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thatbanditqueen · 1 year

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No One Walks Out Ch 3

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 3: Don't Be Rude

Summary: It's Friday night, and Becky and her family ready their house for an end-of-summer party for Ruth's friends. Little do they know two unexpected visitors are driving down from Memphis for an impromptu visit. This chapter is pretty fluffy... let me know what you think.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, sex, cursing, drug use and alcohol, some mild weird mind games and jealousy, semi-dubious kidnapping. Most of the yiddish words are slang for dick...

Words: 17.9K please send help ... I got carried away.

You know the drill, I'm the worst with the typos! I'm sorry!!!

This chapter is part of my on going fic about 1975-era Elvis and a single mom he meets after a concert in Jackson, MS. If you haven't read it, you can here:

Catch up on Chapter One here

Catch up on Chapter Two here

Thanks to everyone who has commented, sent asks, and supported this fic. If you enjoy it, please, for the love of big daddy please like, reblog, comment, share with your maiden aunt.

Friday June 13, 1975, 4:30 p.m. The Geller House, Jackson, MS

The water balloon snapped on your finger as you tied it off, and you smiled, looking out over the sink as Saul set up two big barrels of water in the back yard for the Summer Shabbat gathering tonight at your home. Ida rubbed your shoulder as she joined you in the kitchen and began to cut up a watermelon. Her eyes narrow with a smile as she looked over at you.

“So you’re not even gonna give me a clue about the mystery man you disappeared with for two nights? My only lead is that you must have met him at the concert with Danny.”

You shake your head, stretching another water balloon around the faucet. “Ida…what can I say? that was a momentary lapse in judgement… I feel so ashamed about staying out two nights in a row with no warning—”

Ida stopped chopping to push you, clucking her tongue. “Stop, for this you feel ashamed? You should feel ashamed you don’t get out more often. You have a built in babysitter. Me! I told you that night…. I told you, you’d meet someone at that concert… he can’t have been so bad, if he wanted to see you again the next day? Takes a good man not to make a girl wait by the phone sweating for days before a second date… is it one of Danny’s co-workers?”

“Definitely not.” You chuckle. “And, well, once he knew I had a kid … he was pretty turned off. So it’s a non-starter.” It was a non-starter before it started, for that and oh so many reasons you thought to yourself.

Ida looked at your expectantly, smirking. You blush, a grin followed. “Ok, Rebecca… at least tell me you got some petzl?”

“Oy, girlie, well at least you looked like you had some fun, especially that first morning …you had a big grin plastered on your face.”

“Ida!” You slapped your aunt’s shoulder.

“What, you don’t think I appreciate making whoopee? My generation invented it. Tell me, did he have a big schlong?”

“Ida…”

“So a tootsie roll?” She held up her pinky. “You know Hashem blessed me, let me just say he gave your uncle a big schmeckel.” Ida winked at you.

You shook your head, then turned, looking at her with a smirk as you made an eyeball measurement with your hands. “Like a big, fat swollen kishke… the biggest I’ve ever seen…I…” you both start cracking up… “can’t believe I just told you that…”

Ida chuckled. “Oy gavolt, girlchick, no wonder you went back for more. I’m surprised you ever came home….”

You tilted your head back, giggling uncontrollably and blushing a beet red, Ida chortled even more at your embarrassment.

She patted your back. “So, you had some fun. It’s healthy. You’ll meet someone, I know it, maybe not this Mr. Kishke….. but there are other good men out there. I promise. We should get Harriet to take you out to that go-go club she likes…”

You laugh, filling another balloon. “Ida, I’m not going to troll the disco looking for men…. If it’s meant to happen. I’ll meet someone and it will just…” you snap your fingers. “Click.”

Your aunt nodded. “Do you ever regret, you know, not marrying Teddy?”

You scowl slightly, thinking of Ruth’s father back in Birmingham. The last time you saw him, you were picking Ruth up at Pesach and stayed the night in his guest room. Everyone else in the house was asleep, Ruth, Teddy’s beautiful blonde wife, Jean, and you had thought he was too. But no, he’d cornered you in the garage as you grabbed a beer from the second fridge, pressing himself up against you, pushing you into the garage work counter, whispering “c’mon, for old time’s sake, you know you want to…” into your ear, pulling up your dress as you told him no, and pushed back on him. You had to knee him in the balls to get the message into his head that you weren’t interested in sweaty, shitty casual sex with your ex while your daughter and his wife slept upstairs.

He was drunk, you told yourself, but you still hated him, how cheap he made you feel. The next morning, after he hugged Ruth goodbye and held Jean while waving you off, you swore that you would never be alone with him again. Next time, you would get a motel room. Teddy had always been a duplicitous toad, it just took you a few months and an unexpected pregnancy to realize it. Unbeknownst to you at the time, he’d had a girlfriend back in Tuscaloosa the summer you got pregnant. You hadn’t developed your smarm detector back then, and you had been charmed by his swept aside dirty blonde hair, his college boy humor, his tan body, and most of all, his overt, romantic attention to you in front of everyone at the summer camp where you’d both been counselors. You had been utterly convinced it was true love. Boy, boy oh boy, were you wrong.

“No, Ida, not for a second, I dodged a bullet with that one. Thank God I trusted my gut.” You snapped another water balloon tight with determined finality. “And luckily Ruthie is nothing like him.”

“Well, my pretty girl, you deserve to meet a nice man, who will see you for all you have to offer. You know if you ever want me to——”

“——I know, you have the whole yenta network standing by to set me up with all the eligible single men in Jackson… OK …look, we only have an hour until the other kids get here, I still need to make potato salad, and,” you yelled to the other room where your uncle had plopped down to watch TV. “Saulie needs to get the grill set up.” Pulling down your yellow tee-shirt over your belly, you make a mental note to go change and put on a bra before people arrive.

————————————————

Elvis looked into his rearview mirror, adjusting his sunglasses one last time, then sighing. He wiped the tops of his fringed, rainbow jacket, and straightened his white collar, pulling it up and out over the top of the coat.

“Maybe shoulda called first?” He asked Jerry. He’s friend turned his gaze from the split-level house out the car window, over to Elvis. There were several phone calls Jerry would have liked to make when Elvis had grabbed him by the shoulders five hours ago in the Graceland foyer and spontaneously informed him they were going for a ‘lil ride.’ At first, Jerry attributed Elvis’ insistence they go retrieve some jewelry he’d left in Jackson right away to dexedrine-fueled paranoia. He had dealt with this before, and once he realized Elvis would not be deterred, he went along to ensure his safety. Vernon, Joe, Linda, Sonny, and Priscilla, who was sending Lisa Marie to Memphis on Monday with Dick, these were the other phone calls Jerry had wanted to stop and make as the yellow Caddy flew down I-55 toward Mississippi.

“You work for my daddy or for me, Milk? Quit yer caterwauling, now, c’mon … was a time when you weren’t scared of the open road. Now Myrna’s gotcha all pussy whipped.. man, yer worse than a teenage girl with a curfew. We’ll be there in a few hours, ya ken make as many calls as you want once we get my rings back.” Elvis had snarled at him impatiently, so Jerry coolly smoked the cigarillo handed to him and watched the lush green overgrowth of Mississippi pass them by.

Indeed, Jerry had probably spent more time getting to know Diana, Sheila and Mindi than Elvis had, shuttling them to and from concert gigs in-between and sometimes overlapping with each other or with Linda. In Elvis’ life, women were generally pointed at in the audience, or at a party or on TV and delivered by plane, train, car or bus. Sometimes he met them at a party or event, and would invite them to spend a day, a week, a month even with him. With women, Elvis could be impulsively, spontaneously, and haphazardly interested. How many times had he chartered plane to bring a girl to his house or concert with only a few hours notice? But Jerry had never seen Elvis drive himself to someone’s house, and sit in the car anxiously combing his hair to subdue his nervous energy before trotting up to ring a doorbell.

It was only after he came back out to the car to inform El that there were definitely no forgotten rings or any other jewelry at the hotel that Jerry began to suspect the real reason for their impromptu visit to Jackson. Jerry sat back down in the car, detailing the thorough, hour-long search he had just completed with the hotel security team and the manager as they graciously allowed him to inspect Elvis’ suite, then the separate room they had stored his costumes in, and then all the rooms the other Memphis Mafia members had stayed in. Elvis nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Well, fuck. Ain’t them the breaks, Jack…” Elvis hit the steering wheel a little too emphatically. “Man, fucking loved that star ring. Shit……well, since we’re here, though, might as well drop by and see that lil girl from the other day, right?”

And before he knew it, Jerry was strolling back into the Belhaven Hotel to get a local telephone book and reserve their previous suites for the weekend. He had watched Elvis’ anxiety increase over the ten minutes it took for the Caddy to wind its way through the Belhaven neighborhood to the Geller residence over in the Fondren. Elvis lurched forward in his car seat gripping the steering wheel, shoulders pinched up as he ran his hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on the gear shift, changing the radio station three or four times. And now, as they sat in the car outside of Becky’s house, Jerry couldn’t figure out why, for the life of him, El wasn’t having him go up to the house and bring out the girl for him. In fact, he wasn’t sure why Elvis hadn’t just sent him or one of the other guys down to Jackson to fetch her back to Graceland, as they had all done countless times with the other women Elvis dated.

Elvis’ was nervous for this very reason. He hadn’t called on anyone cold like this in years. Maybe decades. He had considered sending Jerry to get Becky and bring her to him, he’d been thinking about it since she ran out on him three days ago. But, well, frankly, he was afraid she wouldn’t have come and his pride couldn’t stomach a second-hand rejection. In these sort of situations, Elvis’ governing principle was to move on, dose up and forget anyone or anything that made him question whether he was undesirable, old, a fake, a sellout, a has-been, a selfish person or an unlovable egomaniac. But something had happened when he was with Becky, maybe it was the thrill of the chase, or the way being with her just felt effortless. Maybe it had been the sex, just the fact of it, let alone how good it had felt - he hadn’t felt so confident and turned on since who knows when. Maybe it was the sleeping, oh the sleep, holding her through the night, he’d had the best rest in years. Then there was his suspicion that God had brought her to him as some sort of angelic tribute, a reward for all the pain and shit he’d been through since, well, since forever. The last night together, as Becky sat in his lap playing guitar and teaching him Hebrew psalms, Elvis had begun to notice light radiating around her head, like a golden, ethereal halo, and he couldn’t shake the desire to feel the glow of her energy on his skin again. He kept this belief to himself as he looked at Jerry.

Then there was the less than spiritual image of Becky’s big, brown, earnest eyes looking up at him with unabashed, raw desire when she had sucked his cock. He smiled to himself thinking of it. Elvis had found this image coming back too him all week, to the extent that he often found he’d completely tuned out of the conversations happened around Graceland. He would hear the giggle in Becky’s mouth as she laughed at herself and her clumsy mechanics during sex. She was not experienced in the art of fellatio, he could tell she didn’t do it often, but her sweet, eager genuine enthusiasm was more exciting to him than a blow job from the most seasoned whore. The way she didn’t take herself too seriously put Elvis at ease, and he felt like a young man again, enjoying the awkward mumblings of getting to know another person. Naked.

Elvis longed to teach Becky what he liked, mold her mouth to him, fuck her sweetly and then ride her raw, tending to her swollen lips with his own as he bent her wild spirit to his will and absorbed the golden light from her smile into his being. He smiled to himself again, thinking of how she’d probably have a few feisty remarks when she opened the door, wondering how many soft caresses on her round hips it would take to melt her and get her to come back his hotel room with him. Then he remembered how she left, angry, hurt, totally misconstruing his generosity.

“Must have some sort of death wish for difficult woman…. huh… s’ a test, is what it is, He is testing me… see if I can perservere…” Elvis muttered to himself, then looked over at Jerry, who had no clue what Elvis was talking about. “Jerry, how many people have I given gifts to… ya know… money, jewelry, cars, fur coats…?”

“Tons, EP, all the time.”

Elvis nodded, reassuring himself. “And has anyone, ever, been insulted and thrown it back in ma face?”

Jerry’s expression dropped as he started to piece together why they were really here. In Jackson. Three hours from home. Five for them, because before they could come do what Elvis had really wanted to do, Jerry had been forced to go through the whole charade with the hotel and the jewelry, because Elvis couldn’t admit he was hung up on a girl. Who may or may not have rejected him. Oh shit, he thought, how did he manage to find the one women not interested in free money? Of course. Of course that is why we’re here. He cannot bear to think there is someone out there who hates him. Scratch that. Someone he is attracted to who hates him. Jerry swallowed his misgivings about the unpredictable and unprecedented scenario about to unfold.

“Nope, boss. Not one that I’ver seen. But you know how women can be on the road…it’s always the first thing in the morning, the fun is over, suddenly they're sensitive and hurt and could feel used… girls always get a little emotional, even if they knew what time it was going wit ya the night before… She was probably just insecure.”

Elvis nodded in agreement. “Yeah, an this one, she’s skittish, completely oblivious to how cute she is, ya know Jerrah?”

Jerry grinned.”Yup, oh man, I almost like ‘em better that way, good and oblivious…"

“…an all mine….” Elvis added. “Yeah, know whatcha mean…. Alright, how’d I look?”

“Sharp. Cool. You look good EP.” Jerry squeezed Elvis’ shoulder. “That lil girl is gonna cream her pants when she sees you.” Jerry hoped, rather than believed, this statement.

Elvis nodded. “Right, ok, hang tight here, and I’ll go get her. Plan is dinner, up in the suite, alone. You got the rooms set up?”

Jerry nodded. Elvis snapped his fingers, and got out of the car, smiling to himself as he walked up the path to your house, picturing your big brown eyes, overjoyed to see him, apologizing for being so rude when he tried to give you that money, your mouth in a shocked smile as you opened the door. To his dismay, your uncle Saul opened the door, wearing a “Kiss the Chef” apron and looking impatient.

“Oh good, you’re finally here, the natives are getting restless, they’re all in the back.” The 65-year old balding Jewish man started to pull Elvis in. “But where’s the ice cream cake, Cheryl said you were stopping at Dairy Cream? And whose in your car?”

Elvis stuttered, looking at Saul with his mouth agape, then back at the car, and adjusted his glasses.

“Um, that’s my employee - uh, oh, I think you might -“

Saul interrupted him. “Oy, well, don’t make him sit out there in this weather, my balls are boiling and I’ve only been standing out here for what, a minute? He’s welcome to come, we have plenty of hot dogs, though no ice cream cake - I’ll let your wife chew you out for that. Come in, come in.”

Elvis called out to Jerry, and let Saul usher them into the house, following him as he led them to the kitchen and began handing the two men trays of watermelon and hot dog buns, trying unsuccessfully to get a word in edgewise while Saul talked at them.

“Ok, ok, the ladies have the punch all set up, so this is the last to go out. The kids have been running around all meshuga for an hour, I think they’ll sleep well tonight.” Saul chuckled, winking as he gave Elvis and Jerry a knowing look.

The men exchanged their own raised eye brows, and followed Saul through a sliding glass door into the back yard, continuing on with all the minute details of the afternoon, everything he’d done to set up, the games they’d been playing and how hard to had been to get the grill going and on and on. Elvis and Jerry found themselves in a group of ten or so mothers standing around, watching a hoard of kids in swim suits chase each other around with water guns and balloons out on the grass.

Elvis started to explain to Saul again that there must be some misunderstanding as he placed the tray of hot dog buns down, but then his attention was completely transfixed by the sight of you running backwards with the kids, egging them on as they pelted you with water balloons while you squirted them with a gun. A grin spread over his face as he watched your long curly hair sway back and forth, your cheeks flushed, bosom bobbing up and down completely unconstrained by a bra, and a look of pure glee on your face as you yelled, “Ha ha, can’t catch me!” You turned to look at the group on the patio and did a double take when you locked eyes with Elvis, not noticing the slippery pool of mud you were running into and tripping backwards as you cried out a “fucking cocksucker!” A swarm of nine year olds overtook you and pelted you with water from a mix of balloons and spray guns, laughing and calling out variations of “Becky said a baaaad word….you’re gonna be too in trouble.” Ruth’s laughter was the loudest, and she ran up and squirted you in the face, then turned to run over to her friends, giggling as you lay there in the grass and mud, groaning, eyes shut, hoping the earth would swallow you whole.

You heard heavy boots thudding toward you slowly, and you groaned again as you watched Elvis’ tall, thick silhouette block out the sky above you. His hair was a bushy circle around his face, and for some reason he was wearing the most ridiculous fringed, rainbow suede jacket in 95 degree June weather. A smirk crested above his round jaw, the paunch of his belly jutted out over his belt, and you could make the ornate American eagle buckle at his waist as he bent down towards you. He was unable to stop himself from flicking one of the hard nipples that protruded through your wet tee-shirt as he muttered, in a low voice.

“They gotcha there, huh Twitch? Gotcha good.”

Elvis extended his hand to help you, the mud squelching beneath you as you let him pull you off the grass, scowling and groaning inwardly as you looked over at the audience composed of every single student of Ruth’s 4th grade Hebrew class, most of their mothers and some of their fathers. Ida was a few steps behind Elvis, a confused expression on her face as she called the kids to come dry off and get ready to eat, then padded over to where you and Elvis stood. His blue eyes danced with mirth as you pulled your shirt down, only to notice that this just made your nipples and areolas even more visible and you gave up, letting the wet yellow cloth cling to your body.

You heard Natalia’s light Russian accent asking someone else on the patio if that was Elvis Presley talking to Becky, at the same time your uncle was asking Jerry if he liked being an accountant in Lew’s firm. You wondered if you had fallen and hit your hard too hard and were having some sort of out-of-body experience, as you rubbed the muddy spot on the back of your hair and speechlessly stared at Elvis.

“What are you doing here?” You managed to squeak out, covering you breasts with your left arm.

Elvis opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by your aunt’s hand on his shoulder, as she was introduced herself and you watched Elvis respond, telling her “Hi, I’m Elvis Presley,” as if he were just a random, unknown stranger, to which Ida responded by immediately blushing and cooed “Oh my, so you are! What a gentleman running out here to help Rebecca up….Becky, where are your manners? Did you thank Mr. Presley?”

“Elvis - please ma’am…”

“Oh, wow, sure, well thank Mr. Elvis… I …my… I mean I…. Elvis I’m so glad you came to our house, you are so welcome, you know, Danny is actually still at the radio station… Becky, dear, why don’t you go change —- maybe you were supposed to meet him there? But it doesn’t matter, let me get you a drink.” Ida’s small frame handily guided Elvis towards the punch as she paused to yell at some of the women’ whispering on the patio.

“My son is a radio DJ, Marjorie, so of course important artistes are always stopping by, so you can quit your jabbering and come say hello if you want…..”

She then returned her attention to Elvis, who was politely waiting for a chance to talk as he looked back over his shoulder at you.

“You see, I didn’t realize you were coming, who tells their mother anything these days? But of course, it’s the last day of summer and we always throw a fun Summer Shabbat party for the families in our niece’s daughter’s Hebrew class, what with the water games and the hot dogs and the ice cream… here, please have some punch, and I’ll go call Danny,” she continued, leaving Elvis at the punch bowl as some of the mother’s began to circle around him and introduce themselves.

You laughed and shook your head, glaring at Elvis, before walking towards the living room sliding door. You could hear Saul’s voice rise above some of the others talking. “Elvis? No, that’s Cheryl’s husband Lew, isn’t it? What? …. well that explains why he didn’t have the ice cream cake.” As you walked through the living room towards the back of your house, you saw Lew let himself into the house, carrying a Dairy Queen cake.

————————————————

After taking the quickest shower in the history of showers, you dried your hair and stood in your closet agonizing over what to wear. You could not suppress the giddy, heated excitement you feel in your chest, even as you tell yourself what a bastard Elvis had been. Don’t look to excited to see him, do not get dressed up. But then there you are, smiling and woozily trying to decide if you liked the lacy, beige underwear you were wearing.

Throwing back your head, you swore at the ceiling. “FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck.” Then you saw it, at the back of your closet, the red kimono mini-dress your best friend Cherie had bought you for your birthday last year. You couldn’t wear a bra with it, the v-neck was too deep. You had laughed, vowing that you could never wear it because of how low it was. In the throes of desperation you settled on this choice, twirling in the mirror, the feel of the silky fabric was soft and exciting. You shiver, then put on a pair of birks and some simple make-up, just a little flourish. Mascara, neutral eye shadow and lip gloss. Taking a deep breath, and a roll on of the only perfume-like item you currently own, a lavender oil mix, you will yourself to walk out to the back yard and join the party.

Walking down the hallway from the bedrooms, you realize people have migrated inside and are milling about the living room as well as the patio. You bump into Jerry, and you grab his arm while you survey the rest of the party. Most of the kids are outside, but Ruth catches your eye and leaves her friends to run inside. Elvis is across the living room, toward the dining table, cornered by three Hebrew school moms.

“What the fuck, Jerry?”

Jerry looks you up-and-down and says “Wow,” then startles away from your at the sound of a loud cough, and he look towards Elvis, whose sunglasses have turned in your direction. Jerry gives you a deer-in-headlights expression, as he starts to mumble something about how they were in town for important business, and how he’s sorry, he didn’t know you had a kid and family or that they’d be crashing a party. You nod, listening, as you watch your cousin Danny run in, his long brown hair swaying behind him as he makes a beeline to his mother, who is drinking some punch that may or may not be spiked and laughing as she talks with some of the other bubbies from shul who may or may not have grandchildren at this party. You watch Danny whisper something to Ida as she starts to try and bring him over to Elvis. Elvis. Elvis. Who, at the same time, has excused himself from the group of blushing giddy moms and is moving in the opposite direction towards you.

You cannot look away as he stalks over, his eyes move up and down your frame as a grin spreads across his mouth and he shakes his head. Elvis joins you, slapping Jerry’s shoulder while he orders his friend to go get everyone punch, his gaze never leaving your body. Indeed, his eyes settle on your bust and get stuck there, admiring the work your dress is doing to defy gravity and physics and stay bound by the drawstring at the waist of the mini-dress. The silk fabric of the long, bell sleeves feels light and indulgent as you bring your hand up to run your fingers through your hair. Elvis smacks his lips, and exhales, and you cannot take his intense, indecent glare any longer, you feel as though your ribcage is going to jump out of your chest, or you might combust from the bonfire brewing in your belly, so you narrow your eyes and clear your throat.

“Mr. Presley.” You jut out your chin and cross your arms.

Elvis’ lips spread into a devilish grin. “My daddy’s Mr. Presley, honey, you can call me baby.” He learns forward and whispers in your ear. “I mean, after all, we have seen each other ——“

You try to hold a scowl, fighting the tremor you feel between your legs and the blush forming on your cheeks as his eyes move over you, reminding you he knows exactly what you look like under that red dress. Before he finishes saying the word naked, however, you hear Ida’s unmistakable loud gasp and look over to see that she Danny are still conferring,

“Wait… Elvis IS Mr. Kishke?” Ida’s mouth is agape, and her voice carries through the crowd as she looks over at you, seeming to take in your proximity to Elvis in a new realization.

You are not blushing, no, rather, your entire chest and face have become the same deep red color of your dress and you reflexively cover your face with your hands as you see some of the other adults snort or gulp, and shake their head as they look at you and chuckle.

Elvis leans towards you, a bewildered smile settling on his lips as he looks around the room. “What’s a KISH kah?”

“It’s a big, fat yucky sausage.” You hear Ruth’s voice and lower your hands to see her standing near you both, smiling, completely unaware of the innuendo.

A deep laugh belts out of Elvis’ belly, following by more gasps and whispers and laughs around the room, all eyes are now on you, and you bend your face further into your hands, shaking your head, wondering what you did to deserve this level of public humiliation. Meanwhile Ida’s hand goes to her face as she realizes that all the adults probably have some sense that what this exchange means. She mouths “Sorry bubela,” and then nervously walks over to a group of people asking if anyone needs another drink trying to change the conversation, yet distractedly looking back over in your direction. Danny shirks his shoulders and turns to get some grub.

Ruth’s voice pipes up again, at your elbow. “Why are you turning so red Mama?”

You try to shake off the intense feelings of shame coursing through your entire being, laugh, and give her a hug, pulling her into your side for a moment. “Oh, no reason, baby, Aunt Ida’s just so loud, isn’t she? Makes me a little self conscious.”

Ruth nods her head, then looks up at Elvis, motionless beside you, his eyes sparkling.

“Are you really Elvis Presley?” She asks, as her arm winds around you and her head leans into your bare leg. Elvis bends down in front of her, pushing up his glasses. “Nah, I’m Elton John, people make that mistake all the time though.” His lips part to reveal his gleaming white teeth as he beams, watching Ruth giggle.

“No you’re not. You’re Elvis. I’ve seen you on TV.”

“Oh? You mama let’s you watch that junk on TV?”

Ruth nods, her grip on your leg loosens a but. “Oh, yeah, well she’s probably your biggest—” you put your hand over Ruth’s mouth as you realize what she’s about to say, but it’s too late, Elvis, still on his haunches at Ruth’s eye level, looks up at you and winks, a self-satisfied smirk and a gleam in his eyes.

“Huh…” is all he says. “Well, I’m a pretty big fan of your mama’s.”

You give him the look of death. “Hey now, baby, what do you say—“

Ruth interrupts you, looking at Elvis. “Why would you want to be Mr. Kishke? Is it like being Mr. Clean, from the TV ads?”

He laughs again, “Well, not exactly…”

You pull Ruth’s arm from around your leg, and tell her to go get some food. Elvis stands, steps closer to you.

“Hey… Mr. Kishke, huh?”

You look down, shaking your head, crossing your arms under your breasts, which has the effect of pushing them out a little more in the v-neck. “Stop.”

“What? Think you’d be happier ta see me.”

“Why’s that? If anything, I’m shocked you think I’d want to see you at all. I’m actually at a loss as to why you’re even here?”

Elvis’ index finger traces the edge of your v-neck. “That why you went and got all gussied up? To show me how much you don’t wanna see me?”

You swat his hand away and snort. “We’re having guests over for Shabbat, this is the outfit I planned out this morning, to change into after the water fight…. You must be one of those folks who drive by every beautifully landscaped house thinking, ‘oh, they must be expecting me.’ I wanted to look nice just for me, has nothing to do with you.”

Elvis leans in to whisper in your ear, and you cannot help the gasp that escapes your lips as you feel his warm breath on your neck, and his hand on your waist. “Sure honey… but you should know for next time that I like bright red lipstick, as flashy as I can get it ….woulda suited ya better.”

You step back, thrown off and befuddled and trying to think of a smart retort, but you’re interrupted by a clutch of other moms who join you, and Elvis steps aside to make room, breaking your gaze and your train of thought. You smile at them, flustered and suddenly embarrassed by Elvis’ presence and what these other, happily married, women must be thinking.

“Becky,” Patty says in a high, fake voice, slipping her hand through your arm as if you were the best of friends. Your have spoken maybe three words to this woman. She turns to look at Elvis. “Wontcha introduce us to yer friend?”

The others, Margie and Linda, giggle and bat their eyes at Elvis, who cocks his chin forward and rests his left hand at his hips, extending his right hand to bring each women’s hand to his mouth, introducing himself by his full name to each one, “Why, howdy, miss, I’m Elvis Presley,” as he kisses their hands. His affect is more akin to a stranger at the debutante’s ball, rather than the most famous man in the world crashing your annual Summer Shabbat night.

Inhaling and plastering a placid smile on your face, you spend the next fifteen minutes nodding awkwardly as you get pushed to the back of the crowd that gravitates around Elvis, and you are stuck on the outskirts watching Elvis make small talk with these parents who gather around him, as Summer Shabbat slowly became Elvis Shabbat. Ida brings him a plate of food, inviting him to sit on the couch, and it did not take her much to coax him into telling the group about his recent fundraiser concerts in Jackson for victims of the recent tornado, explaining vaguely how he had come back to finish up some important business for the benefit, and figured he might as well stop by his friend Becky’s house. The way he emphasized the word friend and winked at you as he said it made you want to push through the group and strangle him there and then.

