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anto-pops · 1 year

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The Hypothesis - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: The hand on your throat was gentle but firm, and your stomach flipped at the vulnerability of it all. You weren’t even sure you had it in you to do what he was asking but Merlin, did he make it sound enticing. Somewhere in your brain the sixteen year old version of yourself was combusting. How many times since starting school had you fantasized about Sebastian? About the two of you tangled in sheets and lost in the euphoria of one another? You could scarcely believe some of the fantasies your hormonal teenage mind had conjured up, but you had never considered anything as bold as this.

Alternatively summarized as pure, shameless Sebastian smut

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content

Full fic can be found here on Ao3

It was easy for you to tell when things were getting bad again.

At first you had chalked it up to your menstrual cycle, as embarrassing as that was. It wasn’t unusual for you to get headaches or chills, or even act outright cruel when it was that time of the month. But the more time passed, the worse things got, and you knew the night you woke from a nightmare with red bolts crackling over your arms that this was decidedly not your period.

Isidora’s magic now lived inside you, as volatile and unpredictable as it was powerful. Absorbing it had changed you on a molecular level- you were no longer the sixteen year old girl who had arrogantly believed she could wield a magic darker than the Unforgivable Curses. You knew with each passing day you were drifting further and further from the person you used to be, falling victim to your darker impulses routinely. Less of your excursions beyond the castle walls ended peacefully. In fact, you often sought out fights. While most of the Ashwinder camps and Poaching Rings had been taken care of in the years since Ranrok, there were always stragglers.

You took a disturbing amount of pleasure in ripping those people apart.

All due in large part to Isidora’s magical goodie bag you’d elected to open. The accumulated power demanded to be used, and at this point it took everything in you not to lose control in the middle of your classes. Despite the sheer magnitude of your abilities, you had never felt weaker. Your magic had never been something you had to war against in your own mind, and you certainly had never perceived it as a threat to yourself.

Now though, you weren’t sure.

The only person you’d been able to confide in about it all was Sebastian. Sebastian, who had made good on his promise to you and Ominis to stay the good course. Sebastian, who had worked harder than anyone to coexist with the demons you knew still raged in his head. He was, quite literally, the only person you could imagine sharing your turmoil with. Picturing Ominis’ particular brand of disappointment at your revelation had made you sick to your stomach for a week before you had banished the idea entirely.

Sebastian, though. His sharp eyes had darkened when you’d told him the truth of what you’d done below Hogwarts and how you feared losing control. The way you tamed the raging fire inside of you with fighting and blood. The piercing regret you felt at ever taking this cursed power out of the repository in the first place. He had only looked at you with curiosity, maybe even a little admiration, before gathering you in his arms.

“I won’t tell a soul, you have my word.”

The Slytherin boy had come to you with an idea shortly thereafter. A hypothesis if you will, he had said. With instructions to meet him in the Undercroft after ten, you’d made a point to fly out towards the Clagmar Coast in the hours before dark. Regardless of Sebastian’s so-called ‘hypothesis’, you didn’t want to risk feeling… overwhelmed, when you met with him. The power from the repository had a way of buzzing in the back of your mind, steadily getting louder if you chose to ignore it. If taking out a few scattered Poacher camps quieted it down some, you would happily do so.

By the time you returned to Hogwarts, there were no students milling about. It made for a peaceful trek to the Undercroft, allowing you to gather your bearings and blink the fog from your mind. While you didn’t plan to put much stock into Sebastian’s unknown idea, the least you could do was hear him out. If whatever he wanted to suggest was something that could make existing with this power more bearable, you were willing to try. It scared you to think about what you would become in a few months, or in a year. Would you even be the same? Or would you end up a husk of your former self, controlled by the very magic you had been hell bent on taking in the first place?

It seemed like the most plausible outcome.

The iron gate clanged back into place behind you as you stepped into the Undercroft. Noting the dim lights and rearranged crates towards the back, you scanned the room and found no sign of the boy who had summoned you.

“Sebastian?”

Footsteps sounded to your left, and you looked in time to see Sebastian push off the wall and make his way towards you. Immediately you noticed he was missing his cloak. Then you saw his white button up and dark trousers, and you realized you had never seen him so dressed down. His stride was full of purpose, a predatory glint in his eyes as he came to stand less than a foot away from you.

Instinct screamed at you to move back. In your experience, anyone getting that close to you usually meant they were going to try and kill you. But this was Sebastian, you reasoned, and mentally chided yourself for even letting the thought cross your mind. So instead you tilted your chin up to meet his penetrating gaze.

“Care to enlighten me as to why we’re down here after hours?”

His eyes flicked between yours for a few seconds before they began roaming, wandering down your stiff form. You still wore your travel gear, a black cotton ensemble with a small leather chest plate for protection. You’d crafted a sheath for the modest dagger you kept strapped to your thigh in case of emergencies, and the scarf you’d wrapped around your neck for the evening hung precariously off your shoulder.

Sebastian brought one of his hands up to your cheek, his fingers hovering slightly over the scar left from your battle in the repository years ago. “I told you. I want to test my hypothesis.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes and willed the churning in your gut to subside. “And we would get so much farther with that if I knew what you were talking about wouldn’t we?”

A ghost of a smirk danced across his features, giving you whiplash. What was he thinking? And what the hell was he planning?

He finally brushed the back of his finger down your cheek, the touch barely there. The featherlight feeling caused goosebumps to break out all over your skin. He trailed it lower, under your chin and skimmed the line of your jaw before you felt his digits splay across the slender column of your neck. There was no stopping the startled gasp that left your lips at the brazen action, and Sebastian seemed to take a deep rooted pleasure in it.

“I want to believe that you’re out of control because you’ve been in control for too long,” he started to say and tugged you closer. “All that power simmering beneath the surface, it's all you can focus on, isn’t it?”

There was no chance in hell you trusted yourself to speak, so you nodded.

Now he was smirking, “I want to see what happens when you give up control. When you stop holding the magic back and just let it flow through you instead. Don’t be afraid of what’ll happen if you let yourself feel it— rather, open yourself to the experience. But I think we both know you’re far too uptight for that, and you’ll fight tooth and nail against your better urges, so I want you to let me take control. Let me steer the boat for a while. You just sit pretty and relax, sound good?”

The hand on your throat was gentle but firm, and your stomach flipped at the vulnerability of it all. You weren’t even sure you had it in you to do what he was asking but Merlin, did he make it sound enticing. Somewhere in your brain the sixteen year old version of yourself was combusting. How many times since starting school had you fantasized about Sebastian? About the two of you tangled in sheets and lost in the euphoria of one another? You could scarcely believe some of the fantasies your hormonal teenage mind had conjured up, but you had never considered anything as bold as this.

Dumbly realizing you’d been gaping up at him like a fish, you gave his wrist a testing squeeze before nodding. “Alright… how?”

He smiled down at you in earnest, that lust filled look in his eyes deepening by the second. “Now where would be the fun in telling you?”

---

Butterflies was no longer an appropriate term to describe what you were feeling. No, at this point it was more akin to a hurricane tearing you apart from the inside, your anxiety heightened at having been rendered so helpless. Sebastian had wasted little time in whisking you over to the chaise lounge tucked behind the rearranged crates after you’d agreed to essentially let him fuck you. Because that’s what this was, right? He had yet to speak the words but his eyes communicated his intentions well enough. He had gotten to work quickly, tugging his tie from his pocket and coming to stand behind you. You had felt the silky material drift over your eyes before Sebastian knotted it snugly behind your head.

Blindfolded.

It hadn’t even been a full minute with it on and you were already shaking, the unknown aspect of everything you were about to do riddling you with undue stress. Sebastian zero’d in on your discomfort right away, sliding his arms around you from behind and pulling you against him.

“Just relax, I promise you’re safe with me. We can stop at any point and if you don’t like something I do, tell me.”

His thumbs traced burning circles against the thin cotton of your shirt. With him holding you this way, it was impossible to overlook the hard expanse of his torso pressed against your back. You were overcome with the unique scent of him; cedar and pine, and that telltale musk you could only identify as Sebastian. Unable to see, it felt all the more intimate having to rely on your other senses.

You forced a shaky breath into your lungs and held it for a second before exhaling. “Okay.”

One of his hands abandoned your waist to trail under your shirt, relishing in the soft skin he felt waiting there. Deft fingers skimmed over your ribs, then your breasts, and you inhaled sharply as he took one of your nipples between his fingers and pinched. “So responsive. Have you ever let anyone touch you like this?”

