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vanishingstarrs · 22 hours

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sleepless nights

part 1/?

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It was late. You shouldn’t even be awake, but you couldn’t sleep with all that was going on in the world.

So you decided to do something productive: bake. You needed something to focus your energy onto and who didn’t love cookies? You were sure your dorm mates would appreciate some in the morning when they all awoke.

You had very minimal lighting, but were wearing your glasses so that wasn’t an issue. You also had a pair of earbuds in one ear so you could monitor for any noise or disturbances you may be causing by being up so late into the night. The music was soft and meant to be soothing, you hoped it might make you sleepy with time, but it didn’t take and eventually you sat down next to the oven while you waited for your timer to run out.

“What are you doing?”

You nearly jumped, your hand coming up to clutch your chest as you pulled out your earbud and looked up at the person standing there.

“Jesus, you’re quiet.”

“And you’re not.” The blond countered.

You frowned at him,“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

Bakugo sat down across from you, eyes glancing at the oven briefly before looking at you again,“How much longer?”

You glanced at your phone before looking at him and shrugging,“Seven minutes.”

He said nothing as he turned on the stove and placed a pot of water on. He stood and watched it until it was hot enough to pour into a mug with a teabag hanging off the side. He held it out to you, your eyes focused on the fact that it was his mug, his favorite color, his initial, his.

“For me?” You asked, unsure.

“Drink.” He said.

You took it and slowly took a sip, the tea was unfamiliar in taste and you figured it might also be one of his. Usually Yaoyorozu was the one to offer you tea, you weren’t well versed in them, but did enjoy the taste whenever you had one.

“Did I really wake you up?” You asked as guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

To your knowledge, Bakugo was a heavy sleeper.

He eyed your timer again.

“No.”

“Oh.”

You didn’t really know what else to say. You stopped the timer before it could make noise and stood up, placing the mug on the counter and picking up an oven mitt instead. The cookies smelt amazing as you pulled them out and part of you wanted to taste one, but the other part worried you’d get judged for eating it so late. Instead, you placed them on a rack to cool and took another sip of the tea.

You felt his gaze on you.

“Aren’t you gonna eat one?” He asked.

You shrugged for the second time,“They’re too hot right now, maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow.” He deadpanned.

There was no way your face wasn’t red as embarrassment flooded your mind, now you felt even worse for him being awake despite him saying it wasn’t your fault. The heat of the tea concealed your blush but fogged up your glasses, which was arguably even more mortifying, as you suddenly remembered that you were wearing them. No one ever saw you in them. You always made sure to wear your contacts in class and in costume for training, around anyone besides your parents.

Before you could do anything about it, the frames were plucked off your face and you watched dumbfounded as Bakugo used his t-shirt to clear them back up for you. You briefly eyed the tiny sliver of skin exposed by him using his shirt.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He brought the lenses up to his eyes to make sure they were good before placing them back on your face.

The question was unexpected, the whole interaction was, in fact. He was the last person you’d expect to care. Well… you didn’t know if he actually cared but still. You gulped, did you want to confide in him? You were never really close, I mean, sure, he didn’t yell at you the way he did the others and often times you’d worked together and managed to take care of your assignments without arguing. But you weren’t friends. At best, he tolerated you.

While you continued to hesitate, he walked over to the rack of cookies and plucked two out of the bunch. He bit into one, showing no signs of liking or hating it.

“How is it?” You couldn’t help seek validation, even if it was from him.

He held out the second cookie to you and you took it. One bite, two, they were fucking amazing. Not to toot your own horn, but if you were good at anything, it was baking.

He finished his off but said nothing on the taste or quality, you had a feeling chocolate chip wasn’t his favorite but didn’t dare ask what was.

“You gonna answer my question?”

You sighed and took another slow sip of tea before the mug was pulled from your hands and you watched Bakugo tip it back and down the rest. You watched with an open mouth as you didn’t know whether to be offended since he’d made it for you or go red at the fact that he’d drink from the same cup as you without care. As he rinsed the mug in the sink and set it down to wash later, he looked back at you with raised brows, okay…

“I’m worried.” You fidgeted with your fingers now that you didn’t have the mug to hold onto,“About Midoriya, about the fate of Japan… the world, actually. I wonder how it’ll all end, and whether all of us will—”

Your voice cracked, you took a deep breath,“You know?”

He sighed. “You gonna cry?”

Okay, that kinda hurt, you thought to yourself. Stubbornly, you held in your remaining feelings as you shook your head, you couldn’t say no or else you’d definitely shed a tear or two.

“Worrying won’t help him, or any of us.” He spoke up after a second,“What you need is rest, so that when they need us we’re able to do something. I know it’s all words or whatever, but that’s about all I can offer. Put your shit away, I’ll walk you back to your room, that tea should be kicking in any minute now.”

You looked at him with a questioning gaze and he scoffed.

“Relax. I didn’t slip you anything, I drank some too. It’s just some shit I buy, it soothes and helps you sleep. C’mon, I’m tired.”

You nodded and left it at that, quickly working to put your baked goods in a cute cookie jar you’d purchased once and writing a note for your classmates to help themselves and that they were fresh. You added that you’d clean up your dishes in the morning and your initials at the end with a smiley face. When you turned back around, Bakugo was waiting and he let you walk ahead of him.

It didn’t take long to reach you door, but when you did what he said surprised you.

“Leave your door open. Mine will be too.” He didn’t say it, but the implication was there. He’d be there if you needed anything.

“Okay.” Was all you responded with.

You didn’t know if it was the tea, or the fact that you felt a little lighter after telling someone a bit of what you were feeling, but you were definitely starting to feel tired and you couldn’t help reach up to rub one of your eyes.

“Nice glasses.” He teased.

You were thankful for the darkness to hide your blush as he ended it with,“Night.”

He was already walking away when you whispered so low he surely couldn’t have heard it,“Night… Bakugo.”

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #part one ??#unedited

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aka-indulgence · 3 days

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Gentleman

Thank you @skelliefanatic for another commission! They wanted a Buckshot roulette Dealer and man do I need More Dealer huehuehhe

Ao3 Link Commission Info

(The Dealer x Female!Reader)

Working at a club wasn’t fun. The lights, the sounds, the smell (ugh, the smell), not to mention the people…

There is an upside to working there though. The owner of the establishment was a nice, polite, respectful man. Even if his face looked like something out of a nightmare.

TW: Guns, injury and blood, general club stress (canon typical stuff)

———

You were not having a good time.

Your head pounded, and the time you should’ve spent walking to the bus stop was taken by having to deal with a rowdy drunkard until eventually you resorted to asking the bouncer for help. It wasn’t realistic, but you hoped to go home before the last bus- at 1-2AM. You asked your boss to go home earlier tonight; you were exhausted and easily overwhelmed tonight. He did give you permission (you think he might have a soft spot for you), but despite his goodwill you ended up missing it anyway.