But you smile, clenching your fists as your nails form little half moons on the inside of your palm. His explanation that at first he’d thought you were just another groupie trying to crash the after party, before he realized you were there with your brother (your cousin you mentally corrected him), made you blush and grin even wider with a forced chuckle, as he said how you’d impressed him as the most charming and welcoming person he’d ever met in Jackson. You were going to show him how charming you really were when you kicked his ass out of your house as soon as everyone left.

————————————————

The kids, in an assorted stages of dressed from still damp and in swim trunks to dried off and dressed, began to loose their steam. The giggly running back and forth through the house began to slow, and families began to say good night and make their exit, taking turns as they waited to shake Elvis’ hand and telling him what big fans they were. Now Elvis was standing by the door, saying good night to people with Ida as if he were the co-host as they left. Watching from the kitchen, your mouth full of potato salad, you rolled your eyes as Lew told Elvis how much his music meant to him, tears welling in his eyes, his arm squeezing his wife, and then sighing out with pride as Elvis brought him in for a bear hug and then drew Cheryl in for a long kiss on the lips.

“Ughhh,” you moaned, and went to grab a second beer from the fridge and slipped into the pantry closet to drink it alone. Jolting when the door opened, you whisper “thank god its just you,” to Danny, who reveals a wildly grinning Harriet next to him. You finish your beer, and push past her to grab another.

“So, is Elvis your boyfriend now Becky?” Danny teased, Harriet making “ooowwww” and kissy noises behind you.

Looking through the door, you turn and you relax knowing Ruth is far away in the living room, sitting on your Uncle Saul’s lap helping him with a word search. You saw Jerry emerge from the hallway from the back of the house, where he had spent the last hour or so on the phone. He caught your eye, then looked away, he had obviously been avoiding you since you first tried to confront him, and looked guilty every time he saw your imploring expression. He must have known you had wanted to corner him and ask him what the fuck was going on, and why Elvis would show up at your doorstep, basically announcing to your family that you had slept together. You were grateful that subtext seemed to have gone over the kids' heads, at least so far. But the knowing look from their parents told you it was obvious they knew you were a big ol’ slut who slept with rockstars, and gave said rockstars the impression thought they could just show up at your house unexpectedly for sex anytime they were in town.

Jerry plopped down next to Saul, and it only took one question, “So, are you from Jackson,” before Jerry got drawn into your uncle’s history lecture on the Geller family in Jackson, Jews in the Mississippi, his children’s accomplishments, his opinions on Nixon and Watergate, all interspersed with pauses to give Ruth clues on what word to look for next, before adding in a few old jokes.

“Have you heard the one about the farmer in Minsk?” You hear Saul ask Jerry, his eyes glance over to you in the kitchen doorway and he gives you a sympathetic eyebrow raise. Ida is walking through the living room picking up dishes and muttering to herself. You turn back to Harriet and Danny, who is grabbing his own beer bottle and handing one to his sister, his face glinting with mischief.

“Shut up, Danny!” You order in a hushed growl. “He just fucking showed up, the last time I saw him, I slapped him in the face and stormed off. I never thought I’d see him.”

Harriet brushed her hair back, and took a slip of her beer. “Maybe he’s into that.”

You were about to respond, but notice Natalia, the last mom left, has cornered Elvis at the door. Her youngest daughter, Anna, is fidgeting back and forth next to her. Emboldened by the alcohol, you drain your drink, put the bottle down, and march over to get her out the door so you can dispose of Elvis without an audience. As you walk up, you hear Natalia’s Russian accent speaking to Elvis in a conspiratorial whisper.

“You know, if you are looking for company here in Jackson, I have an 18 year old daughter, Genevieve, just graduated high school. I mean, Becky is sweet, but she’s almost thirty and —— ”

She stops when she feels your hand on her shoulder.

“SO good to see you Natalia,” you give her a tight hug. “Thanks for coming to Summer Shabbat…. It’s so fun to kick off the summer with y’all… only two more days until camp. Ruthie, baby, come say goodbye to our friends.”

You see Elvis pursing his lips in an amused grin, as he leans past you and tells Natalia “Goodnight honey, get the feeling I’d really like it in Leningrad,” holding that kiss with her for one, two three, four five oh give me a break seconds, while you aggressively open the door.

Elvis chuckles as he watches you shut it tightly, then roll into it, looking at him sideways, your hand ruffling Ruth’s head. “Hey baby, go help Ida clean up, hmmm?”

She looks to you, then at Elvis, then back again, smiling as he winks at her, running to your aunt with a gleeful laugh and a skip. You hear her telling Ida how she can’t believe Elvis Presley is at their house. You lean back against the door, cross your arms, and look around the living room. Saul and Jerry are still deep in a one-sided conversation. You watch your cousins slip outside. Buzzed from the beer, your earlier athletic accomplishments water fighting with the kids, and, if you are honest, Elvis’ proximity, you feel a heightened sense of your own sensuality. Your skin feels alive as you smooth down the thin, silky dress you’re wearing and turn your gaze over at Elvis, leaning against the wall and staring at you with dark eyes through his sunglasses. His lips slightly parted, as if in anticipation.

“Elvis, why are you here?”

He swallows. “I was in town for business.”

You shift, recrossing your arms as you roll your shoulder against the back of the door and turn toward him.

“Mmmhmmm.” You purse your lips, you hate how his knowing smirk makes your core tingle. “But why are you here?” You point at the orange shag carpet below your feet.

“Wanted ta see ya….”

“Did you even wonder if I wanted to see you?”

Elvis inhaled, and looked down, shaking his head.

“Why you always make everythin’ so goddamn difficult? I’m here, you’re home, I can tell you’re happy to see me—”

“Oh, so you can read my mind?”

“Mhmmm” He pouts his lip, raising just his left eyebrow.

“Mmhmm, and what am I thinking?”

Elvis speaks in high falsetto, “Gosh I just wanna kiss that handsome man but I’m embarrassed to in front of all these people?” He laughs at the incredulous expression that spreads over your face, and moves to kiss you. You meet his mouth with your right hand.

“Ha! You are delusional.”

Elvis’ hand moves to rub your shoulder instead. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

You lift your eyebrows, and then push off the door, gathering up some of the glasses on the coffee table. You look back at him, and motion for him to follow you into the kitchen, where you’ll be alone.

“Grab those other glasses and make yourself useful, unless you’ve forgot how to do normal people shit like cleaning up. Clearly forgot how to call people.”

Elvis slaps your bottom with a loud thwap as you load the dishwasher, catching some of your bare butt under your dress. You can sense his wry smirk before you see it, sucking air in through your teeth and slamming the dishwasher shut, then turning to him.

You hit his chest, with a “Not cool, Presley…” and he responds by stepping closer and boxing you in against the kitchen counter. You breath deeply, your cunt clenches involuntarily as you feel a bolt of electricity thrill up your spine.

“So you’re not happy to see me?” There is that lip curl again. Hands on your waist, he shifts his weight forward, you shiver as he crushes you into the counter. “Huh, well, you must really hate me then, if ya spent the week talkin bout lil’ Elvis.” He waggles his eyebrows again.

You blush, “I… umm … I think—”

“Mr. Kishke, though, that’s one I haven’t heard.” He looks down into your bosom, running his right hand along the side of your waist. “You know… I don't show him to every girl I meet?

You roll your eyes. “Ha. Lucky me…” even through the sarcasm, though, you can a feel a flush coming to your cheeks standing at your kitchen sink, talking in whispers with this man about his cock. Specifically, its predilection for you. You feel said cock twitch against you.

“No, really,” he groans, his voice is low and steady. “I know everyone thinks, ‘Oh Elvis Presley, he's some big rock star Casanova….’” He says this last line in high falsetto again. “But really, hand to God,” he smirks as he tells you this, “Lil Elvis, well, he don come out less he feels safe and…. cozy-like….”

You roll your eyes and let out a loud scoff up into his face. “You are unbelievable.”

“S’true, you have to see it to believe it.”

“You should go show it to Ida, pretty sure she wants to see it.”

“She’s definitely been friendlier than you have, think she’d come out ta night with me?”

“I think you’ve definitely got more of a chance with her.” You lean back, and cross your arms to create space between the two of you, breathng deeply. The air catches in your throat for a second as Elvis' right finger tips hit your shoulder, feathering lightly over the top of your arm. He leans into your ear and your eyes close instinctively as you gasp.

“Now, c’mon darlin, don’t be like that. I came all the way down here ta see ya…”

You open your eyes and look up at him, collecting yourself in Elvis’ shadow, his frame is blocking out the kitchen light, and it feels as if you are in your own little world, just the two of you and the kinetic warmth that draws you together. “Thought you said you were already down here for business…?”

Elvis kisses your neck and you exhale through your nose. “Well, yeah… but…I’d be lying,” another kiss to the right side of your neck, left hand rubbing your waist. “If I didn’t tell ya,” he nibbles the top of your ear. “Tha prospect of seeing you again,” his breath cools the wet spot he left at the base of your neck and you shiver. “Didn’t halfway get my motor running t’wards Jackson town….”

You sigh, you are a weak sack of flesh and bones, and the heady mix of Elvis’ soft lips on your neck, the delicate, needy caress of his fingers, the way his baritone voice reverberates through your body..uhhhh.. it all provokes an insistent tremor through you. You see him smile as he feels this, and moves both hands to your waist. You puff up your bosom as you breath again, and try to regain control of this situation. Hands still on his chest, you rub the fabric of his half buttoned white dress shirt, and then push him back a step, looking into up into his eyes, puzzled.

“Ok, but so, what’s changed? You got all weird when you found out I have a kid, like suddenly I was chopped liver, and then you tried to pay me off with money… do you have any idea how…. how cheap it feels to have someone hand you $500 after they just spent the night inside you?” You stutter, whispering angrily under your breath.

Elvis’ eyes search your face, and he traces his right index finger over his lips in a serious posture, left hand now in his back pocket, his weight shifted forward.

Looking around, you realize the fact that no one else has come into the kitchen means everyone probably knows you both are in here talking and they want to give you the space. You push him back further, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Honey you caught me off guard the other morning…you know, half asleep, tired as a mule after performin’ three concerts, THREE, in two days… an I hardly got any sleep on account of your insatiable appetite for kish ie kay or whatever ya Hebrew word for big ol sausage is…”

His serious expression turns into a teasing grin and his eyes light up as you kick his shin and mutter “it’s kishke and technically Yiddish " under your breath with a huff.

“Look … I’m from Tupelo an’ Memphis, women been having babies since they were 13, 14, 15 or 16 all my life. I reckon I’ve been with more women who had babies at home than I even know, considering some of the things we used to get up to on tour in those early days.” Elvis waggles his eye brows and you shake your head again, smoothing and pulling at the edge of your dress.

“And as for the money, s’not like that… wasn’t tryin to treat ya like a … lady of tha night, so ta speak…” he moves closer again, rubbing your waist, speaking softly, almost babyish “That’s jus how I am…. always wantin’ ta give yittle ol gifts ta folks I like… jewelry, cars, mink coats, and, well if he don't have anything nice, I give ‘em my wallet. Why, just yesterday, I gave a Vietnam vet I drove by in downtown Memphis $300. And I can tell you what, he didn't throw it back in my face like some folks, no, he said thank you very much Mr. Presley. God bless you and God bless America.”

“He did not say that…”

Elvis grinned and ran his hand through his hair again, then took off his sunglasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “Well, was the gist of what he said.��

“Ok, well there are two things you need to know. First, I’m not interested in gifts, cash or otherwise, if I’m with someone, it’s because I like them… so … there’s that. Second, this is just more of a public service announcement on behalf of hall women you may ever encounter, it is TOTALLY different to give a veteran on the street money than it is to give a WOMAN money after you spent the night fucking her brains out…”

“You swear like a goddamn sailor … know that? God, first words I ever heard come out of this pretty innocent little mouth were…” Elvis brushed your lips with his thumb. “…. Fucking cocksucker, wasn’t it?” He pushes back into you, being near him has become an ongoing game of tug-a-war you seem to be forever playing. His warm lips on yours and you shake your head, arms snaking their way around his neck.

“I can’t believe,” you talk into his lips, then tear yourself off him. “I can’t believe you just showed up at my house and now here I am kissing you in my kitchen when anyone could walk in here and…” you kiss him again, savoring how his eyes close and a stifled “oh baby…” comes out of his mouth, as you continue talking into his cheek. “An everyone probably knows what we’re doing.” You drop your arms, and push him off you. “Shit, including Ruth… look, I don’t know what the f—”

“Shhh, shhh, s’ok honey,” his hands are back at your sides, tracing up and up. “Look, why don’t you go tuck your baby into bed and we can go get a room somewhere alone, in a ho—“

“Elvis.” You say firmly. “I’m not doing that. I’m so, so embarrassed, I can’t imagine what Saul and Ida are thinking.”

“I think they like me…” his eyes meets yours, where he sees a skittish colt retreating from his charm. “Hey, it’s all good, baby, it’s all good. Les jus hang loose … Jerry an I’ll get out ya hair, head back ta Memphis, less’n you think you’d have dinner with me tomarra…”

You look down, you can’t help smiling. “Maybe… ok…. And…you can stay for a little while longer tonight… Ida’d probably be happy if you played us some music before you go find a hotel…”

You nod, squeezing his shoulder as you move around him, and take his hand, leading him towards the living room and onto the floral velveteen couch across from Jerry and Saul. Your uncle nods but does not pause, he’s now moved on to regaling Jerry with stories about his WWII Naval squadron in the Pacific. Elvis sits down and pulls you onto his lap, but you leap up, seeing Ruth and Ida walking down the hall from the bedrooms. Ruth is in her pajamas, and she runs over to you, as Danny and Harriet stumble in through the patio door in a cloud of dank marijuana smoke, and sit in the big, brown velour couch on the other wall, whispering and giggling with each other as they make eye contact with you. The room is quiet as Ruth stands behind you, peeking around your waist to look at Elvis.

“So you really are Elvis Presley?” She asks again, a shy grin revealing her toothy smile.

Elvis leans in. “Go ahead, pinch my nose…” she does and shrieks when he yells out in mock agony.

Ida laughs, and sits on the other side of the couch.

“Ok, Ruthie, let Mr. Presley be… oy vey, what excitement” Ida exclaims with a sigh.

She looks up at you, searching your face for any signal of what’s next, you imagine she’s contemplating what the proper etiquette is for entertaining rock stars who drop by unexpectedly when you’re hosting an end-of-the-school-year party for nine year-olds. You smile warmly, shrugging, and pivot around, patting Ruth on the bottom to go sit on Ida’s lap.

You pace to the edge of the room, announcing, “We’ve all been entertaining the great Elvis Presley, maybe we can persuade him to entertain us?”

He smiles, and shakes his head, but you grin, and go grab your guitar from your closet. Walking back in, you can hear Danny asking Elvis about his recent tour, wondering how long he was in town and mentioning how cool it would be if he’d come do an interview with him at the radio station. Saul and Ida pipe in tell Elvis how great Danny is as a DJ.

“C’mon you guys.” You shoot them a stern look as you put the guitar in Elvis lap, and sit down near him on the couch, scooching a little away toward Ruth, who slips off Idas lap and between your legs on the ground, looking up at Elvis in curious awe. “Please ignore them, they seem to have forgotten that you are our guest, not a circus monkey they can parade around town.”

Elvis looked at the guitar in his lap, as his low, playful baritone voice sending fire crackers up your center. “Says tha women who jus order me ta sing?”

“Ha, well, we took you,” you turn your head towards Jerry, “and your entourage in, unexpectedly, by the way, and welcomed you an fed y’all…”

“So you want me to sing for my supper?”

Ruth let out a laugh, and Elvis winked at her. You smooth Ruth’s dark, straight hair, steadying yourself as you return Elvis’ challenging gaze.

“Becky, if the man doesn’t want to, don’t push him,” Ida chimes in, apologetically, rubbing your shoulder. “He’s had a long drive and all his business to attend to, why it’s just nice to have him over.. and it doesn’t matter if his visit was unexpected, because you’re always welcome here, Mr. Presley, any friend of Becky’s is a friend of ours.”

Elvis grins, and picks up the guitar. “Why, that’s mighty hospitable of you ma’am, you make me feel right at home… an please…please call me Elvis,” and he winks at Ida, and you grimace as a feminine peal of laughter rings out through the room. You hear Saul whisper to Jerry that he might be jealous of his boss over there, “my Ida’s quite the looker after all these years.”

Ruth looks back over at Elvis. “Oh please, play us a song…”

“Alright baby, but what do ya think, should we get your mama to help me?” You shake your head, as Ruth laughs, leaning back into you and looking up at your face.

“Yes! No one sings like mom, she knows the Robin Hood sing, and all the summer camp songs, and Puff the Magic Dragon…”

Elvis strums the guitar, tuning a few strings, then looking over at you. “Hmm, well, I don’t know the Robin Hood song, maybe you oughta sing that one for us first, huh Becky Butt?”

You blush, as you hear your cousins try to muffle chuckles.

Ruth cracks up, and looks back up at you. “Becky Butt? Becky Butt! Ha! Yeah…. you gotta sing that for us, Becky Butt.”

Glowering, you shoot Elvis one of many looks of death you're doling out tonight , as he hands you the guitar with the most detestable smug look. You mumble how the sound track for Robin Hood has been playing non-stop in rotation with some other favorites in this house since Ruth got a book and LP set for Chanukkah a few years ago. You sigh, looking around as you start to strum, then down at Ruth as you begin to sing.

[Song link here]

Love,

It seems like only yesterday

You were just a child at play

Now you're all grown up inside of me

Oh, how fast those moments flee

Once we watched a lazy world go by

Now the days seem to fly

Life is brief, but when it's gone

Love goes on and on

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love will live

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love will last

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love goes on and on and on

Once we watched a lazy world go by

Now the days seem to fly

Life is brief, but when it's gone

Love goes on and on…..

Finishing, you playfully rub the bottom of your guitar over Ruth’s head. Jerry is looking at you with something like attentive awe in his eyes, before he catches Elvis’ glare, and straightens up. You feel Elvis rub your knee, his lips parted in wonder and you blush again, and look down at Ruth, whose hands hit the top of your feet as she looks over at Elvis.

“Yeah, Becky Butt here is a real whiz at music,”

“Ruth! Don’t call your mama that….” Ida calls out with a swift bop to Ruth’s head, but then adds. “But it’s true, of course, Rebecca was always the family musician.”

“Huh, yeah, I kin tell,” Elvis drawls, nodding at Ruth. “Can’t expect me to follow that, s’in my contract, I only perform after acts that make me look good…ain’t that right Jerry?” He looks over at his friend, then at Ruth. Jerry stutters, but before he can answer, you bump Elvis’ chest with the guitar as you hand it back to him

“Oh no you don’t…You’re not getting off the hook with a wink and some charm here, Presley… if you review your contract, I believe you’ll find a clause requiring Puff the Magic Dragon.” You look down at Ruth. “Then its bed time, baby… k? it’s past nine….”

“Oh but Becky Butt—” Ruth whines, giggling, but cannot help the yawn that sneaks out.

Elvis takes your mind off how much you want to kill him for calling you Becky Butt in front of everyone, and starts plucking chords, letting you all know, “this isn’t on my regular set, s’only reserved for more VIP programs for my my most demanding fan, ma lil girl, Lisa Marie… she’s about yer age, darlin, give or take a decade… seven goin’ on sassy…”

He chuckles, then begins to sing, in a sweet, high voice, the words to Puff the Magic Dragon. You almost cannot believe this is happening, watching Elvis close his eyes and go into himself as he softly sings Puff the Magic Dragon in an earnest high voice. This may be one of the most surreal experiences you have ever had. In his rich voice, the words have more depth, the sound is more full, and is like a completely different bluesy, country song. Elvis opens his eyes after the second line, bends his chin forward and earnestly sings to Ruth, then you, and then turns to sing to the others in the room. You feel your heart rise up to the top of your chest and your pulse quickens, while heat radiates down through your tummy and up through your throat and you rub your neck, hoping no one can tell how affected you are by the melody rumbling out over the couch and through the living room. The vibe is comfy and cozy, and you notice Ida is swaying back and forth, then rubbing the back of your neck and squeezing Ruth’s shoulder. Saul gives you a perplexed, amused look. After the first chorus, Elvis continues the chords for an extra stanza, and nods towards over in your direction.

“Think I need some help, this is a harmony, ain’t it?” You shake your head, but Ruth hits your shin, smiling up at Elvis. “C’mon now honey, don’t leave a man hangin’…”

You sigh, breathing, before you raise your voice and sing the alto harmony as Elvis’ brings his voice down to a lower, baritone melody. After the second verse, you bring Ruth up to your lap, and sing into her shoulder, pinching her side as she giggles, until she joins in, and Elvis looks around the room, calling out “Alright, now everybody.” A round of applause and a few whoops from Harriet come after the last Honah Lee. You swear you see Jerry quickly wipe his eyes, and you kiss Ruth, unprepared as she turns to Elvis and asks him if he is your boyfriend.

“Ok, time for bed!”

“Wait mom, but is he?”

Harriet bursts out a very stoned guffaw, and you shoot her a warning look, which is followed by a push from Danny.

Elvis’ smiles wide, then bites his lips, raising his eye brows at you, a wistful look taking over as he watches you stutter your response, lifting Ruth up in front of you as you stand up.

“No, baby, we only just met—“

“But then why is he here?” She asks, then turns to Elvis. “Are you staying for a sleep over?”

You gasp, and shake your head. “No, Ruth, Mr. Presley lives up in Memphis and —“

“But it’s past 9, you aren’t driving back to Memphis tonight?” Ida gasps, scooting closer to Elvis now that you have stood up and are walking Ruth towards the hallway.

“Well, ma’am, actually” he looks you squarely in the eye, and you think of his invitation for tomorrow. “I reckon Jerry and I will go find a hotel—“

“At this hour? Without a reservation - why they’ll gauge your eyes out! No, you must stay here.” Your jaw drops as you watch Ida offer the basement guest room, Danny’s old room. Jerry begins to chime in and is about to explain that he already made a reservation but before he can, Elvis coughs loudly and tells your aunt if she is sure, thow very much obliged he is to stay the night. A mix of shock and horror overwhelm your face, you almost cannot respond as your cousins get up and make their farewells for the night, and you vaguely hear Elvis offer to do an interview at the radio station tomorrow afternoon. You go through the motions of hugging Danny and Harriet, while Ruth bounces around and takes Elvis by the hand, telling him that if he wants her to do his nails during the sleep over she knows how.

You look at Jerry, crossing your arms.

“So, will you be bunking with Elvis in the basement.” You notice him pause, and look past you, to see Elvis do a slit neck motion under his chin.

“Uhh, um, actually, I’ll be good on the couch, or the floor.” Jerry offers, standing up and looking around.

“No, a man can’t sleep on the floor.” Saul chimes in.

You shake your head. “I really think you guys would be more comfortable at a hotel, with your own space. I know you can afford it.”

Ida walks over and hits you, giving you a knowing look. Oh god, is your aunt trying to get you laid. In her house? You cannot help but assume this is the case, with the way she pinches you expectantly and loudly intones. “Rebecca Grace Hoffman, don’t be rude!”

Elvis’ face lights up with a smirk, and you can almost feel the sympathy emanating from Jerry’s eyes.

“Fine, Jerry can sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep with Ruth.”

You see Jerry’s eyes flit over to Elvis, who purses his lips and gives the most subtle, almost still, head jerk. Jerry knows Elvis’ possessive nature enough to know this would be out of the question. In the sheets of one of his women? Free to look around her underwear draws? Jerry would never do this, but it would probably be the first thing his boss thinks of because it would be the first he would do. He also knows Elvis wants to be in your bed, but he is not sure if you will be bold enough to do this. You watch these men exchange looks, and then sigh, exasperatedly.

“Ok, well, I’ll go put Ruth to sleep in my bed, and she can sleep with me, and Jerry can sleep in her bed.”

Ruth lets go of Elvis' hand and runs over to Jerry, pulling him down the hall and telling him, “My bed is way better than the couch, its pink, and I have, gosh, twenty stuffies to keep you company.”

Elvis chuckles, walking over to slap Jerry on the back before Ruth leads him to the back of the house. “Good, you’ll feel right at home, just like his room back in Memphis.”

Saul pats you on the shoulder, as he shakes Elvis’ hand and says good night. Ida goes to get Elvis and Jerry clean towels, and you take the moment alone to hit Elvis in the chest.

“This is unbelievable… why did you agree too stay here ? I’m gonna go get Ruth into bed, and then I have half a mind to run you out of this house…”

“Now, Rebecca Becky Butt Grace Hoffman, don’t be rude!” Elvis says, swatting your behind as you turn to walk back to the bedrooms.

You turn around, fists clenched, and walk back up to him, pointing your finger up in his face.

“Now, get this straight. I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but I will not be having sex with you tonight. In this house. Where I live. Where my family can hear us.” Elvis’ lip curls up as your talk, and he looks out toward his car through the front window, and then around at the back patio. “Not in the house, not in your car, not nowhere. Get this, mister?” Elvis tries to jokingly bite your wagging finger as it gets close to his mouth, and you grimace. “Ughhh…actually, I’m never having sex with you again. OK?”

His simpering smirk is too much, and his eyes are a dazzling blue dancing with mirth as Elvis pushes down his sunglasses and whispers in your ear. “Ya know, for someone so sure they don’t wanna get lucky, ya talk about it a lot.”

You squeal, clench your fist, and turn around again, taking several big breaths as you ignore the sound of Elvis Presley’s distinct chuckles echoing down the long hall way to the back of the house. Ida finds you at the back of the hall, carrying towels she is taking to Elvis.

“Becky, that man clearly drove down here from Memphis just to see you. He likes you. The way he looks at you… ooh girlchik, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night. So whatever went down, don’t be too hard on him… all men can be idiots, they can’t help it, especially men like that… ”

You sigh, and Ida pats your shoulder again, while you go pull Ruth away from introducing Jerry to all her stuffies, asking if he needs anything before pushing her into the bathroom to brush her teeth, then tucking her into your bed. You have been reading The Hobbit together, but its 10:15 pm, and Ruth’s eyes are now half closed as you rub her back, so you turn the overhead light off and talk softly with her, as she asks you again why Elvis came to visit and whether you can take him and Jerry for ice cream tomorrow.

“Time to sleep, my little kindela…” You whisper, as you sit next to Ruth on the bed. You had just spent all of fourth grade bribing her with an extra allowance and treats to get through the night in her own bed, trying to train her out of the habit of sneaking into bed with you in the middle of the night. Then Elvis Presley walks into your house, and all the rules get thrown out the window.

“Mom, if Elvis isn’t your boyfriend, then what is he?” Ruth yawned. “You know he said he has a whole room of stuffies at his house, and alot of Disney movies on film.” Her brown eyes squeezed shut with another yawn, it was contagious and you follow suit. … “Thet he shows on a projector in his basement….” Her eyelids closed, and you smoothed her back.

“Hmmm… that does sound pretty nifty… Elvis is just a… friend… I promise I’ll answer all your questions tomorrow, ok? We’ll get you packed up for summer camp and maybe go get ice cream, just us, how does that sound?”

