers. 

“No. For once in your goddamn life, you’re going to listen to me without arguing.”

You made no motion to move him off you. You simply watched him, eyes wide and waiting. 

“Everyone likes you. They used to listen to me, but now they also listen to you. That would be fine with me if you would just fucking agree with me once in a while. Don’t just oppose me outright every time.”

Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth. You were silent, eyes still wide as they followed his hand when it left your skin. Your breathing was heavy, cheeks heated and body language shifted- where there was usually brash confidence, Eddie now saw coy submission. 

This would have seemed out of place, but the look in your eye told Eddie all he needed to know.

“You… liked that… didn’t you?”

Read the sequel, Love Me Mercilessly (Day 12: Ow!)

[aza-writes]

Morning Affirmations

Lip Gallagher x female!reader

Requested: no

Summary: Lip walks in on his girlfriend singing to the younger kids while she gets them ready for the day. Takes place in season 4 after Liam gets home from the hospital

Warnings: few curse words, mentions of drug use (Fiona in jail) but overall, it’s just tons of FLUFF

A/N: inspired by “I love my body” by @mothermoon on TikTok. Might rewrite something similar for dad!lip, lmk what you think. Got bored before lab and wrote this

The floorboards creaked under every step Lip took to get down to the kitchen. He wasn’t too concerned with anything too wrapped up in his mind until two sweet voices pull him out.

“I love my body from my…” 

“Head to my toes.” 

Liam’s voice was hard to hear, even in the quietness of the unusually empty Gallagher house. Everyone was already at school or wherever they ran off to today—leaving Lip home alone to take care of some things. 

Liam has only been home from the hospital for two days, leaving Lip and the rest of the family still scrambling without Fiona running the show. Lip had school off today, some random college holiday that didn’t make sense for a lot of people, but they took it anyway. 

Lip had been out of bed since 5 that morning, unsure if it was considered a late night or an early morning due to the fact he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours the night before. His mind was going a million miles an hour, mixed with him worrying himself sick about Liam and going to check on him every thirty minutes. Every time he would get up from his bed, y/n would sit up, too. Her concerned look was always dismissed with a quick “go back to sleep” or “I’ll be back soon” from Lip. The “soon” in question was around five to ten minutes of Lip just sitting in front of Liam’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall. 

Y/n stayed up and waited for Lip the first few times, but soon enough her eyes got too heavy for her to ignore. Even with the extra sleep, caffeine would be her best friend today. 

Lip’s mind was still groggy as he trudged down the stairs, stress and sleep deprivation felt like chains were strapped to the back of his ankles. He barely made out the words y/n and Liam were exchanging. 

“I love my face…” She lingered for a second, allowing Liam to think about the next verse. She smiles and continued on. “My-” 

“Eyes, my mouth my nose.” Lip could help but smile at the sight of Liam touching every body part mentioned. He clearly knew this song, yet Lip couldn’t think of any of the words. When ever you would sing it to one of his younger siblings, all he could do was hear your voice. The kindergarten-teacher-like tone was enough for him to abandon all of his thoughts and focus on you. 

“I like the way I look when I look in the mirror.” Liam didn’t have to wait for y/n this time, he sang it with her. Their voices both were quiet, almost scared to wake anyone up, but the house stayed quiet. It was just those three in that house, the outside world didn’t matter. 

“I stand a little closer just to see a little clearer.” Both of their smiles were beaming. Liam giggling at y/n’s little tickles all over his belly and neck. Lip’s grew too. Y/n was so amazing with the kids, Lip could’ve sworn it as always been this way. Y/n and Lip, Lip and y/n. They belonged together. 

Everyone in his family loved her. Carl made her a gift out of melted spoons and forks, Debbie demands they have a girls day at least once a month. Shit, even Frank called her “one of the good ones.” Technically it was after she downed a shot of vodka without even wincing, but he still liked her non the less. 

Y/n turns around smiling, it only growing when she finally sees Lip. 

“Good morning babe.” 

“Morning babe!” Liam repeats immediatly, causing Lip and y/n to giggle with him. 

Lip pours two cups of coffe before heading to the kitchen table. “Good morning to you.” He sets the coffe right in front of y/n while kissing her cheek. He carefully set his down too and kissed Liams cheek. “Good morning little man.” 

[teaboot]

Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Favorite Buddie fics of 2023!

Every single year at @epicstuckyficrecs I used to do a fic rec at the end of the year with my favorite fics. I figured I should keep the tradition going! So, without further ado, these are my favorite Buddie fics (in no particular order) published in 2023! (you can also check out some other favorite Buddie fics of mine here)

If you have any favorites that aren't in this list, don't hesitate to share them in the comments! :)

Complete

find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-Season 6, Getting together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

come with me, together, we can take the long way home series by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Canon compliant | 105K | T to M):

Get me through the night; Make me feel alright (Post-S3 Finale | 11K | Mature): After an emotionally-gutting reunion with Abby, Buck turns to old coping mechanisms. Eddie helps him find a better way. In Uncertain Times, The Uncertain Rules Apply (Pre-S4 | 22K | Teen): Covid comes to LA. Eddie copes. Or doesn't. Holding out for Something More (Stuck in Reverse) (Post S4E3/Lone Star Crossover | 26K | Teen): LA is coming out of lockdown and the world is returning to some sense of normalcy. But going back to the way things were hurts more than Buck expected. While his therapist challenges him to confront what he really wants, the team takes a trip to Austin... and El Paso. so far from being free (S4E4: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance?, S4E5: Buck Begins | 46K | Teen): That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible.

Kink Club AU series by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, BDSM, Dom Eddie, Sub Buck | Complete | Explicit): Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01.

The Warmth (of You) (25K): aka where Buck and Eddie first meet at a kink club before the firehouse To Weather the Storm (With You) (21K): aka the fallout of Buck finding out the dom he met at a Kink Club is his new coworker Safe Here (With You) (20K): aka Buck and Eddie handle working a shift after their first scene The Building Pressure (of You) (15K): aka Buck reaches out to Eddie after he leaves Abby's place in 2x07 An Offer to Torment (You) (14K): aka Eddie is all twisted up inside about what to do with Shannon. Buck offers himself up for some much needed holiday stress relief.

like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): Evan gave up trying to explain what happens to him after his parents forced him to have a talk with one of their friends, supposedly a pediatric therapist, and cruelly hinted that if Evan didn’t stop seeing and talking about his “invisible friends” as if they were real then his parents would send him far away to places where they lock children up in padded rooms. “Look,” Evan says quickly, forcing out the words before he gets too scared to speak,” I—I know this is going to sound crazy, but, um, ever since I was a kid I can see ghosts.”

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia

All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Fallout 4 AU, Post-Apocalyptic | 32K | Mature | Warning: Violence): After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

WIP

And here are my favorite WIP that I really hope will continue to be updated in 2024! 🤞

for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Apocalyptic, Station Eleven Crossover | WIP | 11/? | 96K | Mature | Warning: Violence): The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 104/? | 283K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 10/? | 25K | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 89K | 20/? | Explicit | Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 7/? | 12K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

[lovelycreativecrafts]

What Makes Miguel O'Hara Blush? | Spider-Verse Headcannon/Scenario

Word Count: 600

Warnings: None

Author Notes: Personally, I'm not much of a Miguel simp but I can definitely see the appeal. If you like this Headcannon please like and reblog the post. I hope you all have a blessed day!

The first thing I want to say is that Miguel is emotionally constipated. Anything romantic that may happen to him, he tends to push the feelings back down or doesn’t know what to do with them. Which leaves him to either ignore the romantic thing or dismiss it. 

Any romantic advances towards him don’t phase him. If someone were to give him any sort of physical affection, he would either let the person get their feelings out or deny or reject the affection. If someone were to give him a gift he would accept it but think nothing more of it. If the person were to complement his physical appearance he would ignore it. It might even make him feel a bit uncomfortable if it wasn’t from his significant other. 

The thing that would make Miguel blush is something more genuine and not seen as anything romantic. For him, I think the thing that would get him to blush is a genuine compliment about who he is. 

Miguel’s POV

I stared at my screens as I replayed the scenes with my daughter. I can’t let something like that happen again. I must protect the multiverse. The doors to my office opened and I quickly changed the screen to the default setting. I turned toward my front doors and examined who came in. 

“Is there something wrong?” I asked. 

My assistant shot her webs on the platform that I stood on and I took a step back as she softly landed on the tall platform. 

“No, not at all. I just wanted to inform you that I completed all of my work before I headed home. Also, I wanted to give you some coffee since I know you tend to work late.” My assistant held out a cup of coffee to me. 

This is new. I grabbed the cup from her hands. “Thank you and I hope you have a good night.” I took a sip of the coffee. How does she know I like black coffee? Did I ever ask her to make me one at some point? 

I looked up from my coffee to find my assistant observing me. 

“Is there anything more you want to tell me?” 

“Well yes actually. I-uh,” 

I waited for her to gather her thoughts. 

“I know other people may have told you this already. So, I may sound like a broken record.” She fidgeted with her hands. 

I frowned. Does she also have something critical to say to me? Like how I’m too strict or that I need to smile more. 

“I just wanted to say that I really appreciate what you’re doing for us. I’m thankful that you took your time and life to make sure that our universes stays intact and safe. I admire your dedication and hard work. And I hope that you get everything that you desire out of this.” My assistant smiled. 

I tightened my grip on my cup as something erupted from the pit of my stomach. Something light and feathery, almost like a tickle. Butterflies. My cheeks warmed and I took another sip of my coffee. I looked back at my assistant and her eyes gazed into mine. Butterflies flowed through my stomach again and the warmness from my cheeks rose toward my ears. I glimpsed to the side and cleared my throat. 

“Well-uh . . . Thank you . . . for letting me know,” I sipped my coffee again. 

“You're welcome and I hope you also have a good night.” 

I heard her swing off of my platform and I let out a breath. That hasn’t happened in a while. 

[subway-boss-jericho]

Queuing posts for most of my AUs! Check out this Masterpost! ᵈᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ ⁻ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶦᶜᵒⁿᶦᶜ ᵏⁿᶦᶠᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵍˢ! ᴵ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉˢ ᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵇˡᵉ.

Half-Ghost AU

-Premise- (This should hopefully be obvious, but I need to include major warnings for depictions of main character death.)

When Ingo and Emmet are caught in a space-time distortion, all hell breaks loose. Transported instantly to somewhere unknown- Rocky mountains and rough terrain. Not only that, but they've been caught in a territory war between the largest, angriest (Alpha) Electivire they've ever seen with more than enough Electabuzz lackeys to back it, and a whole flow of panicked, confused, furious Magmortar and Magmar. Without their pokemon, they're almost helpless. Desperately, Ingo and Emmet try to escape this warped space. Caught between a rock and a hard place, it only takes a warning one second too late, a dodge too slow, a brother too far away to help. Emmet is caught in the direct strike of a horrifyingly powerful Thunder, killing him before Ingo can finish screaming his name.

They will never be apart. Emmet barely stays down long enough for his body to hit the ground. He is never going to leave his brother alone. Now more than ever, Ingo NEEDS him. He snaps back into awareness from the darkness, just in time to see Ingo trapped in a brutal Fire Spin. Not this time.

Emmet bonds his soul to Ingo, reinforcing him- protecting him.

Ingo barely manages the strength to stumble over the side of the cliff ledge, sliding- tumbling. The strange space, the warped darkness, he's escaped. Heavily injured, Ingo fades to black.

When he comes to, he's greeted by the Pearl Clan medic, Calaba. He doesn't remember what happened, who he is, or how he was injured. ...Something looks, familiar, in the gentle ways his coat has been stitched back up in white. The medic didn't do it. Found him like that, apparently. Despite the newfound stress and unknown situation, his internal monologue is comforting, calm.

-Noteworthy Points- ,,I did warn you. Okay so, notes. Emmet is bound to Ingo and is not a typical ghost. He does not have the strength to manipulate him or possess him in a typical ghost media way. He can try to speak to Ingo, but Ingo hears Emmet's words as thoughts, and believes the thoughts are his own. Emmet can move him or get him to do things, but they generally aren't anything Ingo wouldn't have done on his own, and Ingo also interprets any of Emmet's attempts to do things as though he himself wants to do them.

To summarize, Emmet can have Ingo do small things (Grab item, move hand, perform small action) or even say things of his choosing on occasion, but Ingo is in an extremely fragile state of mind and interprets anything of Emmet's as though they are just thoughts of his own. He sees anything Emmet tries to do as parts of himself.

In regards to ghost powers, he doesn't have much. He is able to help heal Ingo a bit faster than naturally possible, and all of the stuff mentioned above. Emmet also protects him from external influence such as mind control or possession by other ghosts (Usually the pokemon kind). Any time his coat is damaged, Emmet can use pieces of his 'coat' to fix it. Also, Ingo is hurt worse by ghost and dark type attacks, and sometimes has other attacks- normal, fighting -seemingly phase through him. His eyes glow in the dark.

Essentially, Emmet is not a media-typical ghost, but is a different form of spirit. I am not well versed in ghosts to know if there is a specific word for the exact kind. He is a positive, helpful soul who is giving his strength to Ingo to help support him physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Ingo has lost his memory as a trauma response to Emmet's death and his own horrible injuries, and thus does not remember him. His head begins to ache and he becomes unable to think clearly if he tries too hard to remember or is forced to think about it for too long.

