#m and i dropping our web weaving sets back to back on the fandom like the chaotic second selves we are?

[redbelles]

MASTERS OF THE AIR — insp. x and x

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death, W.B. Yeats // Deluge, Leila Chatti // The Torn Up Road, Richard Siken // On the Rainy River, Tim O'Brien // Late Poems, Margaret Atwood // Love Letters, Victoria Chang // Since You Ask, Carl Phillips // Pompeii, Bastille // How to Drown a Boy, J. Bruce Fuller // [journal entry], Henry David Thoreau // Flower Bomb, Vuong Quoc Vu // it was you, Salma Deera // War and Remembrance, Herman Wouk

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Seven: Friends

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Now that you're all moved in and set up, what do you have to look forward to in your relationship as Elvis Presley's sugar baby? [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: sad reader, angst, guilt/shame as a result of sexual activity, elvis being a bit of a fucktard ngl

Rating: M || Word Count: 3985

A/N: i hope y'all are enjoying still!! i can't tell you how many ideas spurred while writing these chapters. i literally had a web of ideas that i somehow managed to weave all into this little fic lol

Song Rec: friends - anne marie and marshmello

This is Part 7 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

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“Am I allowed to date or see other people or is this an exclusive thing?”

Elvis’ eyebrows shoot up when you ask the question and you can tell that he wasn’t expecting it. His eyes drop to the floor and eyebrows furrow as he considers what you’ve asked. After a few moments of tense silence, he clears his throat and glances back up at you with a tight smile.

“Course you can see other people. We ain’t an item or nothin. It’s just a convenient relationship for both of us. Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, but doesn’t mean we gotta be lovers neither.”

You nod, offering a small smile. His eyes fall to your finger and he smirks.

“That’s a good girl. Lemme see,” he says, scooting forward and holding out his palm.

You drop your hand into his and he gently runs his fingers over it with the hint of a smile on his face. His calloused fingertips ghost over your knuckle and then onto the ring resting snugly on your finger. You take a deep breath, the feeling of your touch on his palm making you giddy and excited.

“See you doin so good already followin my rules. This ring’ll tell everybody important that you’re with me. Looks good on ya, princess,” he says with a nod. “You like it?”

“Oh absolutely, Mr. Presley,” you say, automatically defaulting to his proper name. You feel like you should treat him respectfully, or maybe you’re addressing him as your boss? You aren’t sure but the urge to be formal is suddenly extremely present in the room. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen and definitely not something that I could ever afford on my own. Thank you so much for gifting it to me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, waving dismissively. “It’s payment for our first appointment. This was the arrangement we agreed to and I stick to my promises. There’s more to come, I’m sure.”

Your lips part as you watch his gaze fade from sunny blue eyes to a dark, serious expression. He emphasizes the word come, pausing after he speaks the word. He draws it out, licking his tongue over his lips before finishing the sentence. You desperately hope you’re not reading too much into it, because you do desperately want him to be talking about you.

Everything in your body wants him to touch you and make you feel things you’ve never experienced in your life. The first time you saw him in 1956, you wanted him. Other girls may also want him, but not like you. They don’t want him like you do. The lust he planted then has done nothing but grow since that day. For god’s sake, it possessed you, the most unlikely person in the world, to slide out of your panties and offer them up to a complete stranger who you’d probably never see again. Elvis’ voice jerks you out of your awe.

“Which reminds me, what sorta payments do you want? I don’t wanna get you nothin you dont like.”

“Oh, uh, I guess I’ve never really thought about it. Well, I like necklaces and rings. Um, I’m more of a pants girl than dresses but I still like nice dresses and things. Um…”

“Noted,” he replies.

Silence settles as his eyes trace over your figure. You’re becoming more comfortable with him doing that, since he does it pretty constantly. The little problem of your debts and bills rises to the forefront of your mind and you consider adding to the list since that’s what you really need to be paid off, but before you can say anything else, he curls his finger and motions for you to come over to him.