You think about her question, whether Elvis is your boyfriend, and you have no idea how to explain the nuances of casual adult relationships. With rock stars. Ruth was three when you moved in with Mark for a few years, the most serious boyfriend you have had. Ruth remembers him pretty well, considering she was five when you split, and is still pretty friendly with him whenever you run into him at temple or around town with his wife and their two kids. Then there was Bruce, who Ruth vigorously disliked and made sure both you, and he, were aware of her disapproval. That relationship lasted six months, and you know it had a lot to do with the fact that Bruce was stiff around kids, almost the exact opposite of Mark, who wanted to make a home together have three or four more kids, and play out your days like a hipper, groovier Ozzie and Harriet. The home life Mark had grown to desire had taken you by surprise, considering you had bonded over your love of folk music, counter culture and progressive politics. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but you were pretty sure it involved some sort of livelihood of your own, and you still felt like you weren’t a grown up yet sometimes because you hadn’t figured out what you were supposed to be doing with your life. Elvis clearly had never grown up, and you could see why Ruth liked him, he was playful, funny and had no problem making fun of you, which was often your daughter’s social role.

“Sounds goooo” Eyes closed, Ruth’s voice trails off, and you continued to sooth her back, singing softly one of your favorite Disney songs from Dumbo, “Baby Mine,” which, if had Ruth been fully awake and alert, she would have told you she was too old for this song. However, in her twilight state, she smiles and her eyes droop completely, and you rolled your thumb down the middle of her nose, an old trick that kept her shutting her eyes if she tried to open them.

————————————————

Unbeknownst to you, Elvis had wondered down the dim, brown corridor after Ida had handed him a stack of towels and said good night with a friendly, knowing smile. Now he stood at the corner of the hallway watching you. Pulling his hand through his hair, he shifted and guiltily looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind him. He felt like a voyeur viewing an intimate moment between you and your daughter, but he couldn’t look away. Your breasts had been bulging out of the v-neck of your dress all night singing a silent siren song to him and he had wanted to be as close to them as possible. The sight of them resting over the top of the guitar, heaving up and down while you sang had completely done him in, and he was fairly certain you were the only person in the room that night unaware of how radiant and sexy you looked. Elvis found your aloof and self conscious demeanor captivating, he felt completely at ease when he was near you, and the sour or terse words that came out of your mouth didn’t matter, because you couldn’t conceal the affectionate gleam dancing behind your large, brown eyes that beckoned him forward.

Elvis had fought the urge to pull you on to his lap and kiss you to kingdom come in front of your whole family after you sang that silly Robin Hood song. Jerry, he realized he should say good night to Jerry, and so he pulled himself away from his view of you tucking Ruth into bed, and knocked on the door to Ruth’s bedroom. Bare feet hanging over the edge of a pink twin bed, with a quilted cover, Elvis couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Jerry trying to get comfortable in Ruth’s bed as he checked in, ignoring Jerry’s exasperated look as he mumbled that he had prepaid $500 for two large hotel rooms where they could have been instead.

You were closing the door to your bedroom as softly and quietly as you could when you felt Elvis’ warm hand cupping the roundness of your bottom through your dress, then moving lower, to go under the cloth and rub your butt through your underwear. Jerking forward, you shake your head, seeing him, towels bunched under his jacket, your snarky retort silenced by his index finger over your lips.

“Shhhh… hey, can you come tuck me in?” He whispers, eyes dancing.

You grab the towels out of his arm pit, and carry them in front of your chest, leading him to the basement stairs at the back of the kitchen, whispering back. “Mhmm, a good knock to your head should do the trick… ”

“Sounds fun.” Elvis slaps you butt again, grinning like an idiot as you quicken your pace ahead of him.

You hear him close the door at the top of the stairs, the room is lit by a few soft table lamps around the finished basement. Your bare feet hit the puce green shag carpet, it was soft between your toes and you got your bearing. Dropping the towels on the dresser, you turn to Elvis, arms crossed.

Elvis took off his jacket, hanging it over the edge of the desk chair, before plopping down on the plaid couch against the side wall and spreading his arms across the back of the sofa, patting his knee for you to come sit with him. You shake your head, watching his eye brows go up in a question, seemingly surprised you were not running over to be with him.

“So how did you even find me?”

“Just followed the direction of ma pecker honey,” Elvis looked down at his crotch and then back at you with a goofy smile. “Somehow he just know’d where you’d be.”

“Ugh, my god, how do you ever get dates with lines like that?”

Elvis inhaled, deeply, and stood, striding toward you. “Most women find me charming.”

“I’m beginning to suspect most women are just hanging around waiting for you to empty your wallet,” you say, unable to stop your self from walking backwards into the laundry machine across from the couch as Elvis strode toward you.

Elvis’ hands on are on you, softly rolling his knuckles over the sides of your upper arms, leaning into your ear.

“You're right, baby, I ain’t ever had any skills seducing women…” his breath was on your neck, his hand following slowly, caressing the base of your neck, his mouth over your forehead, taking in the shallow sound of your inhale. “Like when I do this,” his other hand was at your waist. “Or this,” he kissed your forehead, “or this… “ his lips worked their way down along the side of your left eye toward your cheek, as he turned your chin up to meet his mouth. “I’m told it jus leaves em cold…” just before he kisses your mouth, you open your eyes and look up at him with serious, concerned eyes.

“I…. I… don’t … I’m not one of those women who expects money or diamonds or other gifts…that’s not my bag…”

“Ok, baby, I got it… no nice things…just sex…” he lifts you by the waist and sits you on top of the laundry machine, pushing his largesse between your legs.

“Elvis, I’m serious…and, I am NOT having sex with you tonight…”

“S’ok honey, I hate sex, it’d make me feel cheap and easy to have you take advantage of me like this….”

“Listen, I’m serious…”

“Me too …” his kisses on your neck become more fervent and insistent, while his right hand seems to have found its home fondling your left breast. You didn’t even realize your hands had moved up around his neck, gripping the back of his collar. You pull back.

“You have a girlfriend, though right?”

“You didn’t seem to care about the other night…”

“Yeah, well, that was a stupid, rash impulsive decision… with a planned expiration date… I didn’t think I’d see you again, or that you’d be coming here to my house, meeting my kid, going to my cousin’s work….”

Elvis paused, and took a deep breath, holding your eyes with his. “Listen, lil girl, there are probably ‘bout five or six chicks out there at any given time who would claim to be my girlfriend… but they know how it is…”

“And how is it?”

“I gotta be free to have fun….” An impish grin grew as he side this, as if bragging, and you couldn’t help but scowl playfully. “But, look … I’m having fun with you… an I want to keep havin’ fun wit ya… if I’m with a girl, she knows I’m not a one-woman guy…. And they’re ok with that… my intentions are honorable, and they know I’ll take care of 'em…. In my line of work, I’m gonna travel a lot, and they know I’m gonna meet people on the road…”

“Is that what I am? Some easy road gal?”

“Honey,” Elvis kissed the other side of your neck. “Ain’t nothin’ bout you easy… trust me…”

You push his chest out. “Ok, but what is this then?” Elvis’ hands move to rub up and down the top of your thighs and round over your knees, as your legs hanging off the top of the laundry machine on either side of his waist.

“Look, I like you, I can tell you like me… so let’s just have fun…” You gasp as his hands work their way under your dress to the elastic band of your underwear, his right hand palming the warm moisture wicking its way through the cotton cloth.

You moan out and bolt forward as his fingers probe further under the center strip of your panties, working their way under the fabric.

“Elvis, I can’t…” you moan out again as his forefinger slips over the pubic hair feathering your lower lips. “I don’t want anyone to hear us having sex, to know that I did this down here…”

“S’ok, honey, we’ll just be real quiet… no one will know…”

You bite your lip and grip his shoulder blade as you jerk forward when his index finger finds your clit, stifling a louder moan.

Elvis smiles on your nose, his forehead bending to meet yours, his breath is stilted. “Ya know, my bed room in Graceland is fully sound proofed…” his fingers move out to the top of your under wear, and pull them.

“I don’t know if I can let you do this here…”

“Now..” Elvis lowers himself on his haunches as he pulls your panties all the way off your feet. “Don’t be rude,” he kisses your inner thigh, first on the left side, “Rebecca,” then your right side, “Grace….” Then he flips the edge of your skirt up to reveal your bare waist, pulling your thighs forward so you’re sitting right at the edge of the laundry machine and he’s right at eye level with your pussy. He leans in to kiss the furry folds in front of him, and you throw your head back and a fervent desire takes over, all your concerns about where you are, what you are doing, what anyone might think, they all fade away, all that you care about is Elvis’ hands on your thighs, and the needy ache building up in your core. You gasp loudly, leaning on to your hands as they steady themselves against the cool, enamel of the laundry machine.

“There she is…” he whispers in awe, his fingers slowly parting your sheath, beginning to hum the melody of Amazing Grace “ how sweet the taste… that saved a wretch…” he leaned closer to lick the seam of your cunt, “like me….” He spread you further, sucking his thumb, eyes never leaving your quim, as he brings his slick thumb to rub your button, “ I once was lost…” Elvis moves his thumb to suck your clit with a pop, “but now am found…” and his thumb trails down to the silky, slick space right at your entrance, as his tongue takes over flicking your nub slowly, firmly, insistently, and you feel his humming start again intermittently as he lavs at your clit.

You cover your face as Elvis hums’ reverberate up into your belly. “I can't believe,” you moan into your palm ‘I’m doing this… I told myself I wouldn’t…” You shudder as a another lick tingles your core. “Do this….”

Elvis stops using his tongue on you, and you feel the vibrations of his voice resounding into you, “Now, sshhhh, shhh, what was that?” He brings his thumb over your clit, moving in a rhythmic circle as if coaxing a response, as he turns his ear to your vagina. You laugh and shiver at the sensation of his warm breath on your skin.

“What's that now?” He looks up at you as you run your hand through his black hair, a look of gleeful mischief on his face as he nods, as if listening to your pussy talk to him. “Ya been ignored the last few days?” His voice is now affecting an almost patronizing, babyish tenor. “‘Most days? Ooh uh huh…. don'tcha worry none, Daddy's here, he always takes care a his yittle girl…..”

You slap the side of his head playfully. “Oh my god…. quit playin…’”

He laughs, and returns his attention to your cunt, with a “There now, you heard her, no more playin’ round…time to get down to business…”

Each flutter of his tongue over your nub is more dastardly than the last, inducing a mantra of “oh gods” from you as you feel a burning ache spread through your lower body. Elvis inserts his fingers inside you, and his left hand holds you steady as you squirm with the intense shock waves of the pleasure coiling behind your belly button. Steadying yourself on the back control panel, you laugh when you accidentally hit the start button on the dryer and the machine starts to vibrate and heat up, and you use your hand on Elvis’ head to try and stop his machinations while you jostle to turn it off.

He looks up at you, wiping the mix of his salvia and slick off his mouth with a winsome, happy grin, “Is it me or am I makin’ the earth move?”

“Ha! It’s definitely you!” chuckling, you cup your hands around his face and draw him up to you, tasting your tangy flavor on his lips as you kiss him, giggling, nudging his nose with yours and relishing the sound of him releasing his belt, unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop down. You cannot help but smile at the feeling of his warm, girthy length hitting your thigh. Elvis' hand goes to lead himself inside you, pausing to look at you.

“Goddammit Becky, yer so goddamn beautiful…” you nod and grunt out softly as he pushes inside of you, the breath hitching in your throat as you watch his pupils widen and his mouth contort into the shape of a diamond.

You begin to unbutton his shirt, shaking your head.

“Ahhh… I still can’t believe… I’m doing this… ugHH… I told myself… I would never see you again, and then tonight… I definitely promised myself…HAhhhh… this wouldn’t happen….” You toss his shirt of the floor, and he rolls your dress up, looking down to watch as he enters you again, keeping an easy pace, then looking you in the eyes.

“Oh god.. looOOrrrd … want me to stop?

“Nope,” you groan again, wrapping your legs around as much of his waist as you can manage, your hands are on his shoulders and you undulate your hips forward to meet his gentle, sensual thrusts.”Don’t you dare… it feels… uhhh.. even better…ffffuckkk ….than I remember..”

Elvis mouth tightens in an O and his eyes narrow with intensity. “Uhh… honey… I know.. oh God, Becky… I’ve been thinking of your snug lil mitten since ya slapped my goddamn face the other morning…an AHHHhhh … an ran out on me…”

His cock hits you an angle that sends a charged bolt of electricity through you every. Fucking. Time. And you shudder, gliding forward and holding back your moans as best you can, savoring the sensation with Every. Fucking. Thrust.

“Oh God… don't remind me I did that…” huff, “ though you did talk to me…” you grab him by the back of hs neck, “like a whore…ahhhh… and..” You huff “I wasn’t exactly overjoyed when I first saw you today…”

Elvis kissed your forehead, increasing his pace slightly, but still rocking back and forth casually into you as he spoke and groaned and huffed and moaned. “Yeah, and the way….uhhhh…. you ran off an ….ahhh oh baby…. an threw on this slutty lil dress…” he pulled your dress over your head with a smile and a wink, throwing it over his shoulder. “Ya…unnhhhh… ya really showed me how unwelcome I was….”

You both giggle as you look into each other’s eyes, now fully naked. You pull him closer into you, arms around him, hungrily seeking the warm flesh of his body smushed into yours. Your skin heats up, and your hips sync into a familiar, desperate tempo, and you’ve lost the composure to speak in full sentences. Instead, you communicate via the staccato sound of each other’s panting breath and groans. Elvis bellows out a loud grunt, looking at you with a intense desperation, his pace surging forward. The light is dim, and in the shadow of his body all you can see is the need in his eyes.

“Oh God, Becky, you feel so ga -ga -ga-goood…. So goddamn good….” Elvis pulls pack, and you unclasp your hands from his neck to lean back on your wrists for support, while he bends to suckle at your breast, his hands gripping your back, pushing your areola farther into his mouth. You spasm forward as his teeth grate your nipple, burying your face in his hairy shoulder to muffle your cries as you chase your climax and writhe around his cock when the tremors of your orgasm overwhelm you. Elvis' hands are cupping your face, clearing the damp hair from your forehead as you pant, his lips are now on your neck and he rolls his hips into you, riding you through it and swallowing your moans with his mouth.

“S’ok… you ok?”

“Mhmmm… oh my fucking god… ooh my god…”

Elvis laughs at that. “There’s that Twitch I was lookin’ for….uhhh” his breath hitches as his rhythm slows, but his thrusts become more powerful. “Uh…I just want to be inside of you forever honey… Baby I gotta have this always…” Now you chuckle, and then bite your lip as you flick his nipples and he shoots you a fierce look, raising his eyebrows as he pumps into you harder, while you whisper in his ear to give you everything he’s got and slap his ass. Twice.

“Huh, you sure you can take it? ” He grins, and you nod, thrusting up to meet his hips and his movements become erratic and he holds your chin. “Ok, I’ll give it ya…. Oh baby… Imma give you everything… fuck…Here he goes… Ohhhhh lord almighty FUCKKKKK” you feel his cock throbbing up into you as he pulls your hips down on to him several time, then stops, twitching. Elvis stills completely and he pulls you as close into him as he possible can, kissing your shoulder. Sweat trickles down his brow and nose, and you wipe his face with your hand, then he kisses the top of your head and rests his chin there.

“Fucking hallelujah and amen….” Elvis mutters, his fingers circling your back, and you lean onto his chest, turning your ear toward the swift beating of his heart, gripping your arms around him as tight as possible. You stay intertwined in each other like this for a another minute, then he shifts his head off of you and you feel him pull out followed by the release of cum that trickles down your thigh. Elvis steps out of his pants, looks at you sheepishly, and then grabs you by your buttocks and lifts you giggling and kissing his face over to the bed.

"Jus so you know, yittle Elvis must really like you… he doesn’t never finish inside just anyone… that’s how much he trusts you… that’s how much…” Elvis kisses your lips as he throws you on the bed with a laugh. “How much he respects ya….”

“Hmm… ooh to be filled with his spunk…what an honor indeed…” you giggle.

“Oh, ya think this is some sort of joke, huh? I’m naked, bearing you ma soul, an ya laugh?” Elvis grins, hovering over you and tickling you as you giggle more, until you swat him several times and eck out that you do not want to wake the household.

He stops, pulling up the covers. “Probably too late for that honey, you were moanin’ up a storm…. Les just hope they think another tornado was passing through….”

Covers pulled back, you lay in an naked embrace, murmuring to each other as your fingers haphazardly trail over his chest and down his stomach. You nuzzle into his armpit and he kisses your head. You hum some of that song from Robin Hood while he strokes your belly.

“I’m crazy about you, kid. Come back ta Memphis with me tomarra, you can bring ya baby, ain’t no thing, Lisa Marie is coming next week, they can run each other ragged round the place… we can run each ragged round the place…” he grinned.

“I can’t, Elvis… I’m dropping Ruth off at summer camp Sunday… she’ll be gone for three weeks….”

“Well, thas perfect, Jerry an I can take y’all, then you come back to Graceland and I’ll show you what its like to make love with sound proof walls…” he smirked, finality in his voice.

“Mhmmm… I can’t leave the store, it wouldn’t be fair.. to Harriet… to my aunt and uncle…”

Elvis grunted. “Hmmm…. Well, don’t make up yer mind right this second… think on it …” he cooed, rubbing your shoulder, then jumped up and walked to his jacket, you see him rummage around in his pocket, and pull out some loose junk, then pick out a few pills, swallowing them down dry. You raise your eye brow, but say nothing, as he walks back, trundles onto the bed, and you fall asleep there in his arms, completely naked.

It’s 6 a.m. when you wake with a jolt to feel his embrace tight around you, his snores warm the top of your hair, and you smile, wanting to stay like this as long as you can, but you think of Ruth waking up alone and seeing you come out of the basement in your dress from the night before. So you move his arm, sneak up the stairs, and shower, before dressing for the day, and sitting at your vanity to make a list of everything you have to do that day to get Ruth ready for summer camp. There is no way you’re letting Elvis drive you to drop her off, no way you are going to Memphis. But you smile, thinking of the previous night’s activities.

————————————————

When Elvis stumbles up the basement stairs, it’s noon, and he finds Jerry in the breakfast nook next to the kitchen talking to Ida, a fresh pot of coffee brewed. Jerry jumps up to get Elvis a cup, but Ida waves him off, and moves Elvis to another chair, before proceeding to mother the two men as if they were her children. You walk into the kitchen to find Elvis smiling while Ida brings a second plate of freshly fried challah French toast, regaling him and Jerry with embarrassing stories about you as a teenager.

“Oh, well Rebecca was definitely the only creative one in a family of left brain types, you know, she always loved being outside, she was a counselor at Camp Jacobs, all the kids were, actually… but Becky, oy, she’s such a talented artist - music, drawing, sewing, she made those dungarees she’s wearing, you know. Her talents are really wasted managing the shop.”

“I like working at your hardware store just fine, tante…”

Elvis raises an eyebrow your way, taking in your flower-patterned overalls as he learns that your mother, father, and older siblings are all lawyers.

“Except Deborah, she’s a judge now, up in Memphis actually.” Ida adds.

You change the subject, asking the men what their plans are, as Ida does the dishes. Jerry and Elvis look at each other. Elvis had promised he would do an interview with Danny at his radio station that afternoon, and Ida interrupts to see if they plan to stay another night, inviting them to have dinner with just the family if they want to. Elvis catches your eye, as he stutters, thinking of his invitation to go out. Just as he starts to say that maybe he and Becky might go somewhere, Ruth runs into the kitchen, excited to hear that Elvis is staying and asking where he’s talking you all that night.

“Ok, I’m gonna cook dinner here,” you announce, “and then maybe we can go out for ice cream? I don’t know, though, I feel like if we go anywhere with you, you’ll get mobbed and then—”

“How will we get our ice cream?” Ruth adds earnestly.

“Well, Jerrah here is an expert at scouting out good ice cream parlors, maybe he can find one for use to go to?” Elvis grins, looking over at Jerry.

Ruth does a little dance as she says, “Yay!” then hops from leg to leg. “So, I have a joke…. Where does a fish keep his money?”

Elvis cracks a smile as he looks over at where you stand, leaning in the door frame between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. “I don’t know, kid, where?”

You turn to finish putting the last few things in Ruth’s suitcase, her voice squealing out “In the river BANK!” behind you, and you hear laughs echoing through the house. You chuckle to yourself as you hear Ruth continue to recite corny jokes to the boys.

Prepping your specialty, Southern fried tofu while you listen to Danny’s interview with Elvis at 5 p.m., you watch the men exchange shrewd expressions when they return from the station and Ruth explains to them that you’re a vegetarian, and all the reasons why, before cajoling them to come hula hoop with her.

Elvis pushes Jerry to go with her, with a promise to join in a second, then he is behind you as you sauté collard greens, leaning into your neck whispering, “Hmm… vegetarian, huh? Seemed to have no problem putting ma meat in your mouth the other day…” and you roll you eyes with a soft “Ha ha ha…” unable to resist the warm comfort of his body, and you wiggle your butt into him, turning your head to kiss his cheek, as he stays there, pushing his mouth into your neck while you cook.

You don’t notice, but Ida comes by the kitchen, and stops for a moment to watch the two of you sway and mumble to each other in an embrace over the stove, walking away with a radiant smile to go check on Saul, who’s been doing some work on the front yard.

Elvis, Ruth and Jerry go out back and pick flowers for you while you put the finishing touches on dinner, and you light up with delight when Ruth brings them over, announcing “these are for you Becky Butt.” You scowl at Elvis every time she uses that nick name, and you hit him with a laugh when he pulls you onto his lap in front of everyone to tell you how much he liked dinner before you and Ida start clearing the table.

“Really? You liked the fried tofu?”

He holds you on his knee, eyes alight. “Baby, that was the best damn appetizer I ever had. Ready for the main course.” He wiggled his eye brows at Ruth. “You’re not full, are ya lil britches?”

Ruth’s mouth turns into a wide, enthusiastic smile, “Can we have ice cream as the main course?”

“The country fried tofu and greens was the main course, baby, don’t listen to this man…I’m not sure he earned his dessert… only good lil boys who have good lil manners get ice cream.” You pull his arm off you and finish clearing the table.

Saul is at the sink, doing the dishes, and Ida pushes you out of the kitchen, telling “You kids go out and get your ice cream already.” You go kiss her cheek, scoffing that Elvis and Jerry are far from kids.

The air inside the empty Baskin Robbins is a cool salve to the hot Jackson night. You don’t know how, money you assume, but Jerry arranged for the shop to stay open past their 7 pm closing time. The four of you are the only customers, and you pinch Elvis’ shoulder as you get up to go use the bathroom, telling them to order you a scoop of butter pecan. Ruth announces that she can’t decide, so Elvis looks at Jerry, and, winking at Ruth, instructs the server to bring the table a scoop of every flavor, on one big plate. Ruth’s eyes get huge and she bangs the table.

“My mom is gonna flip her lid when she sees what you ordered!”

Elvis slaps the table. “Oh no, ya think so? Quick, call that girl back here so we kin cancel our order…” and he chuckles as Ruth shakes her head no. “Ok, then, don’t you worry bout your mama… now Ruth, what’s the story with your daddy?” Elvis starts tapping his fingers along the top of the table.

Now it’s Ruth’s turn to wiggle her eye brows, and she folds her arms on the table. “Oh him? My daddy is a lawyer, he lives in Birmingham with his wife Jean, and according to my mom, ‘he’s a bastard and I don’t know why I ever liked him,’… at least that’s what she says when she doesn’t know I’m listening…”

Jerry looks down, shaking his head, as Elvis belts out another belly laugh. Jerry was starting to like Becky and he shuddered as he realized the different permutations this relationship could take as he watched Elvis use Ruth to get the skinny on her mom’s love life, asking whether Becky had boyfriends, and learning about her past serious relationships. He hopes that when they leave tomorrow, Elvis would get back to Memphis and Becky would be out of his system. Otherwise, knowing how his boss could get fixated on a woman impulsively, he saw a tumultuous month or so of Elvis having him drive them back and forth between Memphis and Jackson. Maybe even trying to get Becky a house in Memphis, or buying her a house in Jackson so he can control how the relationship worked out. He didn’t see Becky going for that, and hoped she might tell Elvis to take a hike. But as Jerry watched her stroll back to the table, an irrepressible look of delight and happiness in her eyes, he realized it was unlikely, and worried how she would try to make what ever fling this was going to turn out to be work long distance through tours and other girl friends, as Elvis dragged Becky and her kid and her sweet normal family into his chaos. It was then, as Becky cried out with shocked surprise when the server put down four bowls with 31 scoops of ice cream, that Jerry started thinking of ways to get Elvis to dump her.

————————————————

It is 8 a.m., but the Mississippi sun was up early, and the frame of Elvis yellow Cadillac is already hot to the touch as you open the back door, only to have Elvis slap the white leather of the front seat and cluck for you to get your butt next to him. You look at Jerry with pity as he lugs Ruth’s suitcase to the trunk, and Ida and Saul are giving your daughter a succession of tight hugs, then walking her out to the back seat.

“Have a safe drive,” Ida’s hand rubs your arm over the window frame. Elvis jumps out of the driver’s seat, and walks around to give your aunt and uncle a big hug, and you notice that Ida whispers something in his ear.

You lecture Elvis on how the drop off will go at Camp Jacobs, instructing him not to get out of the car, not to take off his sunglasses or start making a spectacle of himself for the staff or other families dropping their children off, you know a lot of these people, you and your family grew up going to this camp every summer, and you are only letting him do this so you can spend an extra few hours together, before he drops you in Jackson and heads back to Memphis. Ruth asks the guys what their favorite cartoons are, what their favorite television shows and movies are, and whether they plan to see Jaws, she thinks it looks scary, but she’s not a fraidy cat. You make a withering face just to Elvis as she says this, and you notice that Ruth is completely unperturbed by the fact that Elvis has his arm around you while he hums along to the songs on the radio, then explains to Ruth how the problem with cartoons are that they are on Saturday mornings, and he wishes there were more Saturday night cartoons, so he could watch them with his daughter.

“That’s why I just get copies of all the cartoon films I can … y’all will have ta come up to Graceland sometime, we can watch Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Lady and the Tramp, I got ‘em all…” you jab Elvis in the ribs as he says this, a warning shot, because it is so uncool to make plans with Ruth for the future, when you haven’t even discussed the next step with him yourself.

The sign over the wrought iron arches of Camp Jacobs greets you as Elvis pulls up, and the staff at the gate squint at him with a furrowed brow and puzzled recognition as you lean across his lap and give them Ruth’s name and cabin group. Your breasts graze the top of Elvis’ thighs, and you feel him push his legs up into them with an innocent look on his face as you settle back in your side of the front seat. At Ruth’s cabin, Elvis, to no one’s surprise, does not keep a low profile. He jumps out, swaggers to the trunk, gets Ruth’s suit case, as he introduces himself to every counselor and parent in sight, before a sizable throng have gathered around, and you hear Ruth telling people that Elvis is her mom’s boyfriend. You steady yourself as you bend to kiss her and hug her and kiss her again, Jerry gives her a high five, and Elvis bends down, gives her a hug, and then tells her to have a good summer.

“Give em hell, lil’ britches.” He kisses Ruth on the cheek, and she giggles, kissing him back, whispering a shy thanks in his ear for all the ice cream and reminding him that she still can’t decide which flavor is her favorite, so they might have to order all 31 scoops again next time. He laughs loudly, and you have to pull him away from the campers after a good 30 minutes posing for photos with anyone in her cabin and the adjourning one who had a camera handy loaded with film.

————————————————

Cat Stevens voice sings at you from the Cadillac’s speakers as you drive back to the highway, Elvis' hand is on you again in the car, it's just Jerry in the back seat now, and so E makes no attempt to hide the intimate way his fingers caress your inner thigh. Relaxed, tired and in a daze from another late night showing lil’ Elvis your version of Southern hospitality, and also, the whirlwind of the weekend, you lean into Elvis arm as it crosses in front of your breasts, and lay your head on his shoulder. You wake up, rubbing your eyes, realizing you dozed off, and then sitting straight up with a jolt when you see the signs for the US-61.