Ingo has Pyrophobia, and generally feels uneasy/sad/uncomfortable/upset around electricity. Emmet has Electrophobia, and this becomes most obvious if he is ever trying to help Ingo navigate out of a situation/manages to have a higher amount of control than usual.

oh damn this post is long

-Links- Currently none! I will update this post with links to comics/art/writing if/when I post any!

[hiseyeisonthesparrow]

Hi! I’ve been learning more about Mormonism lately, and I know that Mormon progressives like you definitely exist. However, I’ve been finding it really difficult to understand how people can reconcile their faith with the verse 2 Nephi 5:21 without believing in white supremacy. I understand there are theories about it being metaphorical, but I’ve been having trouble understanding them. If you could offer me some insight, I would truly appreciate it! Thank you in advance.

Thanks for your question! I am unfortunately painfully white, so I may not be the most experienced of people to answer this lol. I'll give it a shot though!

A big tenet of our faith is finding trustworthy sources for questions we have. One of my favorite sources on this topic is a video my dad sat all of our family down and made us watch when we were young*: a talk given by a Black religious scholar called "Blacks In The Scriptures: Skin Color & Curses". It's 45 minutes long, but if this is something you're serious about learning about, you should watch it. You can even 2x speed it if you'd like. You can find it here.

A common archaeological theory is that the Lamanites married, had children with, and culturally assimilated into more of the indigenous population, leading to darker skin. Another idea is that the Lamanites used body paint or decorations that darkened their skin, which would explain the darker skin but not the curse aspect.

Even if the "curse of blackness" is literally about race -- which I doubt it is -- it doesn't mean that, in our gospel, dark skin equals evil.** As the Nephites grew in power and resources, they became prideful and stopped believing. The Lamanites did begin to believe and even became more righteous than the Nephites at one point. As a religion, we also believe that man cannot be punished for the sins of their fathers, called generational sin [see Article of Faith 2]. Those blessed with melanin are no better or worse than any white folk -- all souls are alike and equally capable of exaltation.

[When you look, we have far more scriptures about all people and races being equal than we do about curses of black skin.]

I will be the first to admit that our religion has not had... the best relationship with race. On an episode of Brothaz in the Foyer, they shared this idea that "[Even] outside of church... any organization that's over 100 years old is gonna have some type of history around racism or prejudice." [Side note: that video is also an incredible resource! I would recommend watching it. The Brothaz share their perspectives and experiences regarding race in their religion, and I think it's a helpful resource even if you're not struggling with this concept. It's good to branch out and hear experiences from minority groups in the Church.]

To be entirely honest, I don't entirely understand 2 Nephi 5:21 myself. There are many parts of my faith that don't quite make sense to me, with my earthly mind. Expecting that every member of the Church has to understand and be an expert on every part of our religion is like expecting that every person who loves dinosaurs has a perfect explanation on whether or not there is evidence for a feathered Tyrannosaurus Rex. Not understanding a "curse of blackness" doesn't undermine the idea that I believe in a God who sent a Savior who died for my sins and wants me to return to him. Just because I don't know if T. Rex had feathers doesn't mean I don't believe that dinosaurs existed, you get me?

Anyways, I know I didn't quite answer your question, but hopefully the sources I shared with you can help you come to a conclusion about this [I don't feel experienced enough on this topic to share my own opinions lol, I'll leave it to the theologians of color to explain] And, I might mention, although it's very forward of me to say so, that you could pray about this issue. You don't have to, of course, but it's always an option to anyone struggling with anything ever. Who knows -- you might learn something! :}

Thank you for your ask!

*I grew up in a STAUNCHLY anti-racist household -- went to Juneteenth celebrations, attended protests, met and served friends of color, etc. -- so making the 7 year old learn about Hebrew idioms about race was not too weird for us

** The doctrine, at least, does not say anything about white supremacy. That doesn't mean that members can't misinterpret gospel doctrine and be horribly racist. I have heard of encounters with many a racist Mormon, and my heart aches for all those who have been prejudiced against at the hand of racist Church members.

[batsyforyou]

Celegorm/Curufin/Celebrimbor/Feanor Sleep Headcanons

Pairing: Celegorm x reader, Curufin x reader, Celebrimbor x reader, Feanor x reader

Author’s Note: Blanket Series! 

The one thing that these four elves have in common is the amount of work they put in. 

They either go to bed late 

Or never

What's worse is that they all have the same family stare when they sleep. 

Each of their eyes glow and they stare straight ahead, kinda like the goa'uld with their glowing eyes but instead of the white of their eyes glowing, it's the iris.

Feanor passed it to Celegorm, and Feanor also passed it to Curufin who then passed it to Celebrimbor 

It's a family trait 

But between the four of them Celegorm and Celebrimbor are the most likely and willing to cuddle you and kiss you at night.

Between Celegorm and Celebrimbor though, Celebrimbor is way more romantic 

Verses Curufin and Feanor who kiss their forges goodnight and put it to bed before they ever see you

Though Celegorm is the first to go to bed out of all of them

Celegorm

Probably the easiest Feanorian to corral into bed 

If he’s busy at his desk and if you ask him to come to bed he’ll give you a half hearted wave and tell you to go to bed. But if you kiss his cheek and use the magic word (please) he’ll come join you. 

And I don’t want to give you the impression that he doesn’t care for his work and doesn’t take it seriously. He takes it very seriously. But he takes care of your happiness first. 

He’ll wrap himself around you and bury you in his arms and smooch you til his heart's content. 

Sometimes he’ll try to see if you're willing for more but most of the time he’ll leave his shenanigans for morning. 

He snores very softly and you normally don't hear it 

And because he so active during the day he doesn’t move at night 

And like I mentioned before he’s got his daddy’s stare 

Though his open eyed stare is bright. His eyes are like two active search lights from Gotham City (Batman) just piercing the dark. That or two up close nightlights. 

Overall Celegorm is an 7/10 sleep buddy

Curufin

Getting this one into bed is a fight in itself. 

He would come with you unless you’ve begged for like 30 minutes

Curufin is another elf that doesn’t know how to cuddle. He thinks you take up too much bed space but unlike Maeglin he has no problem telling you about it.

“Move over, your elbow is on my side.” 

He doesn’t really learn 

So the only way to get this one to cuddle is if you lay on top of him and press your nose into the crook of his neck. 

He just melts when you do and the silver tongue is to put to rest

He dreams pretty frequently. But it's sometimes like watching a cat dream he’ll just twitch every once and a while 

He doesn’t move and roll around and sleeps on his back 

And he never snores not once but on the few times he does the snore is really cute and you never let him live it down. 

Overall Curufin us a 7/10 sleep buddy

Celebrimbor 

Celebrimor is someone who loves to savor your touch 

He loves holding you close to him and burying his head into the crook of your neck to just breathe you in

He lives to hold you 

He lives to kiss you especially. 

And he will kiss your nose every night before bed and every morning when you wake up 

Is addicted to cuddles but is sometimes embarrassed about craving your soft touch.

So he won’t really tell you that he wants any. Instead he’ll invite you to him so it’ll come off as more of an offer and your idea then his.

When he’s really fixated on what he’s doing you have to drag him away from either the forges or his desk. 

When you're not around he can and will and has slept on his desk atop of his papers.

When in bed though he typically sleeps on his back with you using his arm as a pillow 

But he’s would love to sleep with you on his back while he slept on his stomach

It’d knock him right out 

Overall Celebrimbor is a 9/10 sleep buddy

Feanor

Huh? 

Who? 

Where? 

Good luck reigning this one in, he’s a nightmare to settle into bed

Feanor another one that doesn’t understand the definition of rest. He practically lives in the forges so you’ll have to find a way to persuade him to go to bed. Idk how but good luck soldier 

But ah *coughs* I’ll stay that acts of intimacy go a long way *cough cough*

When he does sleep, he sleeps on his side. He stares straight ahead with glowing eyes. His eyes glow the brightest out of the four but instead of it being a glow it's more a gentle lapping flame that flickers every once and a while.

Cuddles? If you're lucky. He’s mostly staring up at the ceiling thinking about all the cool projects that he could get up to. 

Mostly because it's like you're sleeping with a literal heater and he doesn’t want to sweat at night.

Overall Feanor is a 6/10 sleep buddy

Masterlist

[oceansssblue]

100 CELEBRATION — PROMPT 14. TELEPATHY

TECH / F READER 💖(🔥)

WARNINGS: BRIEF MENTIONS OF INSECURITIES, SEXUAL THOUGHTS BUT NO PROPER SEX SCENE.

NOTES: Here we have a fluffy and sweet/sensual one for our dear Tech. Oh, how I love that man... Let me know if you' ve liked it and reblog if you can. We've only got 3 more prompts for the 100celeb left (with our boys Rex, Cross, and Echo). See you on the next one! Xx, Blue.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech had a strict rule; he would not use his mind-reading ability on anyone if not for safety reasons exclusively. That meant, for example, that he was able –and would– use his telepathy to find out Cid's ulterior plans –plans the Trandoshan never mentioned to Hunter– ; but he would control himself and refrain from reading his brother's minds outside of missions and the like. If Tech didn't consider someone in danger, he would silence the thoughts that so often slipped uninvited into his mind.

However, even his own strict rule had to be broken on the rare occasion. Sometimes, the few people he cared about weren't in inminent physical danger; but experimenting some sort of emotional stress that they couldn't always resolve by themselves. Watching them suffer in silence when he might have been able to help if only he had been informed of the nature of their affliction... Well, in those cases, Tech felt morally obliged to intervene.

All this considered, there's no valid reason for him to use his telepathy on you today; but he can't help himself. He had tried to reach a logical conclusion for your behaviour around him lately; to no avail. What he knows is that you can't stand to be in the same space as him for more than a few minutes at a time. He had brushed it aside as mere coincidences at first -you had forgotten something, or had to help Omega with another-; but after a whole month of quiet observation, Tech can't deny the truth any longer. It hurts, the thought of you finding him so irritating or disliking him so much that you inmediately shied away from his presence; but he wants to know what exactly you can't stand about him. Perhaps he can find a solution to it... Tech isn't fond of many people; but he is of you, and he values the friendship that had slowly blossomed between the two of you. He thought you did too, he was sure of it. He needs to know what has changed.

And so the next time you rush out of the cockpit to the sonic, after putting an abrupt end to your conversation with him once again, Tech tunes your thoughts in. Your voice echoes inside his head in a series of stressed whispers. He has to concentrate to discern the jumbled words from one another; your mind is working light speed.

"Oh my god, will I ever stop messing up my words every time I talk to him? With how impossibly smart he is, he probably thinks I'm stupid by now!"

Then, a firm, clear sentence -Tech can imagine you pointing at yourself at the mirror, frustrated-.

"Get your shit together!"

He hears the door of the sonic opening and your footsteps moving in the direction of the bunks.

Alone with his own thoughts again, Tech ponders the new information around. He's relieved to know that at least you don't seem to be angry or irritated at him per se. You just seem to be intimidated by his intelligence; which is more of a compliment than anything else, really. Still, he can't help but feel guilty. Had he ever acted in a way that has made you feel undervalued? Had he off-handedly critiqued any aspect of your psyche? Made an unfortunate comment on how your mind processes things? He doesn't believe so; but it wouldn't surprise him either. For all the intelligence he posseses, he knows he often lacks of emotional tact; something that his brothers -Wrecker, in particular- seem to be well versed in.

Ah, there's always things to learn, mm?

He'll try to make you feel more at ease next time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech is pleasantly surprised to have you tagging along in his exploration of Arkana's forest. The rest of The Batch had decided to stay in The Marauder, catching up on some sleep; but he had prefered to take the chance to observe the planet's rich ecosistem before they had to make their way back to Ord Mantell the following morning. You had inmediately jumped at the oportunity as well. Tech would have thought that an hour expedition would have been too much for you to be in his presence; but you had joined him with a bright smile, and half an hour later, your mood is just as friendly.

Arkana's forest is a surprising mix of bright colourful flora. There's not as much green as one would have expected; but instead, trees and flowers grow in vibrants blues, pinks and yellows. Your eyes widen in awe at a bright neon magenta flower that is as tall as yourself; steps slowing down to admire it.

"What's its name?" you ask him, curiously.

Tech doesn't need to consult his datapad; he knows exactly what it is.

"Fluoridium flowers. Their shine is not a property of the plant per se, but a result of different kinds of neon-like minerals in Arkana's soil. It is often used as..." Tech notices the way you're silently staring at him, an almost lost expression on your face.

He remembers your thoughts on him; and the rest of his explanation quickly dies on his throat. He doesn't want to overwhelm you with unnecessary information. He ends his info-dumping -as Crosshair used to call it- with a few brief words.

"Let's just say it has a lot of uses".

He nods to himself, and then re-starts their walk through the forest. You follow him inmediately, frowning in confusion at his interrumpted explanation.

"For example?" you ask him, and Tech shoots a carefull glance back at you.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in knowing that".

His words bring a honest, surprised expression on your face.

"Why not?" you sound highly confused.

You can't help but think you've done something wrong. It had looked like Tech had wanted to share the information with you; and then he had stoped himself from continuing after taking a look at your face. Had you done something you weren't aware of?

Tech's eyes flicker around the forest almost avoiding you.

"I wouldn't want to bore you" he answers, voice quiet and hesitant.

Tech is never hesitant. He might not know everything; but even then, his usual way of talking is always confident and self-assured. He has no problem in admiting a lack of knowledge in something; he'd admit it in the same firm tone he uses for everything. Why is he acting so strange now?

His words tug at your heart. Perhaps something has happened without you noticing it. Perhaps there had been some sort of discusion between the brothers; or some fleeting comment Tech had taken too personal.