You might’ve had a bit of a panic attack… just a little one. You fled to the bathroom and locked yourself in there for about half an hour. The music was too loud, the thick smoke was nauseating, and if you had to stand under the flashing neon lights for much longer you think you’d start screaming. The stalls muffled the sounds a bit, which was better than nothing. (Though you did hear a couple of girls come in to… expel their stomachs. That didn’t help.)

When you got out, it was clear to anyone that you weren’t ok. The bartender, Jacob, took one look at you and grimaced.

“Hey, you look rough. Do you want something from back here? Dealer probably wouldn’t mind if it was you to be honest.”

“No thanks. I don’t really wanna get sick tonight.”

“Fair enough,”

You tried to help him out even though you knew you wanted nothing to do with the club patrons right now- but he was kind enough to give you reprive and let you stay at the back of the bar for the rest of the night.

After many long hours, the club finally closed and everyone dispersed. You felt like you could take a good long breath; and it meant the next bus was coming soon.

You took a peek out the door. The sky was as dark as ever and you could feel an immediate chill down to your bones, even though you only opened the door a crack. The music’s off and so were all the lights of the club, except for the bar. Your eyes and throat feel dry. You can tell your muscles were going to be sore once you got home, and honestly, you might sleep on the bar floor if the club wasn’t so eerie.

For the record, you do prefer a closed club over the sensory overload that was an open one, but the silence is deafening and this building always felt haunted when it wasn’t in use.

You really didn’t want to go home in the dark. You don’t feel safe- not that you ever did, but you were especially tired tonight and you don’t think you’ll be aware and alert enough to be walking home in the dark. But you also don’t think you have it in you to stay in the club until six… if you’re going home, you have to go now. The next bus won’t come for another hour.

Not like leaving in the early morning is any more dangerous than going at midnight. … I think…

Might as well.

You yawn and toss your coat over your shoulders when you hear heavy footsteps approaching.

Even though you could guess who it was, you yelp and drop your bag when you see the Dealer’s large face in front of you.

“Careful, angel. You never know when there’s a greedy monster’s lurking around these parts,” the Dealer laughed, catching your bag and returning it to you. “Of course, it’s always a pleasure to see you but… why are you still here? I thought I told you you could go home early if you wanted.”

“Oh um, yes but… I missed the bus.” You sighed. “There was a guy we needed to kick out, and by the time I looked at the clock I realized I missed the last one.”

The Dealer frowns and tsks. “Those are the kinds of men I wish were upstairs with me instead. Sorry you had to deal with them, beautiful.”

“Th-thanks!” You mumbled. You never knew what to do when he calls you those things… it’s always more respectful than what you’d expect him to say.

“So are you… done… up there…?” You floundered. You didn’t really know what goes on upstairs, just that the Dealer spends all his time up there and you hear what sounds like gunshots but uh… you try not to think about it too hard!

Sometimes it was a bit of a gamble whether or not the Dealer was going to show face at all, usually towards the end of your shift. There are nights when he comes down full of life and beaming his razor-grin, nights when he comes down heaving and ask for an obscene amount of beers, and then other nights where he doesn’t show up at all… and the upstairs is quiet. Jacob tells you that out of all nights not to go upstairs, it would be the quiet ones.

The Dealer smiled sinisterly, grabbing a tissue from over the bar counter and wipes the ends of his teeth.

“... Yes… It was a plenteous one.”

You can’t tell in this lighting. The Dealer’s teeth never looked ‘right. Crooked, sharp, too many, and stained a rusted color, and right now it looks redder than usual. Bright red. Whatever it was, it stained the tissue the Dealer used and it almost looked like…

You swallowed.

“That’s good to hear!” You think? “Thank you Dealer, boss, sir. I have to go now- the bus comes in twenty minutes and it’s a fifteen minute walk from here.”

You don’t know what to call him sometimes. He prefers the name ‘Dealer’ the most, and that’s what most people call him. You don’t think that’s his real name, but no one knows his real name as far as you know, and the man (if he even is one) is cagey about it.

(“Boss? No… just call me Dealer, angel. Everyone does.”

“Is that… your real name?”

“Practically. Besides… I love hearing it from you.”)

“Who are you going with?”

“Um… no one,”

“What?” Dealer scowled, “what about the boy?”

“Jacob had something else to do, he’s not taking the bus my way tonight…”

The dealer strides past you towards the door and opens it wide. A cold, dark street looks back at him. He seems to be thoughtful… then turns to you with conviction.

“... Right, c’mon treasure, I’m coming with.” The Dealer barked, tossing his trench over himself.

“I- really?”

“Yeah. Now what kind of boss would I be if I let a beautiful thing like you walk alone down those streets?”

Your eyes… sparkle. You’re touched. You’ve been dreading the walk home to the point that you almost considered crying in the bathroom until the sun rose, but now that you’re going to have a large, menacing presence lumbering near you, you feel your stress melt away. Even the scariest club goers pale whenever they see his face.

“Th-thank you so much! That’d be great”

He extends his arm towards you like a gentleman. It was almost hilarious how big his arm was, built more like a log. You’re happy to take it.

“Let’s catch that bus of yours, shall we?”

*****

The walk to the bus stop was the most atmospheric it’s ever been. Walking down these streets were always so tense. Granted you only started working at the club only recently, but you don’t think you’ll get used to the walk home in the dark anytime soon. And you’ve had your fair share of walk-home-alones before, and they never get any better no matter how many times you’ve done it. It’s dark, you always need to pay attention and sometimes even that’s not enough. Fast walking, hoping that man behind you isn’t actually following you…

But now, with Dealer next to you? He walked leisurely with a smile. Even hunched over he was the biggest man you’ve ever seen. You felt like you didn’t have to on the lookout, even enjoy the breeze a little.

“Is your home this way too, Dealer?”

“Hm? Oh, no. I’m not going home.”

“...?” You tilt your head at him. “You mean you’re staying at the club?”

“Mhm. Don’t have anywhere else I need to be.”

“... Do you live in the club?”

Though he didn’t have pupils, it looked like the Dealer was looking somewhere else, and his hollow eyes crinkled. “You could say that.”

… Why did he have to be so enigmatic? What does he mean when he says things like that?

“What about you, angel? How’s yours?”

“It’s nothing that fancy,” you laughed awkwardly. “Just the usual shoebox apartment, just a couple of bus stops from here. It’s not the best but…”

You trail off as something catches your eyes. You purse your lips, looking nervously at a group of smoking men in the alleyway. Their eyes were seedy and all of them had an unpleasant scowl, cigarettes stuck between their teeth. You looked away too late, because they turned to glare at you.

It didn’t last long, though.

The Dealer looks over your shoulder and flashes his toothy, red grin.

“Good evening.”

The men’s eyes all widen like saucers and in an instant they scramble out of sight.

… You walked closer to the Dealer and held his arm.

The Dealer chuckles. “You can relax, angel. Those boys won’t bother us.”

“Do you know them?”

“Yes. One of their men died in the club.”

You blink your eyes and shook your head in disbelief. This information, given to you so freely- and the Dealer didn’t seem all that bothered by it.

