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writethebodyelectric · 4 months

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Prima Nocta

A John F. Kennedy Fanfiction

Summary: When the daughter of a Rat Pack singer wants some romantic experience, she turns to President John F. Kennedy, a friend of her father’s, for help.

Warnings: 18+, smut (occasional dubious consent), angst, infidelity, antiquated ideas of sex/marriage, swearing, 22-year age gap

Word Count: 3k

AO3 Link

You’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for exactly 12 minutes and 47 seconds, your eyes twitching ceaselessly between the little white clock on the nightstand and the round-top bedroom door, when finally, the doorknob started to turn. The brass glinted in the silver-blue moonlight beaming through the sliding glass wall behind you. You felt your tongue dry out and stiffen in your mouth like a towel in the sun.

John Kennedy—or “Jack,” as he’d once told you to call him—stepped into the room, materializing out of the pitch-blackness of the hallway. “Hello there,” he said. With that charming New England accent, he pronounced “there” like “they-ah,” and beneath your heart’s frantic sparking and sputtering, a little spot deep in your gut groaned with affection.

“Hello,” you said in return. You were locked practically motionless in the dark searchlights of his sleepy gaze as he guided the door shut behind him.

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he began striding slowly towards you. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself to speak again: “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Why, it’s my pleasure,” he said as his shadowy shoulders blocked out more and more of the floral wallpaper around you. The sharp, forest-y scent of his cologne made your nostrils feel cool and crisp. Your hands tightened their grip on each other where they lay folded in your lap.

Jack’s mouth twisted into a gentle smirk as he swayed to a stop right in front of you and brought one of his big hands to cup the underside of your chin, his long callused fingers curling up around your head. Instantly, your spine twinged with the urge to pull backward and away, but you clenched your stomach and held yourself still. You wanted this, you reminded yourself as you gazed up at Jack through mascara-caked eyelashes. You can’t be chicken now.

“I have to admit,” Jack said then, with a huffing chuckle, “that I’m frankly a little surprised at your timing.” He sounded staticky and distant over the dizzying clang of your heart against your ribs. “I can’t help but feel guilty, uh—” (his eyes flicked briefly to the side, seemingly searching for the right word) “—spoiling you for your husband,” he continued. “Poor kid’s had the patience of a saint.”

You felt your throat press against his warm palm as you swallowed. He surely thought you were some sort of lunatic for waiting until the week before your wedding to finally dial that number his secret service agent had slipped through your fingers at Frank Sinatra’s birthday party, which was almost half a year ago now. But there was, actually, a perfectly reasonable explanation. At least, you thought so.

You could’ve explained to Jack how your future husband Jimmy, the world-famous heartthrob singer you’d been practically betrothed to since we were children and who you were marrying in just 7 days (the tabloids had been very generous in making sure every single person in America was aware of this fact—including the president, apparently), was secretly homosexual and had no intention of ever being romantic with you. The feeling was perfectly mutual, of course; you both saw each other as more of siblings than anything else. But, naturally, that still did nothing whatsoever to satisfy your ever-burning desire to find someone who could help you simulate the fairytale wedding night you’d always hopelessly dreamt about—one where, in a pink haze of passion, you’d finally hand over your virginity and roll around in the sheets till the sun came up with someone who was masculine and dashing and strong.

But, obviously, you could never betray Jimmy by telling anyone any of that. However, you also weren’t content to just waste away at home while Jimmy got to enjoy his revolving door of classified lovers, so you would just have to settle for Jack assuming you were some kind of newly-emerging sex-crazed adulteress—which he of all people would have no right to judge you for, anyway.

You felt the skin of your throat stretching as Jack tilted your head up and rotated your face slowly to the left, then to the right. You followed him with your eyes, watching him study your neck and collarbones like they were an expensive piece of machinery he was looking to purchase. You did your best to set your trembling shoulders back, wondering if this was typical behavior of a man before he made love.

“Speaking of Jimmy, I’ve been wondering. Is he the reason you called?” Jack asked while he conducted his examination, as if he was simply discussing the weather. “You think he’s liable to disappoint you on your first time? Or you just can’t possibly wait another seven days for him?” He phrased them more like teasing accusations than actual questions.

“Oh, n-no,” you said. The firmness of his grip on your jaw caused your words to come out clipped. “I just. . . .” You could feel your eyes bulging as you tried to scrap together some semblance of a reasonable explanation as to why you were here. You’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother with this line of questioning. “Well, Jimmy’s just so young, you know,” you sputtered, “and maybe—maybe I want to know what it’s like being with . . . an older man.”

Jack blew air out of his nose in a half-formed laugh. “An older man, huh?” He brought your head back to center and gave your cheeks an affectionate squeeze between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re cute, you know that, sweetheart? I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the night we first met.”

Your heart spasmed at that, and you could feel your mouth twisting as you tried not to break out in a giddy grin. Gosh, he could be so sweet.

The night you both met was two whole years ago now. Jack had been just a senator then, and you’d been just 19 when he, his wife, and several of their friends came backstage after one of your father’s glitzy Rat Pack shows in Las Vegas. You still remembered how, while your father was introducing you, Jack's placid blue eyes had slithered up and down your dress. Inexplicably, blood had gushed pleasurably between your legs while you watched him eye you like this, smoke from his cigar furling around his lip.

Jack's hand dropped from your chin then and moved to start unbuckling his pants. Your head suddenly felt too light, like your brain wasn’t there anymore, and the skin around your jaw prickled with the absence of his fingers. This was it. You were moments away from having the full experience of being a married woman and—if the rumors you’d heard about Jack Kennedy’s sexual aptitude were true—all of the mind-melting pleasures that came with it. The anxiety you’d been feeling ever since you decided to call that secret number a little over a week ago was about to be entirely worth it.

Jack let his belt slap to the floor, and his hands slipped under your armpits to pop you up onto your feet. You sucked in your lips to stifle what would’ve probably been a pathetic, whimpering gasp. His face was mere inches from yours now, and as he looked down at you, you were almost overcome by a strange, aching pull to stand up on the very tips of your toes so you could squish your nose against his. The leader of the free world was just a big dreamboat softie, really, and he could be anywhere on Earth with anyone he wanted, but he chose you.

You didn’t really have time to consider these unusual whims of yours, however, because then Jack bent his head and fastened his mouth to your neck. You could do nothing but stand there dumbly as he covered your skin with sloppy kisses, his buttery brown hair tickling your shoulder. The gentle clicking of saliva between his lips buzzed in your ears.

All of a sudden, as if you’d blacked out a few seconds ago and were now coming to again, you noticed your dress had been unzipped and was in a puddle around your kitten heels. Goosebumps sizzled up your bare arms and legs, and your shoulders folded in on themselves as Jack's hands appeared on both sides of your vision, one tossing your bra to the floor and the other moving to clasp both your wrists tightly behind your back.