You are enamoured by him; he could never bore you.

For the first time in perhaps forever, you reach your hand towards his wrist; tugging him into a stop and looking up into his eyes with your cheeks lighted up in a faint blush.

"I find all your explanations interesting" you sum up the courage to add "I like hearing you talk, Tech".

You shoot him a small, soft smile; fingers squeezing his wrist softly before letting him go.

Tech is momentarily stunned. He is first confused by the contradiction between your recent afirmation and the thoughts he had heard from you just a few days ago; he is also surprised by the tender affection he reads on your eyes. Your honest little admission sends a warm feeling to his heart.

You're still looking at him; perhaps waiting for an answer, a reaction from him. Tech's heart speeds up. He feels the need to listen to your mind tingling through his veins; and he allows himself that little exception again, just this time.

"How could you ever be boring? You're like a living encyclopedia. And you look so adorable when you're explaining something, specially when you raise your index. I like seing how excited you get, how you come to life. Ah, Tech, if only you knew... I could hear you talking all day".

Tech blushes instantly; slipping out of your mind and trying to hide the way hearing you "talk" about him is making him feel. He must have gotten something wrong. You evidently still enjoy spending time with him; you... Care. Those first thoughts he read from you last time must have been born of your own insecurities; insecurities he would try to help you leave behind.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You like when the cockpit is at it's maximum capacity. It means you're able to watch Tech with other posible distractions claiming his attention; masking your unwavering interest. Right now, for example, he's listening to Wrecker's and Omega's chattering; making a few brief interventions here and there. He's also piloting The Marauder back to Ord Mantell; and shooting some carefully concerned glances at Hunter, who was injured in The Batch's last mission in Targa. He has always been an expert at multitasking.

You, on the other hand, are focused on just one thing; Tech himself. How his hair is slightly ruffled after the mission, and the way his eyes seem to softly shine with the hyperspace lights. His pouty lips; and the way his long legs look when he spreads his knees apart, turning in the direction of his brothers once The Marauder is set on autopilot.

Fuck, how you wish you could be standing -or kneeling- between those legs...

Tech suddenly stutters in his speech, his cheeks blushing perhaps as a result of something one of his brother's had said. It pulls you out of your thoughts for a minute; your eyes focusing on how cute he looks with the soft tint of embarassment on his face. It's not an expression you often see on him.

You're really helpless when it comes to Tech. Your mind inmediately swings to dirty thoughts; pondering wether he'll get a similar expresion if he'd get flustered at sex. Would he be shy, cheeks set on fire and a timid, adorable wide-eyed expresion on his face? Or would he be as confident and firm as usual, making you melt at his feet with a few caresses and well aimed words? You'd be eager to please him either way, that's for sure.

Tech stands up abruptly; clearing his throat nervously, face impossibly flushed now. His eyes flicker everywhere around the room, and he inmediately makes a hasty exit muttering a rushed excuse. Your eyes trail after him in concern; asking the rest of The Batch about him in case you got lost on something important that would explain his sudden and unexpected retreat.

"What was that?" you whisper to his brothers, half confused and half concerned.

Hunter's eyes snap back at you. He looks uncomfortable; shifting in his place.

"You tell me" he answers, criptycally, inmediately turning his attention to Meg.

What does that even mean? He... He couldn't have known what you were thinking about, could he? Well, with how perceptive he is, perhaps he might have guessed the direction of your thoughts with those heightened senses of his... But certainly not Tech, right? He's smart, yes, but you hadn't been that obvious, had you? Or were your thoughts so clearly written in your face?

Wrecker bumps his shoulder into yours, trying to integrate you into the conversation and diffuse the sudden weird atmosphere that had set around you. You shoot him a soft smile; though your mind is still being pulled in Tech's direction, who had all but ran away to hide in the bunks.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech had been fighting your thoughts for one whole month now. And fighting was the apropiate word; because it had been madenning difficult to focus on anything else but the way you seem to lose your atention on the outside word when you focus on him. It had been a complete shock at first; his mind needing a few days to process this change of perspective. The realisation that your only problem with him was that you liked him a bit too much, that he made you impossibly nervous, had been hard to accept. Tech would have thought you'd go for someone like Hunter; but no, you were utterly interested in him. He didn't really understand why at first; but as weeks passed, he had listen to all kind of thoughts about him -from sincere admiration to soft tenderness to hungry lust-, and he guessed he could understand your reasons now.

Needless to say, he had been a mess. He was always so composed; but your thoughts about him had shattered his control to pieces. He spent most of his days either flustered, or lost in your own thoughts; to the point the rest of his brothers had noticed it. Hunter, who knew exactly what was going on, had encouraged him to bring the conversation to you; but even if he knew how you saw him, he was still a bit unsure. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable; and he still felt guilty of invading your privacy. What if you got furious at him? Never wanted to see him again? That would be heartbreaking.

The situation couldn't continue for much longer, though; he was distracted, and he needed to be focused on their missions -to keep all of them as safe as possible-. He had no other option than to confront you. Though perhaps... perhaps his way of going about it wasn't the most wise.

Hunter had gone to Cid's to deliver their part of the deal; while Wrecker and Omega had decided to celebrate with a few games of dejarik and Mantel Mix. Echo, though tired, had tagged along as well; if only for keeping a responsible eye on them. You had claimed to be tired as well; so you had stayed in The Marauder with him.

You were currently sitting next to Tech; watching him tinker about with an old datapad of his he was trying to fix so Omega could have her own one. He could feel the weight of your stare on his face; momentarily glancing down at his hands each handfull of minutes. The tension was palpable between the two of you; and Tech couldn't help but tune in into your thoughts once again. You were practically screaming them to him...

"Fuck, look at those fingers... So long and skilled... He really does have beautiful hands. If only I could feel them on me..."

Tech feels a small rush of excitement slowly igniting inside of him. He tries to focus on the task at hand; a futile attempt. Your thoughts keeps slipping onto his mind.

"Inside me. Fuck, wish I could feel them inside me. Clench on them while he licks my clit with his tongue and I could dig my fingers into his hair, push him against me, and he'd get me ready for his cock and... Oh, god, what would his cock feel like?"

Tech is so dizzy with the raw hunger and need laced in your words he blurts out an answer without wanting too.

"I wouldn't be opposed to trying that".

He realises, far too late, that his thought hand't stayed in the safe privacy of his mind; but exposed out loud for you to hear as well. His eyes widen in surprise.

"W-what?" you stutter, terrified of having spoken your own thoughts out loud.

Tech blushes and watches you nervously. The cat is out of the bag, now.

"I-I... Please forgive me, you were thinking very loudly and I could not help but listening in and..." he explains hurriedly, your expresion only switching from confused terror to terrified surprise.

"What do you mean? You... You can read people's mind?" You almost squeak, shocked at not having heard of any of this until now.

Tech nods, guiltily, and the realisation of your crush being aware of all you've fantasized about him makes your cheeks burn in pure embarassment.

"I'm sorry!" you inmediately apologise, wanting nothing more than to stand up and run away. "I-I..."

"It is not your fault" Tech inmediately cuts in, taking a deep, calming breath as if he is nervous himself. "There is nothing for you to apologise for. In fact, I am the one who should. Please forgive me, mesh'la. I did not intend to invade your privacy like this. I first thought you had a problem with me, and so I peaked into your mind twice to figure out why, and... And I should have stopped there, but the way you continued to stare at me made me curious and... I'm sorry, mesh'la".

You soften at the honesty of his words; and the affectionate way he calls you beautiful in Mando'a. You glance up at him cautiously; embarassment slowly melting away with his positive reaction.

"So you're not... You're not uncomfortable, then?"

Tech's cheeks are still slightly red; though he forces his eyes to stay on yours.

"No. It was a shock at first, I must admit; but your thoughts have never made me felt that way. Nervous, distracted, turned on... Yes, but not uncomfortable" he pauses and carefully adds "like I said, I wouldn't be opposed to try any of them".

You almost jump at the chance; but there's something else holding you back. You don't want this to be a one time thing. You don't want this to be merely sexual. He knows all your thoughts on this; it's just fair you get to find his.

"Did you... Did you hear all the non-sexual thoughts about you too? About us?" you ask him quietly.

Tech responds to your vulnerability with a warm smile. His hand slowly reaches down to yours; sending a shiver through your spine.

"I did. And I'd like to try those as well, cyare" he whispers, a confesion that stays just between the two of you.

Your heart soars; the explosive rush of happiness pushing a radiant smile on your face, happy tears on your eyes.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes" you chant in your head. And then, in case he's listening... "Kiss me, Tech".

You catch a brief glimpse of his answering smile before his lips join yours in a soft, passionate kiss. You sigh into him, melting against the carefull hands that slowly come up to craddle one side of your face and your left hip. Tech hums in contentment. His own swirl of excited, tender thoughts mix with the ones that slips from your mind into his. You kiss and kiss; and the passion and affection burning in both of you is so similar he does not longer differentiate in between.

THE END.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You can read the other prompts for the 100celeb here:

And you have a lot of other clone wars and bad batch stories here:

[the-burd-lord]

Playing around with Alastor’s design a little bit. He would still wear most of the same outfit he wore back then, don't fix what's not broken, but with an added suit jacket that's a bit too big for him. I need to make a bit of to at some point, but after his break up he draws on a pencil mustache to add on to his emphasis of having a new appearance while still staying in his time.

A post depression mustache if you will.

As for some of his creepy aspects I'm cutting out the voodoo elements of his character, and instead using the uncanny and analog horror elements instead (I am a simple creature).

I need to actually remake the color pallets for him and old Vox, but essentially they both start off as black and white or with grey like colors, and gain new ones after they split up. Vox becomes more saturated and Alastor becomes sepiatone, as while it's more colorful it's still is reminiscent of the past.

Now time for some of the silly rivalry bits:

I’d image they would have casual debates on the radio and tv that would soon devolve into insults and eventually nothing but 30/50s slang and Creole French that would last for hours.

I need to finish writing this bit, but basically Charlie sees it as a good idea to go on Vox’s talk show to promote the hotel and herself. There’s some lil rivalry moments between Vox and Al, but ultimately Vox doesn’t fully let his grudges get in the way of hosting a good show.

Even though they mutually broke up they still each regret ending the relationship, and as such covey their loneliness in their respective mediums. Vox making sad, gay movies and being so worn out after that when he watches them he doesn’t even know what he made.

And Alastor having a late night audio story about a turtle and a hare going on adventures. There are times where he’ll just start describing crushing regret and isolation, and he’ll realize that he may have gone a bit far and try to steer it towards more of a happy ending with Vox listening in on all of it.

Something something relationship meme with a sketch I’ll probably never finish. Also surprising, but also not that surprising, to me that in "Stayed Gone" they didn't go with the obvious joke on what to call his late night talk show.

The grrls r fighting!! But for real this time.

Been playing with the idea of Vox turning into pure energy when he's overly stressed, or just becoming a weird robot creature as form he can take as an overlord. It's probably going to result in a lot of sketches where I 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 won't use Videodrome as inspiration (lie).

At some point I need to get a good animation program and just start making a bunch of animatics or animations cause I have so many song inspirations for these two.

Specifically one that I want to make a whole animation for is “(They Long to Be) Close to You.” Basically it’s just going to be them fighting interspersed with moments of them waltzing together. I think you can probably parse out the metaphors and connections I'm going for here.

Also me and a friend were talking about song inspirations and after I continually listened, watched, and worked (at least for me) on Hadestown we just replaced Hades with Vox in some of the songs.

🚨SPOILERS FOR HADESTOWN🚨

One stanza that I need to make an animatic for is in Chant Reprise, specifically 2:33-3:18 with the “I conduct the electric city” line.

This is going to become a bit of promotion for the show cause I love it so much. Probably my favorite musical ever! Also highly recommend listening to this version of "Chant," cause there’s a verse for Persephone and Eurydice that provide some cool reflections that reflect the original “Chant” in their verses.

There’s no direct references to any of the other characters, although you can add your own interpretations.

On that note here’s another song that reflects them. “How Long?” mainly with the “your pity won’t fit in my bed” lines, and when Hades and Persephone are actually singing to each other turning it into being about their relationship instead of the fates of Orpheus and Eurydice.

And a lil teaser for how they make up:

Will make another post about them. I have so many sketches WWHYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! I CAN’T ESCAPE EITHER VERSION!!!!

[ellie-24]

Forbidden Fruit

Finally another installment set in my Big Daddy Elvis x assistant reader verse. Chronologically set after Maybe one day, but can be read as a stand alone. It's also not a reader-insert per se anymore because our lovely assistant has a name now. I hope you like it!! :)

Also I really gotta say a special thank you to the incomparable @whositmcwhatsit who made the whole thing readable and had some great tips! And thanks to @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love for being the most inspiring, awesome backup ever. (they're also the ones taking possible complaints regarding the word count, they're responsible for it)

Warnings: Elvis loves his guns, discussions of Elvis' health, mentions of alcohol, addiction, pills, light manipulation and gaslighting, a bit of period typical misogyny, a bit of smut at the end (oral, f receiving)

Word count: ~13.3 k

You had continued staying with him at night after that one episode where he nearly overdosed. Elvis’ night terrors weren’t comparable to what most people mean when they describe what they go through when it’s time to sleep. Being around Elvis meant to completely ignore and unlearn your natural sleeping pattern. Scratch that. Being around Elvis meant that you had to forget everything considered normal. Day to day activities were determined by his unpredictable and sometimes challenging moods. In your short time working for him you quickly learned to adjust and be done with it. More importantly to never question anything. Things just made more sense when you stopped thinking about them too hard.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at Elvis’ bed at 5 in the morning reading to him. Being around Elvis meant being nocturnal. Which also meant that going to bed at 5 AM was a sensible thing to do.