You bit your lip, thinking about the questions you shoved under the metaphorical bed all this time. You thought about the gunshots you hear from upstairs.

You look up at him.

“Dealer?”

“Yes?”

Rip the bandage off. He doesn’t seem all to bothered by it anyway.

“Can I ask what you usually do upstairs?”

His eyes widened a little, looking more alert. You expect him to react emotionally- not sure in what way, but he doesn’t emote beyond that. It was less like he was upset and more like he was excited.

“I run a game up there. A gambling game. If you’ve noticed, I don’t really pay attention to the club… I have someone else deals with it, I’m simply the de facto owner. The game is where I pour my attention.

“It brings all the gamblers who’s willing to bet their life away, which is most lucrative… not to mention, fun.”

Your brows furrow. The Dealer looks at you knowingly.

“You’re wondering about the gunshots, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“Go ahead, ask.”

The Dealer looks so… unbothered. From the way the other people in the club frown and speak vaguely about it, you thought the Dealer would be equally as secretive about his activities. Thinking back at it, you realized how many players you must’ve encountered on the job- people who walk in disgruntled, sometimes drunk, sometimes just obstinate, almost angrily asking where the ‘roulette’ is. Of course you didn’t know anything about a game, and had to be saved by Jacob who quickly sent them upstairs.

You hem and haw as you ask the question: “So um… those are… were those for the… cheaters…?”

The Dealer laughs.

“Cheaters? No, not most of them. It’s hard to cheat in front of me and get away with only a few gunshots,” the Dealer looks on darkly.

“So… you’re just killing gamblers?”

“It depends on how the game goes whether they die or not, though most at least stand in the doorway of death. But they’re definitely getting shot.”

You would’ve stopped walking right there if you didn’t remember you were trying to catch the bus. The Dealer slows down his walking pace a little for you.

“How can you just say that so easily?” You ask, less judgemental, more genuine, distressed confusion.

“You can only play once you discharge any claims towards me and my parties by signing the waiver. It’s legally binding.”

“So basically them telling you they allow themselves to be shot?”

“Something like that.”

The Dealer summarizes. “It’s a game of roulette, but with a shotgun. Buckshot roulette. We take turns with the gun, either choosing to aim the barrel to yourself or the other player.”

So… it’s like russian roulette, as you know it.

You knew whatever was happening upstairs had death written all over it, but you didn’t know it would be something as harrowing as literally gambling with your life.

You’re shaking a little when you ask again.

“H… have you ever gotten shot?”

You’d guess at least a few times, right? He’s lucky that none of them hit his vital organs or…

The Dealer snrks.

“Lots.”

“... Huh?”

You look again at the edge of his mouth, something glistening under the broken street lamp. He’s still holding the tissue from earlier, crumpled and messy in his fist. … It looks much redder than it was before.

“Defibrillators and blood transfusions work like a charm,” he says matter of factly, winking at you.

… You… you don’t think it works that way???

The Dealer takes one look at your flabbergasted face and laughs.

“It gets my blood pumping… after I get my face blown off. Exhilarating,”

Your mouth hangs open.

“How are you alive after all that?” You cry helplessly, “Are you sure you’re not up there fighting, I don’t know… gang members or something?”

“No, they know not to. They have no reason to, after all. Don’t want to knock on the devil’s door so to speak.”

As you wonder if you’ll ever understand the Dealer’s cryptid wording, you find the only pleasant part of the street. The bus stop was up ahead, sitting in an island of yellow light from a street lamp that was actually upkept. The street itself was empty and silent.

Of course, you didn’t realize how most cleared out as soon as they saw the Dealer.

You run up to the time table and open your phone to check.

You sigh. “Phew, just in time. It’s gonna come here in a bit.”

The Dealer stops short of the street, his shadow long and dark under the light. You turn to him and smile.

“Thank you so much for accompanying me, Dealer,” you say softly and sincerely.

The Dealer blinks owlishly at you. His smile stretches and his cheeks darken a little. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was a blush.

To be honest, there was a small part of you that didn’t trust the dealer completely and hoped it wasn’t a ploy for something more nefarious… and it wasn’t. Though now that you think about it again, you were also alone with him in the club, as the others had left earlier. If anything, it’d be the best place to jump you…

You’re glad he wasn’t like that.

You step back when he bends down on one knee. He was still taller than you, and when he places his goliath hand on your shoulder you’re reminded of a parent talking to a child.

“Be careful with your life, ok angel?” He says, his forehead pinched. “I never want to see you lying dead on the ground.”

You give him an appreciative smile. It’s… really sweet, coming from him.

“I will.”

It isn’t much, but he seems reassured by that. He leans in a little and for a brief moment you thought he was about to kiss your forehead, but he braces himself on his knee and stands back up.

You both turn as the bus appears out of the corner, the lights shining into your eyes. It creaks and steams as it stops, and the door folds open. You quickly climb onto it and shiver when you’re blasted by the heater- glad to be out of the cold. You turn to wave at the Dealer, but by the time you do, he’s no longer there.

You stand there dumbfounded as the door closes quietly, and the bus rumbles as it departs. You stare at the lonely bus stop until you can’t see it anymore and finally take one of the many empty seats.

…

Now you’re really questioning whether he’s human or not.

#commission #commissions #dealer buckshot roulette #i love the idea of a dealer who speaks in a softspoken manner #heehe #aka writing

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meetinginsamarra · 3 days

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mayprompts2024, #18 blanket

The Blanket Detective

John woke up from a terribly loud bang that seemed to have happened right in his head. He wondered drowsily what that might have been when another one happened. And another. And another. And then John realized that it had been his own teeth that were chattering so loudly.

Because he was cold.

John was freezing cold. His feet had turned into solid blocks of ice and his back felt like pressed into a corset, having gone stiff from the arctic temperatures that enveloped his body.

John, still half-asleep, pawed around to find the blanket that should have been covering his body to provide comfortable warmth and coziness but was obviously missing.

Fully awake now, John sat up in the kingsize bed he was sharing with Sherlock. Where was the blanket? Did it slide down when he turned in his sleep? Had he kicked it out while dreaming?

No and no. There was no blanket on the floor of the hotel room.

John looked at Sherlock who gently snored on the other side of the bed, tightly wrapped into a blanket. He resembled a giant burrito with a human filling.

John looked closer, suspecting that Sherlock might have hogged John’s blanket as well, but Sherlock only had one. Odd. When they had gone to sleep last night there had been two, one for each of them.

Anyway, John was freezing to death so he poked Sherlock into the back until he opened his eyes and asked, quite grumpily, “What?”

“My blanket is gone and I’m freezing. Do you have it?”

“Well, you stole mine two hours ago and I woke up freezing cold so I took yours.”

“What?” There was something utterly wrong with what Sherlock had said. “I didn’t steal anything. I woke up without the damn blanket.”

“Then you must have kicked the one you stole from me out of the bed because I woke up first being cold and therefore I took yours.” Sherlock explained petulantly.