Your core starts to swell with excitement and you actively fight the smile that wants to cross your face. You take a few steps closer to him and sit down on his lap, just as you had the other day. You already feel a bit more comfortable this time as you rest your hands on his chest and his hands gently cup your thighs. You stay still, waiting for instructions which he promptly provides.

“Tilt your head up for me,” he says and you gulp before obeying, lengthening your chin out so that he can see your neck better.

His fingers gently rise up toward your skin, ghosting across your throat and the sensitive skin underneath your jawline. Your eyes flutter and threaten to close but you force them to remain open. He just gently closes his fingers around your throat, not all the way but enough that your breath audibly shudders. You gulp your nerves down as your pussy begins to throb with desire for him. Just as you’ve resolved to lean down and kiss him, he pulls his fingers away.

“You got a pretty neck, princess. Perfect for my hand. I think a necklace would work nicely for you.”

You hover in the space between you, resisting the strongest urge to smash your lips against his. Your entire body is slowly aching for him, but is it okay for you to make a move? Despite his loveliness in answering your questions, you’re still confused as to how all of this works. Plus, now that you’re relying totally and completely on Elvis to sustain you financially, you’re terrified of making a mistake that’s unfixable. Just as your head begins to bob forward with a burst of confidence, your nerves get the better of you and you just hover anxiously. You clear your throat and Elvis continues the conversation.

“Is jewelry what you like best? Or dresses or what?”

“Um, I guess I’ve never really thought about it, honestly. I…don’t have much of a preference,” you reply with a lackluster shrug. “I could use some new clothes. But, of course the jewelry is also very nice. Um…sorry, I just feel very awkward saying these things.”

You laugh nervously but he shakes his head.

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” you suddenly laugh as you realize what it feels like and that image begins to surface in your mind, “honestly, it feels a bit like sitting on Santa’s lap and telling him what I want for Christmas. I’m just not very used to asking for things, like material things.”

“But that’s how you get what you want. Y'ask for it.”

“I guess so, yeah. But that’s usually not how it works for normal people, and it’s certainly never worked out that way for me. I hardly ever get what I ask or pray for. God has favorites and I really don’t think I’m one of them,” you reply with a weak chuckle. “Besides, I’m just not the kind of person who places a lot of value on material objects or gifts or anything. I don’t need all that many things, to be honest. Just the basics, although these are very tempting and it feels good to own them. They’re not really necessary in the grand scheme of things, you know what I mean?”

“But that’s what I’m here for. I ain’t got no issue giving you whatever you want. All you gotta do is ask, princess, and it’s yours.”

“I’m not used to that. People like me don’t just get the things we ask for. We have to work for them.”

“Not anymore, doll,” he smiles, leaning forward to whisper against your cheek. “Ask and it’s yours.”

You smile in awe as Elvis pulls back.

“Stand up, over there,” he gestures toward the middle of the room. You nod and carefully remove yourself from his lap to stand on the mark he’s given you. Once there, you await his directions. “Take the dress off. Just the top. I wanna see you better.”

You nod and turn away from him to spice things up. You shakily lift the strap of your dress up and off of your shoulder, glancing over your skin at Elvis who watches you hungrily. You let the strap fall, exposing the skin of your shoulder to him. The slow speed with which you’re stripping is putting both you and him through an uncomfortable tenseness that only grows when you drop the other strap down. The dress, being held up mostly by the straps, elegantly falls off your chest and pools around your waist where it’s cinched in a little tighter. You reach up for the strap to your bra, but Elvis stops you.

“No. There’s good enough,” he says. “Turn around.”

You obey him, spinning around so he can get a good look at your entire body. He rubs his slender fingers over his lips, tugging them out lazily. You stand still like a statue before him until he gestures for you to come closer.

“Come here. Right here. All the way this time.”

He points to the space between his legs, a spot that has become rather familiar to you already. You can’t help the smile that spreads onto your cheeks as you step toward him.

He leans forward, his fingers taking hold of your waist. They gingerly trail up the bare skin of your waist, so lightly that you feel goosebumps spreading across your skin. He traces his fingers around to your front, ghosting over your breasts underneath the bra. He curls his fingers around your chest and squeezes firmly. You release a contented breath and close your eyes at the sensation, what little of it there even is. It’s more than you’ve gotten from him so far. He squeezes a few more times, saying nothing, before he releases your breasts.