He yanked your wrists downward with surprising gruffness, forcing you to arch your back and thrust your bare chest out toward him. A stuttery inhale hissed through your teeth, and you squeezed your legs together, blushing furiously as your nipples prickled and hardened under his gaze. You knew this would be part of it. You knew he would have to see you naked.

“God damn,” he said, his voice dark and rumbling, before bowing his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth like a hungry dog. A low, needy whimper trembled in your throat and as he moved from one nipple to the other, viciously biting and sucking. The stiff tent that had sprung up in the groin area of his slacks collided with your clit, wracking you with a full-body shiver. For a quick moment, you were awash with a lush, golden feeling of pride. You were making the president hard.

He hooked a finger in the waistband of your cotton panties and leaned back from devouring your chest as he pulled them down, the tip of his nose brushing on your forehead as you both watched—to your piercing horror—an elastic string of wetness stretch between your vagina and the spot on the crotch of your panties where it had attached itself.

You noticed, too, how slick and glossy the insides of your thighs had become. “Oh, no.”

“Now, now.” Jack spoke in your ear with a brisk tone like he was impatiently reprimanding a child. “There’s no shame in getting a little excited.” He brushed a finger over the smooth slit of your labia, and you practically squealed, “Jack!”

Your little cry seemed to ignite something in him. Suddenly, you were whirled around to face the twinkling Chesapeake Bay shoreline and its tumbling black water and navy blue sand. And then there was a wide hand between your shoulder blades. “Bend over for me, doll,” Jack instructed you pointlessly as he went ahead and shoved your upper body into the mattress.

With the heel of his palm, he slid you forward so you had to clamber up onto the bedspread on your knees. The electric crackle of your nipples against the rough old fabric caused a loud “ah!” to spill from your mouth. You craned your neck as far over your shoulder as it would go to watch Jack’s eyes pick their way down your body just like they had the night you met. But now, all splayed out for him like this, you suddenly felt sick and dirty enough to throw up. This sort of position seemed more suited to a common whore than a bride. Your face burned like someone was shining a heat lamp on you. And yet, your clitoris pulsed with an almost painful voracity, causing your hips to twitch slightly with each pounding beat.

Outside in the living room, you heard the muffled laughter of the two secret service men who, when you’d first arrived at this rented beach house about 20 minutes ago, had told you President Kennedy would arrive shortly, and then casually led you to the bedroom like you were going to a meeting in the White House. You clenched your teeth against the toe-curling humiliation of it and forced yourself to shuck those guys from your mind. You were going to pretend that you were completely alone with Jack, your handsome powerful husband, and that this creaky Cape-Cod-style house was your lovely newlywed home.

The quick screak of Jack's zipper snatched you out of your thoughts. In the open fly of his pants, you caught a brief, heart-softening glimpse of his blue-striped underwear—And then, suddenly, there was a real-life penis whacking against the small of your back.

“Oh my!” you shrieked, and Jack's Adam’s apple bounced with a small laugh. The anatomical diagrams you’d studied with your childhood tutor had utterly failed to capture how big and messy-looking penises really were. The veiny skin on Jack’s was wrinkly and loose like an elephant, and the whole thing looked almost thicker than your forearm.

He began pumping his hand up and down the length of his long erection in a lazy, thoughtless motion, swiping his thumb across the shiny little hole every time he reached the top.

“Do you—do you think it’ll fit in me?” you asked. It was hard enough sometimes just trying to get a little tampon to settle in right. Glancing up at the ceiling, you prayed that, by some magical trick of biology, you would be able to accommodate Jack's size.

“Oh, sure,” Jack assured you as he palmed your buttcheeks and spread them apart, allowing himself to drag the tip of his penis down across your puckering butthole and line it up with your vagina as he spoke. “A young cunt like yours might require a little, uh, tough love, but it’ll fit me by the time I’m done.”

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by “tough love,” but it didn’t matter because suddenly he was easing his big round tip inside you with a low, sonorous groan. You grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. Already, your “cunt” felt stretched beyond what was healthy.

“Fucking shit.” His voice sounded from far back in his throat. “You’re tiny.” And then, without further ado, he forced himself inside you, crashing his hips against yours with an echoing smack.

Your vagina ripped open. You screamed at the blistering sensation. Your stomach felt like someone had removed your intestines and replaced them with a big metal pole. The area around your belly button was bloated out and pulled taut.

A single tear was knocked out of your eye and down the side of your nose as he pulled all the way out and ruthlessly slammed back in again. He began moving you back and forth at a rapid rhythm, jerking you around like a rag doll. Your head was ringing as you buried your face in the bed, bracing yourself to take this for as long as Jack wanted you to. You wondered if it was typical for a man to be so harsh with his partner.

“Fuck.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth. “Fuck. You feel damn good, you know that?” His hand came down with a hard slap on your buttcheek and, instinctively, you bucked your hips away from him.

With his hands on your waist, Jack jolted you back into place in front of him. He smacked your butt again, like he was punishing you for fleeing, and you let out a panting whine as the sting shuddered through you.

“I know it . . . hurts, sweetheart,” he said between guttural grunts as he continued to pound into you, “but this is . . . what it takes . . . to break a little body like yours in. This’ll be . . . much easier next time.” He flashed a quick, cheeky grin.

Then he scooped one of his hands around your throat and whipped you upwards so your back thunked against his chest. He mumbled into your ear, “Now let me take another look at these pretty tits, huh?” He cupped your breasts in his hands, squeezing them together then pulling them apart, and your head fell back onto his shoulder with a tortured moan.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pinching your nipples. “Maybe I should just take you home with me, huh? How does that sound?” He was a mumbling mess; you wondered if he even knew what he was saying. “I could ruin your little cunt so Jimmy won’t even want it anymore, and I’ll hide you away in my house up in New York. Keep you all to myself.”

As he spoke, one of his hands slid down your stomach and began to rub slow circles on your clit. This was met by another watery yell from you, and you felt Jack's teeth on your cheek as he chuckled. “Ooh, now that feels good, doesn’t it?” he cooed. “Fuck, I love it when my girls scream. Let me hear you again.” He swatted your clit with his hand and, like clockwork, you cried out for him.

He sped up the pad of his finger on your clit, rewarding you for your obedience. “Just like that,” he said. “Let those fuckers out there in the parlor here you.” He slapped you between the legs again, and that’s when, seemingly without warning, the brutal throbbing you’d been feeling tumbled over into an explosion, like a hot water balloon bursting in your pelvis. You wailed and rolled forward, your bones gelatinous.

Jack caught you by the shoulders before you could flop onto the bed and lowered you the rest of the way down. “There we go,” he praised as your orgasm rocked through you. “That-a-girl.”

You offered him a weak smile and then realized he couldn’t even see it because your face was in the blanket.