“So, this is my blanket you’re wrapped in.”

“Yes. I needed one after you stole mine like I’ve already repeated.”

“But I didn’t steal yours!” John protested. “You stole mine as you’ve just confessed!”

Sherlock wriggled his arms out of the burrito and sat up, too. “Then why was mine missing when I woke up with chattering teeth? Before you did?”

They blinked at each other.

“Oh my God,” John exclaimed. “And you consider yourself a genius!”

“Insulting me will also not make me give back the blanket.”

John leant sideways, laying his chest over Sherlock’s legs to get a look onto the floor below Sherlock’s side of the bed.

“Ha! You are a mean blanket-thief! Just look at the evidence!”

Sherlock leant over to the side. On the floor lay the second blanket.

“I deduce,” John declaimed, “that you kicked out your blanket, woke up freezing and stole mine because you thought I had stolen yours first.”

“Oops.”

Sherlock pulled the blanket onto the bed and tossed it towards John.

“I’m not going to use it. It’s as cold as the floor and I don’t have any body heat left to warm it.” John’s teeth underlined this with an extra loud chattering.

“Okay, fine.” Sherlock grumbled and unwrapped himself. “We can share mine.”

“You mean we share mine.”

“Whatever, just come here John. The blanket is big enough for us both.”

They spent the rest of the night as a double burrito and enjoyed the heavenly warmth.

++++++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @raina-at

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #number 18 blanket #my sherlock ficlets #no beta we die like (wo)men

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dandelions-143 · 12 hours

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Three’s Never A Crowd

Chan x Y/n x Seungmin

Pairing: Chan x f!reader x Seungmin

Genre: Nothing but Fluff, Fluff, and more Fluff.

Warnings: None whatsoever

A/N: So sorry for any typos, this is not edited at all. It’s just a little fluff piece. I am not so good at Sweet fluff but I felt like my page needed something sweet sprinkled on it. Enjoy!! Let me know what you think! Also reblogs are very much welcome!!

Masterlist

So warm and cozy. That was the thought that ran through your head as you snuggled into the warm body next to you. Long arms shifted to wrap around you, pulling you in close to him. You could hear his heavy heart beats as your head rested on his muscular chest.

You lifted your head a little to peer up at Chans peaceful slumbering face. He looked like a child when he was sleeping. Call it creepy but you liked to watch this man sleep. His deep steady breathing, like a rhythm you couldn’t get enough of. Chans eyes lids fluttered in his sleep as well. It made you wonder if he was dreaming and what he was dreaming of.

Chans full lips twitched and memories from last night flooded your mind. Hands and lips in all over you. The slowest and most attentive sex you had ever had. Chan had taken his time with you and so did the second man that shared your bed last night.

Your hand went to feel for Seungmin on the other side of you but, there was nothing but cold sheets. You bit your lip remembering how gentle Seungmin had been with you. How soft the men had been with one another.

The three of you were regularly intimate with one another but, you and Chan were the only ones that had made your relationship more than sex. You had steadily and then heavily fallen madly in love with Chan but Seungmin secretly had your heart too. You had told Chan about your feelings and he confessed to his own feelings for Seungmin as well.

You and Chan were hesitant to talk to a Seungmin about the mutual feelings you both had for him because the man was very independent and he was never one to be tied down.

You were brought out of your thoughts by a soft clang on the other side of the bedroom door. You slowly got up as to not wake your sleeping boyfriend. You pulled on one of Chans over sized shirts and made your way as quietly as you could into the small kitchen.

A very strong smell of bacon hit you first before you rounded the corner and your eyes landed on a shirtless Seungmin standing at the stove, various pans and skillets in the middle of cooking eggs and pancakes and bacon.

You watched him with a soft smile on your face as he concentrated on his task. His brows furrowed and his hair a mess hanging over his forehead. When the bacon popped a bit too much and burned his chest causing him to jump back with a soft curse you couldn’t help but giggle out loud.

This caught his attention, deep brown eyes met yours and you swore you saw them soften just a bit at the sight of you. “Uh, sorry if I woke you. I just thought it would be nice for you and Chan to wake up to full table of breakfast.” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. You walked up to him and smoothly wrapped your arms around his lean waist, standing on your toes to peck his lips in appreciation. “Thank you very much and you didn’t wake me.” His round puppy dog eyes lingered a moment on your lips before sliding up to your eyes.

Your lips parted to speak up about him and the possibility of this thing you and Chan had with Seungmin turning into something so much more than late nights of tangled limbs, soft moans, and mind blowing threesomes. “Breakfast.” Chans sleepy voice came from behind you. He leaned in and kissed the top of your head then kissed Seungmins cheek as if this was how mornings always went between the three of you. It just fit..it felt right.

You saw Seungmin smile sweetly at Chans show of affection and suddenly bringing up a real relationship with him didn’t seem so far fetched. “Yeah, I just thought it would be nice and kind of a thank you for last night.” Seungmin cleared his throat and stepped back so you could fill your plate up with food.

A comfortable quiet fell over the three of you as you and Chan filled your plates and Seungmin poured everyone juice. You nudged Chans arm as he stood beside you grabbing many pieces of bacon. “Sorry, I don’t get to eat bacon often.” He mumbled and began to put some of it back. You shook your head, “no no, I think I’m going to talk to him about possibly being with us..being our boyfriend.”

Chan watched Seungmin step into the bedroom to find his shirt, “You know I’m down for that. I love you and I could see myself falling for him as well but, do you think he will reciprocate that though?” You bit your bottom lip and slowly began to nod. “I think he wants to but maybe he’s afraid since it would be new to him. There’s only one way to find out.” You put a piece of toast on your plate and walked over to the small table just as Seungmin walked back in to sit across from you.

Your boyfriend came to sit next to you and you all began to eat. You and Chan kept watching Seungmin, he was the cutest when he ate. Big bites but he would chew slowly, really enjoying his food. Seungmin noticed you two staring and leaned back in his chair, “Are you two okay?” He asked as he wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

Chan smiled, his dimples showing, “Seungmin, have you ever thought of being in a relationship before?” The lean man crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. His eyes shifted from Chan to you then back to Chan. “Um, actually I have but, I don’t think it’s a possible thing.” You leaned forward a bit and spoke up between bites of food, “Well why not? You’re gorgeous, you could be with anyone you wanted to.. even us.” You casually slipped that in there hoping it didn’t make things weird.

That seemed to catch Seungmin off guard, his eyes grew a little wide and he looked a bit nervous. His mouth opened and shut then opened and shut again. Like he was trying to find his words. “What do you mean?” He finally spoke, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Chan.

Chan licked his lips and reached over gently grabbing Seungmins hand, holding it where it rested on the table. “You know we’ve been doing this sexual dance for a while now. We love it, we enjoy it but,” Seungmin looked down at his lap then and nodded, cutting Chan off he pulled his hand away, “You guys want to stop. I get it. I don’t ever want to make things hard for the two of you. I really care for you both so we can just be friends if it would suit you two better.” You got up and walked around the table to him.