As though to punctuate the question, Sebastian moved down your breasts to feel along the plane of your belly to your nether region. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your trousers, his fingers ghosting over where he knew you wanted them most, and he chuckled at the disappointed sigh you let slip. He nestled his chin into the crook of your neck so his breath tickled your ear as he asked, “Has anyone ever touched you here?”

Shamelessly your hips twitched closer to Sebastian’s hand, desperate for some kind of stimulation. You were pathetic. Crumbling in his hands— as if you had even been put together in the first place. He drew his hand away from your aching core, clicking his tongue at you, and slowly guided you towards the chaise lounge. He continued to feel over your abdomen with his arms securely wrapped around you before stopping short of the cushions. “Good things come to those who wait,” he chided. “Or are you so desperate to be filled that you’re content to ride my fingers?”

“Fuck, Sebastian.” You didn’t recognize your own voice. It sounded reedy- airy. Like you were already out of breath and he’d simply been whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

You felt as he untangled his arms from your waist, then he spun you around and gave you a light shove. The backs of your calves connected with the lounge behind you, and with a barely contained yelp you collapsed onto the velvet surface.

Sebastian was on you in an instant, his lips claiming yours like he had been starved of your very essence as he hoisted you further up the cushions. His hands were demanding, gripping your hips with such fervor as he kissed you that you were certain he’d leave bruises. You felt him slot his knee between your thighs for better leverage over you, but when he leaned forward to trail wet, hot kisses down your jaw, his leg pressed against that bundle of nerves at your core.

There was no helping it, you moaned into Sebastian’s mouth at the sensation. Your sounds seemed to stoke the fire, given how he tightened his grip and practically rolled his hips against yours. He was clearly as eager as you were.

Sebastian broke the kiss first to sit back on his heels as he perched on your lap, your body effectively caged beneath his strong legs. His hands roamed over you, taking loose articles of clothing with him as he went, starting with your scarf. “You’re so fucking perfect like this. So willing and pliant.”

He let the flimsy fabric flutter to the floor before his fingers were tugging at the strings that attached your leather chest plate to your shoulders. That was pried away and discarded along with the rest of the strappy accessories that littered your form. A gasp ripped from your throat as Sebastian’s hands found your breasts beneath your shirt again, kneading and squeezing the skin in a way that had a familiar feeling building within you.

“I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to lay with you. How you would feel, what you would look like falling apart on my cock. I want to see that facade slip- I want to watch you flustered and panting and full of my cum, begging for more.”

Without a shadow of a doubt, your brain was short circuiting. To hear such raunchy and filthy promises dripping from Sebastian’s mouth was enough to have you clenching your thighs around his knee, desperate for any kind of friction to accompany the wetness pooling there. He took note of your wriggling instantly and pulled his leg back, leaving you aching and mewling like a mongrel in heat.

“Ah ah ah, that’s not very patient behavior now is it?” You could hear the grin in his voice as he slid away from you. The chill of the Undercroft covered you instantly, goosebumps breaking out over the exposed flesh of your torso.

“P-please,” you heard yourself moan. You had no idea what you were even asking for, but you felt Sebastian’s warm hands begin to trail up the tops of your legs, towards the waistband of your pants, before swiftly yanking them down to your ankles. You could feel your face flushing red, the sheer intimacy of being exposed to him in nothing but your undergarments enough to make your heart pound against your chest and drown out the incessant buzz of magic in the back of your mind.

His ministrations were thoughtful, seeing as he didn’t skip over an inch of skin. Soft, plush lips pressed against your inner thighs, eliciting a shiver from you, before he moved up higher to your naval. He placed another kiss there as his hands roamed up to remove your thin top. It took no time at all, and before you knew it you were laid bare before your most trusted companion.

“You’re beautiful,” he said to you, causing you to flush deeper. “I’m serious. You’re perfect. All of you is perfect–”

You felt his thumb roughly press against your clit through your underwear then, and you gasped as you arched your back into his touch. “Right here especially. This perfect pussy, so wet for me and we’ve barely even started.”

The slow, easy circles he traced against your most private area wasn’t enough. He was holding back on purpose, deriving some sort of twisted pleasure in denying you yours. Fighting the urge to buck your hips into his hand, your chest heaved with the massive breath you took in.

“Questions? Comments? Concerns?”

“I’m going to kill you if you don’t get on with it, Sallow.”

You felt his body rock above yours as he barked out a laugh, removing his hand entirely from your clit, much to your dismay. “Is that so? Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.”

“No! Merlin, please— don’t stop, I just… I want—“ you blushed from embarrassment as you tripped over your words. The effect this man had on you…

Sebastian chuckled and started to move so that he no longer caged your body to the lounge, and you instantly missed his weight and warmth. It didn’t last long, however. Before long he had slithered down to kneel in front of you, and you felt as he grabbed your waist and pivoted you so your legs dangled over the edge of your seat. The spark of arousal you felt at being so easily manhandled didn’t escape you.

“I know,” he finished for you. “Believe me, I know exactly what you want. But you’re letting me steer remember? It wouldn’t be very nice to go back on your word now, would it?”

You almost told him to hell with it, screw his hypothesis. You foresaw yourself flipping the two of you over so you could take exactly what you wanted from him whether he liked it or not. But then you felt his mouth dance over the thin cloth separating your wet heat from his soft lips, and the fight evaporated from you as the tip of his finger slipped under the fabric and tugged it away gently.

This damned tie would be the death of you— you’d never wanted to look at someone this badly. The urge to snatch it off was intense.

Sebastian trailed his fingers around your sex, the teasing touches working you into a frenzy as he took his time toying with you. His other arm came up to press down on your hips, preventing any unwanted jerking or bucking on your part. You were completely at Sebastian’s mercy, your mouth hanging open in a silent plea.

When his lips closed around your swollen clit, you kicked your head back with a cacophony of sounds. Your cries seemed to fuel Sebastian as he kissed and licked at your center with reckless abandon. The feeling of your muscles tensing beneath him— because of him— drove him wild with lust. The arm bracing your hips pressed down harder as he probed your entrance with his tongue, and there was no stopping the drawn out moan you released at the feeling.

As you fell apart before him, Sebastian drank in the sight. Your cheeks were flushed with desire, chest heaving with the sharp gasps and pants that fell from your lips. He could see the hair along your arms standing on end, and your kiss-swollen lips mouthed a slew of words that never came out.

He knew then he was addicted to you. There would be no stopping what was to come after this.

Quickly, and rather mercifully you might add, Sebastian replaced his tongue with one of his slender fingers, curling it upwards. It reached far deeper than before, the feeling making your toes curl. Letting your head tip back so hit the back of the lounge with a thunk, you heard and felt Sebastian chuckle against you. Taking your relaxed posture as a good sign, he pumped his finger a few times before tentatively adding a second. The stretch was uncomfortable at first, but with his skilled mouth making quick work of you, the discomfort vanished.

“F-Fuck Sebastian, I can’t much longer, I’m— fuck—“ he silenced you with his tongue, never lessening his attention against your center as he felt you progressively get tighter around his fingers. The grip he had on you would surely leave bruises, but the thought of Sebastian’s marks lingering on your naked body pushed you clean over the edge.

With a cry of ecstasy you came around Sebastian’s fingers, the stars dancing in your eyes blinding against the steady darkness of his tie. He held you through your orgasm, relishing in each tiny twitch that slipped through your limb body. His mouth stayed on you, overstimulating you until you found the strength to palm at his shoulder.

He broke away with a wicked strand of saliva dangling between the two of you. The sight sent another bolt of arousal through him, his neglected cock straining against his trousers.

A few beats passed, the only sound in the Undercroft that of your ragged breathing. Sebastian finally released your waist and scaled the lounge, caging you between the cushions and himself. Cupping your jaw he brought your lips to his, and the taste of yourself on his mouth had you sighing into the kiss. You felt like putty as Sebastian’s warm hands roused you from your post coital state. His tongue delved deep into your mouth, exploring and tasting every inch he could as he lightly pet your hair back.

Breaking apart took an eternity, but at some point Sebastian opted to get on with things and stepped away from the lounge. You wanted to protest, but then you heard the metal buckle of his belt clink in a way that told you more was yet to come. The muffled sound of clothing being shed had heat pooling in your gut once again. Your knees pressed together instinctually.

Watching you fall apart was as magnificent as Sebastian had always imagined it would be. Better, even. Seeing your body overcome with pleasure had imbued him with a sense of self-fulfillment that he only wanted to expand upon. Recalling your trembling legs on either side of him, your nails digging into the cushions of the lounge, and your unruly hair tumbling all around you; it only made Sebastian want you that much more.