You instinctively follow his grasp as it retreats. Your eyes fly open in disappointment and he slides further down into the red velvet chair. He tugs gently on the zipper to his jumpsuit while staring intensely into your eyes.

“You know what to do, darlin."

Unfortunately, you do know what to do, although you’d love to do something else right now. It might only be the second time you’ve sucked him off, you hope this time will be different. You hope this time you’ll get to share in the receiving end. Glancing up into his bright blue eyes, you have an idea. You lean over him, trying to push your breasts near his face in the hopes that you’ll tempt him enough to put some effort into pleasing you. You pause for a few seconds, waiting for him to grasp your chest.

When he doesn't respond, you reach down to grasp the zipper. His hand snakes onto yours, gripping your fingers away from his suit. You glance up at him in confusion

"I liked what you did the other night with your teeth," he says, his eyes falling down to your lips. "Do it like that again."

You gently maneuver yourself onto the floor on your knees and catch the zipper between your teeth. This time, you unzip the jumpsuit slowly, maintaining eye contact with Elvis all the way down. You spread the leather of his jumpsuit aside so you can access him. His white boxer briefs are familiar to you now. You glance sneakily up at the clock in the corner of the room to see that you only have about five minutes until show time.

As much as you appreciate his trying to get to know you better, you’re desperate for some physical attention. You’ve been responsible for taking care of yourself for the last five years or so and, quite frankly, you’re just tired of it. Having a man touch you for once is a need that’s rekindled every time he dares to touch you.

But with only five minutes left, you waste no time, yanking his underwear off and wrapping your fingers around his length. You immediately start to pump him, licking the tip of his dick with your tongue. He releases a satisfied sigh and leans back into the chair. You glance up to see his head tilted toward the ceiling with his eyes completely closed. You feel pleased with yourself but frustrated at his passivity. You yank him into your mouth and harshly bob your head up and down on top of him.

He groans and moans in approval. Your eyes flash wide when his hand sneaks down your chest to massage your breasts through your bra. You hum against his length as he pinches your nipple between his fingers. You shift closer to him, hoping he'll touch you harder. While the sensation is very welcome, you need so much more.

As your head bobs up, your eyes flick up toward him again to see that he hasn’t moved, other than his hips which are beginning to buck up into your mouth as he matches your pace. You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. You continue to bob up and down on his dick as you fight back the emotion that’s flooding into your chest painfully.

You feel him start to twitch in your mouth and pump your hand harder on his length. A few seconds later, his hips are bucking into your lips and his hot cum is slipping down your throat. You gulp it down begrudgingly, the taste almost sour on your tongue. Your body shudders with the displeasure of the action and the taste but mostly with how it made you feel at the moment.

You drop your head immediately, focusing on the floor below you as Elvis reassembles himself to go back out for the show which starts in just a few minutes. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, wanting to transport yourself completely from this situation into a different time and place, somewhere you’re safe and alone. On his way out, Elvis places his hand on your head and gives your hair a little muss. His fingers slip down to your chin, lifting your gaze to his. You reluctantly open your eyes and he smirks down at you slightly.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs before making his way toward the door.

You keep yourself upright until you hear the door shut behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you feel your face screwing up. You keel over onto your hands and knees, your arms shaking with the emotion that is coursing through your body. You curl onto your knees and sit back on them, resting your forehead on the scratchy carpet below you. Tears start to pool by your eyes and you don’t stop them as the warm liquid falls from your eyes to stain the carpet below you. You curl your arms around your shoulders as your body shakes and you cry.

He had his chance to pleasure you and he didn’t take the hints, which you thought were very obviously being given to him. Now, it’s too late. You feel worthless, disgusting, dirty. You understand that you wholeheartedly gave yourself up to Elvis when you agreed to become his sugar baby but you assumed the arrangement would be mutual.