There was just enough space for you to sit on his lap and you draped your arms over his shoulders, “Seungmin, we don’t want to stop…” You looked over at Chan before continuing, “We want more of you, not just sex but everything that would come with being together, in a relationship. You, Chan, and I.” You held your breath, waiting for him to take it all in. Waiting for him to process it.

You watched Seungmins eyes light up with relief and happiness as he scanned them over your face then moved them over to Chan. “I thought I was going insane. I’ve never wanted two people at the same time. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you two.” His mouth kept moving, confessing his feelings for you both. You cut him off as he began to ramble with a soft kiss. Pressing your lips to his, kissing him slow and sweet.

You carded your fingers through his thick soft hair, tugging at the glossy strands a little as you both pulled back, a mirrored smile on both of your lips. You heard a chair being pushed back and Chan was by your side. He knelt down and took Seungmins face in his hands, pulling him closer. You watched Chan kiss him deeply and you only felt happiness. It bloomed in your chest at the sight of the man you were completely in love with and the man you were slowly falling for come together.

Seungmin pulled back and left a light peck on your nose before consuming your lips again. The three of you feeling more at home with one another than you ever had before. Resting his forehead against yours and Chan leaning his head on Seungmins shoulder, your new boyfriend asked, “Does this mean dates and actual couple things?” You laughed softly and kissed at his soft cheeks, “Of course silly.”

With that Seungmin easily lifted you up in his arms as he stood, Chan following his lead. “I think we should get started on those couple things right now.” You squealed as he moved you over his shoulder, Chan grinning from ear to ear as he placed his hands on Seungmins waist and followed him into the bedroom for round two of last night.

Tags: @moonndustx

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milogreer · 2 days

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really wanna write rn so help me choooose

no promises it’ll get done ‘cause, you know… life… but i wanna be able to at least try to focus in on one. i miss writing 😔

also some little snippets of each one that might help y’all decide 🤭

shaw pack scaredy cats

“You wanna what?”

“It’s not that big a deal, I do it all the time.”

Milo looks at them like they’ve gone crazy. “Tank, if my Ma finds out I snuck into an R-rated movie, I’ll be six feet under before you can even blink.”

“You just don’t wanna watch the movie ‘cause you know you’ll chicken out first.”

“And you just don’t know the kinda hell Marie Greer can rain down on you. She’s scarier than any movie.”

Tank rolls their eyes. “Then it’s your turn to ask David for a movie. I did it last time and he spent ten minutes chewing me out about how his copy of Alien had dried pizza sauce on the back cover.”

“Maybe if you didn’t eat like you were raised in a barn-”

“Don’t be mad at me just ‘cause you chickened out when you thought the cat was gonna die-”

“Hey, that is a very reasonable response!”

Tank laughs, dispelling any further argument. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll talk to David, see if he can pull a movie for this weekend.”

the morning after

Blake stirs, mumbling something incoherent as he buries himself further into the duvet, and Bestie stills their hand from looping a lock of his hair around their index finger. When he doesn’t say anything further, they continue, touch feather-light.

Another quiet moment passes before Blake sniffles, nudges his head up into their hand, and manages a slurred, “S’wrong?”

“Nothing,” they whisper, switching to run their hand through his hair, curls soft beneath their fingers, willing him to fall back asleep. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He grunts dismissively, peeking open one eye. “What time is it?”

They pause. It’s just barely four in the morning - they’d only slept two hours before being unwillingly and inexplicably dragged out of the depths of sleep. He’ll worry if they tell him the time.

“Early.”

As expected, Blake’s brows furrow. “How early?”

“It’s fine,” they say reassuringly. “I haven’t been up long. I was just thinking.”

A pause. The air feels heavy all of a sudden. When Blake speaks, his voice is low.

“…Can I ask what about?”

working overtime

“And I was supposed to be free tonight, I was right on track to get all my stuff done, but- but then a professor from down the hall had a family emergency and so she wasn’t going to be able to finish the banner for the rally at the end of the week, so she asked me to do it and I, I, I mean, I couldn’t say no, you know?” Lasko pauses very briefly to suck in a breath. “I would’ve felt so bad because she put in a lot of work and to, to not have her project done and displayed is a shame, I mean, I know she was really excited for it, so if I can finish it for her, then I want to, I just,” he expels an exasperated breath, “I wish it wasn’t at the expense of our date night. I-It’s been a while since we were able to actually go out together, I’m so sorry I can’t make it, I know I said it already, but-”

Dear catches his hand as he paces by where they’re sitting on his desktop, nervous hands flitting through the air as he speaks, then brings it to their lips to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Taken off-guard, Lasko goes quiet and still, his rambling tapering off with a soft oh.

“It’s alright, Lasko. I’m not upset.”

Big pleading eyes blink at them from behind his glasses. “Really?”

“Really. It’s sweet of you to want to finish her project for her.” They tug him closer to stand between their legs, looping their arms loosely around his neck and taking great satisfaction in the flush that immediately consumes his cheeks. “Did she leave instructions for you?”

His voice is pitched a touch higher when he responds, “Mhm.” Then he clears his throat, the initial embarrassment ebbing, and says, “She’s very, um… detailed. I hope it doesn’t take too long, but.” He makes an uncertain sound.

sweetheart’s first pack party

They gratefully accept the wine glass he offers, clutching it like a lifeline.

The hand on their hip tugs them a bit closer to him. “Don’t look so nervous, sweetheart. Might be a room full a’ wolves, but no one’s gonna bite.” He leans away slightly, taking a purposefully long moment to check them out, gaze dragging slowly down and then back up their body. Their heart flutters at the sly grin that paints his face. “Well, one of them might. But he’ll ask first.”

Sweetheart exhales a wavering laugh, rolling their eyes and turning their flushing face away.

“Is it that obvious?”

His smirk turns into a slight grimace. “Ash says you’ve got your investigator face on and it’s freakin’ him out a little.”

This time their exhale is a sigh, an attempt to expel some of the anxious energy trapped in their chest that buzzes like a beehive. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to parties like this. My family never did Solstice parties and even if they did, I think this would still be nerve-wracking because…” They falter, nails tapping their glass. “I mean. You know. This is my first one and, I don’t know, David and Asher have always been nice to me-”

sweetheart’s will likely be the only one that gets an actual name bc i have an OC for them more than anyone else, though i’m working on bestie atm so they might get a name too :)

#sweetheart.txt #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #polls

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spiritlion · 3 days

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Touching My Hand in a Darkened Room

A/N: Well not the piece I was originally working on but hey can’t help a little inspiration. I seriously couldn’t get the art of Hot Rod and Unicron out of my head and the psychological damage it had on him. This more so a glimpse at it more so then anything. I know I know it’s angst but it’s soft angst I guess with cuddles and comfort. Hopefully you enjoy it @archie-sunshine ✨ also it can be found on ao3 for my more particular readers

