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slvttyplum · 4 months

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✮⋆˙ oil change | toji fushiguro

synopsis: this mechanic wants to get paid, but in another way

contents: lowercase spelling, not ethical, car sex, fem nicknames, smut.

getting an oil change was hell; it always ended in you paying extra for something you didn’t need. you couldn’t even speak up because you weren’t sure about all the parts.

that’s why you started going to stanley's; he’s a friend of a friend and works on the dirt road with three other friends.

he never scams you and even gives you little touch-ups for free.

“you’re a pretty girl; let me do this for ya.” he’ll say it every time, and you’ll always oblige. as long as he didn’t touch you, all is well.

it was that time again—the oil change. as much as you appreciated this new place, the drive down was hell.

the road was extra rocky as you pulled into the parking lot. a man outside pouring something on the ground, his head turning, and your eyes meeting.

shit.

you quickly divert your eyes and turn off your car. your eyes slide back up, and you notice his attire.

he works there; oddly, you’ve never seen him.

grabbing everything out of the car and walking inside the small building, the smell of garage and gasoline.

miles, a long-time worker, flashes you a smile while tapping his pen.

“didn’t think i’ll see you so soon. what do you need, princess?” his eyes flicking to the computer, then back at you.

“i’ve been on the road a lot, and i realized it’s time for another oil change.” a sweet smile on your face.

tapping his pen some more, he writes something down, then begins typing on the computer.

“stan’s out today, so i don’t think he can do it.” a sigh releasing between his lips, you’re almost devastated until you remember he gave you a voucher.

“ah, he said i can get it free this time since i helped his daughter with something.”

miles looks at you, then back at the computer, a smirk crossing his lips.

“mm, you’re a sweet girl. i hope you’re not lying.” shooting you a wink, he rips off the piece of paper he was writing on and walks outside.

just the basic information and what not, you begin walking to the side of the room where the chairs are, but a tap on the shoulder stops you.

“oil change for pretty girl?” a deep voice sending chills down your body, for who?

you turn around, looking face-to-face with the man you saw outside; his build is strong, and he has a grumpy look on your face.

awe, how cute.

“sorry?” you say, your hand balling up the paper and the other slipping in your back pocket.

“miles, he said that’s what they call you."

your eyebrow lifts up, and you chuckle to yourself at the name. how corny can men be? but hey, free service is free service.

“oh yeah, here, i’m sorry.” you quickly unball the paper, giving it to him, his big, rough hand sliding over yours.

he slides his thumb over yours as he takes the paper, his eyes squinting and reading it as he looks back at you.

“aight, give me 15.” he says, walking off, his broad shoulders and back pressing through the uniform, he was fine as hell.

you walk over to the seats, flopping down, crossing one leg over the other, and resting your elbow on the small table beside you.

the bell rings from the garage door as the dark-haired man walks in. your eyes flicker to his face, then to his name tags as he walks closer.

“toji…” you mutter out. he’s standing there holding out the paper, a black streak on his face and his hands covered in debris.

“here, i heard this one is free, but i don’t know how i feel about that.” his hand running through his hair as he stares you down.

your mouth is open, and you’re stunned, not really planning on spending money and not really wanting to, but then again, he was the one who did the change, not stanley.

“that’s fair, toji, was it? i can give you a twenty.” you take your purse from around your arm, digging in it, and he shakes his head.

“nah, nah. you can me in another way, mama.” his body coming a little closer, hiding all the light from the window that was in front of you.

your eyebrow lifts up when you see he’s a little too close, shifting up in your seat and clutching your purse.

“like what?” your voice echoed off the walls of the small enclosed space.

a scoff escaping his lips as he puts a hand in his pocket and leans down, his lips near your ear.

you’re so nervous that you’re almost shaking.

“you look too good to pass up; i just wanna have a little fun, yeah?” the silence after his words sends a chill down your spine.

your eyes were staring at him, and a tiny sparkle could be seen setting in your pupil.

a pen could be heard dropping; did you even want that? clearing your throat, you quickly stand up.

your body is directly pressed against his. startled. you try to step back, but his hand is too fast, sliding around your waist.

the silence between you two is suffocating, but yet again, it was arousing. a light scent of his cologne whiffing by.