You should be stronger than this; this shouldn’t bother you so much. You are the one who agreed to this, who decided to accept the proposal. You’re just reaping the consequences of your actions, the ones Steve warned you about. But for some unplaceable reason, it hurts. A lot.

On the other hand, while you realize how silly and dramatic it is to be upset when you’ve just begun, the emotions that are running through your veins are so strong. And considering that you’ve relocated your entire life over the last week, it’s probably understandable that you’re feeling so overwhelmed.

After a few more tears sneak out, you sniffle and wipe your runny nose on your arm, not caring about the stickiness spreading onto your skin. You don’t have anyone to look pretty for anymore. And the one person you did choose to look nice for doesn’t seem to have any interest in you other than using you as a personal fleshlight. As moments of anger and embarrassment pulse through your veins, you pull yourself together with a few deep breaths.

You weren’t really in the mood for giving him a blowjob even when you got dressed to come downstairs tonight. But he asks and you provide. As he said earlier, ‘all you gotta do is ask and it’s yours’. As you dry your tears, that phrase starts to circle in your brain. Ask and it’s yours… If that’s what he wants. That’s what he’ll get. Why can’t you take the reins a little? You’re half of the deal, after all.

You stand, fix your hair and your dress, wipe off your tears and snot and grab your purse. You exit the dressing room with the confidence of someone who simply doesn’t have the will to care anymore.

As you trudge out of the dressing room, not bothering to pause before the door to listen for anyone passing, you keep your eyes glued to the floor beneath you. You shrug your bag over your shoulder and pull the bottom of your dress down harshly, trying to get the stubborn fabric to stay put. When your body slams into another, you momentarily lose your footing and feel yourself careening toward the floor. Luckily, whoever you bumped into manages to catch you at the last moment. With a panting breath, you glance up to see one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen in your life. He helps you to your feet as you feel heat creeping into your face.

“Uh…thanks,” you say nervously. “I’m so sorry about that.”

He chuckles, leaning down to pick up your purse, which you hadn’t even realized you’d dropped during the collision. Your eyes widen as you notice the black lingerie poking out from inside the bag. You wonder if he notices, although he doesn’t mention or allude to it at all when he carefully hands the bag back to you. You snatch it quickly from his hands, sneakily reaching your hand in to push the lingerie back into its hidden place.

“It’s no big deal. It’s my fault for being so clumsy,” he says, flashing a crooked smile at you.

As his straight white teeth sparkle in the light of the hallway, you can’t help but grin back at him. A few moments of silence pass before one of you gets the courage to say something else.

“So…do you work here?” he asks, gesturing to your outfit.

“Oh, uh, sorta. I’m part of Mr. Presley’s…” your eyes wander quickly around your environment, desperately searching for an excuse that doesn’t involve your chest and face being covered in Elvis' cum. You suddenly see someone pass carrying a case of makeup and your face brightens. “...makeup crew. I’m one of his makeup consultants.”

“You do his makeup?”

“Well, I just sort of check it to make sure it’s up to standard, you know. The eyeliner and such,” you pull out as much knowledge of makeup as you can possibly access in your brain as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

You know you shouldn’t be embarrassed to admit what you really do here, but you still feel too ashamed to fess up to it. You know there’s no way that this stranger is actually buying the idea that you’re a makeup artist for Elvis, considering what you’re wearing and the fact that your own makeup is probably smudged hideously from the crying and snotting all over.

“Cool. I’m one of the stagehands, so I carry some of the props onstage and help with the curtains and all that.”

“Oh, that’s super cool!” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “How did you get into that?”

“My mom was a singer back in the day, so I’ve always been around sets. How did you get into…what you do?”

“Oh, it’s just a job for money. There’s nothing that special about it, honestly.”

“Working that closely to Elvis Presley isn’t special?”

“He’s not as amazing as you’d think, actually,” you reply with a curt smile as you reflect on all the disappointments you’ve already experienced since becoming his sugar baby. “But it pays the bills.”

“I can understand that,” he says, staring down into your eyes.