“Elvis!” You shout, “Elvis, this is not the way back to Jackson.”

He hums softly. “I know honey, s’cuz we ain’t goin’ back to Jacktown.”

“Elvis, turn around, turn around, I can’t go with you to Memphis. My aunt and uncle will worry.”

Elvis rubs your shoulder. “Honey, they’re the ones who packed your bag…I’m sorry Twitch, you done been kidnapped.”

You shriek up to the roof of the car, and slap his arm, hard, which only works to provoke more chuckles as you rant. “Of all the arrogant, bullshit, fucking entitled, rock star, fucking cocksucking mother fucking unbelievable stunts——"

READ CHAPTER FOUR HERE

@woundmetender @powerofelvis @butlervol6 @ab4eva @whositmcwhatsit @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @azzawrites @searchingforgravity @sharebearkk @18lkpeters @elvispresleywife @moonchild-daniella @bisexualwvtson @eliseinmemphis @avengen @father-of-2cats @lillypink @notstefaniepresley @stylespresleyhearted @godlypresley @literally-just-elvis-fics @coolgirl462 @elvisabutler @j-v-9-2 @beeandheroddobsessions @precious-little-scoundrel @butlervol6 @misspresley @austinbutler4life @yanderereader @alqvarde @yynneessmons @kendralavon7 @daffieapple @louisejoy86

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis presley x oc #1970s elvis #big daddy elvis #no one walks out on big daddy #banditqueenwrites

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gideonsgem · 4 months

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Trapping a Gemstone Pt 1

"That's a wrap!" shouted the director. The sound of clapping and cheers filled the studio as we celebrated. I smiled at the various castmates and crew members while we exchanged a few “great jobs” and “thank yous” as I passed by everyone on my way to my trailer. The movie ended up taking longer than originally planned to finish and I’m eager to head home. I brought my bags to set today so I could grab them and immediately head to the airport.

My daughter is attending a summer camp on the other side of the country in Georgia. I decided it would be better for her to be around kids her age and spend some time outdoors rather than hang out with me on set for the summer.

I was supposed to be done and home by now, but the filming took longer than anticipated. So instead of celebrating with the crew tonight, I’ll be on a flight out of here.

I sent an email to my assistant, Luke, whom I sent home yesterday to begin coordinating. I need him to send me my flight details and give me an update on the party planning. I know, it seems like a lot to have a party when she’s only been gone a month and a half but she’s never been away from home long without at least one family member with her. It’s always been me and her since her dad and I split when she was a baby, so this is a big deal for us.

Trinity’s POV

15 hours earlier

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked the girl sitting in front of me. “YES” she shouted in reply “Trinity, the only way we are going to pull this off is if we cut your bangs!”

“Okay okay, just do it Serenity,” I said squeezing my eyes shut as I heard the scissors cut my hair.

“Perfect,” she grinned, holding the mirror up. I opened my eyes to see my reflection staring back at me, but now sporting a brand new fringe.

I pulled at the freshly cut hair “woah, how do you deal with this every day? They’re annoying already.”

“Eh” she shrugged while turning around to put everything away “it’s a fashion statement I believe in. If Sabrina Carpenter does it every day, then so can I,” she paused for a second and turned to look back at me “and now you”.

“Okay!” I called out “Quiz me one more time to make sure I’ve got everyone down”

Serenity plopped down and pulled out her ipad “alrighty girl, who is this?”

She showed a picture of an older man with glasses. “That is great-granddad Eli”

“Correct!” She beamed “Now who are they?”

“That’s Uncle Kelvin and Keef”.

“Right again!”

We went through the rest of the Gemstone family tree and the close acquaintances I’d need to be familiar with to blend in.

“Last one! Who’s this?”

She showed me a picture of the one I’ve been waiting 13 years to meet “Gideon Gemstone–Dad” I smiled at it.

“Sooooo” Serenity started, “what exactly is mom like?”

My–our mom– is a famous actress. Y/F/N Y/L/N “Mom is amazing” I told her “She’s so smart and so talented it's beyond me. She is an incredibly hard worker but will always make the time to joke around or just hang out. She’s the most dependable person I know”.

“I can’t wait to meet her” Serenity replied “If it wasn’t for Dad, Gigi (Amber, I feel like she would so be a Gigi) and Granddad (Eli) I feel like I wouldve ended up like Aunt Judy or Papa Jesse. Dad has always been chill and down to earth despite the Gemstone lifestyle.”

“I’m right there with you” The both of us started getting ready for bed “The great thing is the two of us finally meet them tomorrow” I added while crawling into bed.

She rolled over in her bed to face me “Who knew that this random summer camp would’ve brought me my long-lost twin”

“I’m happy we met” I yawned drifting off. Tomorrow will be a big day for us

“Here’s my phone, Mom’s assistant, Luke, will be waiting at the airport to pick you up. He’s not super chatty BUT he will give you a huge hug so just be prepared for that” I warned Serenity.

“Yes, yes. We’ve been over this” she laughed “here’s my phone, the jet will be waiting for you the car will drive you right up to it so you dont have to worry about checking in or anything. You think you can handle it?”

“I don’t think it’s me you should be worried about, have you ever flown on a regular plane? It might be first class but still” I laughed at her.

She gave me a big hug “My privilege is going to show but I am terrified to fly commercial”

I squeezed her “it’s going to be okay, you can use the wi-fi to text me if you get scared”

“I’ll miss you Trinny”

“I’ll miss you, too Renny but we’ll see each other in a few weeks”

Your POV

“Oh my God my baby is going to be here any minute!” I shout running around my room. I thought I had enough time to take a shower but Luke texted me saying Trinity’s flight got in early and they’ll be home.

I wasn’t even dressed yet, I had my robe on still and my hair is still in the towel. I was looking for clothes when I heard the alarm ding alerting us that the front door opened.

“Trinity!!!!!!” Our family call out to her .

“shit” I muttered as I threw the pants in my hands on the floor. I took the towel off my head and began speed walking downstairs.

I saw my parents smothering her in a hug and when they let go we made eye contact “TRINNY BABY!!!!!! You cut your hair?!” I shouted as I ran towards her.

“Hey Mom” she sighed as I wrapped my arms around her “I’m so happy to see you.”

"Me too, babydoll, me too” I replied “I totally love the hair by the way”.

Requested by @ringa-starr

next chapter tuesday 2/27 so sorry its late. i went to post it and hated it so I had to fix it

#gideon gemstone #judy gemstone #kelvin gemstone #the righteous gemstones #eli gemstone #righteousgemstonefanfic #x reader #gideon gemstone x reader

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thechaosmuses · 1 year

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Hey darlings, I just wanted to pop on and let y’all know I’m gonna be on in a little bit, I promise. I’m also gonna talk about why I’ve not been here under the cut just to give you guys an update on me but please do not feel like you have to read it, I’m just putting it there mainly to ease my own mind and get stuff off my chest. Before I get to that though; first off, I just wanna say thank you to everyone who’s been patient with me these last few weeks. It really means the world to me that you guys still wanna rp and talk to me even though I know I’ve been really bad at being here. Just, thank you all from the bottom of my heart. And secondly, if anyone would like memes or one liners sent their way just reply to this and lemme know who you want or if I can just send for anyone. And lastly, I hope everyone is having a great day/night and a great start to the New Year so far ❤️

Alright now onto where I’ve been… So the days after Christmas and before New Years were a blur for me because I had been sleeping in the house the past few days from it being so cold and now I was suddenly back in my shed but I’d gotten used to being in the house again; anyways; it just took a few days for me to readjust and then by time I did it was NYE which was pretty good for me but I got tired pretty soon because sleeping in the house had changed my schedule. And then I started having weird medical things happening; like my ears have been hurting and other sinus things, and then I’ve been feeling lightheaded and dizzy sometimes and a bunch of other things. Luckily, I had a doctor's appointment on the 3rd and what I found out then was that everything looked good, no Covid, Flu or RSV and nothing in my blood work that was bad (including my A1C which my mom and I both thought was causing the dizziness and whatnot)- the only thing that was bad was my cholesterol levels, both the regular and bad one. So I essentially just have to work on my diet and all that which I’d wanted to do anyway since I noticed I’ve gained weight- Anywayssss- after I got off the phone with the lab the other day I called my Mom to tell her what they’d said, and she decided to just now inform me that heart problems run on my sperm donors' side of the family. And then when I asked her how I was supposed to know that she told me I should’ve stayed in contact with them. And I could go on for hours about why I cut them out of my life but basically it all boils down to one thing; they were nowhere to be found when I lost my Great-Grandma and my Mamaw in 2015 and I lived 20ish minutes from them then and for two years after, and they didn’t bother to check in on me when my Great-Aunt passed in 2017. I still have one my Aunt’s who's like a year older than me and my cousin on some socials but that’s it. So yeah, I’ve just been dealing with all of that and trying to figure out what to do and what I can and can’t eat and all that because knowing I’m apparently at a higher risk for heart problems is scaring me a little bit (plus I’ve been having some issues that I thought were anxiety related but now am second guessing that so I need to bring that up to my doctor) Also, my Mom is getting me a job where she works, she does taxes and is currently running the store where she works, so in the next two weeks or so I will be a bit less active because I’ll be working. Though like I said my Mom will pretty much be my boss so as long as no one is in the store I don’t think she’ll care if I whip my phone or laptop out. I think that’s pretty much all I have to update y’all on, I’m gonna make another OOC post in a bit because I need your guys help on something but for now I think that’s all I’ve got to say. If you read all of this, I really appreciate you and hope you have the best day ever.. And of course as always, have a forehead kiss..

#[ooc; out of chaos]#[tw; medical talk]#[tw; anxiety]#[tw; mentions of heart problems]#[tw; mentions of people passing]

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nipperlovesfenix · 2 years

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I keep checking social media to make sure everyone is blocked. I think Judee is sufficiently blocked. I don’t think there’s much else I can do. Even if they’re not blocked, my accounts are private and I don’t accept friend requests from everyone.

They will all know about the baby. They will probably know about the second baby at some point too. They might know about me getting married. They can know about all of that and still have no impact on my life.

Judee knows probably because Natalie and Shelia know. Steffanie and Kylie know too which means Brock is likely to know. If Judee knows then I’m almost certain that Cat and Dan know. That’s the only one that really sucks to be honest.

Like Adam and Abby, I haven’t cut off Dan and Cat. My last conversation with uncle Dan was not a good one and left me feeling awful, but I didn’t block him. I’ve only ever been open to and with my aunt Cat, too. I texted her for a holiday, she said something about talking sometime and I said that would be nice. Haven’t heard from her since. I also haven’t reached out.

I thought they liked me but I guess their ties to the toxicity are stronger than their ties to me. I thought Dan was above all that and saw through it. He has his own fucked up programs, though. I really thought he was different. He might not be in a cognitively stable place. I think he has dementia or something? I don’t know. Maybe that last conversation was The Last Conversation. I hope not, but I kind of think it was.

And Cat, I don’t know. I cut off her son so, that might be a thing. I cut off her brother and sister. I cut off basically everyone. She probably has a lot on her plate, too. And she’s so tied into the family’s weirdness.

It’s sad to think about. I really love them. I mean, I love all of them but Dan and Cat have always been extra special to me. Assuming they know about the baby, then their lack of communication tells me everything I need to know. Via Natalie, Judee says she’s sorry and that she loves me. I love her too. I’m sorry also. I’m sorry things are the way they are. Chris said there used to be a time where the expectant mother couldn’t pee without telling her mother about it. Part of me wishes for something like that where I could tell someone every little thing. Maybe that’s codependence. I really don’t know. Marla kind of wants to be that person but I can’t. She’s not safe. I wish it was different. I sent her a video of the baby kicking. I only sent it to her and Taylor. I guess I could have sent it to Jessica.

I always hoped that my in laws would be my replacement family. I wish I didn’t still hope for that, but I do in a way.

I don’t have a friend I can tell everything to and I wish I did. I mean, a friend outside of Taylor. I tell Taylor everything. He is my closest and best friend. Jessi is amazing and I really love her. She’s not doing anything wrong. I just want someone more present, more available.

I have been thinking about Kriste and, while there’s aspects of that relationship that I miss, I don’t miss her. Even if she saw everything from my perspective, apologized and changed, I couldn’t be friends with her. I do miss the availability. The ability to tell her every little thing. Bree and Chloe seem to have that.

It makes me sad to think about.

I was going to say that I would tell Cat all the things if she was present, but I know that’s not true. Whatever I told her would be told to Judee and dad and everyone else. I wish I could, but it’s not a possibility. I couldn’t tell her about our birth plan. What I want and what is realistic in the family dynamic are two different things.

I know the same is true for Taylor’s family. What I want them to be and who they are, are two different things. I know he feels the same way. I just want to be close with someone who I can be completely open and vulnerable and safe with. I wish it could be someone. Jessica. One of the grandmas. One of the aunts. Someone. Someone, but not anyone. That’s why I’m in the position I’m in right now. I deserve to be treated well, to be safe, to be truly loved. Safety is so important.

I hope Serena texts me back tomorrow. I’ll give it a day or two. I don’t want to bother her. It just adds to the feeling of loneliness with the person I’ve literally hired as my support for this time in my life hasn’t gotten back to me. I know I suck at getting back to people too, so I mean... I don’t know how much room I have to talk. But with clients it’s different. I’m usually fairly on top of things.

I told her I wanted to be checked in on every week. Maybe I didn’t act like I wanted the support? Maybe I did something wrong? Maybe she has too much going on in her life, I don’t know. She hasn’t checked in on me since we saw her last month. Do I have to pay someone to be my friend? Even that doesn’t seem to work.

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theshelbyclan · 3 years

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Castle in the Sky

Summary: You’re the daydreaming sibling of the Shelby’s, but when the adventure spills over into real life, it’s not as great as you’d imagined

(Gif by @nofckingfighting) A/N: A sweet anon requested: can I have request please Something like this Tommy was very protective over y/n and she gets hurt by one of the bad guys and sees blood on her face now all bruised but Tommy wants revenge Omg if you do so thank you so much for my request! ❤️ Huge fan of your works!This is set around season 1, back in the good old days when the only real enemy was Billy Kimber, remember those days? So easy… anyways, hope you like it J Words: 2933 ***

You were only nine when you started as a bookie’s runner for the Peaky Blinders. Nothing about this was special, half the kids of Small Heath worked for them, but there was just one difference: the Shelby’s were your brothers. It was a good job in many ways, because it meant not only being able to help your brothers, but people were inclined to give you a bit extra, just for being a Shelby. You imagined they thought it good luck.

“Y/N, take this to the other side of town, will you?” Tommy requested as he sat hunched over a newspaper. You protested a little, “Why me? I’ve done all of mine for today…” “This one’s extra, alright?” “Who is it?” you could never hide your inquisitive nature. But you only showed it around your brothers; to the rest of the world you were just quiet and practically invisible. He smirked slightly, “Someone who’ll pay up big. That’s why I need you to do it. Can’t trust any of the other kids not to steal…” “I have some homework to do, Tommy.” At thirteen, you were still at school, which was a minor miracle in Birmingham. “Tell you what: if you just do this one job, I’ll get you magazine you’ve been talking about, eh?” now he looked up and met your eyes. “Book, Tommy,” you smiled, “You might have heard of the concept? It’s a little like a magazine, a little like that newspaper, but with more pages? Some find it challenging, but once you get used to it…” “Alright, little miss know-it-all,” he grumbled without malice, “Go on, take the slip, make sure he bets all. Off with you. Stop outsmarting your old brother, eh?” He winked to make sure you were comfortable and you returned it with a big grin. “Where?” “Digbeth,” Tommy’s nose was back in the newspaper, “behind the Golden Dragon.” ***

As you were walking through the streets of Small Heath on your way to Digbeth, you were daydreaming. In a way it was strange just how different you were from your brothers, because the entire Shelby clan was very realistic, trying to make their way in this hard world, where you would rather pretend all day you were the main character in some story. The books you read, it was all an escape to you. So while you were walking, the people and factories disappeared. In your head, you were walking through the woods, on a secret mission that your king gave you. With the top-priority letter in your pocket, you remembered what he’d told you before you left: “If you get caught, eat the letter. If they capture you, make sure to be brave and never divulge its contents to anyone. And if all else fails, you must make the ultimate sacrifice. But remember, you have to memorize the contents of the letter first…” Wouldn’t it just be easier to memorize it now and destroy the letter immediately? You pondered on the matter… In the distance, you could see the mountains and the towers of another kingdom, and you knew your enemies were near. Without anyone noticing, you put a hand to your pocket and could feel the reassuring rustling of paper underneath your fingers: the letter was still there. If it would come to a fight, how would you go about it? If there were just one man, the small dagger in your boots would suffice. If it were two, you’d distract one, maybe by throwing the veil you were wearing, quickly turning around to kill the other and then back to the first one before he had time to recover. If there were more than three, you’d run, because you were the fastest after all. You’d get to higher ground and attack them from there, like a deadly shadow they could never see coming. As you smiled to yourself, you left the daydream for a short moment. You looked down and saw the muddy shoes you were wearing, marching through Birmingham mud. In the distance, all you saw was smoke and factory pipes. But it was honestly all you needed: your imagination did the rest. The real world barged in when you delivered the slip in Digbeth. Everything went smoothly at first. Your big brown eyes persuaded him to indeed bet big, and you were quite satisfied with yourself, knowing Tommy would be too. But you still had to walk back with a lot of money now in your pocket.

*** Almost home, there were only a few streets to go. Your head was back in the clouds and this time you were imagining you were a spy during the war. Silently, you moved through the streets, making yourself invisible and pretending every man wearing a hat was the enemy. So each time you saw one, you changed directions or hid for a second. It was a fun game, until you realised the enemy wasn’t wearing a hat. “Now, what’s a pretty girl like you doing on the streets, all by herself?” A man with a heavy Cockney accent popped up next to you and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest. You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out. In your dreams, you always knew what to say, but in reality it wasn’t so easy. The man approached you and you noticed he’d cut you off from your one exit out of the alley, “It’s Y/N Shelby, isn’t it,” he grinned. “No,” you managed to say, “you got the wrong girl.” He grinned again, “Nice try, sweetheart. We’ve seen you at the Garrison. They don’t allow little girls at the pub, unless they’re a Shelby.” This was all true. You felt your hands getting clammy. “Tommy sent you, didn’t he?” Again, you tried to remember what the hero in your stories would do. She’d run, climb the building and then throw a knife right between the eyes of the man. Or she’d say something clever, just to distract him, and then turn around and escape when he least expected it. He took another few steps forward and you could smell him now, a smell of strange smoke and the river, “Do you know who I am?” Nailed to the ground, you shook your head. “I work for Mr. Billy Kimber. Ever heard of him?” You turned to see if you could escape, but then realised the other side of the alley was blocked by two more men. Neither of them were wearing hats. Cold sweat of fear ran down your back. The man in front of you started laughing, “There’s no running, sweetheart. Just give it to me.” At once you realised he was referring to the money in your pocket, but for Tommy’s sake, you wanted at least to try to be brave, “I don’t have anything.” He sighed, “Don’t play with me. I’m not the kind of man to play with, and neither is Mr. Kimber,” his voice was suddenly low and menacing, “Your brother thought he could, thought he would get away with fixing a race, he did, and now he’s going to be put against the post and shot. Don’t think I won’t do the same to you.” You gulped, but still thought of Tommy’s disappointment in you when he would find out you’d been a coward. So you took a deep breath and said softly, “It’s not yours. This money is ours. You can tell Mr. Kimber to go fuck himself!” It didn’t come out as strongly as you’d hoped. Like a crack of thunder, he swiftly slapped you across the face with the back of his hand. All the air was knocked out of your lungs in a second and you stood gasping for air, as you felt some blood trickling down your chin. “Give me the money,” he demanded again. And then, like your heroes, you pretended to reach for it in your pocket. Suddenly, you turned around and started running into the other direction, hoping to slip past the two men before they could stop you. But it didn’t work. One grabbed your arm and when you tried to push him away, he punched you hard. All strength left you in an instant. The second one started fumbling in your pockets and instinctively you kicked him, which earned you another blow to the head. More punches followed and your head was spinning. As you looked up to the sky, you remembered wanting to get back home, to your castle, where all was well and safe. In the end, they left you on the ground and the money was gone. Your last thought was: Tommy is going to be so embarrassed.

*** “Y/N?” You opened your eyes, but couldn’t see for a moment. “Y/N,” the familiar voice repeated, “Come on, yes, let’s get you home. Polly, Polly will know what to do, yes…” Strong arms lifted you up and rocking with his familiar limp, Curly carried you back to Watery Lane. When he’d taken you into the kitchen, Aunt Polly flew to your side in seconds, asking, “What’s happened?” Uncertainly, Curly explained and as he did, he started to become upset over your state. That’s when Tommy came in and started to calm him, while keeping an eye on you all the time. “Sweetheart,” Aunt Polly had taken a cold cloth to the cut in your lip, “Wake up… Come back to us…” Again you tried opening you eyes and you finally managed this time. But all your concern was with Curly, who was still anxiously fidgeting with his cap in hand. “Don’t worry, Curly,” you croaked, “I’m alright now. You did good, carrying me here.” “Polly will know what to do…” he kept on repeating. Tommy put a hand on his shoulder and it had an immediate calming effect, “It’s alright, Curly, go back to Charlie, eh? We’ll take care of her now.” Before he left, you said to him, “Curly? I’ll stop by tomorrow, see about that beautiful horse of yours, alright?” That put an immediate smile on his face, “Yes, she’s a beauty, alright… And she needs her princess to ride her! Back to that castle in the sky…yes…” When he’d gone, you lowered your head again and sighed deeply. Carefully, you felt your face and only then realised how awful you must look. “Who did this,” Tommy demanded at once. Polly glared daggers at him, “You did, I presume?” “Me?” “I told you again and again not to use the little ones to run errands. Sending them across half of Birmingham with money in their pockets, and look what happens!” For a moment, Tommy seemed to be speechless. Then he protested, “They’re invisible, Pol. Nobody knows they’re carrying anything.” “This one did,” you interjected, “because he knew who I was.” “How?” “Said he was with Kimber,” you whispered as the memories came back to you, “said he’d put me up against a post and he’d shoot me, like he’d do with you…” In a sudden fit of rage, Tommy grabbed a chair and flung it across the room. Polly snarled at the gesture and then turned to you, “Stay here. This cloth is cold, keep it against your eye, or it’ll turn black in half an hour, and I can’t take you to church looking like that. I just need to have a word with your brother.” You took the cloth and didn’t dare to look at Tommy, who was now being taken away by his aunt like he was ten years old again and in trouble. Aunt Polly closed the door behind her, but you still tried to hear as much as you could. Most of it was lost, but when they started shouting you heard bits like “putting your little sister in danger!” and “this is Billy fucking Kimber, Thomas” and “family first”. At first Tommy protested with “I didn’t know they knew her” and “Kimber is getting weak”, but eventually he shouted out in defeat, “I fucked up, alright? I’ll fix it. I promise.” When they came back, Tommy looked like a dog that’d just been kicked. So he retreated into a corner and started smoking, still sulking a little. Aunt Polly lifted your head up by placing a finger under your chin, “You won’t look pretty for a week, but it’ll heal.” You shrugged, not caring about being pretty at all, and muttered, “I feel like an idiot…” “Why?” your aunt demanded, “because big men decided to go after a small girl?” Tears started forming in the corners of your eyes, as you admitted, “Because I wanted to be brave! In my stories I’m pretty and strong and the hero, but in reality I’m just like a mouse. No one notices me and I’m useless…” “Sweetheart,” Polly softened her voice and crouched down next to you, “Just because you can’t fight like Arthur or John can, doesn’t make you useless. We’re all stuck here, in Small Heath, and there’s nothing pretty about that. But you reading all those books? That’s what’s going to make this easier. You can pretend, and that’s worth more than you’ll ever realise.” You smiled back at your aunt, who always knew what to say to make you feel better. “I’m off to the chemist to get you some powder against the pain,” she kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be right back, love.” After she’d gone as well, you sighed again and dropped the cloth. Her words mattered, of course they did, but it didn’t change the fact that you weren’t happy with yourself at all. For starters, you still couldn’t bear looking at Tommy. “Y/N,” he grumbled, which convinced you even more he was angry and disappointed, “Tell me what they looked like.” “They didn’t wear hats…” Impatiently he waved a hand, “Apart from that. What else?” “I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it all happened fast, Tommy. They had that accent that Kimber has as well.” “Fucking Cockneys…” your brother breathed. “Tommy?” you tried carefully, “I’m so sorry, but I lost the money. I tried to keep it. When they asked I told them to fuck off and then I tried to run and even fight, but they still took it. I’m so sorry…” He held up a hand to silence you and locked eyes with you, “You told them to fuck off?” “Yes, but it didn’t help…” “You actually told them to fuck off?” he frowned, “Usually you’re too shy to even say anything to strangers…” “I was angry,” you explained, “and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Tommy walked over to you and much to your surprise, he was smirking, “So you told them to go fuck themselves, and then you fought them?” “Yes?” “Did you hit any of them?” You thought about it for a second, “I think I kicked one in the balls and hit the other in the face.” His grin grew even wider and he mumbled to himself, “Wait ‘till I tell Arthur about this…” “Why?” you protested, “So he can laugh at me as well?” “No, sweetheart, he’ll be the proudest brother ever. His little sister, who everyone thinks is a little mouse too scared to do anything? She fucking hit a grown man and told them to go fuck themselves. Now that’s a hero in my book!” His laugh was contagious and you had to join in. But soon you became uncertain again and asked, “Are you not upset I lost the money?” “The money’s not important,” his face grew serious again in an instant, “but you are.” “Really?” you whispered. “Yes,” he took your face in his hands, “Listen, Y/N, this is what’s going to happen: Billy Kimber threatened my little sister, so I’m going to put himup against the post, and shoot him.” “And then what?” “Well, what usually happens in your books? Maybe I could learn something from them, eh?” A warm feeling of being appreciated for who you were came over you, “You’d take his kingdom and his skull would be put up on the gates, as a warning for all future enemies.” “That’s fucking dark,” Tommy raised one eyebrow, “But I like it.” “Me too…” you smiled at your brother. “I mean it though, Y/N. Kimber touched you, so I’m going to shoot the bastard. I won’t let anyone fucking go near you again.” And just like that, you felt safe enough again to continue dreaming. *** A few weeks later, everything had turned to chaos, both in the Shelby household as in the whole of Birmingham. Tommy didn’t speak to anyone of what happened to you, he hadn’t even apologized, but he wasn’t like that. He told you he’d fix it, promised you revenge, and that was even better. When the men were counting minutes in front of the Garrison and Billy Kimber’s army arrived, you were sitting at home with a book. You couldn’t really concentrate, because you knew there were too many of them. You pretended some angel would appear to save them all. There’d have to be no bloodshed, because this angel would be on your brothers’ side. That angel came in the form of your older sister Ada. She’d always had flair. In the end, only two bullets were fired. You listened to them both. One killed Danny Whizz-bang. The other killed Billy Kimber. Nobody knew, but as Tommy fired, he didn’t have business on his mind.

As he aimed, he saw his little sister’s face, all bruised and battered.

He whispered, “for Y/N,” and shot.

Bang.

***

Masterlist

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Note

Dream smut or fluff where reader and him are high key mean to eachotjer despite having so many mutual friends, but then something (very vague i know I’m sorry) makes them have to get close and the develop feelings? Sorry I’m shit at requests but thank you!!!

i know this is shitty im sorry akjsdh bls forgive me

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

± warnings: dream being a dick, slight slut shaming, toxic behavior, vulgar/suggestive mentions and language, sexual harassment on a bus (not by dream, you can breathe)

⋆ song recommendation: When the Night is Over by Lord Huron

You pulled a blanket beneath your chin, yawning slightly at whatever the tv was playing. You only had it on in an attempt to drown out the noises coming from your roommate's bedroom as she smoozed her date. You were honestly shocked the two hadn’t moved in together yet with all the time they spent wrapped up.