"okay," you say, your back straightening as he slides his hand down. a smirk can be seen if you look closely.

“after you, princess.” his voice was low and deep. you move his hand off your waist and into your hand as you walk to the parking lot.

you slip your keys out of your purse, unlocking the car door. his body hangs over the door as you slide in, his elbow resting on top of the car.

“car sex, classy.” he chuckles, getting in after you, slamming the car door, and immediately unbuttoning his attire.

the windows were tinted, so it calmed your nerves, but the fine man in front of you made your heart race.

sliding off your shoes, you feel your pants unbuttoning. looking up, you see toji undoing them for you, sending butterflies to your stomach.

“i can do it," you say, pushing his hand off and unzipping your pants.

he laughs, pulling off the t-shirt he had on under, revealing his greek-sculpted body.

with his skin glistening from sweat and his abs sitting up just right, clearing your throat, you finally slip off your pants.

“knew you had something nice under there.” he blurts out, pushing off his jumpsuit, now completely naked with nothing but his briefs.

“i could say the same.” you say, slipping off your shirt, completely forgetting you had on no bra.

his mouth hangs open but quickly returns closed when you cover them, he licks his lips, leaning forward.

“no need to be shy; i’ll take good care of you.” his quiet whisper making you feel tingly, like a waterfall forming in between your thighs.

damn, were you that easy? no, no, no.

his hand comes up, caressing your sides, slowly inching towards your hips, leaning closer towards you.

your face moves on its own, and before you know it, your lips are connecting, your soft lips hitting his instantly and moving in sync.

his head turning to the side as he kisses you deeper, his tongue swiping over your lip and instantly moving in.

a sensation between your legs being made, and you let out a moan into his mouth, your eyes darting down seeing his hand in between your thighs.

quickly shutting your eyes and getting immersed in the kiss again, his large, rough hand gripping your hip.

spreading your thighs out, letting him in. his finger swipes down your slit, then to the side of your panties pushing them to the side.

he disconnects the kiss, sighing, leaning up, and picking up both your legs, causing you to gasp.

“these are getting in the way.” he puts both your legs up, having them lean on his hand as he slides your panties off.

the air instantly hitting your heat as you let your panties fall on the floor, the warm heat hitting your cheeks with embarrassment.

maybe this was a bad idea. you try to lean up, but toji leans down, placing a kiss on your lips, then your jaw, wet kisses all down your body.

he stops at your stomach, looking directly into your eye; your throat is dry with nervousness.

he pushes your thighs back, looking directly at your cunt, sliding a finger down your wet slit, causing you to let out a tiny moan.

“a little taste can’t hurt, right?” before you could even answer, hes leaning down and placing a kiss on your warm pussy.

even his kisses felt good, the butterflies swarming in your stomach. he takes a swipe of your pussy causing you to shiver.

sliding a finger over your slit a couple of times, then sliding it in with no warning, a moan escaping your lips.

“don’t wanna be too loud; that’s if you don’t wanna get caught, princess.” his words sent a pleasurable tingle down to your heat.

your hand arm reaches down, and placing your hand on his head, he looks at you, smirking, before swiping a long, wet stripe over your slit.

he leans in some more as his tongue swipes over your clit, pushing his finger into you some more.

taking another swipe of your slit, he curves his finger up and pushes it further back, his lips pursing and forming an o shape as he sucks on your clit.

“fuck…” you moan out, your hand balling into a fist as you grab his hair.

he keeps sucking your clit for a few seconds before leaning up, his body almost pressing against the roof.

leaning down, he grabs his uniform and digs in the pocket, pulling out a condom. you squint your eyes while reading the wrapper.

you swallow hard, eyeing him down, his black hair hanging low and his dark eyes looking down at the wrapper as he pulls it to his mouth and bites off the top.

he quickly slides his briefs down, his hard length plopping on his stomach, the tip passing his stomach.

toji laughs when he notices your shaken expression, carefully lining himself with you and slipping on the condom.