You’ve been truthful with him, besides admitting what you do. Although you can’t explain why, you want this man to think highly of you. Elvis did say that you could date other people, so why shouldn’t you take a stab at this one. He’s handsome with curly brown locks, deep brown doe eyes, and a nicely shaped face. He’s very tall and decently built; you guess he has to be pretty strong to be able to toss set pieces around.

You abruptly stick your hand out for him to shake. His eyebrows raise but he takes your hand in his, giving it two solid pumps. You wiggle your fingers, assuming he’s going to release your hand but he holds onto it for a few seconds longer than you’re expecting. You smile sweetly as he releases your fingers slowly. You drag them across his palm and resist the urge to shudder with excitement.

It’s been upwards of five years since you last had a serious boyfriend, so the thought of maybe finding someone after all this time is extremely appealing. Not to mention that you’re desperate for some physical pleasure. With all of this teasing and leading-up to nothing, you’re starting to get fed up and very tired of the constant lack of tension relief.

“I’m Y/N,” you say.

“I’m-”

“Max!” someone shouts from a different spot in the backstage area. “Stop flirting and get your ass over here to help with the curtains!”

Your eyes shift toward a man yelling orders who you assume is in charge of the stagehands and the backstage activities. Max glances back at you with a shrug.

“Duty calls. Will I…see you here tomorrow?”

“Uh…no, probably not. I don’t think I work tomorrow and I have another job that I have to take care of on the side,” you lie, not too excited about the idea of coming down here more than necessary.

“Oh, damn. Well, what days do you work?”

“It’s sort of unpredictable, to be honest,” you can feel your palms growing sweaty with his constant questioning.

“Alright. Cryptic but alright,” he laughs, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. You bite your lip as you watch his biceps flex. If you were wondering, your question has now been answered. He’s strong strong. “Guess I’ll just have to hang out around here every day until I see you again.”

“Oh…” you drop your gaze, embarrassed and flattered by his charming flirting. “Well in that case, maybe I can make an exception for you. Here.”

You snatch a pen from the table next to you and scribble the number to your hotel room on his palm.

“You can reach me here. If you ever want to hang out or need help or, well, whatever,” you offer.

“And what if I need something tonight? I can call you then?”

You chuckle and bite your lip at his goofy smile.

“You can call whenever. And I’ll decide if I want to pick up or not.”

“Max Carver!” the stage manager shouts and Max jumps.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Max. I’ll hope to see you again some time.”

“If I have anything to say about it, you will," he replies with a wink and a handsome grin.

You turn and start on your way out of the backstage area as you hear the stage manager shouting instructions to Max. You smile to yourself, just a little bit smitten with him.

As you pass the trash can on the way out, you click open your purse and pull the black lingerie out. You drop it into the can and get on your way back upstairs without giving the piece of clothing a second thought.

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[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Category: M/M Fandoms: Critical Role (Web Series),Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationships: Orym/Dorian Storm, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield Characters: Orym (Critical Role), Dorian Storm, Leon S. Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Rebecca Chambers, Imogen Temult, Ashton Greymoore, Cyrus Wyvernwind, Piers Nivans, Laudna (Critical Role), Fearne Calloway Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Nightmares, Burns, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Orym's Dead Spouse (Critical Role), Sobbing, Human Experimentation, Stitches, drugged, Hospitals, Injury Recovery, Chronic Pain, Scars, Strangulation, Panic, Mind Control, Dissociation, Depression

Day Eight. No Anesthesia

There were a few things he hated about falling, especially when it involved slamming into things on the way down. Between the various impacts that peppered his way down and the final landing, he knew at least a few of his ribs cracked and blood poured down the side of his face. When the dizziness faded enough for him to sit up, an unexpected sting on his arm flared from wrist to elbow. After dragging himself into a corner across from the door, he looked down at his arm to find a large gash bleeding profusely.

“Shit.” A quick check of his pouch yielded him what he needed to clean and stitch the wound, but nothing to numb the pain. “Fuck.”

At the first brush of the wipe across his skin to clear away the blood, a hiss slipped free from the swell of pain. He knew better than to stop to try to breathe through it because that would mean having to wipe it again. Instead, he pushed on to spraying it down with the disinfecting spray, then reached for the needle. It took longer than he liked to properly thread the needle with one hand slicked by his own blood.