“So fucking perfect,” he murmured, and you whimpered.

In a split second Sebastian was ravaging you once again. You gasped as he curled those strong arms under your hips and yanked you down so you were flush with his achingly hard cock. Fuck, did you want to see him. The sheer size of him felt intimidating, his thick shaft pulsing with obvious desire against you, and you heard him groan at the feeling.

You were positive his hands left scorch marks along your thighs as he gripped them, willing himself to maintain his composure and not slam into you all at once. An inherent, primitive part of him demanded that he fill you, mark you, claim you, all for himself.

On cue you wriggled in Sebastian’s grip, and your slick rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock was all the go ahead he needed.

Despite his baser urges, Sebastian moved slowly as he aligned himself. He teased along your entrance a few times, committing your stuttered breathing to memory, before gingerly pressing the head into your tight heat.

“F-Fuck darling, you feel incredible,” he breathed the quiet praises along the smooth skin of your leg, leaving a chaste kiss there before inching his cock in deeper. “Feels amazing.”

The intrusion felt so right in a million different ways. You could barely keep one thought in your mind before twelve more came and replaced it. At this angle you could feel every part of Sebastian sheathed inside of you. His fingers were nothing compared to his cock; it filled you in all the right places, rubbing tantalizingly along your sweet spot as he pulled out nearly all the way, and plunged back in.

“Fuck! S-Sebastian, you’re so big—“ his hips snapping against yours dragged a cry from your throat, and your hands fisted uselessly against the cushions beneath you.

Sebastian took note as he set a steady rhythm, grinding his balls against your ass with each rough pass of his cock. He released his hold on your leg, letting it fall against the seat as he gathered your wrists in one hand before pinning them against the back of the lounge.

You were spread wide for him like this, with your hands restrained above your head and both legs knocked to the side. Sebastian’s free hand came to fist in your hair, tugging your head to the side to lick a wet stripe up the flushed column of your neck. He bit and sucked at the skin there, the sensation of teeth and his tongue laving over the bites too much for your fried brain.

When he released your hair, you momentarily missed the sting of his grip before you felt the pad of his thumb press down on your clit.

You didn’t even know what the hell you were saying. Words were definitely falling from your lips but aside from Sebastian’s name and a flurry of curses and moans, the rest got lost in translation. It was too much— without your eyes to take in the scene, your other senses were working in overdrive. Your sweat slick skin prickled, and you felt a shock pass between your and Sebastian’s conjoined hands above you. His grunts and shouts of your name pushed you closer to that familiar coiling in your gut.

“Please please please— Sebastian I need to see you, please let me look at you. I can’t much longer— fuck—“

You heard an animalistic growl reverberate from deep in Sebastian’s chest before you felt him let go of your wrists and tug his tie over your head. The sight that greeted you was nothing short of sinful, as far as you were concerned.

Gone was the lanky, boyish-cute Slytherin who you’d first met in your fifth-year. Sebastian was wholly a man now. His broad shoulders were well defined from years of dueling, and the muscles along his back were rippling with each concentrated thrust of his hips. The taut stomach you could now see made your mouth water, your fingers itching to trail down that patch of hair that led to where you were connected. His dark stare was trained solely on you, watching how you reacted as he drank in the hazy, fucked out look in your eyes. You reached for him then, and Sebastian let his fingers intertwine with your own before he shifted so you were flat across the lounge with his delicious weight pressed against your core.

He began to move faster then, the force of his cock ramming into you causing you to slide up the lounge until your head bumped the arm rest and he was fucking noisy cries of his name right out of you. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, your second orgasm being dragged out of you, and you frantically began rutting back with the slightest give you were allowed.

“More darling?” Sebastian sputtered out a broken moan in your ear, “You want more?”

“Yes! Yes yes, please Sebastian please, give me everything— fuck—“

With a rough growl, Sebastian was pulling out of you entirely, leaving you whimpering and mewling your displeasure before his hands were back on your waist. You were boneless and completely at his mercy as he dragged you back down the lounge, looping one of his strong arms under your back so you were arched towards him as he rammed his cock back into you, not even pausing to draw breath before he was fucking you straight through the surface, brutal in how rough he was pounding into you but fuck— if it isn’t exactly what you needed.

Your spine rounded further off the lounge as you flung your head back and wailed for Sebastian, your nails coming up to claw at his back and over his shoulders then down his arms, leaving angry red stripes in their wake. Your voice was so much needier, so much raspier than Sebastian ever remembered hearing it. As he thrusted into you with reckless abandon, his free hand trailing up your chest and gripping your throat again, squeezing just hard enough to pull you on to his cock with more force, and when your eyes flew open with a choked gasp, he saw the red sparks crackling behind the irises.

When you finally came, you screamed, long and loud, and Sebastian knew better than to stop now, so he picked up his pace, fucking you through your orgasm while he chased his own. It didn’t take him much longer, the tight heat of your pulsing cunt more than enough to send him spiraling over the edge with you.

Sebastian came with a grunt, the tempo of his hips faltering before he ground his cock deep within you and you felt him empty inside. The final sensation brought you higher than you ever thought possible, and through your closed eyelids you saw flashes of red all around you.

Sebastian opened his bleary eyes and was greeted by one hell of a sight— you were glowing. Literally. Red sparks of lightning seemed to dance over your entire body, fizzling out at the top of your head and the tips of your fingers and toes. You were so caught up in the euphoria of your come down that you barely noticed Sebastian had stopped moving until you felt his hand on your cheek.

You cracked an eye open at him, the blissfully fucked out look on your face overshadowed entirely by the unique coloring to your eyes. They were glowing red, too.

“Holy fuck,” Sebastian whispered, his voice gravelly. His eyes were unblinking as they roamed your naked body, taking in the sight of Isidora’s power slipping out around you both, charging the air and tickling his skin in the areas you were still connected.

You realized it then too, raising your hand to your face in time to watch the bolts of magic recede back beneath your skin. The residual glow behind your eyes faded, leaving a calm silence in its wake. Your head felt clear, the constant buzzing you’d grown accustomed to nowhere to be found. When Sebastian took your hand in his you found yourself searching his expression for any signs of fear or repulsion at your unintentional revelation.

Instead you simply saw pure adoration.

“That was incredible,” he practically purred as he pulled out, and you instantly missed the feeling of being filled by him. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Despite your better judgment, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious that he had seen anything at all. You pushed yourself up, drawing your knees to your chest to wrap your arms around yourself protectively.

“It’s not incredible,” you murmured. “It’s unfortunate. It’s a terrible reminder that I should have left well enough alone. I’m a freak.”

“Hey,” his hands were so gentle, so at odds with the rough nature they had exhibited not even five minutes earlier. “Don’t say that, please. You’re not a freak. You did exactly what you thought was right– if you hadn’t we would all probably be dead right now. But if it’s any consolation, I meant the sex was incredible. Not that you glowing wasn’t incredible too– I mean, you’ve always been beautiful. The magic just gave you a little extra flare.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his reassurances. Of course Sebastian of all people would find something positive to say about the unknown, ancient magic that thrummed in your veins.

He let his hands drift from your shoulders to cup your cheeks, pulling your half hidden face out of your knees to kiss you deeply. The action said everything words couldn’t, and you found yourself leaning further into his touch, chasing the warmth that you so desperately craved.

After a few languid moments Sebastian asked, “How do you feel?”

You knew what he meant. “Better. A lot better, actually. Usually it feels like there’s something… sentient at the back of my mind. It’s always there, but not now. It’s quiet.”

That trademark grin of his appeared in a flash, and you knew then that you had fortuitously inflated his ego. “So you’d say my hypothesis was valid? Does that mean this can be considered a treatment method in the future?”

A bark of laughter escaped you as you reached up to swat his shoulder. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sallow. Some things have to be earned.”

Sebastian leaned forward to kiss you again, the feeling of his lips on yours chasing away any lingering doubts or concerns. Maybe your magic would worsen. Maybe it really would change you entirely if you gave it enough time. But until that day came, so long as you had Sebastian with you, the thought didn’t seem quite as scary. Perhaps with him by your side, you could find an alternative and right the wrongs of the past.

Only time would be able to tell.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #im just tagging this into oblivion dont mind me #my writing #sebastian sallow smut

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doodledraw · 14 days

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Today is the day! Finally posting the first chapter of my icemav oblivion au :D I'm really happy with how this cover art came out actually, there's a lot of fun significance and metaphorical choices made.

I hope you guys will consider checking out the fic!