Her door opened, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you sprawled out on the couch. He marched toward you quietly, hovering over your shoulder. You peered up at her hesitantly. “What are you watching?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. You furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to speak but she hurriedly cut you off. “Do you mind watching it at Nick’s instead?”

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re kicking me out again?” She gave you an apologetic smile, making you roll your eyes as you stood up and pulled on your jacket. “This would hurt less if they also paid rent,” you mumbled, with a small glare.

She thanked you repeatedly, holding onto your arm as you gathered what little belongings you needed for the night. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she courted, opening the door for you. “Tomorrow, dinner’s on me okay?” You sent her a tired look and she apologized again. She stopped you as you stepped out into the cold night, leaning through the space between the door and the frame. “Maybe you can cozy up to that Clay guy? You guys have such a good vibe,” she mocked, making you chuckle lightly.

You shook your head, waving to her. “Enjoy your night. Please, for the love of God, clean the bathroom afterward,” you called, hearing her laugh at your statement.

The bus ride was quiet due to the time of night and the weather, both of which you didn’t mind. You knew Nick’s house would be warm and loud. Before you knew it, you found yourself in front of his apartment door, kicking at the concrete ground as you heard someone stumbling to let you inside. The door opened swiftly, Clay’s large frame blocking the light from the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe mockingly as he looked at you.

He wet his lips. “Who’s the lucky guy tonight?” He joshed.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past his body to get out of the cold. “Whoever’s dick you’re not sucking, I guess,” you quipped back, making him laugh darkly. You kicked off your shoes as he shut the door. “Where’s Sapnap?” You asked, shrugging off your jacket. You’d texted him ahead of time to ask if you could stay over, which he readily agreed to.

Clay sent you a smug look. “You guys have a fun night planned?” He made a gesture with his hand to insinuate you were there to give Nick a handjob.

You bit back a chuckle. “Why? You wanna join?” You shot back. He bit his lip and moaned pornographically.

“Cut it out, Dream,” Nick grumbled as he walked into the room. He pulled on your arm to follow him.

Dream scoffed exasperatedly. “Me? I’m not the one who started it!” He called after the two of you.

As Nick pushed you out of the room, you turned your head. “You most certainly did!” You answered. You heard him chuckle at your words as Nick shut the door to his room. You plopped down on his bed as he sat in his chair, swiveling to look at you. “Why does Dream pick at me so much?” You mumbled, fishing in your pockets for your phone.

“He’s jealous,” Nick answered absent-mindedly. “What's the date look like tonight?” He asked, referring to the reason you were there in the first place. This wasn’t the first time or the last time your roommate had kicked you out. It was becoming a more frequent occurrence for you to end up on Nick’s couch or at their place in the middle of the day with your toothbrush and a change of clothes.

You moved to lean into his pillows. “I don’t know, it's the same granola fucker she’s been hanging around,” you answered.

He rubbed his chin with a slight smirk. “There’s a subtle justice to knowing she’s still with that asshat,” he commented, making you snort.

A week later, you were on your way back to your apartment after a lecture when someone felt you up. It was the straw on the camel’s back for you as you spin around to smack the guy, stirring up a few of the bystanders. You’d walked the rest of the way home, stepping through the door to be met with your roommate and her hookup twisted together in the kitchen.

You clamped your hand over your eyes, mumbling about how you just wanted to take a nap when you were once again sent to Nick’s. You let subtle tears fall as you trudged your way across the city, hoping to get out whatever darkness you had to your attitude. The last thing you wanted to do was confront Clay looking like you did. He was like the troll with the keys to the bridge. That was really the only reason the two of you ever talked, so you knew he’d be waiting to berate you before you could get to Nick.

As you walked into the building, you spotted Clay carrying a large box, his hair slightly disheveled and his hands dirty. You knew almost instantly that he was probably attempting to fix the kitchen sink and got a call because of the size of the package. That sink had been dripping since they’d moved in, making it Clay’s mission to futz around with it every Friday afternoon. You tried helping him one time, only ending up with a deflated sense of confidence and the second wave of your childhood anger issues.

He nodded at you as you held the elevator door open for him. “What’s up, babycakes?” He chirped, popping his gum. When you hesitated to answer, he looked at you fully, scoffing. “Damn, walk of shame gone sour?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, inhaling deeply to try and calm your nerves. “I’m not really in the mood today,” you muttered, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

He snorted, setting the box down between his feet. “You’re always in the mood! Isn’t that like your thing,” he continued to jeer. “You look like you had a fun night though-”

“Clay, stop. I’m serious,” barked at him. His expression twisting at your use of his name.

He raised his hands in mock defense. “Sorry, I thought we had---like a bit thing, um-” he cut himself off, awkwardly shoving his fists in his pockets. After a beat of silence between the two of you, the elevator came to a sharp halt on the wrong floor, the light switching to red. The two of you shared a look, knowing that the landlord was probably flipping the wrong switches again. Clay texted Nick to see what was going on.

It began to grow colder in the elevator, as it usually did. When it was off, the cold from outside usually seeped in through the elevator shaft. There was one time you were stuck in the elevator for a few hours with one of your neighbors and Karl when he had come to visit. Back then, the three of you played Uno on the guy’s phone. It was also summer, so the chill creeping up your legs wasn’t as intolerable as it was now.

You rubbed the arms of your sweater in hopes of generating some kind of warmth. Clay watched you carefully, his hands moving to grip the bar behind him. “Do you want my sweatshirt?” He offered. You shook your head, sliding onto the ground and hugging your knees to your chest. He hesitantly slumped down beside you, kicking his long legs out towards the door. The red light filling the space made his features look softer.

He nudged your arm gently with his own. “I know I’m not Sapnap, but…” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, shrugging slightly, “I mean, we’re stuck in here. We can talk about it.”

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill once again, your eyes burning and tired. “I haven’t slept with him, you know?” You stated, turning to look at him briefly before moving to sit cross-legged, planning with your fingers. “I’ve never even kissed him. I’ve never kissed anyone,” you scoffed. Clay was silent, but out of the corner of your eye, you could see him watching you intently.

Being this close to him, you could smell the smoky vanilla undertones of his cologne. The scent reminded you of a masculine version of the candle your aunt always burned when she went out for a night to spite her ex-husband.

Clay leaned his head back against the wood paneling, his soft blond hair flattening in the back to spread against the wall. You swallowed, sighing slightly. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I’m getting groped on the bus and kicked out of my damn apartment because my roommate and her fucking boyfriend have to hook up on every surface. Nothing is sacred.” You shook your head, wiping away some stray tears with the back of your hand and sniffling pathetically. “You can keep making slut jokes, I don’t care. But I swear to God, I haven’t done anything with Sapnap. Or Karl, or Quackity. No one.”

He chuckled softly. “I know. That’s why I used to make those jokes,” he mumbled. “It was like… ironic humor. And then it got so far that the only way I knew you’d talk back to me was if I was fucking around with you,” he admitted. You chuckled slightly at his words, taking a deep breath.

“Oh, Dream,” you sighed. “I would have hooked up with you if you weren’t such an ass,” you chided. His laugh made you feel better. He held his hand out to you, more for support than anything, but as you laced your fingers with his, your heart eased, feeling safe beside him.

After a beat of silence, he spoke up again. "I can ride the bus with you now... if you want..." He offered, a shyness that seemed so foreign to his character shown through his eyes. "I promise I won't grope you," he joshed, making you roll your eyes.

"That's really not something we should be joking about," you mumbled, wiping away the rest of your tears on your sleeve.

His thumb brushed against the back of your hand soothingly. "I mask my awkwardness around you in dark humor. I'm sorry."

#dream imagine #dream fluff #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken fluff #dream x reader #dream x y/n #dream x you #dreamwastaken angst #dream angst #mcyt imagine #mcyt x you

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

ice blue - tommy shelby x reader

a/n: hi lovelies! i literally just finished typing this and i’ve gotten so many notes on my preview of it that i literally couldn’t wait to give this to you guys. i really really hope you like it :) lmk if there’s anything in specific you guys want me to write, otherwise the next thing i’m working on is gonna be with john (i’ve already started it and this one is fucking hOt a bitch is sweating). as always message me literally about anything or if you want me to start a taglist

love, abi xxx

prompt: you’re back home in Birmingham and you need a job. Tommy Shelby offers you one.

warnings: nsfw!! smut, light choking, power kink oops

You stepped out of the car, cold air coming up to brush against your ankles as you shivered in the brisk English evening, wrapping your black wool coat tightly around you. You were once again new to Birmingham, having grown up there, but at the age of 9, you were sent to a boarding school in London after your parents were killed in a house fire. You had gone on to college, but had to drop out because you simply couldn’t make ends meet. Now, at the age of 21, you were back home, looking for a job, and as soon as you arrived, the first person to call was your best schoolmate, Ada Shelby. Ada was spunky, fearless, and didn’t take no for an answer, which was one of the reasons the two of you got on so well. She had insisted on taking you out to her family’s bar, despite your pleas that you were exhausted. Fuck it, you had thought to yourself. If you were going to go out, you were going to look good doing it. So, you slipped on your best set of red silk lingerie and your shortest black lace dress which dipped low to accentuate your breasts and applied a dark red lipstick as well as eyeliner. Underneath, you slid on a pair of sheer black tights and slipped on black kitten heels. You slipped on a pair of dangly silver earrings, admiring yourself in the mirror before you had slid your silver cigarette case and lighter into a black clutch, shrugged on your coat, and made your way out the door.

There, Ada had been waiting in the back of a Model T, looking gorgeous in a dark purple silk dress. She had greeted you with open arms and a huge smile, chattering on about how beautiful you looked and how much she had missed you. The two of you had managed to stay in contact throughout the years, writing letters about the current events, so you knew all about her baby, and pressed her with many questions about how she was doing. Now, here you were, in front of a bar, the muffled drunken shouts and laughter seeping through the brick walls.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ada grinned at you, nudging you with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go in, and don’t worry about paying. This is my family’s bar,” she said, leading you towards the wooden doors.

“Fuck, Ada, your family owns this whole thing?” You marveled at the exterior of the building as Ada practically dragged you towards the double doors.

“Yeah, it’s all that and everything,” Ada waved her hand dismissively as she reached for the door handle. “Let’s get to the damn bar already, I need a fucking drink.” She pulled the doors open and the noise washed over you, the smell of alcohol permeating the air. The bar was dimly lit, with leather upholstery and plenty of drunk Englishmen. Bottles of spirits adorned an entire wall behind the bar in the rear. The noise swirled around you as Ada pushed her way through the crowd, determined to reach her destination. Finally, you reached the bar, and almost immediately a bartender appeared. You had known the Shelby’s were powerful, but Ada had never really talked about her family’s business. They must have been fucking loaded; the way people parted for Ada, you couldn’t even imagine the way they must have bowed for her brothers. You had never really interacted with them, but you assumed that was going to change. All you really knew about them was from the rumors, which were gruesome and plentiful.

“Give me two whiskeys,” Ada said to the bartender, who slid the glasses her way. “Thanks, Harry,” Ada yelled, handing you a glass and pulling you towards the rear of the bar, opening a door and ushering you in. As soon as you entered the room, the entire atmosphere shifted. This room was much quieter; you could even hear jazz music over the chatter. Smoke clouded the air, and you downed your drink to quiet your nerves, as you had realized that these were some of the most powerful people in the city that surrounded you. A maid appeared to take you and Ada’s jackets, and as you slipped off your coat, a wave of insecurity hit you. Ada was making small talk with an unfamiliar woman next to you, and you tapped her shoulder, telling her you were heading to the bar as she nodded, shouting after you, “When you come back, get me another whiskey!”

You laughed, turning and making your way to the bar, sliding into a stool upholstered with crushed red velvet. You motioned the bartender over, and as you waited, you took out a cigarette and lit it. The bartender set your whiskey in front of you, and as soon as you had picked it up, Ada had you by the arm and was tugging you to a booth, your whiskey and cigarette still in hand, your clutch tucked under your arm. In the booth sat three men, each of varying ages and all adorned in formal wear and newsboy caps, complete with glistening pocket-watch chains.

“Shove over,” Ada said, pulling you into the booth next to one of the brothers. “Y/N, these are my daft brain brothers, Arthur, Tommy, and John.” The oldest, sporting various scars across his face did little but grunt and touch his hat, getting up to exit the booth, and the youngest had already started bickering across the table with Ada, something about who was the biggest idiot. The middle brother, however, was fucking gorgeous. You already knew you were screwed. He had long doe eyelashes, framing ice blue eyes, and his jawline was neatly defined. His cologne alone was doing things to you. Get it together, you thought to yourself, downing the whiskey in your glass. The motion caught his attention and you felt his gaze on you, piercing your soul and sending goosebumps down your spine. He put his cigarette to his mouth and took a drag, and you couldn’t help but draw your eyes to the way his lips parted.

“You like Irish whiskey?” His smooth voice shook you to the core. You looked at him in shock for a second before quickly collecting yourself.

“I’ve always drank it, my whole family does,” you responded, your gaze lifting to meet his. He leaned back, eyes drinking you in. You chewed your lip, pressing your thighs together in an effort to quench the ache that had begun to form.

“Tommy!” A voice rang from across the room. The brother, who you assumed now was named Tommy, stood. “Excuse me for a minute,” Tommy said, stepping aside to converse with a woman you recognized as Ada’s aunt. The woman seemed angry, but then, from what you remembered, she always had. After a few minutes, she left and Tommy slid back into the booth, exhaling and shooting his whiskey. Ada and the youngest brother, who you had learned was John had both moseyed off, so it was just you and Tommy in the booth, in the corner of the room. Tommy took a drag of his cigarette and sighed.

“Ada told me you need a job,” he said, eyes lingering on you.

“I do,” you admitted, “but I don’t want you to feel obliged or anything. I can manage-”

“I need a new assistant,” Tommy cut you off, but you honestly didn’t mind. Something about the way he did it managed not to rub you the wrong way. “It’s mostly paperwork, but I’d pay you well. 40 shillings a week.” Tommy took the last drag of his cigarette, putting it out while still holding you in his gaze.

“I can do that,” you managed to blurt out. God knows what you were getting yourself into, getting hired by a man that not only had a notorious reputation but was making you trip over your own words. Something about the way he looked at you, though, made you say yes. You already couldn’t resist him. God damn it, you thought to yourself.

Across from you, Tommy pulled his jacket on. “Monday, 8 am. My office.” He slipped a piece of paper to you with an address scrawled on it, standing and leaving. As quickly as you had become intoxicated by him, he had left. The whole night, throughout all of Ada’s chatter, on the way home, in the bath, in bed, he never left the back of your mind. You wanted to be his, as much as you tried to fight the thought for not only your sake but Ada’s. You knew it was impossible, that he would want you like this, so you reserved yourself to daydreaming. His hands on your hips, his mouth on yours: you craved it, unsatisfied by your own touch even after multiple rounds. You couldn’t escape him.

***

You awoke nervous, stomach doing cartwheels. You hadn’t seen Tommy since Saturday at the bar when you had met, and the anticipation of seeing him and having to hold yourself together and not beg him to bend you over the nearest piece of furniture was almost overwhelming. You decided on a simple black blouse and a tight black skirt with black tights and heels. You pulled your fitted wool coat over your shoulders and stepped out into the cool British morning, horses clopping past as your heels clacked over the bricks, making your way past children playing and yelling. The wind whipped past your cheeks, staining them a rosy pink as you pulled open the heavy wooden door of the office building. The warm air surrounded you, and above the conversations between the workers seated and standing around desks, you could faintly hear Ada arguing with someone in a back room somewhere. The office consisted of wood furniture and a couple of separated rooms, you assumed, for Ada’s brothers, the heads of the company. The fireplace in the corner provided a much needed reprieve from the wind outside, and you slipped your coat off, hanging it on the coat rack. One of the doors read “The office of Thomas Shelby” in gold lettering, and you knocked lightly, not wanting to appear late on your first day.

“Come in,” Tommy’s voice echoed from inside the room and you opened the door, closing it slowly behind you. Tommy was seated at a dark leather chair behind a desk, taking a drag from a cigarette whilst reading from a newspaper spread out in front of him. He looked up at you, clad in a dark grey vest which hugged his chest deliciously with a white collared dress shirt and black tie underneath. Gold chains sat firmly on his biceps, ice blue eyes boring through your clothes and making your cheeks flush. He sat like a king on his throne, and it was tantalizing.

“Good morning, Mr. Shelby,” you spoke quietly but firmly, eyes trailing up to meet his. He cracked a small smirk when your gaze met his, and it felt like he could see right through your shirt and your black lace bra. It must be your imagination, you thought, that he could be undressing you with his eyes like that. Surely you were delusional.

“You decided to take me up on my offer, I see,” Tommy said, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest in a way that made you want to test his self control. “You know how to type, I assume?” His eyes flickered over your figure, lingering on the curve of your hips, making you feel like this wasn’t a regular business transaction. What you wouldn’t give to be one of the whores he visits in the middle of the night… You quickly gathered yourself together and responded.

“Yes,” you spoke. “I’ve worked as a secretary before.” Tommy nodded, standing and making his way around the front of his desk to lean on it, narrowing the space between the two of you significantly. “I’m not your normal businessman, you see,” he said, leaning back against the desk. “I keep odd hours, so if I asked you to stay late, would that be a problem?”

“No sir,” you replied, unable to rip your eyes off of the curve of Tommy’s lips and how they looked puffing at a cigarette.

“Good girl.” Your mouth dropped open slightly at his shameless assertiveness, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You couldn’t believe his forwardness, you thought, but you weren’t going to lie, it was fucking hot. Tommy grinned at you, turning his back to grab a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the barcart in the corner of the room. He made his way back to his seat and placed the whiskey as well as the glasses on his desk, filling each and gesturing for you to sit with his hand. You sunk into the chair, legs crossed tightly in an attempt to relieve your throbbing core. You were absolutely fucked, you thought. Tommy opened a drawer, rifling through some papers before producing a contract typed in black ink.

“Cheers,” he offered you a glass of whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other. You accepted both, quickly rifling through the contract and scribbling your signature on the last page. Once you signed, your eyes flickered up to meet Tommy’s and he grinned, boyishly handsome yet devious.

“To new beginnings,” he said, offering his glass to clink against yours. You downed the whiskey in one gulp as Tommy looked on, blue eyes drinking you in.

“Nervous, darling?” he drawled, puffing at his cigarette. You suddenly felt a rush of confidence you hadn’t before. You could play this game too, and if you were, you were going to do it well.

“No,” you shook your head, a shy smile playing at your lips. “Just want to get to the point, is all.”

Tommy chuckled. “A woman after my own heart, aye?” With every glance he gave you, you became more emboldened. Yet, the man was still your boss, and you were in no place to proposition him, so you had to play coy.

“If that’s what you’d like, Mr. Shelby,” you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you reached for your cigarette case, taking one out and lighting it, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. Tommy refilled his glass, taking a swig as he stood and made his way to a cabinet, retrieving a stack of papers. He made his way back to his seat, placing the pile in front of you.

“I need these transaction records typed up by Friday, end of the day. Can you do that?”

You nodded, pink-stained lips puffing at the butt of your cigarette. “Is that all, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy’s eyes flickered towards your mouth, and he took another drink. “For now, yes. I’ll have John show you to your desk, yeah?”

“Yes, Mr. Shelby,” you responded politely, putting out your cigarette. You could feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you left the room. As soon as you closed the office door behind you, you almost let out a sigh of relief. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been pressing your legs together, and they almost felt shaky. You didn’t know how you were going to get through another day of this, let alone the rest of the week. Fuck me, you thought to yourself.

***

The rest of the weekdays flew by, as you kept yourself busy with not only the work Tommy had given you but also managing his appointments and relaying his messages to his two brothers and other various family members. You got on with everyone in the office relatively well, most likely at Ada’s enforcement. She could be very assertive, but that was normal, considering she was the only girl with 4 brothers.

Your contact with Tommy, though often, was all business. He would spend hours at his desk, frowning down at various papers and logs with his whiskey and a cigarette, long after the others had gone home. He would always send you home though, telling you to get some rest. Though he was assertive, you found him to be surprisingly sweet. He didn’t hold doors for you or anything like that, but you didn’t expect that; you knew your place in the company. However, he never kept you late if you looked exhausted and would do small things, like let Ada interrupt your work with whatever news or gossip she had, and never said a thing, just smiled. However, Ada’s chatter had gotten the better of you and it was already Friday.

Around 8pm, after most of the office had left for the day, you finally typed up the last transaction log, sighing with relief and slumping back in your chair for a brief moment before straightening up and smoothing out your plum-colored pencil skirt and white blouse. You flipped open your contact mirror, making sure your pinned-up hair looked acceptable before putting out your cigarette, gathering the pile of papers and log, and knocked on Tommy’s door.

“Come in, Y/N,” Tommy’s voice came through the door and you shivered, already nervous not only to be alone with him but also about the quality of your work. You pulled the door open, closing it behind you and walking up to Tommy’s desk, where he sat in a light grey three-piece suit reading through a folder. A pair of gold spectacles sat neatly on his face, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, making your mind wander.

“I have the papers you wanted typed up in the log, Mr. Shelby,” you spoke, clutching the book so tightly in your hand that you had to tell yourself to loosen your grip. “Is there somewhere you’d like me to put them?”

Tommy gestured with his right hand towards the desk, his eyes still trained on the files. “Set them on the desk, and stay.” You complied, standing in front of his desk, and Tommy closed the folder, placing it into a drawer and locking it, taking off his glasses and setting them down on his oak desk. He reached for the work you had completed, flipping through it and letting out a small grunt of approval. “Very good.”

A blush crept across your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” you responded, trying to focus your mind on something other than the way he would look on top of you.

Tommy set the work aside, eyes now firmly trained on you. “Tell me something, Y/N,” he said, taking a draw from the cigarette in his mouth. “Have you ever been fucked?”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “Mr. Shelby, I-”

Tommy chuckled, shooting his whiskey and refilling his glass from the bottle on his desk, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not asking if you’re a virgin. I’m asking you if you’ve ever been fucked, properly.”

Your face was a rose pink, and it wasn’t just from the embarrassment. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Shelby-”

“I think you do.” Tommy smirked at you, ice blue eyes tracing your figure. The heat between the two of you was practically unbearable, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing.

“No, not really,” you whispered, thighs clenched together as your eyes met Tommy’s.

Tommy smiled, almost deviously. “I didn’t think so,” he said, taking another drag and putting the cigarette out as he stood, coming around his desk and leaning back against it, eyes still fixed on you. “Do you want to be?”

You almost couldn’t believe the words you were hearing. Yet, Tommy was here, in front of you, asking if you wanted to be fucked by him. “Yes.” The answer almost fell out of your mouth, and your knees felt weak. Tommy wasted no time in closing the distance between the two of you, pressing you up against the nearest wall as his lips met yours. The feeling of his body against yours was better than you had imagined, and as his hips met yours, you let out a soft moan into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Tommy growled, picking you up by your legs and placing you on his desk, sweeping all the papers off with a sweep of his arm. A glass crashed onto the ground but he didn’t care, tugging his shirt over his shoulders while you removed yours. He pulled you against him roughly as he reconnected his lips with yours, his cock pressed up against your damp underwear. He stopped kissing you to let you pull off your skirt, discarding it somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your black garters and underwear.

“Look at you,” Tommy groaned, palming his cock through his trousers as he stared at your touseled hair and swollen lips and the way you were breathing hard. “All fucking riled up for me already, and I haven’t even gotten you naked yet, aye?”

“Mr. Shelby, please sir,” you whined, eyes widening as you realized what you had just said. Tommy’s eyes, however, darkened as he stepped inches away from you.

“Is that how you want it, huh?” Tommy breathed down your neck and you shivered, his hand gently wrapping around your throat. “You want to be fucked on the boss’s desk?” He reached his other hand down to cup your cunt. You squirmed in protest, pushing yourself against his hand as he chuckled darkly.

“You going to be a good girl for me?” Tommy cajoled, pressing his palm against your clit. You moaned, nodding vigorously as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He pulled your panties down, ripping your garters off and slipped a finger inside of you, making you cry out in response and clench around his fingers. He quickly joined that finger with another, pumping them in and out of you.

“Oh fuck,” you cried as you felt your release approaching. “Oh God, I’m gonna cum..”

“Cum for me then, pretty girl. Make a mess for me, yeah?” Tommy growled into your ear as you came all over his fingers. Tommy chuckled as you caught your breath, bringing his fingers to his mouth.

“God, you’re sweet,” he murmured, his eyes blown out with lust. Your breath hitched at his words and you kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pushed your back against the desk, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock before running the tip of it against your wet core.

“Please..” You squirmed against him in an attempt to get him to comply.

Tommy smirked. “What is it you want, huh?” You moaned in response, hips rocking up. Tommy’s hand made his way to your neck, holding it firmly yet not hard enough to bruise. “I wanna hear you say it, sweetheart. Maybe then I’ll give it to you.”

“Sir, please,” you cried out, hips still undulating. “I want your cock inside me.”

Tommy’s eyes dilated and he pushed himself inside of you, snapping his hips against yours at an unbelievable pace. Your eyes rolled back into your head and you were seeing stars, but you wanted everything he was willing to give you. He hadn’t even claimed you, yet you were already his. Your moans echoed throughout the office as he fucked you faster, your hands gripping at the desk, then scratching at his back. He didn’t seem to care about the marks, as he buried his face in your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. You felt yourself coming close to the edge once again, and you tipped your head back, crying out as Tommy fucked you through your second, third, and fourth orgasm. He had you over the desk, up against the wall, even on the chair, and you didn’t care. You wanted it just as badly as he did. Finally, Tommy had you on your back on the couch, hand around your neck as he fucked you. Your eyes flickered up to meet his as you gasped.

“Please come in me, sir,” you gasped as Tommy grunted, setting an unrelenting pace.

“You’re mine,” he growled as he fucked into you. “Every inch. If I catch anyone here even looking at you, I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill them. You belong to me now, yeah?” He panted.

“I’m all yours,” you moaned at the thought.

“Mine,” he groaned, his cock twitching before he released inside of you, cum dripping down the backs of your thighs. It felt dirty, but you didn’t care. Tommy Shelby could make a mess of you in front of the entire World’s Fair and you wouldn’t protest.

After a moment of delirious silence, Tommy stood, lighting a cigarette and offering one to you. You took it graciously as he sat next to you, leaning back into the crushed velvet.

“So,” he said, blue eyes looking into yours, “I ripped your garters.” He reached into his discarded pants’ pocket, pulling out a 10 pound note from a huge stack and offering it to you.

“So you can buy new ones,” he spoke, taking a drag from his cigarette.

You accepted it, taking a drag from your cigarette. “So, would this make me a whore now?”

Tommy chuckled. “We’re all whores, Y/N. We just sell different parts.” He took a puff from his cigarette, exhaling softly. “But now, you’re with me. You’re going to have to get used to nicer things, yeah?” His eyes traced your figure before coming back to yours, smiling softly.

“If you say so, Mr. Shelby,” you smiled shyly before putting your cigarette out in the ashtray on the table and retrieving your discarded clothing from around the room, putting it on one piece at a time. You could feel Tommy’s eyes on you as he drank from his glass, and you liked it. Before you could start to make your way to the door, Tommy quickly pressed you up against his desk in a passionate kiss.

He broke the kiss, smirking slightly. “I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

You looked up at him inquisitively. “But I haven’t even given you my number.”

Tommy grinned. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll get it,” he said, eyes drifting after your figure as you headed for the door. Before you left, you looked up into his ice blue eyes. “Goodnight, Mr. Shelby,” you smiled.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tommy responded. You closed the door behind you, taking a deep breath after you left his office, already craving his touch on you again.