“no need to look like that; i told you i’ll take care of you, yeah?” your eyes flicker at him as he leans down and slowly pushes himself into you.

“wait…” you try to finish your sentence, but he’s already pushing himself into you. he leans down, placing a kiss on your lips.

you wrap your arms around him, and he puts one hand on your waist, the other balancing himself on the side of you.

you can feel him getting deeper inside of you, his warm lips taking you in whole.

he slowly disconnects from the kiss, placing a kiss on your jaw and then your chest, sliding his tongue over the same spot, then sucking.

a soft moan escaping your lips as the tingling sensation from the sucking and him getting fuller inside you.

his eyes never once left your face, making you nervous. no hesitation, he slides out of you and thrusts into you with full force.

“FUCK!” you scream out, your arms sliding off his neck and your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

that doesn’t bother him; he continues sucking your chest, taking all of you in and pushing into you deeper.

he slides his tongue over to a new spot on your chest, sucking there, another moan slipping out of your pretty mouth.

when he slides out of you again and pushes back into you, your eyes bulge out, feeling a sharp sensation of pleasure deep inside you.

“go harder, toji.” you whimper out, he doesn’t hesitate, and he goes even harder, pushing into you deeper.

your head pushing against the car door, he grips the seat as your nails dig into his skin.

he leans up, a spitstring from your chest and his lower lip connecting, his eyes sliding down to your lips.

he leans down, pushing his lips into yours hard as he pushes into you deeper; this time you could feel it even better.

the pleasure heightened, your eyes sliding back, nothing but darkness and blank white spots scattering around.

you couldn’t see anything, but you could feel how close he was—your lips connecting, his wet lips combing with your soft ones.

“you feel so fucking good," he grunts out, pushing deeper inside you. the car slightly shaking, causing your head to push into the door.

his pace gets faster, your walls clenching around him, taking in everything he’s giving you, and your body feeling light.

his body slamming into yours and his flesh combining with yours was everything; your body felt like it was on fire, getting drenched out with water.

pushing into you again, your walls clench around him tight, your body jolting, and a knot deep in your stomach falling.

a loud moan ripples into toji’s mouth as he pushes deeper inside you, giving your sweet spot a kiss.

“tell me… tell me you want him.” he grunts out, trying to slide out your tight, wet pussy. the grip he had on your hip tightened, his fingernails digging into you.

a soft moan escaping, you squint your eyes and open them, his still on you. he places a kiss on your jaw and leans into your ear.

“i want you… so tell me you want me.” he says, his voice still deep. he slides out of you, then back into you, a cough erupting from your throat.

he leans back to your face, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your lips. your eyes are low and dark, and a tiny tear drop in the corner of your eye.

all you can do is nod. you felt too good; you couldn’t ruin the moment with words. he was close; you could feel the veins on his dick pulsing against your slick walls.

all he could do was laugh, but he couldn't. the pleasure bubbling inside of him couldn't, and a final thrust sends the both of you over the edge.

your toes curl, and your fingernails dig into his skin, along with his whole dig into your hip. he places a final kiss on your jaw before pushing his chest against yours.

his grip on you loosening, your body shutting down, your hands falling to the side, and your eyes closing.

the silence was sharp but comfortable. you slowly opened your eyes, and his head was laid against your shoulder.

his hair was disheveled and his breathing heavy; you could see his eyes closed and no discomfort in his body language.

he looked cute. before you could get any more thoughts out, his eyelids flickered open, and your eyes diverted elsewhere.

laughing, he slowly leans off of you, pushing his hair out of his face and picking up your panties and handing them to you.

the both of you get dressed up in comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other.

“when you come back, i’ll give you services for free.” he says, buttoning back up his uniform, his eyes locked on you.

your eyes lift up in surprise as you flatten down your hair, a smile sneaking on your face.