WC: 1.2k

CW: Slight angst, night terrors, a bit hurt-comfort, ptsd (implications of it at least)

~~~~~

Drift awoke in the night in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy as he pushed himself upward in bed. His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears as he tried to collect his thoughts; as his eyes adjusted to the still-dark room a feeling of dread overcame him. He didn’t know what prompted him to wake up so suddenly when he had been sleeping so soundlessly before that.

Running a hand over his face Drift grimaced at the slickness of his own sweat. Pushing a hand through his unruly bedhead, his gaze turned downward to Ratchet who was watching him confused but alert where he lay.

“What’s wrong?” His words are soft but firm.

Drift looked down as he clenched his fists sighing deeply. “I don’t know I wasn't dreaming or anything, I just woke up in a state of shock and perhaps unease.” He pondered as his brows pinched together.

“It’s been a while since you woke up in distress.” His conjunx added.

“The last time this happened Rodimus was having night terrors…” Drift trailed off realization dawning on him as he quickly tried to get out of bed only to trip and fall face-first into the floor.

“Primus, Drift are you alright?” Drift groaned as he listened to the ruffling of sheets before being turned over on his back.

Ratchet was staring down at him with concern as he checked over his state. He groaned “I think so my feet got caught in the sheets.”

Ratchet sighed as he helped untangle his husband from the clutches of their bed. “Why were we in such a hurry anyway?”

“Rodimus. Night terrors. Me waking up out of the blue like that he must be having another episode tonight.”

He could see the realization click in Ratchet’s eyes as he sighed again before helping Drift to his feet. This close to Ratchet he could see the worry in his usually stern face which he knew was just a mold from centuries of war and tragedy. Drift hummed as he leaned down kissing his brow feeling it soften at his touch.

“Megatron and Minimus are away so I’ll slip over and check on him. You can go back to bed if you want.”

Ratchet fixed the robe he wore shaking his head. “No, I’ll join you. Primus knows I won’t fall back asleep without you at this point. Besides Rodimus’ bed is way better than ours will ever be.”

A snort let his lips as he grabbed for Ratchet’s hand the healer wasn’t wrong Rodimus’s bed was big enough to fit the three of them plus maybe three more. Drift watched as Ratchet blew out the candle he had lit and then walked them towards the door. The old wood squealed on its hinges as it opened, alerting the nearby guards who quickly went back to minding their own business.

He recognized one of them as Riptide but the other person he didn’t know then again Drift hadn’t met all the new members of the castle’s staff either. Walking past them both Drift and Ratchet quickly made their way to the end of the hall where Rodimus’ room was. Opening the door as quietly as possible they slipped inside the dark room.

Drift didn’t need any light to see he knew the layout of the large room like the back of his hand. He quickly made a beeline for the bed. A quiet whimper hit his sensitive ears as he climbed into the large bed but no one was in it. Looking over his shoulder he could make the outline of Ratchet who titled his head in what he assumed was confusion. “I’ll check on the other side.” Drift continued to watch with curiosity at what his husband was doing.

He listened as Ratchet shuffled about the room, his steps heavier than his own as the moving outline stopped opposite of where he was now. He observed as Ratchet got down onto the floor and Drift quickly grasped what he was doing and followed suit he lifted the duvet cover and peered inside to see his lover curled in on himself.

“Roddy? Are you okay?”

A sniffle came from the young lord as Drift heard Ratchet grumble before he heard shuffling. “Come on kid, let's get you out of there.”

“Ratchet, what are you doing?” Drift questioned as he got up climbing into the bed to watch.

“What does it look like? I’m trying to get him out!” He grunted, hauling the young lord into his arms.

“Could you light a candle?” Getting off the bed Drift shifted through the nightstand and found a pack of matches. Quickly grabbing the candle on the table he lit it illuminating the room in a soft glow.

Turning back, Drift watched as Ratchet laid Rodimus on the bed and his face was turned away from him. Though from the expression on Ratchet’s face, he knew whatever state Rodimus was in wasn’t great.

The war was horrifying for everyone in different ways and they each copied differently. Rodimus didn’t talk much about what happened that day when Unicron invaded. Drift knew it was the cause of many of his night terrors in the past. Placing a hand on his shoulder he felt the trembles rolling off of him as he gently turned him onto his back so he could his face. Rodimus’ face was blank looking but his eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion. Brushing back his red hair Drift bit his lip as he shared another worried look with Ratchet.

A soft sigh left Ratchet as he spoke. “Come on kid talk to us, we can't help you if you don’t tell us what you need.”

Rodimus’ eyes shifted towards his voice and Ratchet grinned before reaching for his hand squeezing it. Hesitant at first but relaxing under Ratchet’s reassuring gaze Rodimus returned the squeeze. “Stay with me?” The uncertainty in his voice had Drift’s stomach twisting as he glanced down at him.

“Of course we will starshine.” He promised as Rodimus glanced at him and nodded.

“Alright, I’m going to move you so I can get into the bed as well okay?” Ratchet chimed in, making Drift meet his gaze again as Rodimus nodded his approval and Ratchet pushed him back until his arm hit Drift’s knees.

Flopping onto the bed next to them Ratchet let out a sigh before rolling onto his side as he propped his head in his hand and leaned over watching their lord. “Drift, dear, would you gather the blankets and actually join us? Rodimus needs all the comfort he can get right now.”

Drift didn’t hesitate as he collected the strewn about sheets and comforter and put them back in order. He didn’t bother with all the extra pillows that usually lined the empty spaces in the bed and scooted over to them.

Settling into the plush mattress Drift snuck in behind Rodimus who was huddled into Ratchet’s chest. “Roddy? Can I touch you?” He whispered hopeful.

A grunt was the only indication he needed as he carefully laid his arm over his body and brushed his fingers against Ratchet’s hand. The elf peeked his eye open before closing it and entwined their fingers.

“Blow out the candle will you?”

Drift groaned at having to get up again but he did anyway pushing the blankets off of himself he leaned over them both and blew out the candle shrouding them back into darkness. “Satisfied?”

“Always.” A snort from Rodimus had Drift gasping dramatically. “You are influencing him Ratty.”

“Good, now lay down I’m exhausted.”

Drift laughed to himself. “Coming my love.”

#transformers #dratchrod #knightformers #maccadam #mtmte

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matttgirlies · 3 days

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Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of an affair

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 20

In my diary entry dated April 5, I wrote, “The baby’s getting more beautiful as each day goes by. Dr. Turman said she’s healthy and progressing well. Matt went with me to the pediatrician, waiting outside in the car. He also accompanied me to the obstetrician. He’s insisting I keep up with my regular checkups taking care of both of us like a doting father.

“But I’ve been lonely for him since the baby’s birth; he is still withdrawn. It’s been two months and he still hasn’t touched me. I’m getting concerned.”

The following day, I wrote, “I asked Matt if anything was wrong, if he’s lost his desire for me. I saw this made him a little uncomfortable. He told me he wants to make sure my system’s back to normal—that he doesn’t want to hurt me. That made me feel a little better.

“We brought Charlotte to our room, put her in the middle of the bed with us. She’s such a good baby—we can’t believe she’s ours.”

Matt and I started getting back into our regular routine. Since the baby was born, we were spending more time at Graceland, eventually moving all the horses back to the original stables, James selling much of the equipment and, later, the Circle G itself.