“He's always been like this.” Charlie said to you a few days earlier. “Billy told me he never slept well. Even before his rise to fame, as a child. I guess that just stuck. He never outgrew it.”

“I think it might just be a habit now. He obviously performs at night. Very late into the night, it's only natural for your body to adjust.” Jerry had interjected.

“Well, he takes his pills before a show. You know the ones that make him more... energetic.” you offered.

Jerry raised his eyebrows. “Energetic. That's a nice way to put it.”

You shrugged. “He takes them before his shows. They're probably still full in effect when he tries to go to sleep.” The two men hummed, the conversation apparently over.

Whether it was a combination of those or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it caused nearly everyone in his orbit to go to bed when the rest of the world woke up.

He insisted that you stayed by his side from the moment he laid down until he woke up again. Clearly this was far beyond your duty as a personal assistant, but you couldn’t help yourself. You knew he hated being alone with his mind for too long, claiming it would get weird up there. He often found solace in his faith, carrying a bible everywhere he went. His books on spiritualism and numerology were constant companions as well. When his sleeping pills wouldn’t do the job and he found himself thrashing back and forth in his bed, frustrated that he just couldn’t seem to find any rest, he reached out for his reading glasses and turned on the lamp. His mind was running at full speed anyway, so he might as well put it to use.

The only thing hindering him now was the pain in his eye. The doctor couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but sometimes it was nearly unbearable for him. His body was so accustomed to the medication that even the painkillers he took hours ago couldn’t give him any relief.

“Do me a favour, will ya? Read this to me?” He held out a book to you.

“Is it your eye?”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at you. “...Nah, just wanna hear your sweet voice.” he mumbled with a grin.

In your one hand you now held Cheiro’s Book of Numbers, a very interesting choice for a bedtime story. (Don’t question things.) Your other hand was occupied holding his ring clad one. How he slept with all this jewellery was another mystery to you.

He closed his eyes and reached out for your hand, grasping it tight. You scooted closer to him. “I'm right here, E. I'll stay.”

He hummed and squeezed your hand even tighter.

Elvis certainly had to be the most physical and touchy person you’d ever known. You gently ran your thumb over his palm, assuring him the whole time. He’d sometimes grunt or hiss, his face scrunching up in pain, which caused you to stutter slightly. You tried to conceal it. Often you thought he had finally fallen asleep, his breathing evening out, his hand squeezing yours less and less.

However when you stopped reading, you’d hear him rumbling. “... Julie, be a sweetheart and read that last part again, will ya? Didn’t quite catch that.”

That was the exact sentence he mumbled every time you grew quiet. After the third time though, the sentence grew shorter and shorter each time until the only thing he eventually managed to get out was a slurred “Julie, sweetheart.”

You read aloud for two more minutes and when you stopped this time, there was no reaction from him. You closed the book with a sigh and put it on his night stand and checked the time. 7:48 AM. With a huff, you ran your hands over your face, wanting nothing more than go to sleep as well. It felt like every day you needed to apply more make up to the ever growing bags under your eyes. But you couldn't go to sleep. Not really.

Being around Elvis meant almost constant paranoia. Paranoia that his lifestyle would finally take its toll. You’d seen him almost die two times now. When he nearly overdosed the other day you realised the true extent of the damage all the pills caused.

“It's alright, sweetheart. The doctor prescribed them. He knows what he's doing, he's a doctor.” he laughed, looking at you like you had grown two heads.

“Jerry said you've been to the hospital multiple times already.” you insisted. “Don't you think-”

“He's just a nervous nelly. It was probably... dehydration or something along the lines, nothing dramatic. Don't believe everything you're told” he argued, leaving no room for disagreeing.

The only other time you witnessed him almost die was at dinner. You and the rest of the Memphis Mafia sat together enjoying a relaxed dinner after a successful show. Everyone enjoyed their food and made light conversation until Elvis started choking all of the sudden. You remember sitting in shock, dropping your plate as you watched Jerry run over to him and perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. This event had truly shocked you to the core, causing dinner to be considered a rather stressful affair now.

The truly terrifying thing about this whole nerve wrecking affair wasn’t necessarily the fact that Elvis Presley was in fact choking, it was how automatic and nonchalant everyone was about it. As if the whole process has been practised numerous times. Jerry later informed you that something like this would indeed happen on a regular basis. Almost everyone close to him had saved his life at one point. Literally. Charlie explained that the medication would alter and slow his reflexes, often causing him to choke on food. Sometimes he had trouble catching his breath, even without physical activity. That's why you always made sure to carry a second inhaler with you anywhere you went. There were many things to look out for and the responsibility sometimes made your head spin. Actually, you should start making a list, maybe it'll ease some of your anxieties.

You yawned and laid down next to him. You made sure to put a hand on his plush chest, feeling the coarse hair under your palm. The steady rise and fall of it and the strong beating of his heart calmed you a bit. Often you would just lay there and study his face, fighting the urge to close your burning eyes. The way his eyes were moving frantically under closed lids. Black eyeliner still smudged, long eyelashes fluttering over soft cheeks. His beautifully shaped nose would twitch occasionally as if you’d tickled him with a feather. His marshmallow lips would move from time to time like he was talking, or singing. You didn’t really know, but that’s when you had to pay close attention. Once he started thrashing around you scooted back a bit, not wanting to get accidentally hit by him. Eventually he'd calm down again and you breathed a sigh of relief every time. You won't ever forget the one time he actually got up and started to walk around. It had taken you a few seconds to figure out that he was sleep walking

He had to be closely watched throughout the night and in a way you of course understood why he insisted on you staying with him. You could clearly see that he was scared of himself at times, scared for himself. So you did your best to be there for him, even though it was taxing at times. Not only as an employee, but as a friend. He needed it. You turned your head to the night stand and checked the time again. 10:03 AM. Damn.

It felt like you had closed your eyes for about a second when you felt something pulling at your hair. Your eyes shot open and you saw Elvis leaning over you, a few strands of your hair between his fingers.

“Wakey, wakey, sweetheart.” He cooed at you and started to braid your locks.

“Hey E, what time is it?” you asked groggily.

“Time to wake up, sweetheart,” he hummed.

“Very funny.” You sighed and closed your eyes again. At that, he gave a light yank to the small braid he held in his hands.

“Don’t go back to sleep, Julie baby,” he insisted.

“Alright okay, I’m awake.” You turned over again. 5:26 PM. Damn, it felt like you were asleep for a minute. “Was Charlie already here?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. He must have been, otherwise Elvis wouldn’t be so active already. Just like he couldn’t go to sleep without special help, he needed a little something extra to get up and function again. It was a vicious cycle, really.

“Yeah, he was.” He waved away as you sat up.

“Oh my god, shit, why didn’t you wake me up? I really slept in!”

“I did.” He stated with an innocent smile, feigning ignorance. “Also, I had to show him what a cutie you are when you're asleep. Did ya know ya pull the funniest faces? I can always tell what you're dreaming.” You decided not to comment on this and rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. He placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you back.

“Wait, sweetheart, there’s something I gotta talk to you about real quick.” You turned back to him, giving him your full attention and he smiled, pleased. “You remember those crazy guys who tried to get onstage while I was performing, made a big fuss? Lamar, uh, mentioned they saw some guys lurking around, uh, looking like they’re up to no good. Down in the casino.”

You had an idea where this was going. The paranoia that everyone felt around Elvis extended to Elvis himself. He always felt like there was someone after him. To a degree you could understand, as there were real incidents like death threats, rude letters, or fans who got a little too excited and almost attacked him.

You had experienced it yourself after seeing the mean looks on the faces of some female fans directed towards you, and waiting for something to happen, but you knew not to let it affect you too much. However, Elvis took these things to heart, and you didn’t understand why his entourage would feed into those fears and the paranoia. The guys Lamar was talking about were probably harmless, but due to Elvis’ own concern he felt the need to tell him. Elvis made them see a threat everywhere. Everyone was aware that Elvis needed to know that he was in charge, that he was in control, and that he would decide what’s best for everyone, because he just knew.

He had told you numerous times that it was best to always carry a gun. After all he carried one everywhere he went, even onstage. The shock you felt at that particular revelation is hard to describe, but, as you had learned by now, it was best not to question things. You had declined every time he suggested it, finding it unreasonable, but now you had a feeling you were about to have that discussion again.

“...Sweetheart, I want you to be safe.” He continued and squeezed your shoulder.

“You don’t gotta worry about me. I can take care of myself.” You insisted, raising your chin.

He tilted his head to the side in disbelief. “Can ya? I remember ya nearly leaping into my arms, scared to death at the sight of a little spider. When was that? Three days ago?” he mused with a shit eating grin on his face.

You lightly smacked his arm. “That’s not the same! And the spider wasn’t small. For the record.”

“It was an itty bitty spider, sweetheart. It’s not my fault that everything looks huge for poor little Julie.” He smirked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Okay, I might be scared of spiders, but I’m not intimidated by some guys Lamar and the others deem ‘up to no good’,” you countered, mimicking the quotation marks with your fingers.

“It’s not funny, ya know how people can get. Pretty thing like you can turn into a damsel in distress real quick. Trust me. I just want ya to be able to protect yourself.”

“Elvis, we’ve been through this,” you sighed.

He took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I- I feel responsible for you... Give me some peace o-of mind,” he stammered, leaning closer towards you with a pleading look on his face.

“I’m an adult, you know.”

He pouted. “Then start a-acting like one. Julie, you a-are so damn stubborn, why can’t you just d-do what I tell you,” he argued, throwing his arms up in frustration.

You took a deep breath and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Elvis, I know that you mean well and I appreciate your concern-“

“Don’t brush me off, sweetheart. Will ya do as you’re told?”

You sighed. It’s true you were stubborn, but he was stubborn as well, and persuading him didn’t work this time. The discussion was pointless and you knew that in order to save you some trouble the best thing you could do was just agree. He wasn’t gonna give up, you could feel it. There was a determination and finality in his eyes that left no room for arguing. On the one hand it could be considered flattering that he was so concerned with your well-being, but on the other it was scary to think about what was going on in his head, pushing him to such decisions.

“I guess I could give it a try. Just for tonight, alright?” His hand moved from your shoulder and brushed against your chin in a feather light touch. It sent a warm tingle down your spine.

“Anyone ever tell you that you can be real difficult, sweetheart?” he stated with a tender smile.

“Actually, you’re the first. Everyone I interact with always makes sure to tell me that I’m an absolute delight. Highlight of their day.”

“Hush now,” he chuckled as he got up from the bed with a grunt. He rotated his shoulder multiple times and put a hand on his back with a sigh. You knew that today wasn’t a particularly good day for him.

“...How is your eye?” you inquired with a more serious tone, getting up as well to fetch his sunglasses.

He squinted his eyes and shook his head with a small frown. “I’m good,” was the short answer you received. You carefully placed the glasses on his nose and wiped away some sweat that had gathered on his forehead. It always seemed to be there.

“Are you sure?”

“Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head about that,” he replied, tugging at your hair again. You smiled at him and gently ran your hand through his soft hair. He leaned into it.

“...I don’t-“

“I know my body, woman. I’m grown, let me handle it,” he cut you off, raising an eyebrow.

The irony of this exchange wasn’t lost on you. You had the feeling it wasn’t lost on him either as he cleared his throat and walked away from you and your touch. At times it could happen that he was self aware. Fleeting moments really.

He always claimed to know what everyone was supposed to do. If it were only suggestions he offered, but no, he had to make sure they were carried out. Preferably he carried them out himself, at least then he knew it was properly taken care of. He even felt responsible for things that weren’t his business in the slightest, but the moment someone else merely suggested that he should take care of something concerning himself, he’d shut them down in a second. Didn’t even want to hear it.

You followed him and he cast a warning look over his shoulder, as if he saw you opening your mouth through the back if his head. He opened a closet and pulled out a leather case, putting it on the glass table in front of him and swiftly opening it. At the sight of what was inside, a gasp escaped you: various firearms, badges and bullets, shining and reflecting the sun light, almost blinding you. His obsession with law enforcement was nothing new to you, he had proudly showed you his Reserve Captain of the City of Memphis Badge and his police flashlight the first time you met him, but seeing all these guns in front of you was something else.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” he smirked.

“Uhm, they’re certainly uh... This one’s pretty.” You pointed at a small gun decorated with golden leaves and different animals, which were carefully engraved into the steel.

“I had a feeling you’d like this one.” He responded proudly and picked it up with trained expertise.

“I like the animal,” you remarked, mentally slapping yourself for not coming up with something more clever.

He chuckled. “It’s a Smith & Wesson 19, I had it custom made in Germany. You wanna hold it?”

“Uh..”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not loaded. See?” He opened the cylinder and showed you the empty chambers, then shut it again and pressed the gun into your hands.

“A pretty lil’ gun for a pretty lil’ girl.” He smirked as he assessed you carefully, licking his lips. You felt heat rising up your chest and neck and cleared your throat.

“...I don’t even know how to..” you trailed off, the gun still laying in your open palms, looking a bit lost.

“Here, let me,” he mumbled as he stepped behind you.