#my art #icemav fanart #icemav #maverick x iceman #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #iceman x maverick #top gun maverick fanart #top gun fanart #top gun 1986 #digital art #doodledrawsart #fanart #procreate #top gun au #oblivion au #oblivion fanart #fanart of a fanfic #my writing

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mirkwoodmunson · 9 months

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insomnia

eddie munson/f!reader

sfw

If it weren’t for Eddie sleeping peacefully by your side, you’d be crying in frustration right about now. The aching pull of sleep behind your eyes was a constant reminder that if you could just relax, you’d be out cold. But whether it be your heart or your mind, your body betrays you; so, despite your exhaustion, you lie awake in Eddie’s bed at four o’ clock in the morning.

Your legs are tingling with restlessness and it starts to reach your arms, you dare yourself to stay still, wallowing in discomfort to save Eddie the ordeal of waking up just to help you fall sleep. As many times as he’d tried humming to you, rubbing your back, tried talking you to sleep, the stress of wanting to give him that satisfaction of lulling you into slumber kept you awake despite his best efforts. More-so on your part you’d decided it best not to indulge in that frustration just to have him awake with you. He needed rest, too, and you’d either fall asleep, or you wouldn’t. Mornings when he could tell you hadn’t rested were a blessing within your curse, anyway — he’d coo and sweet-talk you, rub your back apologetically and bring you a cup of coffee in bed, tending to your enervation.

When the dark night begins to give way to the earliest of the sun’s light, it’s a bit too much to bear, and you rub your eyes with a soft sigh of irritation before carefully climbing out of his bed. You grab one of his discarded sweatshirts off the floor and pull it over your head, arms wrapped tight around yourself as you leave his bedroom, gently closing the door behind you.

Wayne is still working the night shift, leaving the rest of the empty trailer to your devices. For a little while you watch some TV, curled up on the couch with your arms around your knees — early morning reruns of Batman, infomercials pleading you to buy K-Tel albums and Ginsu Knives.

You could pass for a zombie right now.

TV does nothing but worsen the ache in your eyes, still restless, so you switch it off in favor of staring out the window. You might as well be the last person alive on planet Earth. The trailer park is silent, still, hardly even a breeze shuffling the flora. You brush away an intrusive thought that encourages you to go outside and scream as loud as you can. Satisfying as it might be, it likely won’t help you sleep. You’re not even sure sleep is what you’re after anymore, what good would it do you now? Either way at this point, you’d still be exhausted in the morning.

Hell, it practically is morning.

You take to pacing to wear out your restlessness, down the hall to Eddie’s closed door and back to the living room - repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat. You close your eyes on the sixth rotation, you’re a ghost haunting the Munson household at this point, you know every angle of this trailer like the back of your hand.

What you don’t expect is to collide with something, someone — which you do, walking straight into a pillar of warmth and soft chuckles. The run-in elicits from your lungs a shriek, silenced midway by Eddie clamping a hand over your mouth, your eyes snapping open to find him grinning down at you as he laughs softly.

“Christ, you scream like a banshee.”

You smack his hand away half-heartedly and heave a sigh, “you scared me!”

“I’m not the one practicing my zombie shamble in the dark — I nearly grabbed the bat! Have you been bitten?”

He playfully tugs at your arms, pulling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt you wear, swiping calloused fingers against you, checking over your skin in a mock assessment. Everywhere he checks, he plants a warm little kiss, making you blush and squirm away from him.

A nightlight plugged into an outlet in the kitchen casts him in a warm glow, and you can see how sleepy he is, likely waking up for a quick piss only to find you meandering the short and narrow hallway like you were sleepwalking. His hair hangs in a tangled ruffle, wearing a ratty and bleach-stained band tee where only a few letters of the name are visible — if not worn — the rest faded away from years of washing and wearing and washing again; sleeves ripped off to promote his shoulders and biceps. The shorn hem ends just at his navel, showing off a bit of his soft belly and the trail of hair leading down into boxers that hang low on his hips.

After all this time he still makes you soft, and you for him.

In the silence of your admiration he ceases his playful ministrations to look at you, brown eyes cast to black in the near-dark — you could fall into them forever for all you cared. But he rests a curled finger against the underside of your chin to capture your full attention, or at least as much of it as he can have in your sorry and depleted state.

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

“No, actually, I just really like pacing back and forth at five a.m.”

He snorts and lightly shoves your shoulder, before pulling you back and into his arms, his splayed hand rubbing your back as he rests his face in the crook of your neck and breathes you in.

“M’sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you mumble, giving in to his comfort with a soft sigh as your eyes fall closed, winding your arms around his middle and tucking yourself against him.

“Can I do anything?”

“No, baby, it’s okay. I don’t wanna keep you up — I think sleep is a lost cause for me at this point.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, lifting it from your neck to pout at you. “Lemme help. Let me try, even just an hour or two would do you good. Just let me try. Please? I really don’t mind.”

How can you refuse this giant puppy? You groan softly in resignation and firmly plant your face square in his chest, rubbing into his shirt as he laughs softly and continues to stroke your back.

“Fine,” your voice comes muffled. “Misery loves company.”

Eddie laughs again and kisses into your hair before ruffling it, “misery is fucking cute when she’s tired. Go on, go lie down, I’ll be right there — I gotta take a piss.”

“Eeewwww,” you bemoan teasingly.

Eddie snorts and retorts with a lighthearted swat to your ass to which you squeak, sending you on your way.

As he heads into the bathroom, you trudge back into his bedroom, collapsing into the bed with a weary groan, burying yourself in the messed sheets, waiting for his return. He joins you again a few minutes later, sliding into the bed beside you and greedily pulling you into his arms, squeezing you in a warm hug before you relax together in your entanglement.

Eddie pulls all the moves he can think of as he lies on his back with you pulled up against him, your head resting on his chest so you can feel the steady rise-and-fall movement of his breathing, the thud of his heart just below your ear. The fingers of one hand comb into your hair, gently grazing the nape of your scalp in a tender massage, while his other hand once again lies flat on your back, rubbing wide and slow circles into you.

You don’t know why you initially deny his comfort when you’re struggling to relax, as when you receive it, you feel muscles ease up that you didn’t even realize were tense in the first place. You let go of a deep sigh, melting into him as you close your eyes, and this time it’s not a struggle to keep them shut. Maybe you’ve finally worn yourself out.

“Relaxed?” Eddie murmurs.

“Mhm…”

“Comfy?”

“…mhm…”

“Love me?”

You giggle softly and nuzzle yourself into him as you nod, “love you.”

Eddie nestles his face into your hair, hiding his smile there, shifting you into him further as he exhales a slow and soft breath. You’re cocooned in his warmth, his comfort, arms pulled up between you as you clutch yourself to him with loose fists twisted into his shirt, anchoring yourself to his refuge. Eddie is your safe place, his arms a home, eager to welcome you into the sanctuary of his grasp.

#was i gonna make this longer? ya #do i have the mental capacity to make this longer? na #n e way <3 #*slithers back into oblivion*#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot #mine

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nine-blessed-hero · 9 months

Text

Greetings After a Long Departure

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion Warnings: None Words: 1014 Context: A gameplay event I remembered, and wanted to write out - see below fic for details Taglist (ask +/-): @writeblrsupport @jacquesfindswritingandadvice

It's been a few years since… Everything. Maybe many. Time has passed and Rowan has stopped counting.

Time enough that when xe teaches the rookies how to shoot, xir shoulder and elbow joints pop. Time enough that xe has become a Master of Alchemy; that xe is expanding xir repertoire and learning how to move in heavy armour.

There is always more to learn, xe tells the apprentice Mages. You never stop honing your skills, xe tells the Fighters Guild hot-shots. There's always someone who can teach you fresh ideas, recent papers to study, some new knack to discover.

Rowan – leading by example – is in the Imperial City proper for the first time in… oh, probably a year? Time enough to notice that the fresh white stone of the Market District, replaced after Everything, is now dull and grey; that the joyful colours splashed around the Arena in his honour are faded and chipped; that the Arboretum is not as deftly pruned as it once was. But xe is not here to critique the architecture. Xe has heard word and whisper of someone even better at the art of stealth than xe and is hoping they are willing to teach xir.

It is to xir horror then, that Armand tells xir xe is looking for the Imperial Spymaster, Marana Rian, found in the Temple District. Rowan who takes the most circuitous route to the Waterfront; Rowan who has not set foot in the Temple District since Everything was over; Rowan who makes airs of not recalling what happened That Night when asked, but will not deign to look in that direction should xe catch sight of a marble toothed maw over the walls.