“no need. thank you for the oil change." you say, putting your purse in the front seat.

you’re about to open the car door before he grabs your arm.

“let’s grab a bite, dinner, whatever; let me take you out.” desperation coating his tone. you smiled and let out a chuckle.

“sure, toji, text me; my number should be in the system.”

with that, he went back to work, and you went back home with a stupid grin on your face. whatever happens, happens.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader

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tarjapearce · 9 months

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I loved the crew interacting with the O’Hara family I was laughing the entire time!

Is it possible to do a reaction to Miguel first introducing his family to the crew? Like Mama!reader showing up to his office out of nowhere, no matter how many times Miguel said no and the crew stares in disbelief like - “YOU HAVE A WIFE AND KIDS?”

Imma switch it up a bit to fit into the Soccer Family AU 🤭. Glad you had fun with it!

"Why don't you just ask him?" Gwen deadpanned

"No. Can't just ask Mr. O'Hara, 'hey are you married? He's mean!" Mile's hand gestured

"I swear I saw him holding a baby. And it wasn't Mr. Parker's Mayday!" Pavitr chimed in, curiosity shining in his eyes

"Maybe his brother had a baby?"

"You'd owe me five if he's married." Hobie spoke as he laced up his boots. The three pair of eyes looked at him.

"Whu-?"

"Make it ten cause I know the man is a workaholic at heart"

Hobie shrugged.

"Dun' say I didn't warn ya."

"Dude, we have just done some chores for him, for the neighborhood really, he rarely asks for our services! He just asked us to clean his front yard!"

"Cause he likes minding his business." Gwen rolled his eyes.

"Okay, I know. maybe we can just ask him directly?" Mile's spoke as he looked Miguel’s car passing by.

Now all the eyes were on him.

"Or we... can spy him?"

Pavitr's smile turned into a smirk.

"Like, you distract him and the rest can go around to find any clues on his home"

"Why me?!"

"Cause it's your idea" Gwen chuckled

"I'm pretty sure that's property invasion"

"I'm in." Hobie mumbled

The plan was set.

----

Miles gulped for the thousandth time as he approached, the door of Mr. O'Hara's home growing ominously big and closer.

"Nuh uh. I'm out."

His phone buzzed, Gwen's name displaying on screen.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm out!"

"Miles, I swear... Just distract him enough for us to get a glimpse on the back side of his house!"

"If I die? Keep my collection of figurines intact." He could hear Gwen groaning from the other line.

"Don't be dramatic. Just ask him if he needs anything done this week!"

"Fine. Fine. Alright."

He shook his body and gave his cheeks a brief pat, walked over the door and dinged the doorbell. His breath hitched as the door slid open, but instead of Miguel, a woman opened the door. Short, pretty, kind eyes and hair donned in a messy bun. That was definitely one of Miguel's t-shirts.

"Yes?"

"Uh... Hi. I'm Miles Morales, from Friendly Neighborhood Spiders?"

"Oh?" You looked confused

"Just a little business me and my friends set up. Uh... we eh, we just ring doorbells and ask if we can do chores for the neighbors around the block?"

"That's pretty cool! Didn't know about it. Gotta ask Miguel if we need any services right now."

"Wait, you... You know Mr. O'Hara?"

"Mr. O'Hara?" You giggled, shaking your head, "Miguel! Mi amor! Can you come at the door please?"

Mi amor?

Miles' eyes went wide at the endearing term. His breath caught in his throat again as he saw Miguel’s hulking figure carrying a baby that wasn't Mayday. Just like Pavitr had said.

Gwen, Hobie and Pav approached behind Miles, they had been watching from the other side of the street and we're too tempted to not see the scene unfold for themselves.

"¿Qué pasó?" (What's wrong?)

His voice low as the baby was falling asleep in his arms.

"I didn't know we had some entrepreneurs in the neighborhood. They wanna know if we need anything this week."

"No" Miguel shook his head softly, the toddler in his arm stirred. A thick eyebrow of him raised at the expression of the four teens. A 'The legend is real' expression, all eyes settled on the golden ring around his finger, matching yours.