Suddenly his strong arms were around you, surrounding you, trapping you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe, your body betraying you and your muscles not moving the way you wanted them to. You were still able to move your eyes though and saw his big hands engulfing your smaller ones. He gently guided your trembling hands, showing you how to properly hold the gun. You weren’t sure if the trembling was caused by the highly dangerous firearm in your grasp or the equally dangerous Rock ‘n’ Roll star behind you. You took a shuddering breath after what felt like hours and promptly realised it was a grave mistake. His smell now surrounded you as well, an intoxicating mix of sweat, cologne and cigars. If you leaned back just a little you could feel the swell of his stomach, you already felt the heat of his body radiating off him. Oh, how you wanted to let go and just-

“Are ya still with me, sweetheart?” he chuckled behind you, his lip curling. Shoot.

“...Uh sorry, what did you say? I was... concentrating,” you stammered, relieved that at least he couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks.

He stepped forward with a small laugh, finally closing the gap between your bodies, trapping you completely to him. You were only wearing a tank top and the v neck of his shirt was so deep that you could feel his coarse chest hair against your shoulder. Sweet Jesus, this man was driving you insane! His warm hands started to work yours again, correcting angles and adjusting your hold. The coolness of his rings and the sight of the veins on the back of his hand caused your heartbeat to pick up once more.

“Yeah, like this... Wait, your finger has to go there... Relax your lil’ fingers, sweetheart... I said relax... That’s it,” he murmured, his rough fingertips now slowly gliding over your wrist, steadying your hand. He played you like an instrument, one of his guitars maybe, waiting to be tuned. You swallowed hard and prayed that he couldn’t see the goosebumps forming on your arms, or feel your pulse racing under his nimble fingers.

“Good. Now we gotta work on your stance.”

Without warning, you felt his strong thigh pressing itself between your legs, nudging your feet apart. You let out a surprised yelp and nearly lost your balance, but he hastily wrapped an arm around your middle, fingers digging into your stomach.

“Woah, careful there, little lady... Am I making you nervous?” he asked with a smirk. He knew damn well, he just enjoyed watching you squirm. His warm breath tickled your ear and for a second you thought you felt his soft lips gently brushing against your cheek. It was only for a millisecond, but it sent a shock through your core. Did he really just…?

“...You w-wish, huh? I -I just want to be careful with this... weapon of mass destruction,” you gasped and tried to conceal it with a laugh, feeling a bit breathless. He slowly ran his hands over your waist, down to your hips.

“Sweetheart, quit being so jittery. You gotta stop being so damn careful with this ‘weapon of mass destruction’,” he chuckled. “It can handle ya having a bit of fun with it.” He spoke in a low voice and pressed himself even closer to you, the double meaning of his words not lost on you. You wanted to deny it for your own sanity, but you were sure that it was the outline of his dick you felt against your backside. Was he wearing no underwear under these silk pyjamas? You felt a lump in your throat and your mouth turned dry. Like a desert. Oh god.

“What is it, Julie darlin’? Cat got your tongue?” he whispered, his chin resting on your shoulder. You stared straight ahead, because if you turned your head just a little bit, your lips would certainly brush against his. Then it would be game over. You had to focus, which was a difficult task with him continuing to knead the flesh of your hips without a care in the world.

You were used to his flirting and touching and, of course, you were both aware for your mutual feelings for each other, but you had made an agreement not to act on it, protecting both of you. Spending every night with him, though platonic, already meant treading on thin ice, and feeling him like this, so close, made your resistance grow weaker by the minute. He apparently had an equally hard time holding back and you knew it was up to you to stop right now. No matter how much didn’t want this moment to end.

You freed yourself from his grasp and let out a barely audible sigh at the loss of contact. Without his comforting warmth surrounding you, you couldn’t suppress a little shiver. You turned around and saw him drop his arms that still hovered in front of him as if you were still there. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand over his mouth.

You got into position to hold the gun like he just showed you. “Like this?” you questioned. You knew it probably wasn’t perfect, you were hardly able to pay attention to what he had just explained to you. Maybe you hoped he would get close to you again, help you and correct you, so you could feel his wide frame against your smaller one. Just maybe. He cleared his throat and looked down.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he murmured and went over to the glass table again, the moment you two just shared now over. With a frown, you followed him and peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He opened a small box, revealing various bullets.

“...Now, for the Smith & Wesson you’re gonna need this .357 Magnum cartridge...” He continued listing facts about the ammunition with you listening dutifully, as if nothing happened between you mere seconds ago. Every now and then, he’d look at you to check if you were still paying attention to him and, though you didn’t really understand what he was talking about, you nodded your head every now and then. He showed you how to open and close the cylinder and placed a bullet in each of the six chambers. Alright, now it was loaded. Great.

“Here, watch this,” he said and got into position to shoot. You thought he wanted to show you the hold and stance again, but you were wrong. You saw his finger coming dangerously close to the trigger and, without warning, he pulled it. You shrieked as he actually shot at the sofa at the other end of the room. Was he completely losing his mind now, just shooting inside a building? You wanted to remind yourself not to question things, but this was too much. You could not leave it like this. Couldn’t pretend it was normal.

“Elvis! What are you doing?” you screamed, covering your ears with your hands.

“I’m demonstrating,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“...You... You shot a pillow!”

“It’s ugly anyways.”

“Ugh... I don’t believe you sometimes,” you said, shaking your head. He actually had the audacity to laugh.

“Come on Julie, it’s funny.”

“...You’re a... a man child!” you said with a small nervous chuckle, your ears still ringing.

“And you’re a killjoy!”

“Oh my god, I’ll better go downstairs now, before you start shooting the windows. And you should start getting ready, you have a performance later, remember?”

“What was I just saying about a killjoy?”

“And put the gun away!”

“Lord, woman, you’re horrible.”

“It’s called common sense, E.”

“Boring,” he said, although he couldn’t hide how the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.

“Common sense!” you laughed and gathered your stuff as well as the keys for your apartment. The apartment you barely used now, spending most of your time and nearly every night with him, but you insisted on keeping it. You still wanted to keep that last boundary, the illusion that you weren’t as deeply involved as you were. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

On your way out you turned to him and waved.

“See you in an hour or so. If you need something just give me a call.”

“You forgot something,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

You halted in your tracks. Man, you just couldn’t get away with anything today. You sighed and he walked towards you with a serious expression on his face once more. He handed you the gun he had used to shoot the poor pillow.

“Take it, Julie.” Maybe it was better if you just took it. Even if you wouldn’t necessarily use it, it would be a precaution.

“...Alright, boss.” You mock saluted and grinned up to him. He smiled fondly, his eyes twinkling, as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear and his thumb briefly traced along your jawline towards your chin, lingering there for a moment.

“I knew you could be a good girl.”

“You like it?”

He hummed and leaned against the door frame, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.

“...Then I’ll have to rethink it.”

His face dropped and you let out a small giggle at his expression. You enjoyed it when you got to tease him and sometimes it was just too easy with him. He needed some light-hearted fun like anyone else, but it rarely happened; the possibility of him not appreciating the joke and the consequences of that always lingering in the back of everybody’s mind.

“You little minx,” he muttered with a grin and reached out for your waist. You backed away.

“Ah! No time to be silly! I told you we have to start getting ready,” you laughed and turned around. “See you later!” He leaned against the door frame and gently smiled at you until you were out of sight.

After arriving at your apartment, you opted for a quick shower and carefully reapplied your makeup the way Elvis wanted you to. He showed you exactly how to do it, claiming that everyone in the inner circle represented him and there was a certain image to uphold. You figured this made sense and complied with his rules. He was very particular about these things, always concerned with what others thought of him. Whether it was the fans not showing enough enthusiasm at his shows, or the tabloids printing horrible stories about him, it was enough to turn him sour and moody for a couple of hours.

After wiping off some excess lip gloss, you carefully eyed the gun and picked it up. Sighing, you chewed on your bottom lip. Were you really gonna go out there with a gun, even for effect?

It felt like just another one of Elvis’ silly little ideas, thinking he could  show you how it worked in a 10-minute crash course and then off you would go. He never thought these things through and his irresponsibility annoyed you.

“Nah, this is stupid,” you muttered to yourself, hiding the gun in your closet. Elvis wouldn’t know. You needed to be the sensible one.

You grabbed your bag and walked towards the door. As you turned the handle, you casted one last look over your shoulder, facing the closet. You shook your head and closed the door behind you.

On your way down you briefly passed the Colonel, but refused to spare him a glance. He showed up less and less, preferring to work everything out from a safe distance. Probably too much of a coward to face Elvis and the rest of the entourage.

After Elvis had tried to fire him a few weeks ago, there was a noticeable discomfort with the situation on all sides involved. Vernon had advised Elvis that it would be better to keep the Colonel around. Finances and debts played a major role, Vernon explained to you after you asked him about it. There was no way out of this horrid situation.

It made you mad and your frustrations were only made worse by your employer’s reaction, or his lack of reaction. Elvis’ resignation regarding the whole topic, his acceptance that there was nothing he could do, made you incredibly sad. Here was this man they called King, adored by millions of people and surrounded by luxury, and he was utterly powerless. He knew that he didn’t have the willpower, nor the energy to fight anymore, and just passively let these things happen to him.

When you arrived in the backstage area you quickly spotted Charlie and walked up to him, making small talk while you were waiting for Elvis. He showed up a few minutes later, looking as nervous as he did almost every time. You saw that he was sweating again already, his face shining and some of his black hair sticking to his face. You walked up to him and gently dabbed his face with a towel before placing it around his shoulders. He let out a shaky exhale and searched your eyes.

“Ready?” you asked with smile. He huffed a laugh and looked down, shaking his head the tiniest bit. You almost didn’t see it.

“Hold my hand for a bit, will ya, sweetheart?” he whispered and the vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much. One would think after 20 years in the spotlight he would have overcome his stage fright, but every new crowd was another challenge for him. ‘Every audience is different and they never saw me live before. So it’s like performing for the first time every time,’ he always said. You stepped closer to him and reached out for his hand, squeezing it and soothingly rubbing your thumb over the back of it.

“You’re gonna be great, I know it. I see you performing on that stage every evening and I never get tired of watching you. These fans, they’re here for you and you won’t disappoint them.”

“You really think so?” he inquired, his voice more similar like a little boy’s rather than a grown, experienced rock star.

“Yes, E, I do. You’ll blow them away.”

“If you say so, Julie baby.”

“Don’t you think I’m qualified enough to judge?” you asked with a teasing tone.

“Oh sweetheart, I think you’re highly competent,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“I like to remind you of that every now and then.”

“I couldn’t possibly forget,” he smirked, though the tremor in his hand still gave him away.

“Good answer E. See? You know how to charm people. Now you just gotta go out there and do the same.” You squeezed his hand one more time and looked up to him with an encouraging smile.

He took a deep breath when Also Sprach Zarathustra started playing and looked up to the ceiling as if sending up a quick prayer.

“Okay E, let me have a look at you,” you said and reached for his towel, wiping away some of the sweat that had gathered on his face again, as well as some eyeliner that was already smudged. “...Yep, you can go on stage like this.” He gently cupped your chin, making you shiver slightly.

“I’ll be looking for you in the audience. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” you whispered and fixed some of his hair that had fallen out of place. “Now you’re perfect.” His eyes briefly flashed with what you thought was insecurity, but it was quickly replaced with a smirk.

“You can be quite charming if you want to as well, Julie baby. You sure it’s not you who’s supposed to be on that stage?” he winked.

“When I start singing, they’ll just flee for their lives,” you joked and he flashed you another smile before turning around, making his way towards the stage.

You gave him a thumbs up and watched him until he was out of sight. That’s when you noticed Jerry standing rather close, looking at you with an unnervingly neutral expression. You had a creeping feeling he’s silently watched the entire exchange between you and Elvis and, though nothing happened, you couldn’t help but feel slightly awkward and exposed under his assertive gaze. You cleared your throat and made your way towards the auditorium.

When you watched Elvis on stage there was no indication of his earlier nervousness. As always, he seemed at home in the bright spotlight, truly in his element. You cheered him on and just ignored the times he stumbled over the lyrics or couldn’t fully hit a note because he was out of breath. In fact, these were the little things that made the performance feel real, evoking genuine emotions within you.

After two hours of Elvis working his magic, you made you way back towards entrance to the backstage area to accompany him back to his suite. You stood in the corridor, mentally going through everything he needed for the night when you heard someone walking behind you.

“Hey, you.” You turned around to see a man around your age approaching, slurring his words. “Uh, do you happen to know where the restrooms are?”

You blinked. “Oh, uh you’re really in the wrong place. This is the way backstage.”

It took some time for him to register what you just said and you could see the gears turning in his head.

“...Oh... huh, you really seem to know your way around here. You come here often?” he asked with a smile that you think was meant to be charming.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his clumsy attempt of flirting. He was obviously drunk, but he was just trying to make conversation. Emphasis on trying.

“Believe it or not, for the last few weeks I’ve been here every night.”

“That’s crazy.” He said with big eyes, but then he nearly gagged.

“Oh my god, okay, come on, I’ll show you the restroom. Don’t want you to throw up all over the corridor.” You said, pulling him along.

“You’re really kind. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this drunk.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. First time in Las Vegas?”

“How do you know?”

“Uh, just a feeling. Happens to the best of us.”

He smiled down at you and promptly lost his footing. You stumbled until both of you fell to the ground with him on top of you. You groaned at the impact and looked around. Trying to get up wasn’t possible with his dead weight on you, so you pushed against his chest. His reaction was slow to non existent. You were sure he was almost passing out.

“Get off me!” you said a bit louder, trying to get his attention.

It seemed like a cruel joke that it was in that particular moment that Elvis, Charlie, Jerry and Lamar turned around the corner, witnessing the scene before them. And boy, it looked bad. You pushed against the stranger’s chest one more time, urging him to get up. He didn’t even have time to react, as he was yanked off by strong hands.