But perhaps it has been time enough. Time enough for a heart to heal. Time enough xe can think about That Night without frailty overtaking xir limbs. Time enough that xe went back to see him.

Xir foot rings off the cobbles of the Temple District. It's impossible not to see him, life-like twisted marble. Xir heart lurches. A guard looks curiously at xir, as a palid hand gropes for the wall. Xe flashes a sickly smile. Xe almost turns, running back to the safety of hearth and home. But no – it has been time enough. Xe straightens xir tunic and goes forth.

Xe's greeted, as xe enters the Temple, by a fresh-faced novice. No lines of care on their scaled face, only nubs of burgeoning horns ridging their brow. When the novice asks xir business, xe gestures to the statue, feet tucked in with garlands and offerings. The novice clearly doesn't recognise xir, taking xir to be some distant pilgrim, as they jabber about That Night while leading xir towards the statue.

He is bigger than xe remembers. With his wings held aloft and head thrown back, he takes up most of the space in the not-small temple. So tall, once they stop at the edge of the field of offerings, xe barely comes up to his knee. Rowan feels lost, for a moment, craning xir head back as if it were possible, this close, to see all of him; and wonders how xe forgot he was the size of a building.

Xe can touch it if xe wants, the novice says. It's just a statue. Tests were done; it's perfectly safe. From here they can see the shimmer on one claw, worn smooth and shiny by many hands and many prayers. He isn't there. That's what they'd told xir after the tests were concluded. Still – the need to give some recognition to the man transformed gnaws in xir breast.

The novice natters on as Rowan picks a way through the flowers and offerings, but xe doesn't hear, recalling only that last conversation; the way he made it sound as if he were taking a trip – not too far, not too long. Finds xe knows just what to do.

Rowan takes a breath. Smiles. "Hello, you." Reaches out as if to cup his cheek. "Read any good books lately?" Xir fingers skim the statue. A soft and golden sunlight finds xir. Xe feels warm and full; content as if after a hearty meal in the company of loved ones. In xir mind, a noise like the bones of the world sliding past each other; words, perhaps, but they're so slow and bass xe doesn't understand – can only let them resonate through xir being.

Slowly the incandescence fades; the sense of a lingering hug, reluctantly parted from. Xe's left feeling comforted; the grind of everyday lifted and lightened. As if things will start going better for xir, and everyone is a potential new friend.

When Rowan turns, xe finds a small crowd gathered behind xir. The novice is gaping. Several people are in prayerful stances. Xe can hear the word 'miracle' being uttered. "What-? But the- It's never-," the novice stutters, their eyes flaring wide. "Who are you?" Before Rowan can speak, the crowd speaks for xir, calling out xir titles: Fighters Guildmaster, Archmage, Champion– "The Hero of Kvatch!"

Well, shit.

Rowan smiles, picks xir way back through the collection of offerings. "I apologise for having interrupted your afternoon," xe says. "But… the Statue-" Rowan raises xir voice, knowing that the crowd will just make up some half-truth otherwise. "They told me, 'he's gone'. They told me it was just a statue, and the man I watched transform into our saviour was no longer on Mundus. I guess they weren't quite correct." Xe swallows to stop xir voice from cracking and glances back at the statue. "He's still here, in his own way. He's always been here, patient as ever, awaiting my return." Xe turns fully now, damp eyes cast aloft. "I'm sorry, Martin. Time and again, you've waited for me; it's been time enough. I promise I won't be so long again."

Warmth stirs again, a lingering caress, drawing a sweet smile from xir. Rowan presses a small bag of coins into the novice's hand – "To keep up the Temple's good works." – and leaves the congregation to its awed colloquy.

–––

So: I'd somehow missed all the spoilers about the Blessings of Akatosh from the Avatar statue, and when I went to find Marana Rian, many gameplay hours after completing the MQ, I got a sudden rush of nostalgia and went to look at the statue (I, like Rowan, maaay have been avoiding the area a bit. Y'know - MQ was ended, I had no real reason to go back there). Noticing the 'activate' fist, I did so and was pleasantly surprised by the Blessings. I later read a headcanon that this is a gift from Martin, an apology/ "love letter", only given to the Hero and unavailable to anyone else in Cyrodiil, which I really liked the sound of - hence why I've made it clear that to everyone else, it is just a statue; it's not until Rowan returns, that xe learns the truth.

#writing #hero of kvatch #oc rowan #martin septim #TESFic #oblivion fanfiction #oblivion fanfic #tes oblivion #The Elder Scrolls #wandering words

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skyrim-forever · 10 months

Text

I wrote 100 words on my wip

somebody give me a hug

#wip #its my oblivion one shot series #oblivion fanfic #pls tell me I did a good job

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ghoulingcooper · 7 months

Text

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandoms: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls

Relationship: Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim

Characters: Martin Septim, Female Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil

Additional Tags: POV Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Post-Canon Fix-It, Martin Septim Lives

Summary: Anna laughs as his stubble brushes her thighs, and he has to stop there, with his cheek on her soft skin, just to revel in the sound.

#im alive and back to writing hehehehe #tes iv: oblivion #oblivion #martinhok #martin septim #hero of kvatch #oc: anna #martin septim x hero of kvatch #martin x hok #martinanna #my writng #tes fanfiction #oblivion fanfic

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whositmcwhatsit · 3 months

Text

Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

AN: I'm not sure if anyone remembers I used to write silly stories, but here's the next installment of one I have neglected for too long. Thank you to everyone who continued to patiently message and let me know how much they liked the characters and very politely ask for the next chapter.

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen for injuring herself in order to give me motivation. And reading to check that I still remembered how to type words. You might need to remind yourself what happened before: Chapter 11 Chapter 12- Move Across the night sky, with those anonymous lights.

Pulling up to the gate of one of Elvis’ homes always invoked a strange combination of emotions in Chancy no matter how often she visited. Maybe it was the fact that there was always, always, at least a few people standing around ogling her curiously, but there was also the insecurity that this might be the time that the gates would not open for her, and the pride she felt at how much he had achieved, as well as an undeserved sense of personal achievement that she knew someone who had so much. That last one always made her feel guilty.

Harold kept her waiting, pretending that he needed to come to the window of her Chevrolet to see who she was and then saying he would have to call up to the house to check it was okay.

“Can’t be letting in just anyone, you know.” He went to the gatehouse and the gate began to open immediately. She smiled and pretended to be amused by his trick as she rolled past.

Chancy pulled up around the back near to the fence where the staff parked. Her car fit in better there than next to the limo and the Lincolns and the cadillacs. She glanced in the rear view mirror and checked her make-up hadn’t slid off her face in the humidity. Her air conditioning was busted, again- it only ever seemed to happen in the summer, a cosmic joke or a punishment.

Grabbing her two small, yellow travel cases, she swung the door shut with her hip and sighed, trying to force her heart to slow down by denying it oxygen. Just a visit, just a visit, she focused on the words and willed her heart to follow their rhythm.

“Well, hello there, Chancy.” She started and dropped one of her cases as Mr Presley approached her from the office, a smile on his plump face. He had that end of the day twinkle in his eye and Chancy mused how, between his twinkle and Mrs Presley’s dancing glow in her brown eyes when she was laughing, it was no wonder Elvis could incapacitate people with just a glance.

“Hi, Sir, it’s good to see you again!” She went to grab her fallen luggage, but Vernon reached it first and picked it up, adjusting his grip and miming like the case was heavy.

“My Lord, what do you have in here?!”

“Well, you know now a girl can’t give away the secrets needed to make her presentable, it’d spoil the magic, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess it would,” he agreed, still smiling slightly. “Though I reckon I need some magic to help this ole mug.”

“Nonsense! I was just about to ask you for your secret!”

Chancy could do this all day. In fact, she did do this all day; most of her job was buttering up clients and making them feel good about themselves. The fact that there was a slight ache to her cheeks as she smiled now was proof of how hard she worked.

“Well, you always were a sweet girl,” he returned, glancing over his shoulder at the house and tightening his lips. “Let me walk you in, I know Elvis is expecting you.” He reached out for her other case and she let him take it, puzzled since Vernon didn’t usually go out of his way to be helpful or even really acknowledge her much past a short, pleasant greeting.

On the way, they made small talk about the weather, which was the law in civilised society. One of them remarking on the heat, the other saying that it had to break soon. Debating whether it was hotter or cooler than previous years and then exchanging stories of the most extreme heat they had ever encountered. He told her about a time when he was a young man down in Mississippi and he was doing some work for a man who wore a hairpiece. The day got so hot that the glue melted and the hair started slipping when he spoke. No one was brave enough to tell him and lose the job. He mimed the man’s hair flying back and forth and how they had to all fight to keep their eyes from flicking from side to side with it. His laughter at his own story was infectious.