He knew the first press of the needle would be the worst, so he took a deep breath and quickly pushed through the skin to the other side. As he continued to weave the needle through his own skin, he made sure to keep his breathing even. When his hands started to shake from the pain and the blood loss, Leon paused his movements to wait for the shaking to calm.

In the few moments it took, the door suddenly burst open, then immediately slammed shut behind the person that rushed through. His instinctive grab for the gun at his side paused when he recognized the broad shoulders and uniform. Chris stayed pressed against the door for a few moments as if prepared for something to follow after him before he stepped away. The moment he picked his head up to inspect the room their eyes locked.

“Leon?”

“Surprised to see me?”

“What happened?” Chris quickly crossed the room to drop onto one knee next to him but didn't immediately reach out.

“Fell. What about you?”

“Chased by a B.O.W. that won't quit. Do you need help with that?”

“I wouldn't say no to that.”

After pulling out a medical kit from his own bag to put on a pair of gloves, Chris took the needle from Leon and started slowly stitching the rest. “How did you get this?”

“Told you. Fell.”

“Is that what the head wound is from?”

“Yeah, and the broken ribs.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“Are you really asking me that when you're here too?” A particularly hard tug caused a groan of pain to slip free before he could bite it back.

“Sorry. I'll be more careful.”

“Do we have time for careful? You said you're being chased by something.”

“That's more of a reason to be careful. I could use another set of hands, especially if they're yours.”

“Is now really the time for that?”

“For what? Making sure I properly fix up the best agent out there, so I don't have to deal with this on my own? I'm pretty sure it is because I've been dealing with that thing for hours and gotten nowhere.”

“If you can't get through it with those boulder punching arms, what do you expect me to do about it? It's not like I have a rocket launcher in my back pocket.”

Once Chris carefully finished off the stitches, he reached into his medical kit for more supplies. “It would have been a lot more convenient if you did, but I know you don't need a rocket launcher to be more dangerous than I am.”

“Tell that to my broken ribs. They would disagree with you.”

“Wait until we see what I can do about those.”

“Unless you have something that will magically fix my bones, I don't see you being able to do much.”

“I can stabilize them, but that's the best I can do. I'm no Rebecca.”

“Rebecca was smart. She got out before all this bullshit.”

“Someone has to do this part.”

“I know.” When Chris started to slowly move Leon away from the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain from his broken ribs. “Would you just hurry up?”

“Rushing will make it worse. Be patient for once in your life.”

“I have plenty of patience.”

“We'll agree to disagree on that one.”

“Dick. Fuck! Not so tight.”

“Sorry. We should come up with a plan to get out of here. You're not in any condition to be wandering around down here for hours.”

“I need to get the information I came here for.”

“Lucky I'm here.”

“What? You're going to come back in by yourself after you get me out of here?”

Chris gave him the most unimpressed look he could manage while carefully wrapping bandages around Leon's chest. “I was handling myself perfectly fine.”

“Is that why you ran in here like a chicken with your head cut off?”

“Says the one I just stitched back together.”

“I did most of the work.”

“We're not all used to working alone.”

“Speaking of, where's your little boy scout? Don't tell me they took him away from you already. I actually liked that one. He had spunk.”

“Spunk? What are you eighty?”

“Stop dodging the question. What happened to Piers?”

“He got hurt in our last mission. He needs a little more time to properly heal.”

“Sounds nice.” When Chris started to pat around for more injuries, Leon quickly shoved him away with his good hand and forced himself onto his feet. “So, are you going to tell me anything about this B.O.W stalking you or is it a surprise?”

“It's big. It's fast. It's strong. I have no idea what to hit it where it will actually hurt.”

“Great. Another smooth day in the office.”

“You in an office? I'll believe it when I see it.”

Ignoring the constant throbbing in his arm from the stitches, Leon quickly reloaded all of his weapons, then motioned for the door. “You first, Redfield.”

“Watch our six?”

“Eye front, Captain. I've got our backs.”

“Moving out.”