Tommy Shelby was going to be the goddamn death of you.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders smut #john shelby smut

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penn-dragon · 3 years

Photo

I’ve been getting a lot of notes and followers for my parksborn stuff recently so I thought I’d post another hashtag WIP i never finished

This was based off of a dream I had where Peter and Harry were dating but Norman found out accidently and ended up forbidding Harry from seeing Peter, so Peter just started showing up randomly to kidnap Harry off to dates and stuff so they could keep seeing each other in secret. I wrote a pretty long ficlet that goes with it that’s partially bittersweet parksborn and partially Norman being a terrible father tw for child abuse and homophobia under the cut

Harry turned his head, Peter was watching him with a heavy expression, green eyes radioactive in the setting sun. Slowly, Peter reached out and took his hand, thumb grazing over his knuckles.

“I miss you, Harry,” he said softly.

“I know,” Harry answered, not knowing what else to say.

“I miss seeing you all the time, and hearing about your day. I miss playing video games, and watching movies, and kissing you in the dark.” Peter hesitated, taking in a short breath. “I miss not having to steal time with you.”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling each word like a stone settling in the pit of his stomach. Knowing how much Peter was hurting because of his mistake, because of his family.

“I miss it too, Pete.”

Peter brought Harry’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. A smile curled against his skin, genuine, but laced with something painful.

“Sometimes I think we should just run away together.”

Harry chuckled, smiling to mask the way his heart clenched painfully at the suggestion.

“You’d never leave Aunt May like that.”

“No,” Peter agreed, “but it’s a nice thought, right? Leaving to go somewhere where no one knows us and we can just be together.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “it’s a nice thought.”

For a moment, they were silent. Harry watched the sun sink to kiss the horizon, just drinking in Peter’s weight against his side and Peter’s gloved hand still wrapped around his own.

Peter shifted, and his other hand came to rest against Harry’s cheek, gently turning his face towards him. His gaze burned hot with emotion and Harry could do little more than close his eyes as Peter leaned in to kiss him. It was a brief kiss, just a second of warmth and pressure before Peter was pulling back. It wasn’t enough.

Harry’s hand slid to the back of Peter’s neck, pressing lightly to pull him back into a deeper kiss. He lost himself in the feeling of Peter’s lips sliding against his own. He didn’t want to think about his father, or his rules, or anything outside of Peter’s arms around him. Here in this single moment they could be anyone they wanted, and they could be together.

They stayed like that until the sky turned dark. Laying together and exchanging kisses like they were the only two people in the world. And Harry sent a quick prayer of gratitude to the heavens that no catastrophes called Peter away, because in that moment he would have rather watched the world burn to ash than let Peter out of his arms.

“Harry,” Peter whispered against his jaw.

“Mm?” Harry hummed half-coherently, more preoccupied by what Peter’s mouth was doing than what he was trying to say.

“I love you.”

Harry opened his eyes, and for a moment he just stared up at the inky black sky. You couldn’t see many stars in New York, but the ones you could cut through the light pollution with a purpose, shining through the haze. He turned his head, forcing Peter to pull back so they could look at each other.

“That’s okay right?” Peter asked. “It’s okay for me to say that?”

“Of course,” Harry breathed. “God, of course it is. I love you too, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes shone in the flickering candle light, a brilliant smile creeping onto his face. It was small, soft, but, God, the depth of the emotion there threatened to drown Harry. He leaned forward to kiss him again. Peter sighed against his mouth, sliding his hand to the back of his neck and Harry wished desperately that they were somewhere more private, alone and comfortable, so he could show Peter exactly how deeply he loved him.

—-

Harry slid quietly into his dad's office, closing the door behind him as he stepped forward into the empty space.

“You wanted to see me?”

His dad was standing by the windows behind his desk with his back facing Harry. His hands were folded neatly behind him and he called out to Harry without bothering to turn around.

“Take a seat.”

Harry hesitated before complying, moving into the room and pulling out the chair placed opposite his father’s desk and lowering himself stiffly into it. He didn’t like the energy sitting stagnant in the room like rancid water, didn’t like his father’s lingering silence as he stared out at the city below them.

Finally, Norman unfolded his hands, breaking the long silence abruptly.

“You’re still seeing him.”

Harry’s entire body went ice cold, like he’d just been dunked in freezing water.

“No—” he denied weakly, “I’m not. I— I haven’t seen Pete since December.”

Norman turned abruptly, a deep glare set in his brow, like he’d been waiting for Harry to speak, waiting to see what he would say.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Harry.”

He turned fully, not giving Harry any time to respond before he slammed something down on the desk in front of him. As his hand peeled back Harry’s eyes sunk to the item he’d left behind.

It was a photograph.

Of him and Peter.

They were in the mouth of an alleyway, out of sight from pedestrians as Peter kissed him chastely. Harry immediately recognized the moment from last night. When Peter brought him to a picnic on a rooftop and told him he loved him between kisses under the stars.

“So,” his father’s voice began, low and dangerous, “tell me again who you haven’t seen since December?”

Harry’s eyes remained glued to the photograph. He felt like a voyeur on his own life, looking at this frozen version of himself, wistful but content as Peter kissed him goodnight. Someone had been watching them.

“You were having me followed,” he forced out. Not a question, but a statement of fact.

“Of course I was.” Norman’s voice snapped above him. “I knew I couldn’t trust you to obey my decision, so I made arrangements.” He picked the photo back up, holding it between two fingers like it was something filthy. “Judging by the results, I was correct.”

Harry felt nausea rise in his throat. That a night so sweet, so raw with emotion between them had been polluted, like someone carelessly tracking mud on a white carpet.

“You had no right to have me followed.” Harry hissed.

“I had every right.” Norman retorted, pressing his palms against the face of his desk to lean down to Harry’s level. “You’re my son, and it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.”

“I wasn’t in trouble!”

“What I don’t understand,” Norman continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “is why you continue to disobey me.”

“Because I’m in love with him!”

Norman scoffed, and the sound brought Harry’s blood to a harsh boil, fingers curling into a tight fist against his thigh.

“Love.” Norman spat the word like it tasted vile. “What could you possibly know about being in love, Harry. What could you possibly get out of a relationship with that boy.”

Harry didn’t miss the way his father refused to say Peter’s name, hadn’t since he caught them together so many months ago.

“Shut up,” Harry hissed.

“What?”

“I said shut up!” He stood, chair screeching across the floor as his abrupt movement forced it back. “This isn’t about Peter!” Harry snapped. “You refuse to even acknowledge it. The reason you’ve been doing all this is because you don’t want a faggot for a son!”

“Harry,” Norman hissed warningly, but Harry was seething, the words spilling out of him faster than he could process.

“Well, guess what, Dad, I’m a fag reguardless of whether or not you keep me from seeing Pete—”

The crack of skin hitting skin rang out. Harry’s head snapped to the side, cheek stinging hot where Norman had struck him. He turned back slowly, moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes as he glared up into Norman’s furious expression.

“Harry,” Norman hissed, “you will not speak to me like that!”

Harry flinched back, gritting his teeth and hating how instantly the anger burning in his chest withered into fear. Norman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning back to face the window, a false profesional calm falling back over him.

“It doesn’t matter what you are,” he finally continued, lacing his hands together behind his back in a frustratingly haughty way that told Harry the argument was drawing to a close. “What matters is what people see. You are my son, the heir to this company, and you need to behave as such. I don’t want to see this company fail because people refuse to do business with… someone like you.”

The words slid between Harry’s ribs like a knife, cutting deep into his flesh. He knew. He’d known since the moment his dad opened his bedroom door. Yet hearing the words spat out like that stung more than a slap to the face. Harry’s throat grew tight, and tears burned in his eyes. He swallowed painfully past the lump in his throat. Even if he’d had some response, he wouldn’t have been able to say it.

Norman sighed again.

“Just get out,” he said. “I don’t want to look at you right now.”

Harry looked down at his shaking hands, hating how his vision blurred with unshed tears. He turned on his heel and left the office, letting the door slam shut behind him.

He just walked.

He left the building without a word, picked a direction, and moved. He forcefully shut down his thoughts, focusing on the rhythmic pattern of his own footsteps and the cacophony of city life surrounding him as he moved.

He had no idea how long he walked for. Only that when the sound of footsteps echoing his own drew him out of his head, he had no idea where he was. Harry turned on his heel, coming face to face with three large men approaching him. The one on the left had a patchy beard that looked like he plucked at it habitually. The one on the right had obviously skipped leg day because his arms were disproportionately large compared to the rest of his body and for a moment all Harry could think about was how much of a field day Peter would have if he was fighting these guys. The largest one, the obvious ‘leader’ of the group, stepped forward. He had grimy pale skin and greasy hair slicked back against his skull.

“What’s a pretty-boy like you doing in a place like this?” He asked planting his hands on his hips like they were having a casual conversation and his two friends weren’t trying to subtly shift in order to flank him.

“Nothing,” Harry answered shortly, drawing his hands out of his pockets in case he needed to respond quickly. “Just passing through.”

“You got a couple bucks?” He asked, sliding one hand in his pocket. “Me ‘n my buddies need to buy some smokes.”

“No,” Harry answered honestly, he didn’t stop to grab his wallet before leaving. He also hadn’t bothered to grab anything akin to self-defense and he was kicking himself for that now.

“Yeah I bet, Osborn.” The man gave a sleazy grin like he’d just caught Harry in the middle of a lie. “How much you got on you right now?”

“Nothing.” Harry turned out his pockets to reveal the empty lining inside. “Can I go now?” Harry turned to leave. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but he was still startled when a meaty hand wrapped around his arm and yanked him back.

“Not so fast, Osborn. You’re still a good meal ticket.” Greasy Hair pulled him around, holding tight to his wrist as his two friends, Ratty Beard and Gorilla Arms, closed in around him. “I bet Daddy would pay a pretty penny to keep you in one piece.”

The mild irritation in Harry’s stomach sparked into a flame, hand curling into a fist. Before he could think about the consequences he pulled his arm back and threw a punch. His fist connected against the man’s jaw with a satisfying crack and he reeled back in shock, releasing his grip on Harry’s arm.

A flurry of action broke out at once. Harry spun around to dodge a blow from Ratty Beard, pushing forward to cinch his hands behind the man’s neck, yank him down and drive a knee into his stomach. The air left his lungs in a harsh exhale as Harry shoved him back to knock him off balance.

Someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides and the side of Harry’s head exploded in pain as Gorilla Arms landed a solid hit against his face. Harry planted his feet, forcing his head back as hard as he could to crack against his attacker’s face. The back of his skull throbbed in pain, but the arms around him released as Greasy Hair stumbled back, swearing and clutching his bloody nose.

He’d never been as good in hand to hand combat as Peter was, but he tried to scrape together what Peter had taught him as he faced down the other two men and dodged blows best he could. He got another solid punch against Ratty Beard’s face before he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt, knocking him off balance.

Greasy Hair shoved him against the brick wall of the alley, twisting his arm behind him. His teeth scraped against the inside of his cheek as his head hit the wall with a bone-shaking thud and the acrid taste of blood spread through his mouth.

“You aren’t bad in a fight, Pretty-Boy, I’ll give you that.” His voice was thick from the blood gushing out of his nose and his grip pushed painfully tight against Harry’s arm. “But I am going to tear you to pieces.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you ganging up on people is wrong?”

The familiar voice cut through Harry’s haze of anger like a bucket of water dousing a flame. There was a distinct thwip of a web and the weight holding Harry in place was ripped away. Harry winced as his arm was yanked in the wrong direction but given the free space, stumbled back away from the wall.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the police will let her know all about it.”

There was a scuffle, and the sound of pitiful yelps as Peter took down the thugs before they could even fully process what was happening.Harry couldn’t help but admire the quick work Peter made of the men. Even as his stomach twisted into knots waiting for the moment Peter’s attention returned to who exactly he was saving.

“Hey, are you okay.”

Harry spat a glob of blood out of his mouth, turning his head just enough so he could see Spider-Man standing there, strong and perfect.

“I’m fine.”

He watched Peter’s body go rigid with recognition and turned fully to face his best friend.

“...Harry?”

Peter’s voice was soft, and thick with disbelief. He wasn’t exactly addressing Harry, just letting the name fall from his mouth in confusion. Still Harry answered,

“Hey.”

Peter snapped out of his daze and rushed over to Harry.

“Jesus, are you okay?”

His hands fluttered over Harry’s body as he searched for damage and instantly he wasn’t a superhero anymore. He was the same dorky Peter Parker Harry knew and fell in love, and it was enough to almost bring the smile back to his face.

“I’m fine, Spidey.”

The use of his other name brought him back to himself. He straightened up, slowly pulling his hands away from Harry like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I— Hold on, let me take you somewhere safe. Um, lemme just—”

Peter turned around, stooping down to pick up an unconscious man from the ground. It was the leader, the one who’s nose Harry broke. Peter dropped him where the other two were webbed up, maybe being a little rougher than he normally would. He took a moment to make sure they were all securely webbed up before making his way back to Harry.

“I notified the police to come pick these guys up. Let’s get out of here.”

He gingerly wrapped one arm around Harry’s waist, watching him closely like he was checking for any sign of pain or discomfort.

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck.

Peter studied him for a second longer before finally shooting out a web to stick at the top of one of the surrounding buildings and pull the both from the ground.

Harry closed his eyes against the nauseating blur of the city passing by and the swooping of his stomach with each drop as Peter carried him to a safer location.

When they finally alighted gracefully atop a random building and Peter pulled his arm away, Harry had to take a moment to steady himself with a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“I hate traveling like that,” he groaned, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I don’t know how you do it every day.”

“It’s not as bad when you’re the driver,” Peter said lightly. His tone was softer, more careful than usual and Harry’s stomach immediately dropped like they were still swinging off skyscrapers. “Harry, what are you doing? Why were you walking alone in a neighborhood like this?”

Harry swallowed hard past the painful knot forming in his throat.

“My dad found out about us.”

He watched the whites of Peter’s mask widen as his body went rigid.

“H— How?” He stuttered. “We were so careful—”

“He was having me followed,” Harry explained. “The guy got a picture of us last night, when you were dropping me off. I saw it when my dad was confronting me.”

Harry watched the eyes of Peter’s mask narrow, a crease forming between his brows.

“Did he hurt you?”

Peter’s hand gently grazed over what was sure to be a nasty bruise on his jaw, and Harry remembered the stinging pain of a slap and sharp words slicing through him.

“No,” he answered, reaching up to take Peter’s hand away from his face. “This was all those guys.” It was only half a lie.

He could feel Peter’s eyes on him, even through the mask.

“Did he kick you out?”

“I—” The words stuck in his throat, everything that happened suddenly rushing in and crushing the apathy he had wrapped around him like armor. “I’m not sure—” His voice broke, and he pressed a hand against his mouth as he crumpled in on himself and a sob wrenched itself from his throat.

“Oh, Harry—“

Warmth enveloped him as Peter’s arms wrapped around him to pull him against his chest. Harry returned the embrace, digging his fingers into the back of Peter’s suit like a lifeline as he buried his face in Peter’s shoulder and cried, loudly and openly.

One of Peter’s hands stroked his back, the other reaching up to run soothingly through the hair at the back of his head.

“I’m so stupid,” Harry forced out, his voice hoarce and thick with tears. “I should’ve known he was having me followed. I should’ve—” he cut himself off as his throat tightened, threatening to tip him back into a sob.

“No, I was being careless.” Peter said, his hand stilling against Harry’s hair. “I was so caught up in wanting to be with you, I didn’t care about the consequences. I should have listened to you.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Harry admitted, turning his face into Peter’s neck. “Every time I told you to stop I was praying you wouldn’t listen to me.” Harry pulled back just enough to look at him. At some point Peter had taken his mask off, and his eyes shone bright with unshed tears. “The thought of you appearing out of the blue was the only thing keeping me going.”

Peter smiled, lifting his hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks.

“Then I did my job.” His smile fell slightly. “I don’t want you going back there. Can I take you back to my house?” With a slight smile and a tilt of his head he added, “We’ll take the subway.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, reaching up to take Peter’s hand and twine their fingers together.

“Okay.”

The New York subway at night was a liminal space all it’s own, so no one paid much mind to the teenage boys with red swollen eyes and tear tracks crusty on their cheeks. And if their hands remained firmly clasped together for the entire trip back to Peter's home in Queens it was no one’s business but their own.

#parksborn #msm 2017 #marvels spider-man 2017 #msm #wip #penn writes

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justkending · 3 years

Text

Moral of The Story. Chapter One.

Summary: Marrying too young out of highschool leads to a naive and failed marriage. Now 10 years later, word comes that the divorce was never actually completed. Bucky and Y/N have to come back together after all these years to settle what wasn’t all those years back. Passive attitudes, miscommunicated endings, and reminiscing of an old love all comes back for the two.

Pairing: Bucky x Y/N

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: Ok, here is the first chapter! If you have not already listened to the song that evoked this idea from my imagination land, I suggest giving it a go! Moral of the Story by Ashe. I’m excited for you guys to see what this story brings and I really hope I do it justice! As always, comments and thoughts are welcome as they help me grow as a writer and let me see what you guys notice:) ENJOY MY LOVES!!! <3

(The posting will be once every other day until I have finished the series. If I finish early, I will post an update once a day:)

Read the Prologue here first!

Chapter One:

"You already got the flight?" Nat asked, perched on Y/N's couch as she ran around frantically packing. "Don't you have a huge meeting next week with that new business? What was it called? Bee's Knees?"

"Yes, but it's not until Monday evening. I highly doubt I will be there longer than a weekend to sign a few divorce papers. I'm planning on coming back early that afternoon, so I shouldn't miss it," she answered, not even stopping to look at her as she ran through the rooms and bathroom in the apartment.

"How soon did you book that flight?"

"As soon as I hung up the phone with Murdock," Y/N sighed. Nat sent her a questioning look not knowing that name. "New lawyer. The guy who took over for the sleazeball known as Justin Hammer," she rolled her eyes.

"Right," Nat nodded. "So, are you staying at your dad's house?"

"I would take my dad's house over my mom and Jerry's any day. You know this," Y/N paused in her actions, sending her a bitch face.

"I know. Just didn't know if you'd be all fancy and rent a hotel room to escape the smothering that is bound to happen from good ol' Mr. Y/L/N," Nat grinned.

"It's been so long since I've seen him not via facetime. And we both know that's barely seeing him as he doesn't know where the camera is even after a hundred calls," she laughed.

"Parents. Either they're technologically challenged or know how to work it better than us. Never in between and it's weird." Nat watched as Y/N froze in her stance and looked lost trying to think of something else to pack. Deciding she needed a distraction, Nat changed the subject some. "Hey, did you get Melody to go on that date tomorrow?"

"Yes!" Y/N answered proudly. "I know your aunt wants grandbabies from her daughter, but that girl just needs a night on the town more than anything. She's in her early 20's and holes herself up at the office almost more than I do, and I'm the boss."

"Cousin's got my work ethic. What can I say?" Nat shrugged smugly.

"Well, she needs to get your spirit in living some too."

"Touche," Nat pointed. "I need to have Yelena take her out. She's the real party sister out of us two."

"That is true. How she's able to party for 48 hours straight and still wake up at 8 am for mimosas, blows my mind," Y/N commented on Natasha's younger sister. "She's only a few years older than Melody, right?"

"Yeah, Yelena is 24, and Melody is 22. They were best of friends growing up, but once they got to high school, they kinda went different routes about life. Lana, the party gal, and Mel the studious bookworm."

"I'm not surprised by either of those," Y/N shook her head before collapsing next to Nat on the couch. A loud breath and sigh escaped her body.

Nat watched as her mind escaped back to the original issue at hand.

"What's going on in that brain of yours, Y/N/N?" she said, softly touching her shoulder. "Not that I don't already know, but maybe letting it out will help unscramble those thoughts."

Y/N lazily rolled her head to the redhead next to her.

"How is he?" she asked.

Nat was a part of their friend group from middle school through high school. She kept up with all of them still, whereas Y/N kept up with all of them except one.

"I actually haven't talked to him in a while. Steve on the other hand..." Nat nodded. "From that source, it sounds like Barnes is just as surprised and freaked out as you."

"He's freaked out?" Y/N asked, a hint of interest peeking out.

"Who wouldn't be? You get a call from a lawyer saying your marriage is still intact after 9 years of breaking it off, I would be freaked out too."

"He deserves it. I hope he's just as freaked out as me, if not more," she responded bitterly, crossing her arms across her chest like a pouting child.

"Y/N," Nat sighed.

"No. Don't. Don't defend him to me, it's pointless," she put up a hand. "I know you're still friends with him, but you guys still don't understand the pain that that man brought on me."

"He fought for you, Y/N. He didn't mean-," Nat countered.

"Again, you're wasting your breath. Defending him now does nothing to change the past," she said stubbornly, getting back up and carrying on with her packing. "You can still take me to the airport tomorrow, right?"

Her best friend wanted to keep pushing, knowing she had harbored this heartbreak for too long. Sure what had happened between them sucked and was a horrible chapter of their lives, but neither made an effort to talk it out and understand the other's side of the story. Faults of being young, immature, and not knowing how to handle a grown-up decision.

"Yes, I'll pick you up at work at 10. Flights at 11:25, right?"

"Yes, and you know California traffic. That will probably get me there 10 minutes before my gate closes. I had to get an early flight though because that time difference is going to kick my ass. It'll be close to 5:30 in my head and 8:30 there by the time I land... " Y/N huffed, rolling her bag to the front door for tomorrow. "You mind taking this tonight and keeping it in your car for now? That way I don't have to lug it to work?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll grab it on my way out. But we're still having a girl's night, right?"

Y/N laughed some before going to the kitchen to grab beers. "I Survived is already recorded and ready for us."

___________________

"Shit man... When's the last time you talked to her?" Steve asked, sitting across from his best friend in the chair diagonal from the couch, leaning forward on his knees after listening to the new news.

"Since I was supposedly signing our divorce papers. And even then, we didn't really talk. She sat there quietly straight-faced until it was signed and then rushed out the doors," Bucky sighed, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. "She was out of the state within the next hour."

Steve nodded before falling back into the single seat.

"So, do you guys have to see each other again, or is it one of those situations where you can sign separately?"

"I don't know. I just got off the phone. All I know up to this second is that Y/N and I have been married for the past 9 years without knowing it," Bucky said somewhat harshly. Steve didn't flinch at the tone knowing it wasn't directed at him. "I'm sorry. I-I just can't wrap my mind around this."

"It's ok. This is crazy shit, Buck," Steve waved off. There was a long pause before Steve decided to ask the question he was sure anyone would want to know. "Do you want to see her?"

Bucky slowly looked over to the blonde. God, he had been asking himself that question for the past 10 minutes himself.

On one end, yes. He wondered where she was now in life. How she was doing. What accomplishments he knew she would be making. He knew a few small things just by the whispers and small talk of her with their shared friend group that he still hung out with, but a majority of the time, they didn't bring her up around him. They knew what it did to him.

On the other end, he never thought about facing her again. I mean maybe for the year after their divorce, but when he never heard anything back from her all those times he still tried to reach out and she blocked him on almost all forms of social media, he gave up any hope of them falling back into good terms again. He hated it, but he wasn't going to push her when she clearly hated his guts.

And honestly, he deserved it. His young, stupid, college self was not a smart guy when it came to relationships. Even ones that had been there from the beginning of time practically.

Yet again, she wasn't perfect either. She made some mistakes of her own that pushed him to act the way he had.

"Hey, you both are older and more mature now. I'm sure you if you guys do have to see each other again, you can handle it like adults," Steve reassured, seeing Bucky's face turn to a soft frown. "Ok, so she may be a little stubborn..."

"A little?"

"Ok, a lot. But she's older now. She's not the 19-year-old girl that you remember," Steve defended.

"I believe that but I'm sure she still holds a grudge that is very, very, very, very-," Bucky was going to go on about 10 more very's before ending with BIG, but Steve cut him off.

"You don't know that," Steve shook his head.

"Really? Because usually when you no longer hold a grudge against someone, you might just reach out to that person and reconnect possibly," Bucky argued. "I mean that's what mature people do, right?"

"Not always..."

"So she's either not mature or still just as stubborn. Hell, for all we know, both," Bucky shrugged, pursing his lips.

"If you go into this with that mindset, nothing good is going to come out of it." Steve pointed an eyebrow at him.

Bucky rolled his eyes not replying to Steve. He knew he was right, but he was still bitter after all these years about how Y/N handled the situation. Sure, he messed up, but she had to. Yet she made him into this big bad wolf that was at 100% fault in the downfall of their relationship. It made him feel like shit, and though he tried to make amends knowing he did some fucked up things, she acted like she was Miss Perfect and didn't do anything wrong the entire time.

Damn, even after all this time, it still lit a fire in his chest with annoyance and hurt.

"When's the meeting?" Steve once again interrupted his thoughts.

"I guess Saturday morning. They said they were coming in on their off hours to fix up a few cases they found like ours," Bucky answered.

"How many cases were there?"

"Eh, I think he said it was single digits, but there were a shit ton of other cases in different areas that were worse off. The divorce ones are a small number compared to those."

"Damn. That sucks for all the couples who got a call today then," Steve huffed, running a hand down his face.

"Yeah, you're telling me..."

"Hey, we were going out with Wanda and Vis tonight. You still up for that, or...?" Steve stood up.

Bucky looked back at the beer on the coffee table and then at the TV still playing I Survived stories quietly in the background.

"You know what? I'm going to need a stronger drink than an IPA to get me to sleep tonight," Bucky nodded, standing and wiping his hands on his jeans before walking to his room.

"Looks like I'm the DD tonight then..." Steve sighed.

___________

"Vis," Wanda motioned to her fiance as he came back from the bar. "Nat just texted."

"About what? How is she?" Vis smiled as he sat next to her with Sam across from him. Sam tagged along at the last second since his other plans got canceled.

"She's good, but it's not about her," Wanda waved off, still reading whatever lengthy text was sent her way.

"Wow, that looks like a novel," Vis noticed with wide eyes as he looked over her shoulder.

"Wait 'til you hear what it's about."

Sam shook his head as he took a sip of the beer Vis had brought over.

After reading the rest of the text out loud from where she had left off, everyone at the table looked at each other with shock ridden faces.

"They're still married?" Vis said softly as if it was a secret.

"Apparently..." Wanda nodded with wide eyes.

"So that Hammer guy was a sham?" Sam questioned.

"I told her not to go to him. He had some shady hole in the wall kind of establishment," Wanda chided. "But she said they needed something cheap and fast. She hated his guts and wanted it out of it then and there. Plus, they were 19. They didn't have much money anyway."

"Why didn't they just ask their parents for help?" Sam questioned. "Isn't Y/N's mom loaded?"

"Yes, but she refused to help her. She said it was her own fault for getting married so young and that she had warned her. Told her she had to get out of the mess on her own," Wanda answered.

"What about her dad?" Vis jumped in.

"Bucky and her dad were close. She was off in Colorado for school and didn't want to put her dad through that or make him have to help her in cutting him off. Bucky was like the son he never had and they were bonded at the hip. No matter how much Y/N hated Bucky, she wasn't going to ruin or take away his relationship with her father. That would have been cruel, and Y/N is anything but that."

"Weren't Bucky's and Y/N's dad's best friends?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, they were old-time war buddies. They're the reason Bucky and Y/N had known each other since birth. But Bucky's dad died when he was about 13, and Y/N's dad, Thomas, kinda took him under his wing. Growing up a teenage boy without a father figure messes with you, and Bucky was on the edge of a bad path after losing his father."

"He's still rather close with Thomas, but I'm sure Y/N doesn't know that. Unless Thomas has said something, and with how everything came to an end for the two, I'm sure he doesn't bring it up knowing how tender of a subject Bucky is to her," Vis added.