As they came in through the back door, he paused in the dim back hallway. Somewhere nearby she could hear a football game being played on television and men’s voices rising and falling as they questioned plays and commiserated.

“You know, it sure is good to see you, Chancy. Elvis’ mother always used to speak so highly of you and how well you took care of him.” He left the rest unspoken, looking behind him to the stairs to the basement, and then turning back and nodding at her.

“Thank you, Mr Presley,” she smiled, a little puzzled. She awkwardly fished back her cases and wondered if he was working up to something, and if she should wait.

Instead, he opened the door to the kitchen and motioned her in, wishing her a good night.

In the kitchen, Elvis’ aunt Delta was complaining about trying to buy something and how they had raised the price when she gave them the delivery address.

“Shouldn’t matter if it’s Tom, Dick or Elvis, if it’s fifty dollars it should stay fifty damn dollars. The nerve of people!” Her little dog was yipping and bouncing around her feet, excited by the heightened emotion in her voice. Mary, Elvis’ cook, her coat on like she had been trying to leave for some time, agreed with her, nodding her head wholeheartedly.

They both turned to look at Chancy as she paused by the counter with a faint smile of anticipation. It was always a roll of the dice which side of Delta you would get, but that evening was a good day, because they exchanged greetings and Chancy was invited into the story of the new chair that had started out as fifty dollars and became one hundred once it was destined for Graceland.

“One hundred dollars, my ass! I said, it’s for me, not Elvis and we both of us have enough sense not to waste another fifty dollars on some piece of-”

The phone rang on the wall by where Delta was sitting at the breakfast bar and she snatched it up, listened for a minute, and then nodded to her.

“Elvis said to go ahead and go on up.”

Chancy had to temper her speed as she moved through the kitchen, heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your chair,” she shrugged, stepping onto the first tread.

“Oh honey, I got the chair, and a little table to boot. Soon’s I told ‘em that I’d go home and say what a rat-infested flea-ridden store they had and how we ain’t never gonna shop there again, we got the friends and family discount too.”

“Well, they’ll know better than to mess with you next time, Mrs Biggs. I might need to get some tips from you for when I have to negotiate with my suppliers.”

As she was climbing the stairs, she heard Delta say:

“Honey, I don’t think you need any help from anybody trying to get anything.”

Her foot momentarily faltered as her body wanted her to stop and march back down, but her brain won out just barely and forced her to continue her climb. By the time she had opened and closed all the doors that marked her journey, she was pretty sure she had knocked her case into her left shin enough times to leave a bruise, and she paused just inside Elvis’ office to run a finger under each eye to catch the slowly dripping mascara. She tapped on the door and waited to hear a low murmur of assent before she pushed the slightly ajar door open.

Elvis was sitting on his enormous bed with the newspaper laid out before him, apparently deeply engrossed in it, though she knew he had to have been watching the monitors at least a couple of minutes ago to know that she had arrived.

“Oh no! I think there’s been some mistake!” she lisped in a high voice. “The man at the reception desk said that this was my room.” She whirled around, wide-eyed, in the doorway. “This is room 385631.6 and half, right?”

Elvis smirked, his lips and cheekbones all curves as his eyes narrowed. His voice was a little thick like his tongue was still waking up.

“Damn, they must’ve double booked the rooms again, and, you know, I heard the clerk say that they were full up, no vacancies.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head like he was genuinely upset and disappointed in the ‘hotel’.

“Right,” she responded. “I guess that’ll be because of the convention?”

He nodded, rising slowly and stepping closer to her, his fingertips tickling her wrist.

“Uh huh, right, the, uh, One-eyed Albino Python Lovers of America convention,” he nodded, turning away as he almost broke.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a popular one,” she murmured, hearing him snort over his shoulder, and fighting to keep her face straight.

“Well,” he sighed with a sense of inevitability, turning back to her. “I guess there’s only one thing for it.” He shrugged with his whole body, throwing up his arms. “We’ll just have to share the room.”

“That seems like that’s all there is to it,” she agreed in her ditsy high voice.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind, uh, Miss…?”

“Tallulah-Wanda, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t, huh. Well, I guess I’m just fixing problems all over the place tonight.” He pulled her into a clinch worthy of one of his movies, dipping her down so that she dropped her cases and grabbed his shoulders for safety. They broke apart and smiled breathlessly at each other for a minute.

“One-eyed Albino Python Lovers,” she muttered, slapping his shoulder. He smirked and pulled her back up.

“What? I’m telling ya, Tallulah baby, it’s a real group.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you’ve met quite a few members.”

“I meet a lot of people,” he replied evasively. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard on the mouth. “How was your day?”

She paused, surprised by the question. “Uh, it was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?”

“Honey, I woke up less than two hours ago,” he pointed out, with a wry lift of his eyebrow.

“Right, right, I’m in the Elvis time zone now. Gotta adjust my clock accordingly. How was your breakfast?” He rolled his eyes and tugged her towards him, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her.

“That’s enough of that,” he murmured, though he didn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ was, just steered her around and nudged her backwards towards the bed. “Gotta unwrap my present here.” He tugged on her pale pink pussycat bow, teasing the ends out from where they were tucked into her low scooped waistcoat and pulling the loose knot free.

“You want me to give you my scarf?” she murmured, keeping her voice low to hide how affected she was. “Hmm, that’s a twist.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he seemed absorbed in his task, letting her silky scarf flutter off to the side as he studied her. She returned the favour, noting how fair his lashes looked in the daylight. His face was fuller, maybe because he hadn’t been well, but his colour was better than when she had last seen him at her house.

Biting his lip slightly, he unbuttoned her waistcoat, but there was nothing seductive or gentle about his movements. She genuinely felt like a gift given to an overexcited six year old. The waistcoat went in the other direction to her scarf, quickly followed by her heels.

“I’ll show you where your things are,” he said, pulling away and holding out a hand. She had to tamp down a smile as she let him lead her, padding behind him in her stockinged feet.

That morning, she had deliberately dressed up in her most businesslike outfit, stopping just short of wearing pants, because she knew he wouldn’t like it. Not to antagonise him exactly, but there had definitely been something pointed in her choice. Some barbed reminder that she was a whole person with a successful, fulfilling life that went on out of his sight line. She wasn’t one of the no doubt many girls around the country just waiting for his call, their life outside of him just filler that happened between their time with him.

In the ‘guest’ dressing room off his office, he showed her the row of plastic covered outfits that he had bought her on tour as if they had been there ever since he returned and not, as was more likely, hastily moved in that day after the last girl had left.

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” she asked as he hovered in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, clearly still formulating his reply. “I’m teasing you. Go on now, let me change.”

“Oughta tan your hide,” he muttered, giving her a sideways look as he retreated from the door. “Don’t change your hair.”

“Saying please don’t hurt you know!” she called out the door.

“I know!” he hollered back from presumably the bedroom.

In the small dusky pink dressing room, Chancy deliberately did not touch any drawers, no matter how painfully her curiosity niggled at her. She tried to be as dispassionate as she would be in a communal dressing room, which, essentially, it was. She made sure not to make a mess and folded her own clothes neatly, putting them back into her case.

There were a few toiletries sitting on top of the dressing table and she leant over them in order to apply more make up to her eyes, appreciating the good lighting. When she had finished, she checked that she had not left a trace and came back out into the office.

Elvis was sat at his desk with Joe standing over him and murmuring into his ear, his arms spanning the desk and the back of Elvis’ chair. His broad back blocked Elvis from her view. The body language could not have been clearer.

Without stopping, she tiptoed past them towards the bedroom, still holding her bags.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elvis snapped over the top of Joe’s low mumbling. Chancy glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily.

“Going in there? I got changed like you said.” Elvis visibly relaxed, his face smoothing and shoulders dropping.

“I thought you were ducking out on me. What you got your bags there for?”

“I didn’t want to leave all my things lying about. I’m trying to change my messy ways, you know.” He shook his head and waved his hand back towards the dressing room.

“No, go ahead and put everything in there, honey, that’s yours.” She hesitated, but Joe had already resumed his whispering and Elvis was frowning at the console of his desk with its screen and knobs and switches. So, she tucked her cases inside the door of the dressing room and speed-walked past them back into the bedroom.