You looked up, relieved to be able to breathe freely again. Elvis had him by the collar of his shirt, pressing him against the wall, with Lamar and Charlie exchanging concerned looks. Jerry walked towards you with a frown and reached out his hand to help you up.

“Were you having fun?” Elvis hissed, his voice dangerously low. His blue eyes were burning beneath his shades, their expression almost scaring you.

“Elvis, he didn’t do anything!” you interjected. Jerry gently grasped your arm, holding you back.

“I asked you a question, you son of a bitch,” Elvis spat angrily.

From the way he stood you could tell that his back was giving him even more trouble than when he got up today, probably from a daring move he had just attempted during his performance, but he still managed to put on a brave face that would convince anyone that he’d still be up for a fight. Not that it mattered much to the drunk stranger, you weren’t sure that he even registered that it was Elvis Presley talking to him.

You ignored Jerry’s hand on your elbow and stepped towards Elvis.

“He’s drunk, I wanted to help him. He fell on me Elvis, nothing happened.”

It was as if he didn’t even hear you. You put a hand on his back, feeling him tremble beneath you, a combination of the post show adrenaline and pure rage. His silence was really starting to scare you. That’s how you knew it was serious. Really serious.

“Please, let go of him.” you begged when he didn’t answer you. You glanced over to the other guys, feeling helpless. All you got were neutral expressions, no one daring to move a finger. Elvis took a deep breath and pointed a ring clad finger at the stranger’s face.

“If you ever come near her again... if I ever see you again.. you’re gonna regret it. Now get outta my sight,” He warned. With a nod towards Lamar and the other two he let go of him and they escorted him away.

You looked at Elvis, who was still breathing heavily. He flexed his hands multiple times and eyed you carefully.

“Julie, where’s your gun?”

Shit.

Your silence answered his question.

“...I don’t believe this,” he mumbled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, not saying another word to you. Once you were up in his suite again, he slammed the door and looked down on you with a frown.

“Answer me this: What would you have done if I hadn’t been there in time?” he asked, starting to pace around.

“I wasn’t in danger,” you answered, not moving from your spot.

“Damnit, I warned you about guys like him. I knew something like this would happen!” He pulled out the Colt 45 he hid under his pants leg and strode towards you. “I gave you one of these for a reason.” He continued, waving it in front of your face.

“Elvis, please put the gun away,” you said calmly, remembering the stunt he pulled a few hours ago with the pillow.

“I do what I damn well p-please,” he scoffed and turned away from you. You took a step towards him.

“Please, stop acting like this.”

“You don’t get to t-tell me what to do,” he said, pointing his finger at you.

“Goddamnit Elvis! What is going on?!” You cried, fed up with his antics.

“Why don’t you just do what I-I tell you?”

“Because I wanted to decide what I’m going to do,” you explained, lowering your voice a little to appease him.

“Great h-how that worked out f-for ya!” he spat. You scoffed, at a loss for words, and slammed a hand against your forehead.

“Julie, don’t fucking act like I’m the one who’s in the wrong now! I won’t have you disrespecting me like this,” he warned, his eyes burning into yours with a fury that almost made you back up a little.

“It’s not that! I’m trying to tell you that nothing happened! Look at me, I’m alright!” you argued with desperation in your voice as you gestured at yourself. Did he even listen to you?

“But what if something happened? Julie, I swear to god!” He was seething, his face red with exertion.

“What, Elvis?” you snapped. He just glared at you, his chest heaving.

“You know what? I’m not gonna discuss this right now. I’ll come back later,” you shouted and left the apartment without waiting for his reaction.

Just before you shut the door behind you, you heard him yelling at you, “Julie, if you leave now-“

That’s when you closed the door. And for a moment you were scared; scared because his anger was probably directed towards you now. You didn’t mean to upset him, he was going through so much already, but you also knew that it wouldn’t make any sense to try and talk to him right now. His temper was infamous among those in the inner circle, it was one of the first things you were warned about.

In order to have a normal conversation again he would have to calm down first. You had to calm down as well, knowing that you’d probably say something stupid if he continued to act this way. You felt tears of frustration and anger pricking at your eyes and almost ran down the corridor towards the elevator.

You found yourself wandering through the foyer and saw Jerry sitting on a sofa, apparently deep in thought. You let out a sigh of relief as, within the Memphis Mafia, he was the one that you trusted the most. Not only was he the only one who dared to challenge Elvis at times, but he also had known Elvis for a long time and was a great listener, which is why you’d occasionally come to him for advice.

“Hey, Jerry,” you greeted as you approached him tentatively. He looked up to you and blinked.

“Oh.. hey Julie. Are you okay? You still look a bit shaken... Um, don’t worry, we took care of that guy and escorted him back to his friends. We suggested that it would be better for them to leave. No one’s gonna bother you again.” You sat down next to him.

“He was harmless, Jerry, just drunk. I’m more worried about Elvis... He... um just threw another hissy fit and I’m afraid I made it worse.” With another sigh you sank into the soft pillows behind you, though relaxing wasn’t really an option right now.

“Yeah... he was really pissed about this guy. It doesn’t help that he already felt agitated the whole day. I think something just snapped in him... How did you make it worse though?”

“I walked out on him, mid argument.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. You know, he wanted me to carry a gun, because Lamar thought he saw some gangsters running around the casino... making him go crazy. He wanted me to carry a gun, knowing I have no experience with it, nor the ambition to be honest. I didn’t have it with me and he just... lost his damn mind.”

“I see.” You looked at him expectantly, but he sighed and shrugged.

“Julie... He wants to look out for you. I know he only means well,” he chuckled. “He means well most of the time, it’s just the execution that goes horribly wrong.” You felt a gentle smile tugging at the corners if your lips.

“Yeah, I know that, and I really appreciate his concern, but he needs to know that there are other perspectives as well. People might think differently than him,” you replied while absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on the cushion next to you. He nodded in understanding and turned to you.

“But that’s the thing, he thinks he knows best. And, as I said, he wants the best for everyone. He’s always worried and... concerned about everyone’s well being, wanting to keep everyone around him happy. Sometimes he even tries to fix things that aren’t even his business... It causes him sleepless nights, really.” He shook his head with a frown.

“God, I feel so bad, but he really got on my last nerve today. He shot a damn pillow and thought it was the funniest thing in the world.”

“That’s nothing. He... uh regularly shoots his television sets when there’s something on that he doesn’t like.”

“He does what now?” you asked, your eyebrows raised.

“It’s true. He really does things... his own way. That’s how I’d put it.”

“He’s nuts sometimes. Gosh, I just hope I didn’t mess up too bad this time. I know it’s right for me to stand up to my beliefs, but still.”

“I think he’d forgive you almost everything.” Your gaze drifted towards him, your lips pursed.

“I hope so... Do I have to apologise?” you asked, beginning to genuinely think you did something wrong now. He sighed.

“Julie, I know Elvis. Let me just say it would probably be better that way.”

“But do you think I should?”

“He wants to be right, discussing something like this with him won’t get you far.”

You hummed, this wasn’t really the answer you were looking for, but you knew it was all you’d get from him.

“And... uh there were no other incidents today? I didn’t hear anything. You know, about the weird guys Lamar thought he saw earlier today.”

“No, nothing. I guess it was a false alarm.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your mouth. This was what started this entire debacle.

“Julie I know what you think, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” he tried to explain. You hummed again and decidedly pulled off the string you’d been twirling the entire time.

“You’re probably right. I think I’ll go upstairs again and see if he’s calmed down a little. Hopefully he hasn't trashed the damn place. Because who's gonna clean it up?” she asked and pointed both thumbs towards herself.

He let out a little snort. “Alright, take care, Julie,” he said as he watched you get up.

“I will, thanks Jerry.”

With that you turned and made your way back through the foyer, thinking about the upcoming conversation with your boss. It was weird to think about him like that, and you had to remind yourself of that particular fact every now and then. You wandered around the hotel for almost half an hour before building up enough nerve to face him again.

When you finally opened the door to his suite with the key he’d given you, you spotted him sitting on his bed dressed in his silk pyjamas again and fumbling around with his jewellery.

“You’ve calmed down again, sweetheart?” He slowly got up, a rather goofy smile on his face.

“Me?” you asked, pointing to yourself.

“Got quite hysterical when ya left,” he said, approaching you with a grin. You raised your eyebrows, your mouth hanging open for a few seconds.

“I got hysterical?” Was he serious right now? You turned on your heel, your hand on your forehead, the whole apology you had prepared on your way up here now thrown out of the window. He couldn’t mean that now, could he? He followed you and placed his hands on your arms, turning you around, towards him.

“Wait sweetheart, don’t be like that. Come on, it’s okay, Julie baby, I know how women can get. Y’all are more tender hearted,” he said, putting his arms around you and stroking your hair.

You frowned and tried to take a step back, wanting to look at him, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you in place. You’ve never seen someone with mood swings like him. It was extreme to the point where he could be irrational, one could never know what to expect from him. But don’t question things! You leaned into him, not really knowing if this was meant to comfort you or him.

The way he held himself and the slightly dazed expression in his blue eyes explained how he was so calm. He must have taken his damn pills already, otherwise he wouldn’t be this relaxed after the argument the two of you had. Especially after you stormed off, which must have made him even angrier. Now it seemed almost forgotten as he more and more leaned against you for support.

You desperately wanted to throw away all his medication, the fact that he never really dealt with his emotions and just numbed them was driving you mad, though you weren’t convinced that this alone was responsible for his reactions. His extraordinary talent to twist situations and circumstances so that they’d work in his favour could be a gift for him, but a curse for everyone else. You almost never got to discuss situations like this with him, properly working things out.

“Come on, sit down with me, sweetheart,” he pleaded, holding out his hands.

“Alright,” you replied with a neutral expression, despite still clearly seeing the image of him with that damn gun in front of you.

He led you over to his bed and sat down across from you, engulfing your hands with his bigger ones and hold them tight, taking a deep breath. His mouth opened and closed multiple times before speaking.

“Listen... I’m sorry for getting so angry at you earlier. I-I didn’t want to scare ya. I was just worried. Ya gotta believe me.”

The genuinely remorseful look on his face made your irritation dissipate slightly. You sighed. Communication is key.

“...And I’m sorry for yelling at you, I shouldn’t have done it. I know you mean well, but I was angry as well. Well, frustrated...you know what I think about guns,” you almost whispered, searching his eyes, hoping and praying he’d understand. He looked down and bit his lip, looking a bit bashful.

“...Yeah, I-I know sweetheart. I just can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. When I saw that fucker on top of you, I-I could have killed him.” His face became flushed again at the mere memory. You nodded and just squeezed his hands, knowing that explaining the situation again wouldn’t help. He dropped his head.

“Don’t you understand, Julie? W-What if I lose you?...Who would annoy me all day?” he added, after looking up again with a small smile. You forced a smile to match his while trying to ignore his vulnerability in the former half of the statement.

“Oh, I’m sure you would find someone in a heartbeat. You’re Elvis Presley.” His face grew serious again.

“No. Not someone like you.”

“Elvis..” you whispered, pressing your lips together as you felt your face begin to crumple, the emotions of the whole day finally catching up to you. Did he really mean it or did he want to distract from the actual conversation you were having? You hated how your voice trembled when you spoke up again. “We should really talk about-“ He put his hand on your cheek and watched you with a tender look in his eyes.

“No, you don’t have to say anything. I don’t wanna hear any more of it. I’m just glad we’re getting along again. I don’t like arguing with you.” Well, so much for that.

“Me neither,” you eventually uttered with a small sniffle,  your eyes burning. You didn’t know if it felt more like giving in or giving up.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all good again. Don’t worry. I-I won’t bother you with this again, okay? It’s all good again. All good.” He mumbled almost meditatively and guided your head to lay against his shoulder, your cheek brushing against his coarse chest hair.

You weren’t convinced of how serious he was about not bringing up the topic again, but for now you’d take it, since he left you no other choice. You knew it must be horrible inside his head and he really couldn’t help the way he was sometimes. He just wanted the best for you. It showed in the way he gently stroked your hair and shushed you, as if soothing a frightened child. And, for the second time that day, you thought you felt the feather light brush of his lips, this time against your temple, as if assuring you that everything was okay. As if he’d read your mind. It made you feel hot and cold at the same time.

Right now you didn’t have the energy to fight against the comforting feeling of his embrace and his affection and just let yourself sink into it. His ability to make you feel completely at ease, his softness, warmth and smell, combined with the rhythmic stroking of his strong hands almost lulled you to sleep.

You felt a sudden calm wash over you, the weird buzzing in your head and the tingling feeling of anxiety on your skin slowly disappearing. The silent promise that everything was going to be alright and that he would take care of everything for you felt like a safety blanket.

“Hey, E?”

He answered with a ‘Hmm?’ and you felt the vibrations of his chest against your cheek.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know... for being there. The whole thing really stressed me out.”

“Well, you know, Julie baby, I have healing hands,” he said, shrugging as if it was the most normal thing.

“I think so too,” you chuckled. Not ironically, like you did so often. It was genuine this time, The more time you spend with him the more you thought he actually possessed some kind of magic, influencing everyone around him. Sometimes that was really no other explanation. He grinned at you, his eyes twinkling.

“So... what now, magic man?” you asked.

“...We could watch The Godfather again, so you can fawn over Marlon Brando?” He proposed. You laughed.

“You know, every day I regret it a little bit more that I told you about this silly childhood crush.”