Matt accepted fatherhood with a great deal of joy, but the fact that I was a mother had a disquieting effect on him. I didn’t understand at the time, but later on I would learn more about men who are very close to their own mothers. I am no purveyor of Freudian theory. I believe when a man comes into the world, his first unconditional love is his mother. She cuddles him, gives him warmth, the breast for nourishment, and everything he needs to exist. None of those feelings has a sexual connotation. Later, when his own wife becomes a mother, this bank of memories is ripped open and his passion may dissipate.

When Matt’s mother was alive they had been unusually close. Matt even told her about his amatory adventures, and many nights when she was ill, he would sleep in her room with her. All the girls he took out seriously had to fulfill Mary Lou’s requirements of the ideal woman. And as with me, Matt then put the girl on a pedestal, “saving her” until the time was sacred and right. He had his wild times, his flings, but any girl he came home to he had to respect.

Now I was a mother and he was uncertain how to treat me. He had mentioned before we were married that he had never been able to make love to a woman who’d had a child. But throughout my pregnancy—until the last six weeks—we had made love passionately. He’d been very careful each time, afraid that he might hurt the baby or me, but he was always loving and sensitive to my needs. Now months had passed.

On April 20 I wrote in my diary: “I embarrassed myself last night. I wore a black negligee, laid as close to Matt as I could while he read. I guess it was because, I knew what I wanted and was making it obvious. I kissed his hand, then each finger, then his neck and face. But I waited too long. His sleeping pills had taken effect. Another lonely night.”

Finally, months later Matt made love to me. Before we made love, he told me I was a young mother now, that being the mother of his child is very special. But I wrote in my diary, “I am beginning to doubt my own sexuality as a woman. My physical and emotional needs were unfulfilled.”

We returned to Los Angeles, where Matt was filming Live a Little, Love a Little. He started getting into his old habits again. Frustrated, I started searching for dance classes to enroll in. I looked through the local Yellow Pages until one class caught my attention, a school for jazz and ballet not far from home.

The studio was small and unpretentious; the owner, Mark, was an extremely attractive and dynamic man of forty-five. He was an excellent dancer and a fine teacher, and by the time I left that afternoon, I had enrolled for private lessons.

Still too shy to dance in front of a group, I wanted to wait until I was sure I could keep up with the other dancers before taking a class. I began taking private lessons three times a week. Mark’s personal interest and attention were flattering, and I was soon doing lifts and jumps, things I’d never thought I could accomplish.

He said I had the potential to be a good dancer, and he pushed me to the limit. Out of frustration and pain I would want to quit. Demanding that I continue, he told me I was building character and forced me to repeat the same routine until it was nearly perfected. This made me realize that I could go further than I’d ever dreamed.

He believed in me, and I was accomplishing something. For the first time I was creating, feeling good about myself, and I couldn’t wait to get to class each day.

Mark was charismatic and I was particularly vulnerable. In lieu of a passionate marriage, dance was becoming my life; I was obsessed with it, taking all my frustrations and feelings into the studio. I found myself thinking about Mark even when I was home. I had only seen him a few times in my life and yet I was unable to get him out of my mind. I rationalized, telling myself it was because he was always there for me. He seemed to understand me, while the man I truly loved was involved in his own world. I began to relax, enjoying myself almost against my will. It had been a while since I’d spent some time with a man who validated my abilities and appreciated spending time with me alone. It was also the first time I was not competing for my own identity. This was a high I had not experienced recently. I had a brief affair and decided to end it.

I came out of it realizing I needed much more out of my relationship with Matt. Matt and I decided to get away to Hawaii.

This was the first time we’d gone on holiday, and I was hoping that it would be a second honeymoon, that my experience with Mark would be forgotten. We took along Charlotte, her nurse, Nate, Amber, Patsy and her husband, Gee Gee, Steven and his wife Nora, and Charlie. We checked into the Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki, but soon found that Matt couldn’t go to the beach without attracting a crowd. We decided to rent a house on a private beach and spent the rest of our vacation there.

We had a great time, and Matt and I were like two kids again, away from the pressures and the filming—and away from Mark, to whom my attention would occasionally wander.

It was there that we met Tom Jones, and Matt became very fond of him. He had always enjoyed Tom’s vocal style, especially in “Green, Green Grass of Home,” which Matt had first heard while traveling from L.A. to Boston. He’d called me when they’d stopped in Arizona, encouraging me to get the record.

Tom Jones and Matt enjoyed an instant rapport. After an appearance at the Ilikai, Tom invited us to his suite, along with our group. Within minutes the champagne exploded and the party was on. We laughed, drank, joked, drank some more (lots more), jammed—and reeled back to the Ilikai at dawn. Matt had had such a good time he personally invited Tom and his group to join us the next day at our beach house. A friendship was born, a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

One of Matt’s outstanding attributes was his conviction that there was room for anyone with talent in the entertainment field. In my experience, only a few stars are this generous. Greed, insecurity, jealousy, ego usually keep celebrities from supporting one another.

Matt could spot talent instantly. In Las Vegas, we regularly took in lounge acts featuring various up-and-coming artists, and if Matt liked the show, he patronized the club, encouraging the entertainers to pursue their careers, infusing them with confidence and enthusiasm.

Some of his favorites were Ike and Tina Turner, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, dancers Tybe and Bracia, and old-timers Fats Domino and the Ink Spots, all talented people deserving acknowledgment in their craft.

One night we visited Barbra Streisand backstage at the International Hotel, now the Hilton. It was a classic Streisand performance and Matt, after a few too many Bloody Marys, wanted to tell Barbra his impressions. We were ushered backstage to her dressing room and Matt’s first words upon meeting her were: “What did you ever see in Elliott Gould? I never could stand him.”

In typical Streisandese she retorted, “Whaddya mean? He’s the fah-tha of my child!”—leaving Matt speechless.

Matt had some other very special favorites—Arthur Prysock, John Gary, opera star Robert Merrill, Brook Benton, Roy Orbison, and Charles Boyer’s recording “Where Has Love Gone?”

He couldn’t abide singers who were, in his words, “all technique and no emotional feeling” and in this category he firmly placed Mel Torme and Robert Goulet. They were both responsible for two television sets being blown away with a.357 Magnum.

Matt’s five-year contract with MGM was up in 1968 and he was finally free to move on to new challenges. Even Colonel admitted that Matt’s career needed a shot in the arm. NBC made him an offer to do his own television special, with newcomer Steve Binder directing. There was no initial format, but the idea was tempting and the money was right. The fact that there was no script—that it was an “open development”—made Colonel hesitant to agree. Colonel demanded more control than that, but Matt wanted to meet Steve, make sure that they could get along, speak the same language.

It had been years since Matt had appeared on TV and he was nervous. To his surprise, Steve was much younger than he had anticipated, extremely perceptive, and soft-spoken, a startling contrast to the studio heads he’d worked with, men much older, with hardened, preconceived opinions on how Matt should be packaged and sold. For the first time in years he felt creative. Steve Binder gained Matt’s trust and had the sensitivity to let Matt just be Matt. Steve observed, took mental notes, learned Matt’s ways, discovered what made his star comfortable and what got him uptight.