The curtains were closed and, though the lamps were lit, the room still felt dark to Chancy. This was not helped by the enormous bed that was clad in black every way from the headboard to the bedcovers. She perched on it primly, her feet barely skimming the floor. She didn’t like that, being reminded that she was short. It made her feel like the room was patting her on the head somehow.

Instead, she pushed off the bed and scanned the shelves of the units, smiling a little at the framed photos of a blond little girl and running her finger over the ornaments, some of them clearly from fans.

There were a few records scattered around the record player, their labels a mess of scrawled handwriting that revealed them to be demos. And there were books, piles and piles of books with fuzzy, slightly scary titles like ‘The search for…’, ‘A Study of…’, ‘Explore the world of…’

One caught her eye, a small, slim volume with exotic gold patterns etched into the worn covers. She glanced up at the door before she opened it to the foreword. It was Sufi poetry translated from the original Persian. Chancy pressed her fingers to the pages in wonder, trying to make it fit into the already complex and contradictory picture of Elvis she held in her mind.

The man himself burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, but he stopped short when he saw her standing by the shelves as if he had forgotten she was in there. She could see him biting down and breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to change gears while still accelerating.

She didn’t say anything, looking back down at the book and reading the first poem silently to herself, giving him time to collect himself without being observed, to leave without feeling obligated or ask her to leave. She felt him as he drew close to her, his chest brushing her shoulder.

“It’s good, you should borrow it when I’m done,” he said quietly, calmly. She smiled as she took her hand away from the page and turned towards him.

“What’s it about?”

“I- I can’t exactly say,” he shrugged. “It makes me feel like words and ideas, even sermons and laws, they’re just getting in the way and confusing people, distracting them from the truth and the real essence of God, you know. I-I-I ain’t saying it right, but the guys in this book, they pull back the curtain, you know, and you feel like you’ve caught a glimpse of something, just for a moment, that’s greater and truer than anything else.”

Chancy tilted her head, letting that sink in.

“I do think I’d like to read it after you, thank you.” He leant past her and picked it up.

“Here, take it, honey. I can get another. Ignore the scribbling though, sometimes I just gotta work things out in my head. Try and get things straight, you know.”

“No, Elvis, I can’t, not if you’re enjoying it! I can wait until you’re done.”

“Baby, I want you to. Like I said, I can get another. And we can talk about it when you’re done reading it. I don’t- I don’t have no one I can discuss these things with. They all just get this damn pie-eyed look on their faces like ole Elvis’s gone nuts and they don’t know who to call to fix it.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a silly face while he pushed the book into her chest until she took hold of it.

“That’s dumb,” she murmured, cradling the book to her chest. “Everyone knows you already went crazy years ago.”

“Yeah, well whose fault was that,” he returned, gritting his teeth and pushing his forehead against hers, smushing the tip of her nose. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him closer, simultaneously loving and resenting the almost painful wave of relief that rolled over her as she nestled into his arms and felt his soft lips brush against hers. The big sigh he let out as he squeezed her in tighter at least let her know that she wasn’t alone in this comfort trap.

“I missed this silly little face,” he murmured, one hand gripping her jaw playfully but gently.

“Really? This one?” She crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose, tightening her lips so that it looked like she had buck teeth.

In response, he wrapped one big hand over her face and put a little pressure into it, nudging her backwards. She went with it, trusting him not to have her tumbling on her butt down the stairs. The side of the bed pressed into the back of her legs and she grabbed him by the biceps to stop herself from falling backwards.

“You missed me too, right?” he almost whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. “Tell me you missed me, Cha Cha.”

Chancy heard her own voice as if it came from far away, muffled and almost whiny with longing.

“I missed you, Elvis.” She continued to kiss him even as he turned his head slightly. She could feel his cheek bunch beneath her lips as he smiled, enjoying her affection. “I missed you, I missed you.” She felt his faint stubble grazed against her lips as she let them trail down his cheek and under his jaw. He was bent slightly at the knees so that she could reach, rubbing his thumb around in little circles on her back. Her awareness narrowed to only those points of sensation, the thumb circles on her back, the tingle on her lips, the warmth down her front.

The phone started trilling. They both looked at it blankly for a second, before Elvis straightened and sighed, going to answer.

Whatever was being said on the other end of the line irritated Elvis, he mumbled one word answers until he slammed the receiver back onto the hook.

Without a word, he disappeared into his bathroom and left her yet again wandering around his room, running her fingers over his belongings and trying to pretend that she belonged there. She opened her new book at a random page and let her eyes trip across the words:

“That’s how you came here, like a star,

Without a name…”

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. She murmured it under her breath, finishing with a sharp inhale as Elvis stormed back out of his bathroom clad in a long leather coat, gloves and carrying a police flashlight.

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here.”

Billy was waiting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He grinned, reflecting Elvis’ smirk as they converged in the kitchen.

“They fell for it, huh?” Elvis remarked, knocking Billy’s shoulder with his knuckles.

“Uh huh, I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em on up ahead.” “Joe bitchin’ and whining about it, I bet,” Elvis remarked gleefully, heading towards the back door with Billy beside him. Chancy trailed them, wondering what the hell was going on.

The wall of wet heat hit as soon as they stepped outside and Chancy shook her head as she stared at Elvis’ broad back wrapped in black leather even as she was peeling tendrils of her hair away from her damp neck and face.

Elvis was too busy crowing over his ability to fool everyone to notice the temperature. He and Billy were joking and laughing about it as they passed the car port and continued on down towards the back gate near where Chancy had parked her car. On the road was a white Cadillac coupe with an old, black truck behind it.

Billy tossed some keys to Elvis, who was still laughing as he got into the truck, but Billy’s smile faded as he turned away and he looked at Chancy with something close to reproach. She couldn’t think why he would be mad with her or blame her when she had no idea what was going on. He was the one going along with whatever crazy plan Elvis had come up with.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked nobody in particular.

“Shh, we’re being sneaky!” Elvis whispered in an Elmer Fudd voice, leaning out the window. “C’mon, Cha Cha, get in!”

She looked to Billy again, hoping for something that made more sense, but he had already climbed into the Cadillac and the back gate was opening. Elvis beckoned her and she hurriedly circled the truck and jumped in.

As they pulled out into the narrow road that ran down the side of the church next door, Elvis accelerated slightly and gave the Cadillac in front a little nudge on the bumper, grinning so wide that his dimples made an appearance.

“Uh, shouldn’t you have your lights on?” Chancy asked, goosebumps of anticipation nonetheless breaking out over her arms as she caught his infectious excitement.

“Now that wouldn’t be very sneaky of little old us, would it.”

“Billy’s got his on.”

“Exactly!”

Ahead of them, Billy pulled out onto the highway and faintly they could hear a few people shouting. Elvis waited, engine idling with his lights off. Chancy watched him expectantly as he tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel, humming quietly under his breath. He seemed to become aware of her eyes and glanced towards her, eyes narrow and cheekbones brimming with mirth.

“Being bad feels good, don’t it?”

“It might, if I knew what we were doing.” He didn’t reply, just flew out onto the highway, switching on his lights at the last minute and swerving around the oncoming traffic.

Eyes on the rear view mirror, he murmured, “I bet they’re shitting a brick right about now, man. Serves ‘em right, serves ‘em right. I tell you, boy…”

“So we’re not going to the recording studio?” Chancy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the car too and he didn’t need to talk to himself.

“You catch on fast, don’t you,” he remarked, shooting her a sideways look. “Baby, what are you doing all the way over there?” He reached blindly across the bench seat and clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to drag her closer to him. She made a series of unladylike noises as she left behind half of the skin from the back of thighs on the warm leather.

“Where are we going then?” she inquired, once she was flush against him, her forearm resting on his thigh and her cheek stuck to his coat.

“Well…” He tailed off. “Where would you like to go?” She bit down on her lip as he made himself sound very magnanimous and not at all like he hadn’t thought his great escape plan all the way through.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” she reasoned. “Maybe we could-” He took a sharp turn that almost sent her sprawling. “Or maybe we could not die, Elvis, how about that?!”

He snorted and glanced at her with his eyebrow quirked playfully. She swatted at him, because he knew exactly what to do to take the heat out of her irritation, leaving her with just the intellectual understanding that she should feel annoyed.

“Poor widdle Cha Cha, all moody and mad cos she’s hungry,” he murmured in that damn baby voice again. She was about to swat him a little harder when he did a double take out of his side window. “Hey, you know, I ran out of gas there one time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, back when I was starting out. It was one of the first times it got really crazy, boy. The cops had to come out and everything. It was wild.”

“Uh huh, getting a ride in the back of a police car to the gas station is not something you ever forget. Especially after I got back and some girl called me your whore.”