“When I asked you, you said he was your favourite actor,” he retorted a tad accusingly, a little pout on his face to emphasize his point.

“Yes, I realise my mistake now,” you said with a hand over your heart, feigning shock.

After a few seconds though you weren’t able to hold your back your laughter and an involuntary giggle escaped you. He started smiling as well, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You now knew you had actually bruised his ego with that statement back then. He asked you this particular question only a few days after you met him and you naively answered with the first thing that came to mind, not really knowing the gravity of it. Not really knowing... him. How important these things were for him. Looking back, it was definitely some kind of test that you failed miserably, and he made sure to remind you of that faux pas every now and then, probably still a bit offended and wounded.

“... Do you want me to read to you again? Maybe... um you can try to go to sleep a little earlier tonight, what do you think?” you offered, trying to change the subject. Thankfully he bought into it.

“Mhm.. you always take such good care of me. Like a mama.”

“Well, thanks for that,” you answered, a bit unsure if the second part was really a compliment or not. He scooted closer, laying his head on your shoulder and throwing an arm around your middle, his hand finding its place at your waist.

“...No, I mean it, Julie. I-I really admire that about ya.” He raised his head again, looking deeply into your eyes. “A-And I don’t think I tell ya enough,” he whispered and squeezed your sides.

You felt your pulse quicken and let out a shuddering breath. Was it nervousness? Was it the stress? Was it anticipation? Excitement? There was certainly no denying that you liked the way his hands felt on your body.

“I’m sorry if I’m like this to you sometimes. I-I can’t always help it... My head is just so fucked up sometimes I know I can be a nasty asshole... I just w-want you to know what you mean to me,” he stammered with a frown. You knew it was hard for him to get these words out and you adored and hated him for saying them out loud.

“Elvis, you aren’t any of those things. And-“

He closed his eyes and gently nuzzled his nose against yours, making you stop mid sentence. He was so incredibly tender with you, even the fact that the tip of his nose was nearly freezing due to the cool room temperature didn’t deter you from leaning into his touch.

“...Yes, I am. I’m a selfish bastard who can’t even keep an agreement he made. A promise to the woman he adores.”

Every rational thought you had was thrown out of the window at this. The only thing you knew, felt, was him. This pull between you two had been there from the beginning and you so desperately fought against it. There had been many instances, many battles where you almost surrendered yourself to him, but you always managed to put your rational thoughts first.

Now, with his strong hands on your body, his beautiful face so close that you could feel his hot breath over your lips and the words that just slipped past his marshmallow ones, you felt something snap within you.

You leaned forward and eagerly pressed your lips against his, a surprised squeal escaping you at the same time. You were about to pull back and apologise, but that thought was quickly thrown out the window when you felt him kissing you back fiercely.

The bed under you creaked when he shifted his weight, moving to lay almost on top of you. His chains dangled from his wide chest and you reached around to pull him even closer to you. He complied and leaned down even further, his rounded belly now pressing up against you. A gasp escaped you at the feeling of his weight pushing you down into the mattress, utterly trapped and at his mercy.

One of his ring clad hands moved up from your hip to gently cup your cheek. The cool metal felt good on your burning skin and you felt Elvis smiling into the kiss. His lips were so incredibly soft and hot as they sloppily worked against yours and you weren’t able to form one coherent thought. When his hot, wet tongue slipped out to trace over your bottom lip you couldn’t contain a little groan.

You reached up to tread your fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, stroking up and down, while he tightened his grip on your waist. The contradicting roughness you felt against your hands versus the wonderful softness against your lips was an intoxicating combination. It was just so very him. He pulled away from you, allowing you to catch your breath and you looked at each other, breathing heavily.

“...Elvis, this isn’t good,” you whispered, a half-hearted attempt to stop him. To stop yourself. Both.

He licked his lips and trailed a lazy finger over your hip.

“Ya don’t like this?” he asked, looking at you from beneath his shades incredulously.

“Oh god...I- I do,” you stammered helplessly after he had rubbed soothing circles over your hip for almost a minute.

He smiled and leaned down to bury his face against your neck, peppering soft, sweet kisses along your pulse point, making you giggle. Then you felt his warm hand gliding under your shirt, pushing the fabric upwards until your bra was exposed. His attack on your neck stopped and he leaned back to watch you, biting his lip. What a pretty picture you were for him, with your face wonderfully flushed, biting your lip and breathing heavily. Your face grew even more hot under his intense gaze and the way he licked his lips and smirked down at you sent shock waves to your core. You quickly pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it onto the floor next to the bed. Ugh, still too hot.

“Lord have mercy,” he breathed, as he watched your chest rise and fall quickly with every laboured breath you took. He cupped one breast in each hand and his lip curled, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Ladies, you two look real fun. You can be my new best friends,” he cooed as he squeezed them together and leaned down to nuzzle into them with a playful growl. You laughed and the motion made them jiggle, much to his delight.

“E, you’re being silly,” you giggled.

“No, I’m being serious. I need to play with these before every show now. Will ya let me? Best stress balls ever, I’ll tell ya.”

“You are impossible. Can’t take you nowhere,” you replied with a grin and gently stroked his cheek.

“Let an old man have some fun, Julie baby,” he mumbled with a smile. He softly kissed your collarbone before carefully hoisting you up, his hands on your back, to unclasp your bra with his nimble fingers.

You let out a surprised ‘Oh!’ when he hastily pulled the undergarment off you and tossed it onto the floor. His eyes roamed over your form for what felt like hours, a mix of appreciation and concentration in his gaze, as if trying to memorize every little detail. It made you throw your arms over your face, a weak attempt to hide the fact that you were as red as a tomato. He clicked his tongue and reached up, wanting to move your arms away, finding it incredibly cute how flustered you were. He gently ran his fingers over your skin.

“Sweetheart, let me look at you,” he sang.

You stubbornly refused to let him see you and possibly laugh at you, and he quickly realised you wouldn’t budge. He smirked as he decided to alter his tactic. You felt his hands wandering downwards along you neck, over your chest and onto your stomach. He briefly paused there, his fingers drumming against your skin, before beginning to tickle your sides which caused you to squeal and laugh so hard that your stomach started to ache.

“E, stop!” you finally gasped, trying to catch your breath.

Eventually you moved your arms and swatted away his bold, exploring hands, making him grin triumphantly.

“You’re not playing fair!” you laughed.

“All is fair in love and war. Never heard of that?”

You wanted nothing more than to wipe that goofy, smug grin off his face when he leaned down to kiss the tip of your nose.

“...You’re such a pretty baby.” He whispered and rubbed his cheek against yours, reminding you of a cat, his sideburns tickling you. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

He mumbled into your cheek over and over again and you wrapped your arms around his wide frame. His hips started to move, slowly thrusting up against you in a steady pace and wetness pooled between your legs when you felt him growing against your clothed cunt. You let out a high pitched moan and his soft tongue licked a long stripe across your cheek in response. He felt your nails digging into his back, your fingers cramping and he softly whined against your ear, making you throb even more. God, it had to be a criminal offence to make such sounds.

You eagerly moved your hands to open the buttons of his deep v neck shirt, needing to see, feel his chest and stomach in their entire glory. It also felt unfair that you were almost naked and he was still fully clothed. After the first two buttons were open, you slipped your hand inside and stroked his soft belly. Suddenly he jolted away as if he’d burned himself. You drew back your hand and saw some of the insecurity you’d seen earlier this day flash in his eyes. But then it was gone again as quickly as it came and instead a stern look took over his beautiful features.

“Sweetheart, no,” he said determinedly.

“Why not?” you whined and reached out to fumble with the remaining buttons. He grasped your hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, kissing the back of them two, three, four times.

“...This is about you,” he muttered as he released your hands and moved to caress your bare stomach. You got the impression this statement wasn’t entirely true.

“But-“

“No buts, stubborn little lady.” He shook his head, his eyes trained on his fingers as they traced invisible patterns around your belly button.

“What happened to you liking it when I take care of you?” you pouted while lightly playing with his chains that were still dangling over you.

He reached up to brush some hair from your face and caressed your cheekbones with his knuckles.

“Please, Julie... let me show you,” he whispered with a sudden urgency in his voice, his eyes shining pleadingly under the tinted glass.

You removed his shades to get a better look at them. His deep blue eyes were almost completely black, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was also this intense vulnerability again, which overwhelmed you every time. You could tell how important this was for him right now and slowly nodded. Then you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss against his lips, which he almost anxiously returned, one hand coming up to softly knead your breast.

He eventually pulled away from you and moved down your body, gently kissing each pebbled nipple once, making you arch up against his skilled mouth before he trailed feather-light kisses along your stomach. He sat down between your legs and his hands skimmed over your hips until they stopped at the waistband of your pants. He briefly lifted you up, his hands on your butt and began to pull them down slowly. You watched with anticipation as he exposed more and more of your bare skin in slow motion, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration again. He did that a lot.

After your legs were finally completely bare under his praising eyes, he ran his hands up and down along them, whistling appreciatively. Then he gripped the back of your left knee and lifted it until your calf rested on his shoulder.

“Your legs, sweetheart,” he groaned and tapped against your thigh. “When I see you striding around with these in your lil’ platforms... Lordy, I just wanna be wrapped up in them. Every. Damn. Time.”

He turned his head and brushed his lips across your calf, the possessive grip on the back of your knee not faltering and his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He pushed your knee back towards you until his soft mouth arrived at your ankle. Then he pulled off your shoes and tossed them off the bed, making them clatter as they landed next to the rest of your discarded clothes.

You raised your head when you felt his teeth grazing your skin, gently biting down on your ankle. He briefly kissed the light bite marks and moved up your calf again. The way his eyes were closed in bliss and his breathing ragged was almost too much for you to handle and you threw your head back into the pillow. He almost seemed to enjoy this more than you, the thought making you feel even warmer inside.

You promptly sat up again and wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to feel his velvety lips against yours again after the rest of your body got so much sweet attention from them. You held onto the hair at his neck when you felt his tongue lazily gliding over your bottom lip and moved your hips against his, feeling the slight bulge in his trousers. You reached down, your hand gliding over his crotch, feeling him half hard against your palm. He swiftly caught your wrist and brought it up to his cheek, shaking his head.

“Nuh uh, Julie baby, forget it. I already told you, this is about you. You really gotta to learn how to listen,” he chuckled, fingers gently tugging at your earlobe. “Now lie back, sweetheart, let me take care of ya. I’ll handle it.”

He hummed, his big hand sprawled across your chest, gently forcing you back against the pillow. You wordlessly stared at him as he moved back between your legs, his gaze lingering on the panties you still wore. He leaned down to get a better look at them and hooked his fingers under the waistband, toying with it.

After briefly meeting your eyes again and taking in your flushed face, he pulled them down, his hands grazing over your legs again. Your toes curled when he bunched your panties up in his fist with a grin.

“Sweetheart, these are soaked. Why didn’t ya say anything? Cat got your tongue again?” he cooed. You answered by wrapping your leg around his back, pulling him closer to you.

“Oh, I see we’re eager today, Julie baby? No words, just straight to the point. Hold on, let’s see what I can do about that,” he rumbled and lightly kissed along your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your glistening pussy.

Just when you thought he’d pay attention to where you needed him most, he moved away again and started peppering your other thigh with sweet kisses and kitten licks.

“E! I swear-” you moaned, and tightened your leg around him, growing more and more impatient with him, the throbbing in your core nearly driving you insane.

“Oh, now she can talk again. What do you want, sweetheart?” he mumbled as he rubbed his cheek against your skin, barely able to conceal the smile tugging at his lips.

“That tickles, stop!” you laughed and moved to scoot away from him, but his hands quickly shot out to grab your hips, effectively holding you still.

You held onto the satin bed sheet when his mouth moved over the supple flesh of your thigh again, kissing and sucking at the soft skin there, surely leaving one or two hickeys. After for what felt like hours, you finally felt his hot breath ghosting over your clit, the tingling feeling in your lower belly growing stronger. You wanted to thrust up to him, desperate for any sort of friction, but found that he still had your hips in an iron grip, his fingers digging almost painfully into your skin. Each time you attempted to free yourself he tightened his hold, making it impossible to move. A whimper escaped you when he softly kissed your folds, his nose bumping into your mound.

“Quit the teasing!” you cried out, and he smirked up at you like he was having the time of his life.

“Julie baby, why are you so impatient? I told ya I’ll take care of ya,” he reminded you and licked a long stripe along your clit after deeply inhaling your scent. It made you throw your arm over your face again and you bit your hand to muffle the moans escaping you when he began to gently suckle at your sensitive nub.

One of his hands moved up to your breast and began to fondle it again, lightly pinching your nipple. You felt like your whole body was on fire, sweat forming on your forehead and you desperately wished someone would drop a bucket of ice water over you. Elvis’ moans and grunts, combined with the wet slurping noises made your ears ring and your legs began shaking from pleasure. You placed a hand over his, still gently massaging your breast and squeezed, encouraging him to increase the pressure, making him hiss.

“Damn, sweetheart... You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he grunted, voice muffled as he was still buried between your legs.

You slowly felt your orgasm approaching and grabbed onto his hair, desperate for something to ground you. You pushed his face harder against your pussy, his skilled tongue greedily trying to catch every last drop of your arousal and you nearly passed out when you suddenly felt him insert two fingers into your hole. You moaned and arched against him, your fingers and toes flexing uncontrollably when he curled his fingers inside you, his lips sucking on your clit even harder than before.