"Makes sense..." Sam nodded. "I only knew you all from the start of college, so I'm still a little lost in all the beginning stuff."

"All good. It's complicated with those two. Their past and upbringing are so interconnected with the other, it makes their downfall all the more intense and messy," Wanda sighed. "God, if this is the news, he's going to be a wreck tonight..." She looked up worriedly at her fiance who shared the same concerns.

"It could go two ways. Either he comes in all solemn and says three words all night, or Steve's going to be the DD and he's waking up with a head-busting hangover," Sam noted with a small grin at the thought. "I'm going to go with the latter though."

"Poor guy," Wanda sighed, taking a drink with a sad face. Ever the sympathetic one.

"We'll be here to listen if he wants to talk. If not, we act like we have no idea and don't bring it up," Vision spoke up, throwing his arm over her and running his hand up and down her shoulder.

"I'm going to tease him still most likely," Sam shrugged nonchalantly. Wanda sent him a warning glare. "Fine, mama bear! I'll be nice... Until he starts making a fool of himself." He added the last part quietly.

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624 @leyannrae

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @pham-tastical

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @princess-annna

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia

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murderslugs · 3 years

Text

Getting To Know Them || Slasher x Reader Bf/Gf Scenarios Pt 2

Jason Voorhees

When you woke, you were lying in a dim living room. The windows were boarded with thick, rotting oak planks and the doors were bolted shut. The only light left to illuminate the room was a small lamp on the old, rustic coffee table in front of you. Beneath you was a somewhat scratchy couch, clearly taken off of someone's front line with a paper labeled "free to take" on it, or from some dump. However, you were thankful that it at least wasn't the creaky wooden floor instead. You scratched at the rope around your wrists, loosened from being wriggled around and messed with.

You sat up and allowed your vision to re-adjust, and saw the same man in flannel and ski-mask in an arm-chair on the other side of the coffee table. He didn't seem to notice your awakening, or he at least didn't acknowledge it. He was reading a book with a maroon cover, and you couldn't make out the small copper-shaded title. You studied his movement. He was calm and showed little emotion in his body language, simply reading in peace.

In a split second, you decided to break the peace and silence. "Who are you?" The man put down the book in his lap, but only looked up at you for a moment, silent. You could see him think, then make a few hand gestures. You came to the realization that it was ASL, but you never really learned the language, despite your interest in it. You saw him take a deep breath and get up, grabbing a pen and a notebook off a table to the side. He slid the items onto the coffee table before you and slowly unbound your wrists. You wrote your question out again, "Who are you?" and slid it around for him to see. He read it, and wrote quickly, in slightly messy handwriting, "Jason. any more questions?" and slid the items back.

From here, you two went on for hours, listing out questions on the notebook and answering them for each other. You filled out pages and pages, ranging from basic questions to things like "what was your childhood like?" Certain things like that, he would pause and then write that he didn't want to talk about it. Through the night or day (due to the lack of natural light, it was hard to tell,) this game went on.

Michael Myers

Though you tried your best and struggled and squirmed, the man who had taken you still had gotten you tied to a chair; where you sat with a belt tying your wrists to the wooden beams, thankfully with a cushion underneath your rear. You shut your eyes for a second and groaned, throwing your head back. You always thought of yourself as strong and independent, a fighter who didn't need help from anyone. Alas, this was one ass you couldn't kick, and you hated yourself for it.

Across the kitchen, the bright lights shined on the tiled floor, and a tea kettle whistled ceaselessly. The sound of running water stopped as the man who had taken you walked from the bathroom and into the kitchen. The man dried his hands on his pants and took the kettle off the burner, shutting the flames off. You observed him take two random mugs from the cabinets above, and place them on the white countertop. He carefully poured the tea into the two cups, and a light herbal smell filled the air. After a moment, you recognized the smell of hibiscus tea. This was a familiar smell, something your aunt made every morning when you spent the night at her house in the summers between school years.

The man walked over and brought the two cups with him. A low, slightly muffled, silky voice came from behind the mask as he slid a mug across the table to you. "Careful, it's scolding." The tall, built man walked across and unbuckled one of your arms from the chair for you to pick up the mug with. "Drink." He said, before taking a seat before you. This is when he slid the mask off, to reveal a face beneath that you never would have expected. Dark brown, shaggy, messy, wavy hair fell over his forehead, and he blew it out of his grey eyes. His face was scarred and his lips were chapped, but it somehow wasn't unappealing or revolting.

"What's your name? Who the fuck are you?" You asked, leaning as far as you could with your restraints still intact. The man pushed his hair back and sighed heavily, sipping the near boiling tea. "Michael. 24. Libra." He said in a monotone voice. You rolled your eyes. "This is an introduction to your victim, not The Dating Game." You told him harshly. "Well, is there something specific you wanna know? It's not like your giving me anything to go off of, sugar cube." 'Michael' replied with the same energy in return. "Fine. I'm (Y/N). What else is there to say?"

Carrie White

Like the pale girl suggested, Carrie if you remembered correctly, you came back to the public library next Sunday, around noon. You had finished the book you had most recently checked out, so you had to return it anyways. Walking down the pavement, you saw here in a light sundress, walking up the few steps and into the library. You ran to catch up and followed her, careful not to startle the girl. As soon as you got inside, you carried yourself to just behind her, and tapped on her shoulder.

The girl turned around, and a look of confusion appeared on her features. "(Y/N). We met here last week? I suggested you check out Narnia." You reminded her, an eager smile painted on your face. A spark formed in her eyes, and she returned your smile. "Oh! Yes, yes, I remember. I'm sorry, my mind is awfully clouded lately." You assured her that it was alright, and you two went along.

The two of you walked down the aisles of bookshelves, and she looked for something new to try out. Maybe she would check out a cook-book and try a new recipe, or read up on WW1. Although, you DID notice that she avoided the religious aisle. However, you didn't comment on this, out of respect. You two checked out a few books, and on the paved outdoor steps, you stopped her. "Would you like to go for coffee or tea? Even a pastry? There's a little shop down the street, I'll buy. I'd just like to talk a bit.

Carrie obliged happily, and the two of you took your books and walked down to the small cafe. It had a dim, rustic theme, and brought peace to anyone who entered it's walls. There was a faint vanilla sent in the air, welcoming you two. For about an hour, Carrie sat down with you and talked about your life, your week, basic things. It was nice to get to know her. She seemed kind, and gentle. Everything about her was graceful, from the way she sipped her latte to the way she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. As you two finished up your chats, you grabbed your things and greeted each other farewell, agreeing to meet again next week.

Jennifer Check

The pair of you had become half-decent lab partners over the last few weeks, but she didn't seem to be doing well with the subject. As a result, you decided that you would volunteer to tutor her in the subject after school. So, there you were, on your way to her house after school to hang out and help her study up on the subject and with the homework. It was a cloudy day, and you could tell that a storm was brewing in those clouds above your head. Because of this, you decided to walk a bit faster to avoid being soaked.

As you arrived at Jennifer's house, you knocked gently on the door. When you received no answer, you hesitantly knocked harder. Very suddenly, a slightly older woman answered the door, assumingly Jennifer's mom. The woman looked you up and down, then quickly turned to yell over her shoulder, "Jenny! Your new friend is here!" She then quickly invited you in and brought you a small tray of white-chocolate macadamia nut cookies, offering you to take one or two ((If you have an allergy to nuts, then M&M cookies.)) "I made these for you two while you were studying. There's also sodas in the fridge in case you need a drink." Jennifer's mom said joyfully, before scooping the strap of a purse onto her shoulder. "I'll be off now, I have a job interview to get to. Jen's room is upstairs, first door on the right. Have fun you two!" She informed you before heading out the door.

You walked up the stairs until you found an oak door, and knocked before coming in. "Uh, hi, it's (Y/N), I'm here to help you study..?" You said as you slowly walked in and shut the door behind you. Jennifer was standing, looking in the mirror and smearing concealer under her eyes. She sighed and looked over to you. "Sit on the bed. You know, I was gonna gut you like a fish and drink your blood like a Slurpee, but my mom seems to like you, and I don't think you're too bad. Shame, would have been a great opportunity." She said nonchalantly. As she turned to you, you saw that her face was pale and broken out in acne.

Your heart skipped a beat and the color drained from your face. "I'm sorry, w-what...?" You tried to gulp down the fear in your words. "I'm a succubus, idiot. Don't think that I didn't notice you staring at the blood on my shoes the first day we met. I feed on people's bodies and sexual energy so I can feel good and look good. But I've decided you're worth keeping around, so I'll save that for the next chump. So, shall we get to know each other?" She said calmly as she sat down beside you on the bed.

Billy Loomis

You were home alone yet again, but this time it was mid day. You were watching horror movies out of boredom on your couch, when you got a call. You hesitantly answered, to hear a familiar voice on the other side of the phone. "I'm here, come let me in." You carried the phone with you. You figured one of your friends had stopped by to say hi, and their voice just sounded messed up due to shitty reception. You went to your front door, and looked through the peephole to see someone in a shitty costume, probably from Walmart, as it was October, and stores were starting to sell Halloween costumes and decorations. You hung up the phone and stuck it in your pocket, opening the door slightly with the chain lock still intact.

"Cut it out, prankster. That's not a very creepy costume. Ooo! I'm so scared!! Listen, I've seen the original Japanese film The Ring a million times, I'm not too scared of much." You heard the person sigh and push the door forward aggressively, breaking the lock. You jumped back in shock. "Hey! You're paying for that, asshole!" You yelled only for a quick response. "No, I don't think I will, beautiful. The man said, taking off his mask. To your shock, it was someone that you went to school with, Billy Loomis. You remember him graduating just the year before you, and were a bit shocked at his sudden appearance. You two had talked a bit, and you could consider yourselves acquaintances, but never really close friends.

Billy took a step forward, and in turn, you took one back. He put his hands up, showing he had no weapons in his hands. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt, that's not what I came to do. I just want to...get to know you. Look, you can pat me down, if you really feel the need. I don't have any weapons on me." You lowered your defenses a bit, but still kept them up. "Why would you want to know me so bad?" You asked hesitantly. "Well, I looked through your window and realized I'd found you again. And I wanted to get to know the pretty (girl/boy/person) I used to look at in the hallways every day." He said in a smooth tone. And that's where your night started.

Thomas Hewitt

It was a lovely Texas summer day. A warm breeze carried through the semi-tall grass in the fields, and the smell of fresh bread filled the small wooden house. On this fine afternoon, you happened to be listening to some old music, from the 50s-60s, and baking. When you least expected it, you heard a loud knock on the door. You figured it might have been one of your new neighbors looking to get to know you, or ask to borrow something. You strolled to the door and opened it, to see a rather large man in a butcher's apron, curly dark hair, and a rather scarred face on the other side. Though he had somewhat of a threatening aura, you knew that there was more behind his appearance.

You saw him open his mouth, but then stop and think for a moment. He hesitantly put his hands up and made a few broken and hand signals. You realized quickly that it was sign language, as you had an uncle growing up that happened to be deaf, so you learned it so that you two could talk. "I'm not deaf, I just don't like to speak." You watched him sign apprehensively, and responded allowed. "That's okay, hun. What can I do for you?" You asked, and he thought for a moment. "Do you have some salt I can use? Papa shot a..." He stopped for a moment, then looked back up to meet your eyes. "Papa shot a deer, and we ran out of salt to dry out the hide and season the meat." He asked, and you replied. "Of course! Come right in, I keep a few bags in the cupboard, I have a half-full one you can take home." You told him as you allowed him to come in and shut the door behind him.

Your bread sat warm in the window-sill, cooling down. As you handed him the salt, he pointed over to it. "Oh, do you want a piece?" He nodded aggressively, and you smiled. You grabbed the metal baking sheet and put it on the counter, slicing a few pieces. "Here, you can have more than one. I make it all the time, and it's just me here to eat it anyways." You told him. "Would you like to sit down and chat for a moment? I can make you tea or coffee too if you like? You can tell me about yourself. That is, if you don't have to be home right quick." The man nodded again, and set the salt down on the counter. "My name's Thomas. I'd like some...Peppermint tea, if you have it." The man signed to you, his guard down as he clearly felt welcomed in the household. "Okay, Thomas, right on it." You smiled warmly and handed him a thick slice of warm bread with butter and mulberry jam smeared over the top. "Take a seat, dear."

____________________________________________

~Author's Note~

Hi guys, I'm so sorry it took so long to get this second part out :( I've just been really stressed and not in a great mental place, plus the factor of writer's block and being scared to burn myself out. But thank you for those who have stayed through the hiatus to continue reading!! Please comment below if you have any character or scenario requests. Goodbye for now, loves!

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

Text

Exhaustion

Part of the Full House series

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and non-graphic descriptions of a traumatic birth

Read on A03 or under the cut

Let me know what you think!

There was something wrong with her. That was the only thought that was circling around her brain on repeat. Emily was exhausted. Bone deep exhaustion that she had never experienced before, not during all her years working at the BAU, or those early days with Ian Doyle when she thought she would be caught out any second. Even when she’d had Ivy, those endless early days of motherhood with her first ever baby, she hadn’t felt like this.

Aaon kept telling her it was normal, that a new baby combined with just how traumatic Audrey’s birth had been would make her recovery drawn out. That on top of that Ivy, who had always typically been a Daddy’s Girl, was suddenly obsessed with Emily, the jealousy of having a new sibling who took so much of her mother’s attention making her cling to her. Tears and tantrums ran high whenever Emily was out of her sight, all but glued to her side at every waking hour.

She knew he was right. She had been there too when the doctor explained that it would take her weeks, potentially months, to completely recover from the birth. It had only been three weeks, still so recent that she sometimes caught Aaron looking at her like she might disappear, like he might lose her.

Emily knows he almost did.

Knowing all of that didn’t help. It didn’t stop the feeling of shame that would crawl up her spine at the frustration she would feel at never having a second alone, despite her own hesitance to ever let the girls or Jack out of her sight. She knew her own anxieties were born out of having her baby ripped off her chest only seconds after she had been placed there, things getting hazier by the second.

She felt over touched. Every nerve on edge whenever tiny hands reached out for her skin. And she was so angry at herself for it.

There was something wrong with her,

Aaron had been hesitant to go back to work, his understanding of how she felt despite her never putting it into words as clear as ever. Emily had encouraged him, knowing that they would have to go back to normal as soon as they could. When he immediately got sent away on a case, one he was now finally on the way back home from a week later, she almost regretted it.

It had been a long week. Audrey had barely been sleeping and was cluster feeding throughout the night, and Ivy wanted to be with her at every possible second. Jack was a saint, helping Emily where he could in distracting Ivy and playing with his sister. He’d even brought Emily a cup of tea at one point a couple days ago when she must have looked particularly drained. He hadn’t done it since, spooked by the way she had almost immediately burst into tears despite her assurances that it was a lovely thing to do.

Jessica had popped round the day before, sympathy on her face and a casserole in hand. Emily knew that Aaron had asked her to check in, and she was grateful for it. Jack was with Jessica today, the boy excited to spend an evening with his aunt. She had offered to take Ivy too, but the way the little girl had gripped Emily’s shirt at the suggestion had made her decline, knowing ultimately it would be worse for everyone if she had accepted.

“Mama.”

Emily turns to look at Ivy. The toddler was sitting next to her on the couch as Audrey slept in the bouncer chair just to the left of them. It was the only place she could get the baby to drift off for any period of time during the day.

“Yes, sweetheart?” She smiles at her daughter, discreetly checking the clock on the wall behind her. Aaron would be home soon, and she was almost more excited to have someone, anyone, else here with the girls than she was to see him.

“Snowman?”

Emily has to stop herself from sighing. Frozen was Ivy’s favourite movie and she had already lost track of how many times she had watched it in the last week.

“Are you sure? We could watch something else.” Emily tries to reason, her usual rule of limiting screen time very much out of the window. She knows it was fruitless when Ivy furrows her brow at her in a way Aaron always insisted was all her.

Ivy shakes her head, her dark brown and unruly curls moving as she did. “Snowman.”

“Ok. Snowman.” She grabs the remote and turns on the tv, not even remembering the last time they had a different DVD in the player.

They get part way through, Emily plotting the death of Olaf in her head as she watches, before Audrey starts to gristle. Emily reaches down to get her, wincing at the sudden movement, still healing from giving birth, as she unbuckles her and pulls her into her arms.

“You’re ok, baby.” She whispers, kissing the top of Audreys head, her dark hair matching her sisters. The newborn almost immediately starts rooting at Emily’s chest and she adjusts her shirt so she can start to feed her.

As soon as Audrey is in her arms Ivy is up against her, standing on the couch as she tries to get as close to Emily as possible.

“Ivy, Mommy just needs a bit of room ok?” She smiles at her eldest daughter, trying to maintain the gentle approach she had always taken with her. “I can cuddle you after I’ve fed her.”

“No.” Ivy says, leaning into her side. “My Mama.”

She has to stop herself from flinching as Ivy’s little hand tangles in her hair.

There was something wrong with her. _______________________

He doesn’t think he has ever been so excited to get home. He had spoken to Emily as often as possible, quick phone calls and texts exchanged to check in on his family. The moment Penelope had told him that they had a case on his first day back after Audrey’s birth his heart had dropped to his stomach.

Emily was more than capable of looking after the kids alone, he knew that, but he was worried about her. He had been worried about her since the second he was left alone in a room holding his minutes old little girl as his wife was rushed away, an emergency taking over what should have been a joyous moment. He could tell something was off, that some part of her was doubting her abilities, but she wouldn’t talk about it, smiling wryly at him whenever he told her how fantastic a mother she was.

As Aaron walks into the living room he sees his wife sitting on the couch. Their three week old in her arms as she feeds her, their 3 year old standing on the couch cushion pressed up against Emily’s side, her tiny hand wrapped in her mother’s hair as she watches her baby sister eat.

Frozen, Ivy’s favourite movie, is playing on the TV, and Aaron winces as the song about summer floats around the room, making him briefly wonder to himself if the murder of a animated snowman would be considered justifable homicide, given that their toddler demanded they watch it on repeat.

Then Emily looks up and catches his eye, exhaustion rolling off of her in waves, and he pushes any other thoughts to the back of his head.

“Hi sweetheart.”

Her response is a trembling smile, and before she can speak Ivy turns, a wide smile on her face as she looks at him.

“Daddy!”

She doesn’t run to him like she would have only weeks ago, instead staying next to Emily. He scoops her up anyway, kissing the side of his daughter's head repeatedly as she giggles.

“Daddy, stop.”

He does, laughing as he leans down to kiss the top of Emily’s head. He frowns as she flinches, readjusting Audrey as she finishes eating.

“How are my girls?” He asks, settling Ivy on his hip. “I missed you.”

“Missed, Daddy.” Ivy says, eyes focused back on the tv.

‘Oh, Frozen. Mommy’s favourite.” Aaron says, any laugh from his own joke dying in his throat when he sees the very real glare Emily throws his way as she stands with Audrey against her chest, gently rubbing the little girl's back to burp her.

“I’m going to go change her.” She says, attempting to throw him a smile before she heads upstairs.

“Mommy seems grumpy.” Aaron says turning to Ivy, bouncing the little girl slightly to make her laugh, the concern on her own face too much for him to bear.

“Drey cry lots.” Ivy explains, her expression serious.

Aaron nods and kisses his daughter's forehead, settling her back down on the couch. “You stay here ok? I’ll be back in a minute.”

He heads upstairs, following the sound of his wife’s gentle words to their baby to their bedroom.

“Em?”

She turns to look at him briefly, tears shining in her eyes that set him on edge immediately, before she looks back at Audrey in her arms, the baby settling down. Emily flinches when he touches her shoulder, pulling herself away from him and the movement makes Audrey cry again, any progress Emily had made her to calm down gone in a second.

“Damn it.”

“Sweetheart?”

“I’m ok.” She says, sounding anything but. “I just need five minutes where someone isn’t touching me.” Emily says, desperation laced through her voice. He stops himself from walking towards her, from pulling her into his arms and providing the comfort he is itching to give her. “I’m either feeding Audrey, or Ivy is clinging to me like she’ll never see me again. I love them more than I can possibly explain but...” A sob escapes her and she wipes her cheeks. “I am so tired, Aaron. I just need five minutes.”

For a second Aaron isn’t sure what to do. His fingers twitch at his sides, his natural instinct to reach out for her almost overwhelming. Emily and Audrey both crying the only sound in the room.

“Pass her over.” He says eventually, hands reaching out towards her.

“Aaron-”

He smiles at her in an attempt to reassure her. “Come on, sweetheart. You need a break.”

“I can look after my own children.” She says, accusation in her voice.

“I know you can, love.” He steps towards her, careful not to reach out for her like he so desperately wanted to. “But you need some time to yourself, you need to get some rest.”

She nods, albeit reluctantly, passing the baby over as she does, kissing the top of her head as she lets go.

“You only just got home.” She says, wiping tears from her face now that her hands were free. “I didn’t even say hi.”

Aaron holds Audrey to his chest, smiling at his wife. “That’s ok. We’ll be downstairs.” He walks out the room, gently closing the door behind him. He looks at his youngest curled up on his chest and kisses the side of her head. “Let's go see what your sister is up to.” _______________________

When Ivy suggests putting Frozen back on almost as soon as it is finished he manages to distract her. He asks her what they could do instead with only a limited amount of time left before bedtime. Her eyes light up immediately, running off to the room that used to be their den but was now a playroom. The sound of her dragging her dress up box, almost entirely stocked by Penelope, into the living room wakes up Audrey. He picks her up from her bouncer before she can cry loudly enough to disturb Emily, hoping he could give her as much time as possible.

Ivy already has her Elsa wig on, and Aaron already knows where this is going when she pulls out the Anna wig.

“Daddy Anna.”

“I think my head is a bit big.”

Ivy, not put off by her father’s logic, places the wig on top of his head anyway before grabbing some reindeer antlers he had never seen before from the box. She goes to place them on Audrey’s head. He stops her, unable to suppress a smile when she frowns. Emily’s frown.

“Sweetie, no. Audrey can’t be Sven.”

“Drey play.”

“She’s too little.” He says, putting the antlers back down. “But we can play. Just you and me.”

She has Emily’s smile too. _________________

Emily wakes up, rubbing her eyes as she looks at the clock on the nightstand, seeing she’d had about an hour's sleep. That, combined with the time to herself and the quick shower she had managed to fit in had calmed her nerves somewhat. Nowhere near all the way repaired, but enough to settle her back down.

As she sits up in bed she feels an all too familiar ache in her breasts, a sign that Audrey would need feeding again soon, and she runs her hands over her face before she gets up in search of her family.

She can hear laughter floating up the stairs, her husbands mixed in with Ivy’s, her precious giggle warming Emily’s heart as much as it did the very first time she heard it. She pads down the stairs quietly, the socks she had stolen from Aaron dulling the sound of her footsteps. Love blooms in her chest, spreading through her body at the sight that greets her.

Aaron is sitting with a childs wig on his head, one she knows Penelope bought Ivy when she offhandedly mentioned one day how much her daughter loved Frozen. It looks absurd. Tiny in comparison to his size. His sleeves are rolled up and his tie is off, the top couple of buttons of his shirt undone and she can see his jacket folded over the armchair.

She observes him for a moment as he sits patiently listening to Ivy mostly babble to herself, interest in whatever she was saying all over his face. He had Audrey against his chest, the baby looking impossibly tiny up against him, only one hand securing her to him. He was a little thicker now than he was when they first got together, something Derek gently teased him for and called his ‘dad bod’.

Emily loved it and told him frequently. She loved that his embrace engulfed her. That it made her feel safe and secure whenever she was in his arms. She knows he does the same for their children. Has watched as he has soothed nightmares and scraped knees with the calming presence only their family are truly privy to.

She smiles as Ivy passes him a stuffed animal, a dog that she was obsessed with, that had reindeer antlers secured to its head. It’s almost bigger than Audrey, and as Emily watches him with a baby and a stuffed dog in his arms, their toddler excitedly talking at him, she doesn’t think she has ever loved him more. _______________________

They settle Ivy into her bed, both knowing she will likely make it into theirs at some point in the night, and eat dinner together.

Aaron has a quick shower as Emily feeds and rocks Audrey to sleep. She had just laid her into the bassinet on her side of the bed when the door to their ensuite opened, her husband making his way out already dressed in his pajamas. Emily yawns as she climbs into bed, him quickly following. He keeps his distance from her, space between them that they don’t usually allow and she smiles tiredly at him, her words from earlier clearly still on his mind.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?” He asks, his concern for her clear.

“I’m ok, I promise.” She reaches out for his hand, linking their fingers between them. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He squeezes her hand. “Em, you have nothing to apologise for.”

“I just…” She trails off, shaking her head at herself as tears fill her eyes. “I just don’t want you to think I don’t love them. That I don’t want this.”

“Baby, of course I don’t think that.” He says, his other hand cupping her cheek, thumbing away the tears that have escaped. “I know you love them. I’ve never doubted that for a single second.”

“I’m just so tired, Aaron.”

He finally pulls her into his arms, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when she relaxes into his embrace, her face tucked into his neck.

“You’re being hard on yourself, my love.” He kisses the side of her head. “You had a baby 3 weeks ago. You almost died having her, remember?”

“I know.” She says, sniffing. “I know that. I was there.”

“Then give yourself a break.” He pulls back to tuck some hair behind her ear. He wants to say so much more, to assure her how good a mother she is, how much all of their kids love her, but he knows now isn’t the time. Knows her well enough to know she will assume he is simply just saying it. “We should get some sleep.” He kisses her softly. “She’ll be awake soon enough demanding your attention.” He says, tilting his head towards the bassinet.

They settle down, her facing the bassinet with her back to him. Aaron wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer so her back is pressed against his chest.

“You make a good Anna.” She quips as the image of him earlier with Ivy making her smile and it makes him laugh.

“Ivy gets more and more like you every day.” He says, pressing his lips to her temple. “I just hope she uses her attitude to run a company or something, and not a gang in prison.”

Emily reaches behind her to smack his shoulder in mock offence. “That’s rude.” She sniffs. “She’d run an excellent gang.”

She can feel herself falling asleep, the ever present exhaustion taking over.

“Em?”

She hums her response, turning her head just enough for his lips to land on her cheek.

“If you could kill Olaf how would you do it?”

She laughs. “I love you so much.”

The last thing she hears before she drifts off is him how much he loves her, how much he loves their family. _______________________

When she wakes the bed is empty, as is the bassinet and she immediately panics, fear lancing through her as she sits up quickly. She shakes off the lightheadedness caused by her sudden movement and takes a deep breath, logic taking over as she calms herself.

Emily pulls a robe on and walks downstairs, the light from the living room illuminating the hallway. She smiles when she sees Aaron sitting and holding Audrey in the crook of his arm, a bottle she had pumped earlier in the day in his hand as he fed her.

“Did I not get an invite to this party?” She asks quietly, not wanting to wake up Ivy upstairs.

Aaron turns to her and grins before looking back down at the baby. “Is Mommy allowed to join us?”

Audrey makes a small noise that makes them laugh and Emily walks over to join them on the couch.

“You could have woken me up.” She says, leaning forward to stroke a finger over Audrey’s dark hair.

“I know.” He leans forward to kiss her head. “You needed the sleep.” She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by a door opening upstairs, and the sound of little feet down the hallway and stairs.

Emily groans slightly. “It’s like she has a radar for where I am.”

Aaron only has time to laugh in reply for Ivy is downstairs, climbing onto the couch with them and into Emily’s lap.

“What are you doing up, little miss?” Emily says, tapping the toddler on the nose, making her giggle. “You should be sleeping.”

“Snowman?”

Emily shakes her head. “No, Ivy. It’s too late to watch it now.” She pauses, and bites her lip as she suppresses a smirk. “Daddy said he’d watch it with you tomorrow though.”