As soon as your climax fizzled away, Jack grabbed ahold of your knees and turned you over onto your back. Then he pulled out of you for the very last time with a lewd squelching noise. Your entire lower body felt shriveled and deflated as you watched him give his erection a few self-indulgent strokes.

He rolled his head back with a loud “mmm,” and several long strings of white, mucus-y liquid began shooting out of the tip.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped to the ceiling. Air was getting caught in the emotional stickiness of your throat as you tried to catch your breath. Jack’s semen was splattering across your stomach. “Oh my gosh.”

#jfk #john f kennedy #jfk x reader #jfk x you #john f kennedy x reader #smut #the kennedys #john f kennedy fanfiction

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khaotunq · 5 months

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@raypakorn tagged me!! ♥♥♥!!!

2023 BLs Wrapped: My MDL if anyone wants it/wants to add me/judge me

Number of BLs this year and hours: 30 completed, 5 in progress so 35 total. 319 individual episodes total. Assuming 40-minute episodes on average, that's 12,760 minutes, or 212.7 hours of my life this year. (277.3 hours if I include all the shows I watched) -- and this is just shows I watched for the first time. It's not including the at least dozen rewatches of The Eclipse, the three of My School President, one or two of Moonlight Chicken, Not Me and Bad Buddy...

You primarily watched BLs from Thailand. And a hell of a lot of it was GMMTV, but that's basically to be expected considering the rate they fire out shows.

You spent way too much time thinking about these characters: Ray (Only Friends), Alan (Moonlight Chicken), Heart (Moonlight Chicken), Ai Di (Kiseki: Dear to Me) and always, always Akk (The Eclipse)

Your favorite show was Only Friends (closely followed by Till the World Ends, Unintentional Love Story, Our Dating Sim, Moonlight Chicken, Manner of Death, He's Coming to Me, all of which I watched for the first time this year whether they aired this year or not)

Your overall BL mood was Irreverent - I don't control what I watch or when. I don't know who does. But I have a hard lean towards things that are a little silly.

You read the most fanfiction about: I didn't really read much, but probably SandRay - Only Friends, by virtue of the fact that's also what I wrote for. (I just looked at my AO3 bookmarks and it's literally Rowan and Sarah. Hi!)

Another of your favorites from this year was: Laws of Attraction - I'm still not entirely sure I know what the fuck that show even was, but it was fun and silly. Neither are finished yet, but I do anticipate Twins and Cooking Crush being overall favs too, unless either of them do something genuinely stupid in the next few episodes.

The soundtracks you listened to the most: I don't really listen to soundtracks, but probably MSP OST by virtue of it being what I cooked to for the early part of the year before I started using podcasts instead. I have a fair few plays of Let's Try and Over the Moon, too.

Your favorite acting pair was: I hope you're all sitting down. First Kanaphan and Khaotung Thanawat. I've very much enjoyed watching Fourth Nattawat and Gemini Norawit, too. They're sweethearts.

Tagging @mushiemadarame @first-kanaphan @khaotungsfirst @sparklyeyedhimbo @sollucets @dilfmas @firstkanaphans @itsallaboutbl @chinzhilla @chickenstrangers if you haven't already done it / if u want, no presh~ As always if anyone wants to do it, you can say I tagged ya <3

#2023 bl wrapped #got tagged!#so it is decreed #i couldn't be arsed figuring out what gifs to put in if any so #text only is how i'm rolling

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celestial-sapphicss · 5 months

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BL WRAPPED 2023 🎇

template by @loveable-sea-lemon (love it!!!)

for krishna @i-got-the-feels & vish @morkofday & mel @justafriend-ql thank you for tagging me friends!!!! this was so much fun 💖

you watched 24 bls this year. that's about idk but less than i expected hours!

you primarily watched bls from Thailand (GMMTV lol)

you spent way too much time thInking about these characters: AlanWen, TinnGun, HeartLiMing and now MhokDay.

honorable mentions - JengPat, BostonNick, YaiJom, UeangphuengMei, TinCharn and TinTol. also PatPran & PuenTalay+Jigsaw from Our Skyy 2!

your favorite show was My School President, Moonlight Chicken, and Triage. you kept thinking about it all year. (and of course Last Twilight but that's still airing)

your overall bl mood was as chaotic as Nawin in Laws of Attraction

you read the most fanfiction about TinnGun. like way too much. they are my emotional support wholesome high school romance 💒

another of your favorites from this year was IFYLITA, Laws of Attraction, and My Only 12%. they captivated and made your gay little heart cry.

the soundtracks you listened to the most were (at the risk of sounding repetitive) MSP OST + Concert Set List and Moonlight Chicken OST. it made you feel really normal. also Tilly Bird.

your favorite acting pair was FirstMix. there was just something so mesmerizing about them... it was so refreshing in a 'i want to go cry in a ditch' kinda way.

here's to another year!! 🎉

tagging: @grapejuicegay @casualavocados @dribs-and-drabbles @solana-ceae @chickenstrangers @tenprem @itsallaboutbl @dimpledpran @benkaaoi @quodekash @cornflowershade @dragonsareawesome123 any anyone else who's interested (no pressure ofcourse!)

special mention to my most beloved GLs and stuff that doesn't really fit the BL genre but still is very very queer.

#tag game #bl wrapped 2023 #i love this because my 2023 watchlist tag and mdl came in handy and i feel proud of my oRgAniSaTiOn sKiLlS #its the little things skskskskksskksks #2023 watched!

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dragonsareawesome123 · 5 months

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BL Wrapped 2023

template by @loveable-sea-lemon

Tagged by @celestial-sapphicss. Thanks for tagging me!

you watched 9 bls this year but only finished 3. that's about yeah idk what happened this year since i was on a bl roll last year hours! (i think this was more of a kdrama year for me)

Never Let Me Go - finished

Moonlight Chicken - didn't finish

Our Skyy 2 - didn't finish

History1: Obsessed - didn't finish

The Luminous Solution - didn't finish

Dangerous Romance - finished

I Feel You Linger in the Air - finished

Last Twilight - still airing and won't finish airing until next year

Night Dream - still airing and won't finish airing until next year

you primarily watched bls from GMMTV.

you spent way too much time thinking about these characters: Palm, Nuengdiao, Yai, and Jom.

your favorite show was I Feel You Linger in the Air. you kept thinking about it all year.

your overall bl mood was soulmates and yearning.

you read the most fanfiction about Palmnueng. like way too much.

another of your favorites from this year was Never Let Me Go. they captivated your gay little heart.

the soundtracks you listened to the most were I Feel You Linger in the Air. it made you feel really normal.

your favorite acting pair was Brightnonkul. there was just something so mesmerizing about them…

Also, shout out to the GLs I watched/am still watching:

GAP the Series (tv show): finished

Lucky Fish (short film): finished

Love Senior (tv show): still airing and won't finish airing until next year

I'm In Love with the Villainess (tv show): finished

Green Night (film): finished

And the non BL GMMTV shows I watched this year:

Home School (tv show): didn't finish

Enigma (tv show): finished

Taggging: @benkaaoi, @fiddlepickdouglas, @iamdarthbader, @tenprem, @callipigio, @yourstormthlaylirahh, @laowen, @theheightofdishonor, @williamrikers

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awkwardlyfangirly · 2 years

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HI TGIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST EVER SO YEA

MAYBE A GN READER THATS FRIENDS WITH THE TURTLES BUT HAS MORE A CONNECTION WITH LEO AND THE READER GETS ATTACKED BY SOME CRIMINALS AND LEO SAMES THEM AND ENDED UP DOING THE SPIDER-MAN KISS AND THAT WOULD BE LIKE THEIR FIRST KISS TOGETHER OMFG

I AM SO HONORED TO BE YOUR FIRST REQUEST EVER

hope u enjoy! :)

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rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction ~ Leonardo x female reader ~ tw/cw: reader gets somewhat unsuccessfully mugged in an alley lol

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You were normal, right?

Like, you didn’t have a lot of friends. That was normal.

And you were a senior in high school. That was also normal.

You lived in an apartment with your dad, and you had two older sisters who were studying abroad, and you had a hamster named Oreo Cupcake, and you had a lot of posters on your walls. Normal.

You were normal, right? Right??

You’d spent so, so many years of your life desperately wanting to not be normal. Just wanting something, anything, to happen to you. Just wanting to stand out.

And look at you now. Spending so much of your time hanging upside-down off your bed, blasting music into your eardrums at a volume that will probably cause early hearing loss, staring at the texts pinging into your phone and just wishing that your life was anything resembling normal.

Because the truth of the matter was that you were not normal. Not at all.

Your few friends were four color-coordinated human/turtle mutant ninjas who lived in the sewers, blew up your phone with the weirdest texts you’d ever be able to imagine, and annoyed the chicken nuggets out of you. They wouldn’t be normal even if they didn’t live in the sewers or weren’t, you know, mutant human/turtle ninjas. Also April, who was technically “normal,” but lived the same decidedly un-normal existence as you.

Not normal. You weren’t normal.

You hung out in the sewers most of the time with your ninja turtle friends and sometimes encountered other weird things like a raging celebrity chef turned pig mutant who tried to kill you or a raging news anchor turned worm mutant who tried to kill you or a sweet and bubbly random dude turned capybara mutant who constantly provided you with the best lemonade you’d ever had and --

and yeah. Not normal.

Which is why you felt… decidedly unsurprised when you found yourself being backed against a wall by a pair of humanlike foxes -- or foxlike humans -- in a dark alleyway. Unsurprised; just disappointed. You knew better than this. You shouldn’t be getting mugged.

“I don’t want trouble,” you said. Your eyelids were so heavy. You’d just finished the closing shift at work; you’d been getting your hands cracked and calloused with mop and broom handles for the past thirty minutes. You just wanted to get home and put on Phineas and Ferb and sleep.

The yokai or mutant or whatever standing on the left smiled, his teeth vicious and bright in the artificial moonlight of the city. “Should’ve thought of that before you bothered to come here wearing that.” He reached out with a sharp, curved claw to hook the chain around your neck, scratching your skin a bit.

“Okay,” you said.

He yanked, sudden and firm. The necklace came off in his paws.

You flinched.

You were trusting beyond trust that they wouldn’t hurt you -- that they’d take the necklace and go -- but the second yokai or mutant or whatever put a paw on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she said. “Hey. Look at that.”

“At what?”

And she gestured at the Hamato clan symbol you wore around one wrist.

“You know where we’ve seen that before?”

“No,” the first yokai or mutant or whatever said, sounding irritated. “What are you --”

And the second one leaned in to whisper into his ear.

You watched his eyes widen and his ears perk up.

“You’re kidding,” he whistled. “You’re kidding. So you’re a Hamato, kid?”

Okay. That was trouble.

Guess Phineas and Ferb and the sweet, sweet embrace of unconsciousness would have to wait a little while.

The yokai or mutants or whatever -- you were leaning towards ‘yokai,’ seeing as they’d recognized the Hamato symbol -- had made you press your arms above your head, against the wall. But you slowly shifted your fingers until you could depress the panic button.

There were two gentle pulses against your fingers -- the panic button silently letting you know that it had transmitted your signal.

You stared at the sickly sweet grins spreading across the faces of your attackers and your throat clenched tight.

Hurry, you begged. Hurry.

There were four Hamato boys. Raph, Donnie, Leo, and Mikey. Currently all in a giant pile in the living room, biting and kicking, while Splinter screamed at them to settle down, he couldn’t hear his TV show. SETTLE DOWN. And finally he had to step in and slap them all in the face with his hairless pink tail, and even then, Leo and Donnie were still glowering at each other.

Splinter sighed, deeply, and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Boys --”

And then the panic signal activated.

It alerted each of the brothers, pulsing against their wrists until they tapped it twice. It was Y/n’s signal.

Leo felt his heart drop.

It was Y/n’s signal.

“Where is she?” he said, quickly, as the brothers gathered around Donnie to stare at the map on his armband. All thought of the last minute’s tussle was out of everyone’s mind. The only thought was her.

Donnie moved his fingers to enlarge the map. “Right there,” he said, tapping at her blinking icon. “Let’s go.”

You were still standing in the same spot, pressed up against the wall, as the yokai argued about what they should do with you.

“Big Mama,” one of them was saying, without stopping, over and over and over again. “Big Mama. Big Mama. Big Mama. Big Mama.”

The other kept talking over her, loudly. “You know how Big Mama is. She’ll steal us for the games. We won’t have a choice. The Foot Clan will want her. The Foot Clan hates the Hamato. The Foot Clan doesn’t run a bloody battle to the death that they will inevitably trick us into.”

“Big Mama,” the other kept saying, louder and louder. “Big Mama. Big Mama.”

You tried to scoot towards the opening of the alley. They didn’t seem to notice; they were so wrapped up in their own argument. Closer. And closer. And closer. Just a few more feet --

“Hey,” one of the foxes said, and you felt its claws close around your shoulder. Your heart leapt into your mouth and you stopped breathing for a moment. It dragged you back into the alley.

The other yokai sighed and admitted defeat.

“Fine,” she huffed. “Fine. You’re right. Big Mama is too dangerous to deal with. We go to the Foot Clan.”

Her brother chirped happily.

“You heard her,” he growled into your ear, the sudden tone shift startling you. “We’re going to the Foot Clan. Come on. Let’s go.”

The Foot Clan. April was always more eager to tag along on the action than you were; she and the boys had told you all about them. You’d only encountered them twice, yourself. And you weren’t eager to encounter them again.