“E, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you just managed to get out before shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, a feeling of weightlessness in your bones. It only spurred him on as he continued throughout your orgasm, desperate to get each and every little sound out of you.

When you started wriggling against him from overstimulation he pulled away from you with a stupid grin plastered on his face and withdrew his fingers, making you shudder once again. He gleefully put them in his mouth, sucking off remains of you.

“Ya taste so sweet, I can’t get enough of that.” You attempted to lean up on your elbows to kiss him, but found that your muscles were still rather limp. “Was that alright, Julie baby? Did I make ya feel good?”

“E, are you joking? You’re the best.” You smiled, your fingers ghosting over his lips. “What about you, though?” His warm mouth engulfed your finger, briefly sucking on it.

“Mmh, if I only knew before that it was that easy to tame ya.”

“Don’t get cheeky now, Presley,” you huffed.

“Ah, there she is again. I might just-“ He lazily grinned and slipped his hand between your legs to cup your overstimulated pussy again, making you jump.

“God!” you gasped when he drew back his hand and smiled innocently, while you playfully glared at him. You reached up and played with his collar.  “...But really... let me take care of you now.”

“Nah, it’s alright, sweetheart... Little Elvis is more than happy to see ya, believe me. But he’s just a bit tired today, it was a long day. Ya understand that, right?” You hesitantly nodded.

“...Okay, E. Next time,” you mumbled and gently ran your hand through his hair. He laid down his head on your thigh and absentmindedly began drawing patterns on your lower belly again, lips puckered as if deep in thought.

After a while, his eyes grew more and more heavy and you watched him battle his sleepiness. It gave you time to begin reflecting on what had happened and you quickly found that it gave you a massive headache. Was this a one-time occasion? Was it a slip-up? Would it become a regular thing? You had just muttered something about a next time without thinking. Lord have mercy!

As long as you weren’t sure about the nature of this new layer in your relationship with him you weren’t to eager to let anyone else know. That’s something you were sure about. The only thing.

You shifted slightly, your current position not at all comfortable, which caused Elvis to rouse again. He gave you a sleepy smile and clumsily crawled on top of you again, eyes half lidded and dazed.

“God, what are we going to do now?” you thought out loud.

“Mmmh, I wanna cuddle with ya,” he muttered and smushed his lips against yours with a loud smack.

“...We can’t tell no one.” you whispered, regaining your senses and staring up at the ceiling. He hummed.

“...Whatever you say, Mommy,” he cooed and buried his face in your neck as his soft stomach pressed up against your side once more, his weight on top of you immediately comforting.

“I mean it, E,” you insisted, hoping he’d manage to be serious for just a moment. He wasn’t really known for being good at keeping secrets.

“Mhm. Me too. Lordy, you’re so soft and warm, sweetheart,” he slurred and closed his eyes after a quick peck to your neck.

You sighed with a smile and pressed a kiss against his forehead while wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. There was no use in overthinking the situation right now. He smiled into your neck, still distinctly thinking about the sounds you made while he pleasured you. It felt like a lullaby.

You made a mental note to have this particular talk with him in the morning. Or, technically, afternoon and hoped he would understand.

“Good night, darling,” you murmured and dosed off with your hand resting on his chest, feeling, monitoring, his steady breathing like every night. Except everything was different now.

[mars-wuz-herez]

What once....was...mine....

Suggestion #1

His coat lies outside on the floor. Infinite is dead. Sonic is finally free. 

But he can't celebrate.

Sonic turns to face Shadow who is currently laying on the floor, bleeding.

“Nonononono. Shadow?”

Sonic lifts Shadow's head on his lap. Shadow coughs a few times, before his head turns. Sonic grabs his cheek and turns it towards him.

“Look at me. Look at me. I'm right here, don't go stay with me Shadow please!”

Sonic grabs Shadow's hands and puts them on his quills and starts singing, faster than normal, voice breaking as he sings

“Flowers gleam and glow. L-Let your power shine. Why isn't this working? Please work!”

“Hey” Shadow weakly says but Sonic ignores him and continues singing

“Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine”

“Sonic”

The blue hedgehog looks at Shadow, tears in his eyes.

“You were my new dream….”

Sonic laughs tears now streaming down his cheeks. His hand squeezes Shadows.

“And you were mine”

Shadow smiles, closes his eyes and takes his last breath.

Sonic doesn't move. ‘He died’ he thinks, ‘All because of me’. He cups Shadow's cheeks and continues singing. As he is singing, memories of their adventure play out. Them visiting the Ugly duckling, Sonic singing and Shadow covering his face in embarrassment when really he was hiding his blush and smile. Memory of them barely escaping the guards, memory of them Shadow visibly freaked out when Sonic showed him his powers. (That was a funny one). And then his favorite memory of them all. Both of them on a boat watching the lanterns as they lit up the sky. Sonic remembers taking a glance at Shadow and thinking how beautiful he was. How there was no other place he wanted to be, how he wished that this moment would never end. He was thought about how much he wanted to…

to…

but it was too late now. Shadow is dead. Sonic’s powers are no longer useful. He is no longer useful.

He puts their foreheads together and sings the final verse to the song.

“...what once was mine.”

Then he finally allows himself to cry. He cries and cries while mumbling apologies to the hedgehog on his lap

“I’m so sorry, Shadow. I should've done more to help you. This is….all my fault. I'm so sorry”

As he cries he doesn't notice a tear fall on the others cheek. That tear stays there for a minute before disappearing leaving a glowing flower. 

Sonic almost doesn't notice the bright light coming out of Shadow. The blue light dances in the air and the bright light coming from Shadow gets brighter and brighter. It forms the flower, the 

sundrop flower. Sonic watches as the blood from Shadow's shirt disappears. Then just as the light appears, it all disappears into Shadow. 

Sonic looks at his wound. It's gone! He looks back at Shadow hoping that this could've healed him.

“please…”

For a moment Shadow’s movement remain still. Then he opens one eye. Then another

“S-Sonic?”

Sonic gasps.

“Shadow?”

“Did uh…did I ever tell you I have a thing for blue hedgehogs?”

Sonic laughs and lunges himself into a hug almost falling on the floor. Shadow cathces him and hugs him back, burying his face into the others shoulder. They stay like that for a while. 

Sonic pulls away from the hug and faces Shadow. Before Shadow could speak Sonic closes the gap between them and their lips connect. Shadow returns the kiss. As they are kissing, tears stream down Sonic’s face. 

But these aren't sad tears. 

These are tears of joy.

He's happy because he's able to do the one thing he thought he would never get to do.

He's happy because the love of his life is alive.

The End

Thanks for reading!

If you have any suggestions you would like me to write, feel free to leave a comment here or in my inbox!

Metions

@clarastarpop

[olympeline]

Would you want to say more about omega Arthur and how he presents as an omega? I like both alpha and omega Arthur but as an omega I think of him as the more rebellious type who doesn’t want to be forced into that typical omega role. 🤔

Oh and maybe tell us about his potential alphas and their relationship if you want to? 👀

Would I like to talk more about omegaverse Arthur? The answer to that question is always and forever: yes, yes I would love to 👀

To me, Arthur is one of the most fun characters to headcanon as an omega. It works in any setting but for simplicity’s sake, I’ll stick with the canon Hetalia verse.

National personifications are born from their people and reflect the societal attitudes of the time. Make it omegaverse and why would second sex be any different. Every country would want their nation-person to be an alpha because they’re seen as being the best. The strongest, the most powerful, the natural leaders, etc. Being part of a nation with an alpha personification is something to be proud of. In contrast, a nation-person presenting as omega would be shameful. An ill wind, a bad omen, a portent of hard times ahead, all that good bad stuff. Betas would be in the middle: not as good as alphas, not as bad as omegas. There would probably be a shared attitude that alpha nation-people mean empires, omega nation-people mean getting stepped on by empires. It’s not actually true - there’s no link between how strong a nation is and which second sex their personification has - but people believe it anyway. They wouldn’t stop believing it until omegas started getting equal rights. Something I headcanon as only happening in modern times, but that’s another story.

So, that’s where my interpretation of Arthur comes in. He’s always struck me as a character with a huge thirst to prove himself, which makes sense if you look at England’s history. Specifically if you stretch it back to the pre-Roman era. Extreme oversimplification here, but England/the British Empire is kind of the opposite of what happened to the Roman Empire/Italy. A nation that started out in ancient times as Europe’s punching bag, but then went on to become a great power. Which fits so well with the trope of an omega hiding their true nature to stop it being a hindrance to their rise. They’ve come out into the world, teeth bared and fists swinging, and are determined no one is going to put them back down again.

Arthur wants to be great. He wants to be strong like the nations who used to rule him. He wants to be an empire. He’s been raised to believe omegas aren’t empires. Been taught that what he is is shameful and a hindrance for his people. So Arthur, ever ruthlessly practical, decides if being an omega is such a problem then he simply won’t be one. I said he might try to fake being an alpha for clout in my other post, but I actually tend to headcanon him as an omega who fakes being a beta. I’m not sure Arthur could pull off alpha and make it believable. Even in canon he’s described as being “slight” and alphas are tall and larger framed. Think Ivan or Alfred. Arthur isn’t built like them and he wouldn’t want to arouse more suspicion than he had to. So he grudgingly settles on faking a beta identity even though he would have preferred alpha. Better to fake being second rate and not get caught than to try for first and risk being outed as third, you know?

He gets away with it because he presented late. That slim frame came from a childhood of high stress where there often wasn’t enough to eat. Arthur got his first heat way past when he should have. Everyone had already accepted him as a beta, so it was easy to hush up his true nature. After that he just maintained the illusion. Until some handsome alpha catches him out during a surprise heat and all the steamy sex happens because yes please give it to me I will never get tired of this trope shut up and take my money

So, to sum up my thoughts: omegaverse Arthur wanted to be an alpha, thought he was a beta, only to eventually present as an omega. World prejudice against omegas made him decide to keep faking a beta identity. Both to avoid disappointing his people and to make the international community take him seriously as a potential world power.

There you have it. I hope this was entertaining to read because I love rambling about this stuff. Oh, and if you’re wondering about what happens with Arthur’s future mate, about his interactions with the alphas in his life, about when his true second sex would eventually be revealed to the world, about the resulting fallout from it, etc. my answer is: I think I’ll save those questions for their own post because this one is getting too long. 😉

[fuutakaijyama]

hi !!! can i request fuuta kajiyama and mikoto kayano (separate !!! ) X idol reader? (in milgram . ) , likeee whatd they think of reader's work and stuff . ty !!!!

OMFG THE FIRST TIME I WROTE THIS IT DIDNT SAVE RSHDJDKDKS (it's okay though we got it)

IDOL INMATE

note : i/n means idol name

FUUTA KAJIYAMA VER.

i·dol /ˈīd(ə)l/ noun

an image or representation of a god used as an object of worship.

An idol, that's what you were. From your early childhood till now that's what you were reduced to, you sat on that cold floor as Fuuta scrolled through Nico Nico with the computer Es “reluctantly” gave him after sending multiple requests for one.

Unbeknownst to you he was a fanboy, from collecting your merchandise, to streaming your albums and tweeting about you, he was your biggest fan.

It was only now that he could make the connection, clicking on a video of the choreography for your most popular song as he stared at you.

“[Name], come here.. please?”

Reluctantly you stood next to his desk, leaning against the wall as you looked up at him.

“Yeah Fuuta?” He paused the video, looking at you then back at the video it seemed that he had a moment of whiplash.

His eyes lit up like a little kid, a large smile on his face as he took his hands in yours, (like the fanboy he is) his grip didn't hurt but it was definitely tight.

“Your i/n right?! You look exactly like them!” You slowly nodded in response, his eyes began to get even brighter almost like a birthday candle or a lamp.

Yet at the same time it was like he was having a moment of realization, his favorite idol, in jail? For what? What could you have done thats so bad? He took a hand away, holding his free hand by his side.

He was about to ask why you were there but last minute he stopped himself, the sound of him speaking only a sharp breath as he held both of your hands again. A smile on his face as he hugged you warmly, this was a moment he would never forget.

“From now on I’m going to take care of you no matter what!”

MIKOTO KAYANO VER.

Mikoto wasn't someone that was well versed in the idol scene, he had seen them on TV a handful of times through his life, the most memorable of them being you.

He sighed as he sat in his cell, recounting the memories of you on his TV screen late at night, his cold body sprawled out on the couch as he watched the prettiest idol dance on stage.

Sighing he looked up at you, your cell was across from his so it was much easier for him to look at you, taking into account the features he could see, the color of your eyes, the specific color of your skin, the hairstyle you adopted while in MILGRAM.

It was all so specific to you, even down to the way you wore your uniform one look at your silhouette and he knew it was you.

“Hey [Name], I have a question for you.” You turned your head to look at him, his eyes lazily trailing your body till they met your eyes, you had his full attention.

“Were you ever on TV? For any reason at all?” He quipped as he rolled off something in his cell, now sitting on the floor facing you.

“Yeah I was on TV most of the time, I used to be an idol before coming to this dump.” You scoffed, you lived comfortably before MILGRAM now you were just being tossed around by a fifteen year old.

There Mikoto was, trying to recall the way the idol looked compared to you. “Did you ever go by the stage name of i/n..?” He raised a brow, moving closer to his open cell doors, leaning his head against the cold metal bars to cool himself off from the scolding metal heat.

“Yeah I did, why'd you ask?” You watched his peculiar behavior as something in him seemed to click almost instantly, you watched the way his body perked up.

“Oh!~ That's where I know you from! Don't worry I’ll be sure to give the only idol I know the best princess treatment!"