Chancy watched his face as his brain worked overtime, recalling the little details that he usually airbrushed from the patter he gave his dates as he took them on a personal tour of his home town, like who else had been there.

“They called you a whore?” he echoed finally, focusing on the detail where he had no culpability. “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it wasn't something I would've wanted to repeat.”

It had been the first time she had been the victim of jealous, spiteful resentment, but not nearly the last. She shook her head like she could dislodge the echoes of embarrassment, hurt and outrage she had felt.

“Besides, you didn’t even remember I was there!” She smacked his leg and turned away slightly, playing at being mad.

“Honey, I did! I-I remember, I was just testing you!”

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Well, I guess I passed.”

“With flying colours,” He hit her with a poorly aimed kiss on the ear as he steered the truck into a parking lot. Chancy glanced around and realised he had pulled into Dairy Queen.

“You do take me to the fanciest places,” she teased, already moving to climb out.

“Well, I only know of two ways to get you out of this mood you’re in,” he returned with irritating insight. “One’s food and the other… Well, we’re in public, honey, you know.” She felt so much better about the shiver she had to fight back when she saw that, despite the naughty look on his face, he had gone pink.

“You are terrible,” she informed him. “Hey, where are you going?” He paused as he pushed open his door.

“There’s only one way out,” he replied, looking bemused.

“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed, then wanted to rewind time and roll her tongue back in, because the one way to guarantee Elvis would do something was to tell him that he couldn’t. “Baby, you don’t have any of the guys with you. It’s not safe.”

“It’s late, Cha Cha, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” he returned. Then, she witnessed the exact same expression of regret cover his face that must have shone from hers moments before. Because telling her that she wasn’t allowed to do something was like firing a starting pistol.

“It’s not exactly Times Square.”

“I don’t give a damn. Cha Cha, honey, you got all kinds of characters out there now, crazy sonsofbitches and losers strung out on all these fucking drugs they’re pushing on the streets. Baby- Baby, you don’t understand because you don’t know what it’s really like.” She bristled at the condescending tone and folded her arms over her grumbling stomach.

“Well, then it’s not safe for either of us.”

After ten minutes of silent sulking and hunger, they came to a compromise. Chancy would go in and order the food, and Elvis would park as close as possible with his gun ready just in case.

As silly as she knew all that was, Chancy still felt tingles of apprehension as she pulled on the metal bar and opened the door.

At that time of the evening, the place was full of teenagers hanging out and families grabbing a treat on the way home from the movies. None of them really spared her a look apart from a few pleasant smiles as she made her way to the counter.

Not long later, she was juggling a sack and two milkshakes and stopped to thank a man who had jumped up to hold the door for her. He smiled back, nodding at her chest rather than her face.

Turning towards the truck, she let out a little gasp as she saw a small knot of people standing by the driver’s door. Her heart hammering, she glanced towards the phone booth at the front of the parking lot, wondering if she would have to make a call to Graceland to get someone out to help.

As she drew closer, she saw that it was just an older couple and their children. As long as they made a getaway before they attracted any more attention they would be okay.

When she climbed in the cab, Elvis was signing a scrap of paper, what looked like a receipt, and he handed it over, ruffling the young son on the head. Chancy kept her head down so as not to attract notice. The only problem was that the family did not seem satisfied with the autograph and small talk and lingered, forcing Elvis to say that they had to leave. They even took a few steps forward as he backed out, like they were going to follow them on foot.

“Just can’t stay out of trouble for a minute, can you,” she remarked, handing him his milkshake.

“Well, you were gone so damn long,” he complained, spilling a little of the shake on his pants as he tried to negotiate the road. “Goddamn it! She quickly retrieved the paper cup before it was thrown, possibly at her. He was still swearing as he pulled into a rest area, the frosty drink slowly trickling into uncomfortable places.

Seeing his mood souring, she grabbed a napkin from the sack but hid it at her side.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she exclaimed brightly, ducking her head down towards his lap.

“Chancy, no!” His voice went impossibly high, breathless and panicked.

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, and tossed the napkin at him as she collapsed against the back of the seat, gasping and giggling, wiping her eyes. She tried to get herself under control as he irritably wiped at his pants with the napkin, muttering under his breath, but every time she looked at him, all kitted out in his flashy badass outfit, she kept hearing his panicked protest like he was a sweet virgin being propositioned by an over amorous date.

“Don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” he snapped. “My fucking pants are ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice quivering very slightly as she bit on the inside of her cheek. “I…” She started laughing again and he smacked the steering wheel and started the engine, shaking his head. “No, baby, no, I’m sorry!” She lifted her milkshake and tipped it slightly as if she was going to dump the whole thing in her own lap. “Look, you give me the word and we’ll match. Want me to?”

A fast diesel truck rattling by startled her and she jerked slightly, causing a large drop to splat onto her bare leg.

“Damn, that’s cold!” she hissed. His eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept across his face. She realised that there was a very real possibility that he was about to knock the cup over her and almost resigned herself to it.

“You’re crazy, you know that,” he remarked, before very slowly and deliberately leaning down and licking the milkshake from her thigh. He punctuated that by opening his mouth and pretending to take a bite of her, his teeth leaving a faint imprint in her pale skin under the light of the cab. Holding her breath, Chancy now understood how fish felt drowning on dry land.

They ate their food at the rest stop without much chat. Elvis was still mad at her for laughing at him. It was always a sore point for him, and she sensed that he was embarrassed by his unfiltered reaction to the idea of her going down on him in public. He always loved to give off the impression that he was unflappable, that there was no boundary that he would not push and no impulse he would not indulge, but that wasn’t true. Not really.

Licking the salt from her fingers, she leant up and kissed his cheek as he chewed the last of his third burger. He didn’t reciprocate, but nor did he move away, just looked out the window at the shadowy brush. She stuffed the wrappers into the empty sack and slid a little closer to him, her bent knees knocking into his thigh.

Rising on her knees, she nudged her nose into the hair at his temple, pressing butterfly kisses into his skin, catching her lip on the arm of his sunglasses. His fingers tapped on the ledge of his open window, almost like she was keeping him from a more pressing appointment, and she wondered if his mood had sunk too low to be recovered. She started to draw back, but the firm line of his arm just behind her shoulders stopped her retreat.

She studied him, looking down from his turned cheek to where the tendon in his neck was just visible above his turned-up collar as he craned his head away from her. Almost tentatively, she pressed her lips against it, feeling his pulse pounding beneath the salty skin. She lapped at it with tiny kitten licks until he jerked away, trying to hide his smile.

Leaning forward, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road, executing a neat u-turn so that they were heading north.

“Where are we going now?”

“Gotta get you back to the nuthouse before they send out the guys with straitjackets,” he replied, shooting her a sly grin.

“Uh huh, I’m sure it’d be me they were looking for,” she replied, settling herself down at his side. He just kept smiling, dropping his hand into her lap and entwining their fingers. That didn’t last long, because he had to keep twiddling the dial of the radio every time the deejay started talking.

“Wasn’t that George?” she asked, as he abruptly twisted the knob again, muttering a curse word. “I don’t care who it was,” he snapped. “Don’t talk over the goddamn song. What’s the point of them even playing songs if they’re gonna-” He let out some high pitched gibberish that sounded like an irate chipmunk after sucking helium.

“So, where’s next on the famous Elvis’ hometown tour?” “Aw, honey, there’s no…” He didn’t even bother finishing his lie. “There ain’t no point showing you, you know more about it than I do. I ever end up writing that book about my life, you’ll be there…’No, Elvis, it didn’t happen like that, I was there.’” She shook her head at his usual high-pitched impression of her.

“The two of us in rocking chairs, me trying to edit every story,” she added. “In my head, you’re old when you’re writing this life story.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she had basically admitted that she pictured them together when they were old. That was giving away too much and also trying to take too little.

If he noticed her embarrassment or thought that the idea of them being together when they were old was far-fetched, he didn’t show it, huffing a laugh as he guided them back through more familiar streets. “We’re going back? So soon?” She thought of all the people back at the house, likely some annoyed employees and some tense phone calls to be made. She wondered if they would get to sneak out like this again during her stay, and considered that plans would probably be put in place to stop that happening.

“Well,” he bounced a closed fist against the inside of the truck door. “I gotta change my damn pants and… It seems like you might still be in a bad mood, honey. I think it might be time to try the second thing.”

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#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #enjoyable slide to oblivion #whositmcwhatsit #Consider this my dessicated zombie hand breaking through the ground and finding the world above has changed beyond recognition

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