Please hurry, you begged again. Please hurry.

And you didn’t move your feet fast enough for the foxes; they shoved you forward, roughly, and your heart rose into your mouth again. Propelled itself up through your throat. You choked on it for a second, gasping for air.

Please hurry.

They’d received the message, you knew. First there were the two pulses letting you know that your signal had transmitted -- and then three more pulses after a few seconds, letting you know that they’d actively received and acknowledged your signal. They were on the way. They could track you if you were moved anywhere. You would be fine. You would be fine.

For a moment, you wished you were April instead -- she was so strong, so full of life and fire. She’d have both of the yokai on the ground, sobbing, without raising a single finger. And then you felt bad for wishing April was here, instead of you.

Please. Please hurry.

They had to. They had to. You’d never used your panic button before, but you couldn’t imagine it would take them too long to respond. Especially since you were on the surface, on the streets of New York -- not too hard to track, probably. Hopefully.

Please.

You didn’t have many friends. But these friends were like your flesh and blood. You knew -- without even having to think about it -- that you’d die for them. Again and again. You’d give up anything for any single one of them -- go without food or water or sleep for days -- face your darkest fears and the darkest parts of yourself. Just for them.

And they’d do the same for you.

It was why you wore the Hamato insignia on your wrist: a symbol marking you as one of their own, part of their family. You were there for one another, always; protecting one another, always.

They’d be here. They’d be here.

The foxes cackled again -- their laughs were chilling, echoing sharply through the warm night air -- and the one grabbed you, slinging you over his shoulder. You went limp. Every muscle in your body went completely limp, immediately.

You held your breath.

“Wait,” the other one said. “The Hamato clan -- wouldn’t they want her back?”

“There are still Hamato??”

“You’re so dumb.” His sister rolled her eyes. “Yes, there are still Hamato. Remember? Those turtles?”

“Ohhh, yeah!”

“I bet you they’d pay a ransom beyond all ransoms.”

“I trust the Foot Clan more than I trust those Hamatos, though,” her brother mused, and before she could reply, one of Those Hamatos had landed with a THUD on the fire escape above him.

“Hey!” it said. “That really hurt my feelings!”

You tried to twist your head to see what was going on -- but before you could, a hand grabbed the back of your shirt, and you were yanked backward, off of the yokai’s shoulder and into the security of the roof above.

“You good??” Leo screamed twice in your ear before you finally came back to yourself and coughed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, I’m okay --” you started, and then he wrapped you tight in his arms.

“You sure??”

“Yes,” you gasped, as he crushed the lungs out of you.

“I was so worried!! You’ve never set off your panic button before!”

“I’ve never been mugged by two kidnappy yokai before!!”

“Fair point,” he admitted, and squeezed you close again.

You sank your head into his shoulder.

He was firm, and warm, and his shell was solid and sturdy under your shaking hands. A breath in -- and then you started to sob.

He rocked you slightly back and forth. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re alive, alright?”

You nodded, still sobbing, and he rubbed the back of your head with one hand and pressed his face into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Sorry I’m so dramatic. It just --”

“Not too dramatic,” he said. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He portaled the two of you back down to the floor and the other brothers gathered around you as Leo climbed back up to the fire escape, dangling his feet and keeping his eyes on you. They asked you if you were alright, and reassured you that they were taking the yokai to the appropriate authorities. You told them you were alright. You thanked them.

“I’ll help walk you home,” Mikey offered.

“I’ll do it,” Leo called, from the fire escape.

“I don’t really --”

“I’ll do it,” Leo said again. “I got it, really.”

And so they left. Leaving the two of you alone.

“I’ll help get you home,” Leo said. “Don’t worry.”

He’d hung himself backwards off of the fire escape, his head dangling close to yours as you turned towards him.

“Thank you,” you told him. “I appreciate it.”

His entire face lit up when he smiled.

“Anything for you,” he said, softly.

Now, all four of the Hamato boys were four-fifths of your best friends in the world. But Leo -- ? Leo was your favorite.

You didn’t know what it was -- “soulmates,” perhaps? -- but the two of you had clicked from the moment you met. You could tell him anything, and he would listen; and vice versa. You knew his hugs like the back of your hand, and his warmth was always a comforting presence next to you when neither of you could sleep and you ended up at each other’s houses, idling away the time until you dozed off together. You loved all of the boys, but you loved Leo the most.

You’d never tried to kiss him, and he’d never tried to kiss you. You’d never discussed taking your relationship to that stage. You were just there for each other; the best of best friends; forever and ever.

But he was hanging upside down in front of you and staring at your lips.

That seemed like invitation enough.

You stepped a bit closer to him and placed your palms on his cheeks and started to lean in, your heart pounding so hard that it seemed absolutely definite that he could feel it in the pressure of your hands.

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you. His eyes moving from your eyes, to your lips, and back.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t try to right himself. He just dangled there, and stared.

And then he reached out his own hand, relying on his legs to keep him in place -- and he touched your own cheek, his thumb gently caressing your lips. His hand pulled you a little closer --

and then, contact.

Contact.

Your lips on his, or his on yours, who knew? Did it matter?? It didn’t matter to you. Nothing mattered to you, suddenly. You couldn’t understand anything except the soft firm gentle warmth of his lips and the way they moved against yours.

You gasped for breath, your mouths still together, and he kissed you again, and again, humming against your lips as you gulped in your shared air.

You felt his heartrate speeding up, right where your fingers met the junction of his jaw with his throat. You broke your lips away from his and kissed at his pulse.

“I like this,” he mumbled, putting both of his hands on both sides of your head, cupping your jawline. “I like kissing you.”

And you giggled and rested your forehead on his chin. He took the opportunity to kiss at your own heartbeat, fast and giddy in your neck.

“I like kissing you too,” you whispered, and he took one of your hands in his and brought the fingernails to his lips.

It was a long, long while before he finally walked you back home.

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo x reader #my writing

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silverquillsideas · 1 year

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Chapter 4 (the final one!!) of my heartliming fic let him be soft (and let him be mine) is posted!! This one is from Heart's POV and it was a joy to write!! ❤️ Hope you like it! 🥺

There will be an epilogue after this!