During their meetings Steve sensed Matt’s fear that he hadn’t been before a live audience in years but he noticed that Matt came alive backstage in the dressing room jamming with the musicians.

Each day he grew more confident and excited about his new project, taking pride once again in his appearance, watching his weight, following his diet, and working closely with the show’s costume designer, Bill Belew, creating a look we hadn’t seen him sport in years—the black leather suit.

I was surprised when he said, “Sattnin, I feel a little silly in that outfit. You think it’s okay?”

Matt knew this special was a big step in his career. He could not fail. For two straight months he worked harder than on all his movies combined. It was the most important event in his life.

During this time I was discovering whole new worlds of music—Segovia; Blood, Sweat and Tears; Tchaikovsky; Santana; Mason Williams; Ravel; Sergio Mendes; Herb Alpert—and I was anxious to share my new enthusiasms, music and dance, with my husband. I wanted to bring energy to our relationship in the hope of strengthening our marriage. Discussions at the dinner table now included Leonard Bernstein and Carlos Montoya, but they held no appeal for Matt; the TV special was consuming all his thoughts.

He was away much of the time, and when we did see each other our level of communication was strictly superficial. Each absorbed in our own separate pursuits, we had little in common except our daughter. My approach with him was delicate: I was aware of the distance growing between us. But because of his preoccupation with the special, I realized that the last thing he needed from me was a statement that I feared we were drifting apart.

In his absence, I was taking care of Charlotte in addition to attending dance classes in the morning, ballet in the early evening, and two jazz classes at night, lasting often until one in the morning. I was now studying with a new dance instructor, who was using me to give demonstrations for the evening classes. Many of the students were professional dancers. I had diligently worked my way into the company, rehearsing four hours every day to master new steps, constantly pushing myself to new limits, and eventually I was to take a place in the dance company, anonymously performing shows on weekends at colleges in the L.A. area.

Matt’s Singer TV special was a huge success, the highest-rated special of the year, and his finale, “If I Can Dream,” was his first million-sell-ing record in years. We sat around the TV watching the show, nervously anticipating the response. Matt was quiet and tense through the whole program, but as soon as the calls started, we all knew he had a new triumph. He hadn’t lost his touch. He was still the King of Rock and Roll.

It was a blessing for both of us. The hours I devoted to dance released him from the strain of my dependence. My new interest didn’t pose a threat in the sense that taking up a profession would have. I was still there to tend to his needs, as he wanted his wife to be, while also creating my own world, no longer intimidated by the magnitude of his. I was growing, learning, and expanding as an individual.

This new freedom nearly came to an abrupt end when a newcomer to the clan decided to take it upon himself to investigate my comings and goings. He reported to Matt that I was seen coming out of a dance studio at a late hour and did Matt want him to carry it any further. Matt’s unpredictability in dealing with certain crises in life could be astounding.

Logically, such a volatile man would explode. Instead, he made no accusations. His only comment was, “Little One, there are some people who are insinuating you’ve been seen coming out of a dance studio at late hours.”

“It’s true. You know I’m part of the company. It’s not just me leaving. That’s the time we break.”

I pleaded with him to tell me who was starting trouble. All he would say was, “Let’s put it this way: He’s new and he’s treading on dangerous ground. If he knows what’s good for him, he better keep the fuck to his own business.”

After the success of his special, Matt devoted several weeks to a recording session, and again he was highly motivated. For the first time in fourteen years, he’d been persuaded to record in Memphis, at the American Sound Studios, a black company where major artists, including Aretha Franklin, had recorded their most recent hits. The studio musicians were young and Matt had a great rapport with them. More importantly, he made great music with them.

He’d be at the studio singing until the early-morning hours and then return the next evening, full of energy and ready to start again. His voice was in top form and his excitement was infectious. Each cut was more terrific than the one before. We’d listen to the songs over and over, Matt yelling, “All right, listen to that sound,” or “Goddamn, play it again.”

Colonel stayed away from this session. Matt was the artist, and he was on a roll. He ended up recording so many songs, it took RCA a year and a half to release them all, including hits like “In the Ghetto,” “Kentucky Rain,” and “Suspicious Minds.”

Watching Matt sing with confidence again, honing each word in his own style, filled us all with pride. What a contrast to sessions in the past that had been filled with anger, frustration, and disappointment, resulting in late arrivals or, on occasion, no-shows.

At one point he looked over at me, smiled, then casually started singing “From a Jack to a King.” He knew it was a favorite of mine. Later he sang “Do You Know Who I Am?” As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but relate to them.

After four years of lackluster songs, he was back on the charts again, and RCA could no longer complain about him. They’d been threatening the Colonel that if Matt didn’t have a recording session soon, they were going to rerelease some of his old songs.

One success led to another. Since his TV special, he was eager to begin performing in front of a live audience again, to prove to everyone that he hadn’t lost his touch. Looking for the best source of immediate income, the Colonel made a deal with the nearly completed Las Vegas International for Matt to headline there for a month, at a salary of half a million dollars.

Vegas was the challenge he needed to demonstrate that he could still captivate a live audience. This was what he loved most and did best. But it was a major challenge.

He hadn’t made any real demands on his voice in years and now was locked into two shows a night for twenty-eight days straight. Anxious, he wondered whether he was up to the strain, whether he’d draw sellout crowds, whether he would be able to hold an audience for a full two hours. He wanted this new act to be accepted, feeling he now had more than his rock-and-roll gyrations to offer.

Not only was this a crucial time in his career, but there was the additional pressure of the unprecedented fee and the fact that Las Vegas was the only city where he’d bombed, thirteen years earlier, in 1956.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d come out and say, “I’m scared.” Instead I’d see it in his actions, his left leg shaking, and his foot tapping. He held in his fears and emotions until at times he would explode, tearing into anyone who happened to be around. At dinner one evening Matt said that he was concerned about his hairstyle, and I mentioned I’d seen a billboard of Ricky Nelson on Sunset Boulevard. His hair was long with a slight wave, and I thought it was extremely appealing. I innocently suggested that Matt take a look at it. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he shouted. “After all these years, Ricky Nelson, Fabian, that whole group have more or less followed in my footsteps, and now I’m supposed to copy them? You’ve gotta be out of your mind, woman.”

He left the dinner table in a rage. He had always been hailed as an original and now he was afraid that in Vegas even that wouldn’t be enough. I knew I had injured his ego and for that I apologized.

In preparing his show for the International, Matt pulled out all the stops. He was in top form—on a natural high quite independent of pills. He was more trim and physically fit than he’d ever been.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - these next few chapters will be a little slower paced sorry!!🎀

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