The look Aaron throws at her over their daughter's head makes her laugh, and for the first time in over a week, probably since Audrey was born if she was honest with herself, she knows everything is going to be just fine.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #Girl Dad Aaron #family fluff #CM Fanfic #pregnancy #birth #momily #Aaron being a great husband #i spent my day writing this #and watching Silent Witness with my cat #No regrets

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blinder-secrets · 3 years

Text

False Employment

tommy shelby x maid!reader, 5,900 words

warnings: power play, dominance, nsfw

ao3 link

a/n: this is essentially the second piece in a maid series i’ve accidentally started, read michael’s here <3

When you were eight, you’d told your mother that you were going to be a dancer. Then a dressmaker, a poet, a horse-groomer. As a teen, you’d decided that you’d be a wife, just a wife, who’d raise the kids while your husband was away making fortunes, no doubt. Your mother had been happy enough with that idea, but it had soured on you. After all, you thought, why spend your time looking after others and not yourself?

In the end, though, you’d found work as a maid. A house-servant in black and white, cursed to parole the hallways of an estate that’d never feel homely, or private. The irony of it was not lost on you. Employed to look after people that weren’t even yours to look after, half the reasoning but triple the pay. At least this way, the work you did was profitable, and the money you made was saved in your own name. The catch, however, was that you hated it. And you hated it because you were frustratingly terrible at it. No matter how many times Frances taught you to fold the sheets, you got it wrong. Somehow. No matter how carefully you swept, or cleaned, or shined the child’s shoes, you missed a spot. You always missed a fucking spot. It’s like you were cursed, destined to be the worst possible maid in the Midlands, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The strangest part, of course, was that you hadn’t been fired yet. You’d hardly even been chastised. The most unbecoming maid in the history of housekeeping, and you still had your job. You were still paid more than the industry standard. Despite all you knew about him, it seemed Mr. Shelby, unlike most employers, was endlessly forgiving of his staff; it was only when you started to question why, that you realised that wasn’t entirely the case.

On the Friday, you’d been called to bring tea to the front sitting-room. You’d say it’s one of your least favourite tasks but, honestly, they all sit equally on the list of things that you hate to do. The dishes always clatter on the tray, rattling wildly as you take the stairs from the kitchen. The china is scolding to touch each time you go to pour it. The spout is short, the saucers fragile and ill-fitting. Really, there’s a lot less grace in serving tea, than there is in drinking it, and that day was no different.

‘Your tea, Mr. Shelby,’ you announced, once you’d wobbled through the doorway. The milk had spilt onto the metal, but the cups and teapot had stayed strong, thank God. ‘Where would you like it?’

He wasn’t alone, the aunt and his cousin were waiting with him, but only your cold-faced boss had acknowledged the arrival. He was stood by the window, picking a cigarette from his case, and had paused to give instruction that no-one else would offer. His gaze flicked to you briefly, then over to the low coffee table in the centre. ‘There.’

You obliged with a nod, before crossing the room to set the tray and its precarious contents down. ‘Should I pour you some, sir?’ you asked the cousin, hoping he’d say no, hoping he’d let you return to some other, more menial job. One that at least let you work without an audience. Instead, he nodded, and leant forward to hold one of the tea-cups up. Why he couldn’t just leave it there, on the flat surface, where no spills could do any damage, you didn’t know. He probably thought he was being helpful; tragically, he failed to take into account that you were the clumsiest tea-maid in the house.

The handle stung, as expected, the moment you took hold of it, but you were interrupted before you could even begin to pour.

‘Shouldn’t milk go first?’ he asked, continuing once you looked at him like he was wild. ‘In china, to stop it from cracking?’

‘Oh.’ You stuttered, straightening from your bend with the burning teapot in your hand still. ‘Of course,’ you answered. Of course there was some rule you had forgotten, some high-class superstition about breaking the bone china they could replace so easily. You wanted to roll your eyes, but instead you smiled, and set the tea down again. ‘Sorry, sir.’

When his cup was filled with an inch of the obviously critically important milk, you tried again to pour his tea. The aunt and Mr. Shelby were talking around you, but you were so focused on the act that their words fell away into rubble, just birds chattering between the trees. You lifted the pot again and poured as steadily as your arm would allow.

From the sudden hiss of breath between his teeth, it hadn’t been steady at all. You’d poured scolding tea onto the rim, the saucer, and finally, unfortunately, onto the pinstripe-stretch of his knee.

‘Fuck,’ you burst, ‘sorry.’ The pot went back to the tray quickly, your hands into the pocket of your apron. You hadn’t realised you’d sworn until it was too late to correct it. Another X against your name, surely. ‘Forgive me,’ you told him, pulling a cloth free to offer it, ‘it’s clean.’ At least, for your sake, you’d remembered that dabbing the stain yourself would be inexcusable.

He took it, sighing, and his mother rolled her eyes so plainly that you couldn’t have ignored it if you tried. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though his scowl didn’t agree. ‘That’s enough anyway.’

You nodded, leaving him to pat awkwardly at the stain, balancing the cup and saucer in his free hand. What Mr. Shelby thought of the ordeal, you didn’t know. He was behind you, quiet, and impossible to see without turning entirely. The embarrassed heat that lingered in your ears was enough to keep you from trying. The last thing you needed, was another unimpressed look sent your way; you got enough of them from Frances.

When you shifted to face the aunt, she spoke before you could, insisting, ‘I can pour my own.’

You smiled before she’d even finished. ‘Course, ma’am,’ you offered with a shallow curtsey. Anything to get out sooner was welcome, even if it was a dig at your serving expertise.

Straightening fully, you smoothed the back of your dress and spun, facing the windows and the silhouette before them. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ you asked as you met his gaze —which had already been there, waiting. Taking account. He’d been watching you fuck up, yet again, probably wondering how you got the job in the first place. You chewed your lip as he deliberated.

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment, speaking through the cloud of his cigarette, ‘that’ll be all.’

Why you got off so lightly, made no fucking sense, but you weren’t about to stand there and argue with him. Instead, you dipped your knees again and left. It had felt like he’d watched you until you’d gone out of sight, through the doorway, but that was more likely to be a symptom of your over-thinking. Just jumping to paranoid conclusions like you always did, assuming his eyes had clung to your back until the door had shut them away.

By the next week, you were starting to think you weren’t paranoid at all.

Frances had caught you in the hallway between your room and her own, just as you were heading down for something to eat. ‘Mr. Shelby will be home soon,’ she said, stopping in front of you with a sure knot between her brows.

You watched her undo the tie of her pinafore. ‘Okay?’

‘He’ll need his coat taking, and offer him a drink, not supper.’

You balked. Why was she telling you this? ‘Isn’t that your job?’ you asked, feeling dread settle into your stomach. She was top of the hierarchy, the one he trusted most, you were a scullery maid at best. It’d make more sense for his boy to greet him, over you.

She sighed like you were at fault, and folded the pinafore over her arm. ‘He’s asked for you.’

‘He has?’

‘And don’t speak more than you should,’ she continued, ignoring your obvious alarm. ‘Just, just do as I would.’

But you didn’t know what she did. You never paid attention to what she did. ‘Do you think he wants to speak to me?’ you asked, following as she started towards her room. ‘Am I in trouble?’ Was it finally the chopping block for you?

She turned sharply, causing you to stumble to a halt. ‘I think,’ she stressed, ‘that he wants his coat taking.’ Then her door opened and she shut herself inside, leaving you to stand aimlessly in the hallway.

With little else to do, you made your way downstairs to wait within hearing distance of the front door. It didn’t take Mr. Shelby long to require your services, but it did take just long enough for you to think yourself into a panic. No, not a panic, it was more of a steady confidence. A certainty that he had asked for you, specifically, so that he could tell you to work harder. Better. So that he could get you alone, and threaten a cut to your wages if you didn’t stop pouring tea onto his guest’s laps. It was the only plausible reasoning you could settle on.

When he stepped into the entry-way, your heart was beating hard enough to trick your mind into labelling it as excitement. A twisted bout of adrenaline at the thought of being fired. You’d have laughed if you weren’t trying so hard to be professional, instead, you kept your face serious. ‘Good evening, Mr. Shelby,’ you started, moving from your post to meet him. ‘Can I take your coat?’

You thought you saw his lip twitch upwards, but it was redirected into a short nod. ‘Frances changed the rota,’ he said, though it was obvious. He turned, showing you his back, and you pulled the collar from his shoulders before you could overthink the motion.

‘She did, sir,’ you agreed. Don’t talk too much. Don’t talk too much. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ you asked, unable to stop once you’d noticed the close shave at the back of his head.

He faced you again, letting the coat peel from his arms until he was separate, and you were left to wrangle the heavy fabric alone. To no surprise, he didn’t answer your question. He didn’t even remove his cap. Instead, he stared, squinting slightly, then held the briefcase out for you to take.

You were running out of hands to be useful with. The folded coat was thick enough to render one arm useless, and now his case occupied the other. ‘Would you like something to eat, sir?’

‘No,’ he answered, too quick to have really considered it. Then he looked down, eyes on the leather gloves he was removing, and asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘[Y/n], sir.’

He repeated it once. Rolled it over his tongue and out again like he was testing for its flavour. Analysing its worth, though he had surely heard it a hundred times before.

Your adrenaline had finally been replaced by fragile nerves. The silence felt like an open invite for critique, and you’d rather have it filled with the forbidden small talk than let it begin. ‘Would you like me to fetch Char—‘

‘Have you lit the fire in my office?’ he asked blankly, interrupting you as he lifted his eyes to yours. The blue alone was enough to quiet you. His stare was more intimidating than luxurious; if he had been watching you as you thought he had, you weren’t sure that was a good thing anymore.

‘No,’ you stammered. ‘Should I have?’ It was dark already, but you hadn’t noticed the cold yourself. ‘Should I do it now, Mr. Shelby?’ you corrected, playing catch up on your responsibilities. ‘I’ll put these down.’

He shook his head and put the gloves, together, on top of his coat. Piled it all on you like you were a walking hat-stand. ‘Make sure you have next time,’ he said. ‘It’s winter.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry.’

It didn’t look like the apology meant anything to him, probably because you had rushed it out nervously, rather than sincerely. You didn’t often know what you were apologising for after all, just that you should be, and that you were normally at fault in the first place. So you said sorry quickly, before he could leave. And then, once he had done, turning from you after a final clinging-look, you said sorry again into the absent space he had left behind. Sorry, Mr. Shelby, don’t fire me, Mr. Shelby. I know I’m a terrible fucking servant, Mr. Shelby. He didn’t look back, nor did he ask for you again that evening. From your perspective, that was a win. It meant he hadn’t planned to stage an intervention, or to tell you off like a scorned school master. He had simply wanted you to do your job, well, Frances’ job, and somehow, you hadn’t massively disappointed. A few mis-placed questions hadn’t caused your downfall, and you found yourself hanging his coat with an easy smile. Perhaps you were valuable to him then, or at least acceptable. Perhaps you were employed for a reason.

When he next went away, you made sure to light the fire before he returned. Clever, you thought, well remembered indeed. What you failed to do, however, was time it well enough that it would be lit, burning strong and heating the room, before you had to meet him at the door. You were still knelt by the hearth when he arrived.

He cleared his throat once, from the doorway, and the noise was loud enough to startle you over the snaps of the fire. You sprang from the floor in one panicked burst of energy, turning in almost the same motion, moving faster than you felt you ever had.

‘Oh, Mr. Shelby,’ you panted. ‘Sorry, sorry, I was just finishing the fire.’

He was fully dressed still. Obviously, because you hadn’t been there to pull the outer layers from him as you should have. It wasn’t even a difficult task and you’d seemingly failed on your second try.

‘Have you been there long?’ you asked, hoping that if you kept him talking, and kept his eyes on yours, he would fail to notice the ash on your knees. The grey powdering of your tights and the hem of your dress, dirtied from kneeling too close to the bricks. It could be brushed away easily, but you hardly wanted more attention drawn to it. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

He shrugged, not bothering with a real answer. The nonchalance made you nervous. He could’ve been standing there for seconds, or he could’ve been there for minutes, watching you bent in half, folded in front of the fire as you worked. Whether someone could even be judged on their fire-making skills, you didn’t know. But he seemed the type to be able to judge anyone for anything.

‘Sorry, I should take your coat,’ you started, crossing the room with your hands out.

‘It’s alright.’ He walked past you before you could even reach him, moulding into the study like he was a part of it. ‘I have to go out again, anyway.’

You nodded. He didn’t offer any other instruction, so you just stood there, dirty like a chimney-sweep, gormless like a fucking goose in the river. ‘Should I go, sir?’ you asked.

His case went on top of the desk, his body dropped into the seat behind it. He didn’t look at you, or answer you, he just pulled a cigarette from his inside pocket and lit it. You watched him inhale and exhale once before growing tired.

‘There are things I should be doing, sir,’ you said, hoping to sound more apologetic than rude. In truth, you were just bored. Uncomfortable. You couldn’t stop thinking about the ash on your knees.

It definitely wasn’t paranoia that time. His eyes finally found you, in the middle of the room, and drank you in like you were one of his racehorses. The flashy ones that he bought for the sake of money and money alone. You fidgeted under the weight of them, knowing the crystal irises were skimming every part of you that should’ve been ignored. Especially for a maid, for one of his house-servants. Your body should’ve been nothing beneath the rigidity of your uniform, and yet he scooped it out from between the seams, looked at the curves that you were sure had been hidden.

‘Do you live at the house,’ he started, voice low and catching, ‘or at home?’

‘The house, sir.’ You threaded your fingers together, kept them clutched over your pinafore. ‘I share the room next to Frances.’

The smoke pooled from his lips again, trailing after him as he leant back into his seat. He was looking at you down his nose, through his lashes, holding the silence just long enough for it become taut. Sharp enough to make your cheeks warm.

‘And when she hears the bell at night, do you hear it too?’

You frowned, but nodded. The service bells were mounted on the wall between the doors.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘next time it goes, I want you to see to it.’

His gaze was unmoving. Yours had been charmed into the same fate, unable to pull away from him. ‘Sir?’ you said, understanding his meaning, but not believing it in the slightest. There was no innocent reason for him to switch orders like that. The older woman had always covered the night work, as infrequent as it was.

He cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes in one quick pulse of intent. ‘Let Frances have her rest, eh?’

It was either a promotion, or a proposition. You had neither the gall or the desire to ask which. ‘Of course, Mr. Shelby.’

After that, your encounters with him had remained short and indifferent. You took his coat, brought him tea, whiskey, followed orders when he gave them. You’d watched him, watching you, every time, and thought nothing more of it. Or at least tried not to. You never saw him interact with other staff, so you couldn’t dispel the idea that he treated you any different from them; he could’ve held all of his employees under the same searing gaze and you wouldn’t have known. Frances had commented on his favouring of you, claiming ‘he’d ask for you over anyone else’, but she had seemed relieved all the same. She liked her work, but she liked free time just as much. His request to switch you to the night-calls, however, had been a dormant one, an almost pointless one, because he’d never rang. Never asked anything of you once he’d taken supper.

At least, he hadn’t before now, right now. This very moment. You’d been dragged from your sleep by the dull clanging of the service bell, and now you’re hot-footing down the stairs with your pinafore barely fastened. What the allowed time for dressing is, you have no idea. You’re trying to rush, but there’s no way of knowing how long it has been, or how presentable you are. The only comfort is that he’s yet to ring the bell again, so you obviously haven’t been long enough to make him impatient.

The door to his study is shut, but there’s nowhere else he’d be, so you knock once you’re stood in front of it. You hear him cough from the other side, before saying, ‘Come in.’

Right then. Here you go. You take a few steps into the room, just enough to be present, but not intrusive, and force a quiet breath before speaking. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?’ you ask, starting as he shows no sign of doing it on your behalf. He hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge you.

He’s leaning on the end of his desk, staring into the embers of the once lit fire, with a half-filled tumbler in his hand. His jacket’s off, shirt sleeves rolled and shoved to sit above the elbow. If it weren’t for the waistcoat, still fastened and adorned with the chain of his pocket-watch, he’d look almost scruffy. Off-guard. ‘So,’ he says, ‘you heard the bell, then.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you don’t mind the disturbance?’

‘No.’ Though, if he’d brought you down just to test the mechanism, you would hardly be happy about it. ‘Is that all, sir?’

He snorts, following it with a sip of whiskey. The motion causes the gold band around his bicep to catch in the lamplight, glinting at you. A lighthouse through the dark. ‘You don’t get bored of saying sir?’ he asks, finally flicking his eyes in your direction. ‘You say it more than the others.’

Your brows sink together, frowning before you can help it. You weren’t aware there was any other thing to call him, or that sir had a quota, one that you were seemingly well over. ‘Am I wrong to address you as that, Mr. Shelby?’

Quietly, he stands from his lean and tips his head back to finish the final portion of his drink. You watch his neck against the light, follow the whiskey as it travels down his throat. Once it’s empty, he turns to face you with his arm limp by his side, glass dangling in his palm. ‘No,’ he says, shaking his head half-way, ‘call me what you like.’

You catch a whim in the dim-setting, a spark of courage from the fireplace. It’s like the quiet of the house, the certainty of your solitude together, is daring you to test the bounds of your employee-boss relationship. His lingering pause gives the same effect, his blank stare waits to be challenged.

‘Not Tommy, though, sir?’ you ask, wanting to smirk with it, but missing the moment. Or rather, losing the courage as soon as the name’s left your lips.

His chin lifts a fraction. ‘No, not that.’

Tommy is too personal, too close to him. The faint hope you had, that he’d allow you to say it, is squashed into the rug beneath his feet. Without asking, he holds the glass up, arm straight and pointed toward you. You understand his meaning well enough and cross the room to take it from him.

‘Do you often wake a maid, just to pour your whiskey?’ you ask from beside the drinks cabinet. The decanter is there, ready, un-topped and waiting. You fill his glass a quarter, and then a quarter more after a pause of consideration. It doesn’t seem like an evening for single measures.

He doesn’t answer until you’re back in front of him. ‘No,’ he admits shamelessly, leaving you yet another silence to fill.

‘Just me then, sir?’

He nods. ‘Yep, just you.’

He takes the glass and lifts it for a drink. By the time he’s swallowed, and set it down again, you’re two steps back, waiting in the middle of the rug. Anxious for the next order. You’d hoped that the late hour would’ve made him more accessible, more willing to drop the formalities and pretence of your relationship. Instead, it’s made you all the more aware of them. All the more sensitive to the ladder of power between the two of you, and the way he manoeuvres it. He seems so easy, so comfortable, unapologetic of his status and the benefits that it gives him. He can walk the line without risk of misstepping, because he’s the one who sets it.

‘Do you like your job, [y/n]?’ he asks, sounding as if he knows the answer already.

You chew the reply over in your head. As lucky as you’ve been so far, the outright truth might finally throw you into the cold. ‘I like the company,’ you answer, ‘the people.’

He pushes a laugh through his nose, amused but barely smiling still. ‘Didn’t ask you that.’

No, but you won’t lie to him. ‘I’m terrible at my job, sir,’ you say. He surely knows that as well as you do, maybe that’s the reason for him calling on you. It’s time for the meeting you’ve been dreading. The conversation was here at last. ‘In all honesty,’ you tell him, ‘I don’t know why you’ve kept me on.’

Sighing, he half-sits on the desk again, arms folding across his chest. ‘You think you’re that bad?’

‘Awful, sir.’ The added responsibilities have done nothing to improve your prowess. His extra requests have just given you more things to misplace, more damages to cause. ‘Why have you never said anything?’ you ask, adding a ‘sir’ at the raise of his brow. ‘Most people would’ve docked my wages by now.’

He blinks once. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’

The heat it sends up your neck is scorching, embarrassing. For a moment, you forget that he could mean it plainly, that he could speak as an employer and an employer alone. If he had any other expression, you’d be able to validate that, but he’s stoney as ever, waiting for a response like he’d simply asked for the time. ‘No, sir,’ you manage. ‘I just wondered why.’

He takes a sip before answering, hissing the whiskey between the set of his teeth. ‘You know why,’ he says, watching his hands for once, giving you respite from his stare. ‘You look at me just the same.’

‘I do?’

You don’t know why you’re asking, because you’re already in agreement. The self-indulgent glances you’ve taken of him were for the exact same reason you had hoped he looked at you. It wasn’t judgement, but hunger. You had thought it silly to imagine he felt that way too. Maybe men were men after all, easy to read regardless of status, free to want as they liked, but not without the worry of consequence.

‘I don’t want to misunderstand you, Mr. Shelby,’ you say carefully, speaking slow enough to set your thoughts straight. ‘Why do you employ me still?’

You’d expected bravado in reply, but his eyes are on the glass and his voice is taut. ‘I can’t,’ he states. He knows the reasons as well as you do. The chains that bind him, the ones that keep both of your roles in place. There are rules in this house, things that can’t be changed for desire’s sake and he’s counting on you to respect them; the sheer fact that you’re here, alone with him in the middle of the night, proves that his willpower is faltering. He expects you to make up for what he lacks.

The irony, of course, is that you’ve never been any good at meeting expectations. You feel your heartbeat in your skull, right behind your ears, as you take a step forward. ‘Can’t say,’ you challenge, ‘or can’t act on it?’

Another step and you’re an arm’s length away from him.

He puts the glass down and faces you steadily, like he’s flicked the switch back into place, like he’s got cold, iced water in his veins again. ‘You’ll tempt me in my own house, eh?’ he chides, pushing it through a smirk. ‘So quick to be a whore.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ you answer, ‘I’m a maid.’ You chance it and put a hand to his waistcoat, pinching the edge of it between your fingers. He doesn’t stop you. You’re invincible then, you could do anything in the world, and he still wouldn’t think it reason enough to fire you. ‘You don’t seem like a man to ignore his wants, Mr. Shelby.’ Indulge while you can, taste what you’ve been thinking about for so long. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ you purr, ‘then it’s surely my job to do it.’

He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he’s ran out of words. Maybe they’d just take him further from what it is that he wants. Now that you both know it, there’s no reason to discuss. You may be terrible at housework, but men have never been a challenge, you could never fail at something you enjoyed so thoroughly.

Standing, he takes you by the wrist and pulls your fingers free of the waistcoat. He holds your hand in front of your face like you’re a caught criminal. ‘Go back to bed,’ he says, bluntly enough that you almost turn and run. But you were so close to the impossible, so close to tipping over the line, that adrenaline catches you instead.

‘Why?’ Your brows pinch, your manners forget themselves in the disappointment. ‘You suddenly have morals?’ you ask, teetering on laughter. ‘Shame?’ He could kill a man, but fucking his maid is where his ethics hardened. Where they steeled to a stop.

His jaw sets. For someone so familiar with staff, and giving orders, he’s struggling to put you in your place. You know it’s coming though, you can see the threat behind his eyes.

‘Are you scared, Tommy?’ you taunt. ‘Worried we’ll be found out?’

It was a risk, but it paid off, and he switches the play so easily into his favour, that the wind is knocked out of you before you can piece together what’s happened. He’d pulled you forward, then past him, so that your thighs are against the edge of the desk and his chest is pressed along the length of your back. His arms are either side of you, palms flat on the wooden top. ‘Is that how you want it?’ he bites, putting the question to your neck. Down the collar of your uniform. ‘Ay? Against the boss’s desk?’

‘If that’s what suits you.’

He puts a knee between yours, pushing your legs just far enough apart to feel like he’s predator and you’re prey. Like your body is his to bend, to set in place and enjoy. ‘What?’ he asks, breath hot and liquored by your ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

You clear your throat, willing your voice to strengthen. This was what you’d initiated, after all. This is the side you’d asked to see. ‘If that’s what suits, sir,’ you say again, stressing the ‘sir’ like it’s the key to it all, the fuel under the fire. By the way his breath shudders against you, you’re starting to think it is.

He exhales again. ‘We shouldn’t.’ He’s quiet with it, like the thought had escaped without him realising.

‘I want to,’ you insist. You lean forwards slightly, curving your lower back upwards and into him. ‘You want to, sir.’ It was obvious enough. The extra work, the lingering stares, the hardness growing against the back of your thigh —it all lead to one thing, to wanting, lusting. To favouring desire over anything else.

His hands lift from the desk-top to your waist. Taking the bait, then, making it his.

You turn between them, not caring that the motion has skewed your uniform, twisting the skirt beneath his hands until it’s sat, bunched, at your hips. It would have to be moved eventually, taken off entirely if he had the time. ‘If you take any longer,’ you say, ‘the house’ll wake up, Mr. Shelby.’

‘Yeah?’ He lifts you as he answers, putting you onto the desk, and himself between the spread of your legs. ‘And you’ll have duties to attend,’ he says, looking over you, rather than at you. His gaze is foggy from the need. You hum in agreement, playing the game, following his lead as you’re paid to. When his nose finds the space beneath your earlobe, his lips ghosting the edge of your jaw, you melt. You pour into him like scorching gold. ‘I’ll have to have you now,’ he decides, ‘while you’re off the clock.’ The words rumble out of him, low and careless, shouldered by a kiss.

You close your eyes, holding his biceps to keep you upright. ‘If I’m off duty, should I call you sir, or Tommy?’ you ask, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

His mouth opens against your neck, hot and possessive. His lips drag down to the base of your throat before he replies. ‘Are you a maid,’ he asks, panting into the skin, ‘or a whore?’

A whore, you think. He’d never kiss his wife this way, would never have relations like this with any other member of staff. You purl against him as his hand goes between your thighs. ‘Whatever, sir,’ you breathe, ‘I’m whatever you want.’ Right now, you’re a torched flame, you’re a white hot coal, split apart by the heat. His fingers move like he’s known you before. ‘There,’ you tell him, sighing as he finds that tight bundle of nerves through the cotton. ‘There, sir.’

When he kisses you on the mouth, you’re almost surprised enough to reject it. You had wrongly assumed he would avoid kissing you like a lover, but his tongue swept between your lips, pushing in to find yours, and then the thought had gone entirely. You kiss back like you’ve been starved of it, your arms around his neck to ensure that he’ll stay.

‘I imagined it like this,’ he pants, pulling back to say it into your cheek. ‘From the start.’

Really, you want to ask, right from the beginning? But instead, you moan and curl into him, spine mirroring the path his thumb had taken across your clit. ‘I didn’t,’ you breathe, humming as he repeats the motion. ‘I imagined more fucking.’

His hand pulls away fast enough that you regret saying it, but he speaks so urgently that you don’t have time to mourn the loss. ‘Take them off,’ he says, already starting on the fastening of his trousers. ‘Now.’

You do as you’re told, unclipping the garters from your tights, so that you can push your underwear down and over your knees. He’s back against you before you can shake them from your ankles.

‘It’s just a fuck,’ he says, with one hand on himself, and the other on the bare bone of your hip. ‘Alright?’

You nod, meeting his gaze with the same rushed sincerity. ‘I know.’ You hadn’t doubted that for a second. You’re after the same thing he is: relief. A purge of the tension that he had been building between you, a break from the questioning of ‘what if?’.

‘Just a fuck,’ you repeat, desperate now the heartbeat pulses from your head to your toes. Now it thumps from you, to him. You’re sure he can feel it as he presses into you.

He groans, savouring the sensation, and lets his hands stray to grip your thighs. ‘That’s what you wanted?’ he pants, rocking his hips forward again. ‘That answer your question?’

You lie back, over the newspapers and the letters. Let him fuck you like you’re just another object on the desk. ‘Yes,’ you sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, Mr. Shelby.’ It not only answered your question, but clarified another that you had yet to consider. You knew now, why he employed you still, but you’d discovered why you worked for him, too. Why you kept the job you hated, why you hadn’t quit after failing so many times. ‘It’s this,’ you tell him, ‘it’s for this.’

#tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #strap in guys its hell of a ride

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