#Moonlight Chicken #Heartliming #My school president #Tinngun #Fanfic #heart x li ming #limingheart #fanfiction #My writing #Drabbles

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ragsweas · 4 months

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My fandoms: (active/semi-active)

The Hobbit (obvi)

Lord of the Rings (duh)

9-1-1 tv show (in case ma header wasnt clear enough)

Percy Jackson and the Olympians (and everhthing Uncle Rick writes)

BTS (bangatn Sonyendan boys)

Moonlight Chicken (thai bl)

Not me (thai bl)

2gether (thai bl)

Bad Buddy (thai bl)

A tale of thousand stars (thai bl) (if you have seen this we already besties idc)

Marry my Husband (ongoing) (k-drama)

Twinkling watermelon (k-drama) (when I say I cried)

Castlevania (yet to see Nocturne dont come at me)

Perks of being a wallflower

Good omens (i havent dared watch season 2 DO NOT COME AT ME)

Doctor Who (modern who and I appreciate them all plis) (nine and thirteen are my favs tho bye)

The Umbrella Academy

Avatar: the Last Airbender (idk how to feel about the live action yet)

Fandoms I used to be a part of (dead/inactive/not like anymore

Harry Potter (fuck the terf) (though if you wanna talk queer marauders I am always here)

MCU (destroyed post Endgame)

Once Upon a Time (fond old memories)

Arrowverse (arrow was good...and so was flash...until they fucked it up)

I am sure i am forgetting sth.

What do I do?

Write. First novel out soon! (Queer desi fantasy romance) (fanfictions on hiatus cause of this not cause I have forgotten)

Listen to music (R&B and Pop though its not set in stone)

Study (history and academics are my true loves)

Talk politics and theory (but I have been told I am very hopefu???)

Share vibes

Okay then! Have fun!

#rags rants #the hobbit #hobbit #lord of the rings #911 #percy jackon and the olympians #army bts #moonlight chicken #bad buddy #marry my husband #twinkling watermelon #good omens #doctor who #avatar the last airbender #the umbrella academy #not me #academics

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dramalets · 5 months

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Fandom Wrapped!

I love love loved this idea and I found a great skeleton for it so I thought I’d do it and tag some loves :) So here goes!

You watched 40 BLs this year. That’s about too many hours. (I dropped some too and the whole number is definitely not just 2023 BLs. I played catch up a lot this year.)

You primarily watched bls from Thailand.

You spent way too much time thInking about these characters: Sailom, Uea , and Kawi.

Your favorite show was Moonlight Chicken. You kept thinking about it all year.

Your overall bl mood was cosy

You read the most fanfiction about Kinnporsche. Like way too much. (Listen, I’m weak for some good VegasPete.)

another of your favorites from this year was Be My Favourite. It captivated your gay little heart.

the soundtracks you listened to the most were The Jungle and My School President they made you feel really normal.

Your favorite acting pair was JimmySea. There was just something so mesmerizing about them. (I watched ViceVersa this year and loved them and now I’ve been doubly spoilt with Last Twilight. They’re great.)

Here’s to another year of blorbos!

invite friends to share theirs: @naomi-obsessions @lamonnaie @blneobin @boozles @umbreonwolfy @emmajanereading @kessthenorthface and anyone else who’d like to give it a try :)

#fandom wrapped #jen rambles

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starboybutler · 1 year

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Cotton Candy Land (Ch.1)

summary: on top of elvis’s already-packed performance schedule, he had been receiving all kinds of violent threats. it had started when they were out of town, in houston, but they seemed to follow him. the first threat had been harmless enough– a shoddy note with chicken-scratch writing that said “i am going to kill you”, but now they were becoming physical– and taking a toll on elvis.

word count: 3496

warnings: age regression, crying, death threats, panic attacks, tantrums

notes: hi! this is my third attempt at a multi-chapter fic, and i hope that it goes well! elvis's age regression has always been a fascinating topic to me, so i wanted to write a fanfiction based on it and how it affected him. i'm including jerry and steve because i like them. we may get smut in the future, as well as some fluff/crushes, but who knows! i'm just really excited to get this first chapter up. shoutout to bee (dontbeecruel) for beta reading!

enjoy!

dim moonlight shone through the thin, white curtains of the work suite, illuminating the room in a pale aura. a heavy, dense silence hung in the air as binder and schilling stood on opposite sides of their paperwork-littered desk, their expressions exasperated.

tonight had been stressful.

on top of elvis’s already-packed performance schedule, he had been receiving all kinds of violent threats. it had started when they were out of town, in houston, but they seemed to follow him. the first threat had been harmless enough– a shoddy note with chicken-scratch writing that said “i am going to kill you”, but now they were becoming physical– and taking a toll on elvis.

in the middle of his performance tonight, two men from the front row hopped up onstage and rushed towards elvis, and things went south. colonel rushed from his seat in the crowd, while jerry, red, and elvis attempted to draw their guns.

the men were quickly subdued, and elvis was dragged off the stage, yelling and screaming that he would kill whoever just charged him. he was furious. the colonel met up with him backstage, and it was suggested to him that the show be stopped due to safety concerns– but elvis insisted he continue. he refused to be pushed off of the stage.

binder pressed his fingers under his aviators, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut. he was developing quite the migraine trying to figure out how to deal with all of this. he thought he had security all under control– but knowing the colonel, he had probably done something dumb behind his back to compromise that.

schilling was just as stressed. serving as elvis’s bodyguard, close friend, and public relations– he had a whole myriad of issues to worry about– but the most daunting was the press. he knew those newspaper writers would be on him as soon as they could, asking for any behind the scenes details of the attacks. then there was the problem of elvis’s mental state. even though he insisted he was fine, both binder and schilling knew that the man was growing more and more paranoid with each passing hour. he had barely slept since the first threat. there’s no way he would just shake off this much more jarring one.

“we should…” jerry started, hesitantly. “we should find ep. talk to him. check up on him.”

binder let his sunglasses fall back into place on the bridge of his nose, sighing as he ran a hand through his brunette locks. “will he even let us in his room?” he asks, affixing his wary eyes on schilling. “he's been pretty shaken up lately. he’s not letting anyone in. not even vernon.”

“i know.” jerry sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “i mean, he might let me in, but…”

“over his own father?”

“hey man, vernon and e have a bit of a… rocky relationship.” jerry says, shrugging. “i’m just saying, i might have better chances to be let in.”

binder fell silent, pursing his lips in thought. “it's worth a shot,” he admits, before sighing. “christ– we should really get to all this paperwork though.”

“later.” schilling mutters. “i’m worried about elvis.”

binder gave a curt nod, and followed after the taller man as he stepped out from their workspace. truth be told, he was worried about elvis too– terribly worried– but he just didn't need another earful from the colonel about his ‘hippie work ethic’, and how he was always falling behind on important matters.

sometimes it was maddening how much the colonel was on him. he wanted to walk away at times, but he reminded himself that he took this job for elvis. the colonel was annoying to deal with, of course, but binder needed to stick around to make elvis's job a little more bearable. binder always fought that old toad tooth and nail for ep to have more creative freedoms, but the colonel just had this aura to him. it's like he knew how to twist your words and thoughts just perfectly enough to make you reword yourself until you agreed with him. most of the time, steve opted for pointedly ignoring the man, but sometimes he couldn't help but snap back at him.

jerry was much more skilled at dealing with the colonel. mainly because– for some odd reason– he got along with him. schilling was just that type of guy. he got along with everyone, no matter how unlikeable the other person seemed. maybe it was his good looks, or his southern charm– but whatever it was, the colonel took a liking to him. jerry didn't necessarily see parker as a friend, but he didn't see him as an enemy either. when binder asked about it, schilling said that him and the colonel were a “strictly business” arrangement, and that they just happened to agree in those terms.

hell, maybe jerry should take his job. they’d be a lot more productive without parker poking his nose into everything binder did, and then purposely doing something to render his plans useless.

the two men stepped into the elevator, pressing the button that would take them directly up to elvis’s private room. it wasn't that far of a ride, as the work suite was in pretty close quarters with elvis– in case he needed to speak to binder or schilling about anything. it felt like forever, though– thanks to the tense situation at hand. usually when they visited elvis, it was under a much more light-hearted guise– like for a game of cards, or to see if they could sneak out on the town without getting recognized.

but nothing like this had ever occurred before. who knows how elvis would be feeling? he was so hard to predict sometimes– you’d think he'd be feeling one way after a certain event, only to find him feeling the complete and exact opposite.

the elevator halted, the doors slowly opened and let them onto their desired floor. it was quiet– almost eerily so– as they approached the large, intricately decorated double doors, steeling themselves with a deep breath.

schilling knocked tentatively, holding his breath as he waited for a response.

nothing.

he didn't seem phased. he just knocked again, a bit firmer this time, and spoke loudly enough so whoever was inside could hear.

“ep? it's…it’s jerry ‘n steve,” he said softly, biting his lip. “we uh– wanted to check on ya.”

silence.

binder was starting to get worried at this point– and it's obvious that schilling was as well. the way his brows furrowed together tightly told steve everything he needed to know.

“try the doorknob.” binder said, nodding towards one of the shiny, golden knobs. schilling hummed and tentatively gripped one of them, attempting to turn it and stiffening when it obliged, allowing one of the large doors to open.

steve swallowed heavily. elvis’s doors were almost never unlocked.

he looked over to see jerry borderline panicking. his eyes were wide, and he seemed to be frozen on the spot as he stared into the darkness of the room before him. binder placed a hand on his shoulder lowering his voice a fraction.

“hey– don't panic,” he muttered, giving the younger man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “we haven't gone in yet. don't assume the worst.”

“okay.” schilling gulped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steel himself. “okay. yeah.”

they walked into the room slowly. it was cold and dark– almost pitch black, save for a small bit of moonlight peeking through a crack in the curtains. steve stumbled over his feet a few times, but jerry seemed to know the room like the back of his hand. he swiftly made his way over to the right-hand side of the room, calling out anxiously.

“elvis? it's us, man!”

there was still no response, but binder became aware of a soft, barely-present noise coming from the bed tucked away in the corner. he strained to listen out, trying to figure out what the source of the noise was, only to get thrown off by schilling yelling out again, panicked.

“elvis–!”

“shh!” binder hushed, making jerry's head whip around to face him, half-curious, half-pissed. before he could snap at steve for shushing him in a moment of panic, he seemingly heard the noise as well.

steve held a hand out, blindly feeling for the edge of the mattress. he sat himself down, leaning forward until the noise grew into a more distinctive sound.

someone was crying.

“elvis…?” steve murmured, blinking in attempt to adjust to the dark of the room. “is that you?”

only then, he spotted a lump under the blankets of the bed, quivering and jumping with each harsh noise that left it. instinctively, steve reached out and pulled the blankets away, revealing a red-faced, trembling, crying elvis.

he was curled up into a ball, sniffling gently into the synthetic fur of a small plush bear that was clutched to his chest. his tears glittered in the faint light, illuminating his flushed cheeks– the small bit of his face that they could actually somewhat see.

he looked so small, like a little boy.

“g’way,” elvis sniffled, trying to hide his face behind the now soaked stuffed animal. “leave me ‘lone.”

no one spoke for a brief moment– just out of pure shock. out of all the possible things they could have discovered, this wasn't even a possibility for them– but here they were.

in reality, maybe they should have seen a sort of breakdown coming. the death threats weren't the only thing bothering elvis. the cancellation of his overseas tour had kickstarted this whole series of events. after that, he started his american tour, which was a whole other stressor for him– then the colonel was still so adamant about him performing at the goddamn international twice a day. in other words, elvis was at his limit– and while he had the temper of a thousand suns… he was most likely just exhausted rather than angry.

still…to see him crying, cuddled up to a plush toy was far from expected. though, now that binder pondered on it, it did make a bit of sense. elvis didn't have the easiest of childhoods– growing up dirt poor with only his momma and his love of comic books to skirt him by. maybe what they were seeing was elvis’s way of trying to relive that childhood.

jerry spoke first. it felt appropriate, seeing as he had a closer relationship with elvis. with a curious expression, he knelt down by the bed until he was eye level with the sniffling, trembling elvis.

“hey, you okay, ep?” he asks lowly, his voice gentle and laced with concern. “It’s jerry. a-and steve. we came to check on you, ‘cuz we were worried ‘bout ya after what happened on stage–”

“no!” the raven haired man cried out, harshly jerking his body so that he was facing the wall opposed to schilling. “no no no! don’ talk about that!” he cried out, his voice broken and utterly distraught at the reminder of what went down on stage. he was being absolutely petulant, the tears streaming down his face becoming fatter. jerry cursed under his breath as elvis continued his tantrum. “d-d-don’ wanna think ‘bout it! j-jus wanna go home!”

“alright, alright,” jerry muttered lowly, his expression grew more concerned as elvis went on, his grip on the stuffed bear tightened significantly as he thrashed around. steve felt absolutely helpless as he watched the other man try to calm elvis down, only for the dark haired man to thrash around more wildly in frustration.

binder felt horrible for his boss. seeing him so clearly distraught made his heart clench in a painful way. he could have done a better job to prevent this pain. maybe if he had pushed back against the colonel more– elvis wouldn't be in such a pained mindset.

spurred on by his guilt, he slowly extended a hand towards his boss, laying it on his shin gently. elvis slowed in his thrashing for a moment, thrown off by the touch. he stared at steve, who was just giving him a patient, understanding look. schilling set his jaw, taking the momentary calm as an opportunity to speak once more.

“we’re here, elvis. we just want you to be okay.” he murmured.

the man stilled, his chest heaving as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks hotly, staining the satin of his top with little wet blotches. his wailing slowly turned into sporadic whimpers, his shaky hands reaching out for either of the two men beside him for comfort. they obliged him, scooting closer to elvis and allowing him to cling onto them as tightly as he needed to. he pressed his tear-stained face into the crook of binder’s neck, making the man jolt in surprise. elvis continued sniffling, his plush bear now dangling in his grasp as he weakly sobbed into steve’s warm skin.

the men shared a look, a mix of bewilderment, relief, and slight fear. how long would elvis be like…this?

“what's the matter, elvis?” schilling asked, rubbing a large hand up and down his back. when all he got in response was a series of harsh, hiccupy breaths, jerry hushed him and pat him on the back firmly. “hey, c’mon. it's alright. no more tears, you're alright.”

“take a deep breath.” binder said softly, his voice laced with an unsure, wavering tone that he inwardly cursed at himself for. “just breathe.”

the dark-haired man took a series of deep, shaky breaths, before he lifted his head from the damp crevice of binder’s skin. his eyes were red and glassy, his face shiny with his tears. his lip was trembling– giving him the look of a lost little boy. binder felt an overwhelming urge to protect him.

“...’m sorry,” elvis muttered, his voice soft and hoarse from his earlier crying. “d-didn't mean ‘t yell.” he sniffles, his face flushed with shame as he avoided eye contact with either man. “‘m a bad boy.”

“no, no,” jerry said softly, shaking his head. “you're not bad.”

“yeah.” binder agreed softly, moving a stray piece of hair from elvis’s eyes. “you’ve had a rough day. you're allowed to be upset.”

“b-but i yelled,” he murmured. “i-i yelled at you….’n…i-i-i was bein’ mean.”

“that’s okay. we don't care about that now. we just wanna be sure that you're alright.” steve explained, watching as elvis pawed at his eyes feverishly. “are you alright?”

“mhm.” elvis answered with a pitiful little sniffle, leaning into binder once more. “i’m jus’ tired…’n scared…lonely,” he admitted, pulling the tear stained bear close to his chest. “wan’ go home.”

“i know,” schilling piped up. “we just got a little while longer, and we’ll be back at graceland, playin’ football in the yard. how's that sound?”

“wanna go home to all ‘m stuffies,” he mumbled, rocking back and forth gently. “a-all them in my room, up in ‘m closet…” elvis said softly, smiling gently to himself.

“s…stuffies?” steve asked, curious.

elvis wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “l-like this guy..!” he said, holding up the brown bear in his arms. “e-e-except at home, i-i got lions, ‘n tigers, a-and even little b-b-bunnies….”

“is that right?” schilling asked, a small smile on his lips. “do they all have names?”

“mhm,” his boss muttered, shy as he idly played with his stuffed animal's arms. “all of ‘em.”

“maybe when we get back, you can give us a little tour.” jerry mused, giving elvis a patient little smile.

elvis stared at schilling owlishly, before looking away and flushing a light pink high on his cheekbones. he pressed his face into the fur of his bear once more. “okay,”

steve felt the clenching in his heart be replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling. seeing him calm, and somewhat demure made him flood with relief– elvis truly seemed happy when he was like this.

was it odd? maybe a little. steve had never seen anything like it where he was from, but in this line of work, he learned to be open-minded. he was just glad it was him and schilling, one of elvis’s closest friends, that happened to stumble upon him in this state of mind, and not someone that might have set him off more– like the colonel, or maybe even vernon.

with a little hum, steve stood. “well, we need to get going. we got a lot of work to get to.”

elvis’s face fell. he looked disappointed. “oh. okay.”

jerry cocked his head to the side at his reaction, leaning down so that he was eye-level with him. “...what's wrong?”

elvis averted his gaze from the two men shyly, swaying back and forth lazily as he muttered softly into the soft, synthetic fur of his teddy bear.

“wan’ you to stay,”

“me?” jerry asked. “or steve?”

“both,” elvis sniffled. “don' wanna be alone.”

jerry and steve shared a curious look, before looking back at the small, frail looking elvis.

“you want us to stay with you?” steve asked, to which elvis nodded in response meekly, wiping at his eyes. his movements were growing more and more sluggish, his eyes becoming droopy and lidded as he spoke again.

“mhm. need…what if someone tries ‘t attack me ‘gain? you’ll stop ‘em, right?” he mumbled, eyes beginning to flutter shut as he slurred out his words. “you’ll protect yittle elvie..?”

steve watched as the man dozed off, the ear of his stuffie between his lips as his breath began to even out. jerry pressed a hand to his lower back, guiding him to lay down fully in the soft, plush pillows.

“i’ll protect you, bud.” schilling muttered, his expression fond as he watched the man nuzzle his nose into his stuffed animal, a small, content smile on his lips.

binder blinked up at schilling, who was already kicking off his shoes and making himself comfortable in the bed beside elvis. he sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

“are we actually gonna sleep in here with him?”

“i am.” jerry answered simply, settling on his side. “he asked me to, so i’m gonna stay. he needs me.”

“but our work–”

“christ man, if you're so worried about that you don't gotta stay!” schilling whispered, annoyed. “y’can leave if you want, but i’m staying here– where it matters.”

binder felt his face flush with shame under schilling's scornful gaze. he hadn't meant to come off like he didn’t care about elvis, but he just didn't want to have to deal with another long, boring lecture from the colonel because they were behind again. all of this stuff was kind of starting to get to him as well. all he wanted was to get his work done in peace– without hearing the colonel butcher his name and call him a hippie.

“no, i…i’m sorry,” steve muttered, fidgeting with his ascot idly. “i’ll stay. i just– ugh, i don’t wanna hear his mouth in the morning.” binder sighed, undoing the fabric around his neck.

schilling's expression softened slightly in understanding. “yeah, i hear ya. i know he never yells at me directly– but man, i hate hearin’ him yell period.” he murmured, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. steve huffed warily in amusement, before silence fell over the both of them.

“...y’shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

“i don't…uh, really have a choice.” steve admitted. “i’m not…the confrontational kind. i prefer to push back in a much less direct way. he just…he just keeps approaching me, though, like he knows how uncomfortable he makes me.”

“he prolly does,” jerry hummed, his voice growing tired. “wouldn't put it past ‘im.”

binder smirked crookedly. “you getting tired on me, schilling?”

“hell yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes halfway closed. “been a long day. we all need some sleep.” he yawned, finally shutting his eyes.

“fine. goodnight.” steve hummed, laying his head down. he didn't get a response– just snoring.

he laughed to himself, studying the two men in front of him. elvis was fast asleep, clutching onto that same little bear for dear life as he chewed on it's ear, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. it made binder think. he mentioned his collection of plushies at home… so how long has this been a thing?

taking elvis’s past into account, and his relationship with his mother, binder suspected that this was more that a quirk or a hobby of his. he seemed like he was genuinely a little boy. like he couldn't control his emotions. that pitiful, petulant look in his eyes, those tears rolling down his flushed cheeks, the worn stuffed bear he clutched onto like a lifeline– maybe it was a lot deeper than just another thing he did.

steve could only wonder on the specifics as he dozed off, the soft snores of the other two men lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

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