Hobie however just smirked. 30 bucks on his pockets would do nice things for him.

"Will go prepare dinner then. Nice to meet you guys!" You chirped and waved your goodbyes, leaving Miguel alone with them.

"So..."

His sharp features went blank

"You're married. And have kids."

"Oh! We can babysit that pretty baby too" Pavitr sing sung

"The lawn is enough for now." Miguel’s voice still remained low, but firm.

"Right. Uh, thanks. We'll be back."

A hurried 'have a good evening Mr. O'Hara' was thrown his way as they fled from his door.

Once they were far enough, Miles couldn't help but hold his head and gasp.

"He is married!"

"Yeah, noted." Gwen nodded

"Did you see that toddler?! Oh so chubby and precious!"

" Yeah, cool family and all. Y' owe me 30"

"You seriously know how to sour the moment" Pavitr slid two five bills on his hand.

"Well, mystery solved." Gwen slid another two bills on Hobie's hands

"That explains the baby chair in his car."

"You peeked into his car?!" Mile's freaked out

"Wut? Ya said you wanted to go in his home."

Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Kids."

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#hobie brown #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #miles morales #t writes✨

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lasciviouspoison · 9 months

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could u do drunk eren coming home to you after a night out :333333333

sorry it took me so long to answer!! my job has been kicking my ass, lol. hope this is up to ur standards stinka butt :p (not proof read cause i’m lazy)

eren rarely ever decides to leave you home and go out with his friends.

i mean, what could he do with them that he couldn’t with you? he would much rather prefer spending a night in, sitting in a hello kitty face mask watching tv rather than go and get drunk.

but in this particular instance, you pushed him out.

“rennie, i love you, i swear i do, but baby you spend so much time with me and you deserve some guy time! so please go out with connie ‘nd them, i promise i’ll be here waitin’”

so, like a good boyfriend would, he went out and had a great time!

….okay… maybe too much of a good time.

in his defense! he would rather die before he let sissy ass jean out drink him.

and it’s because of eren’s innate competitiveness that he came home in the condition that he did.

stumbling through the door and throwing his keys, you immediately went to see just how much he drank. and considering eren was a lightweight, you could already tell he was in bad shape.

“baby, are you okay?” you said while trying to lead him to bed. however, eren couldn’t even register what you were saying to him as he was way more focused on how your nipples poked through your white tank top.

without saying a word, eren lifted up your tank and gave the one closest to him a gentle kitten lick. the action took you by surprise, but to eren, your silence told him everything he needed to hear.

he pushed you onto the couch, not bothering to walk to the bedroom and lifted your shirt fully above your head.

while staring down at your surprised face, eren gave you a smile “i don’ care nuthin bout me bein okay. i w’nna fuck”.

without giving you time to answer, he gave you a rough kiss before turning his attention towards your nipples once again. while his mouth latched onto one, his fingers toyed with the other.

his ears were overjoyed with the noises you were making, as his body was much more sensitive to the way you reacted to his touches. by the time eren kissed his way down to your clothed pussy, he was as hard as a rock.

“ren, ya sure you don’t wanna lay down? you’re really drunk” your words normally would have made him reconsider. but with your lack of power behind them, they were going in one of eren’s ears and out the other.

so much so that he responded to your question by pulling your cotton shorts down, taking your panties with them. all he could do was stare at the mess you made. your pussy was so wet and shiny, it was literally asking to be eaten.

without a word, he took two fingers and swiped them down your slit, reveling in the way your body jerked at the sudden stimulation.

he put his fingers in his mouth and moaned, “better th’n anything i’ve had t’night. open up for me mama, i’m hungry.”

as you spread your legs wider, eren didn’t hesitate to lick up towards your clit and suck. he could feel your cunt pulsating in his mouth and he loved it. slowly flattening out his tongue and licking all over your pussy until he made you shake. but his favorite part was fucking you with his tongue and feeling you gush into his mouth without a second thought. it made him so proud when he could feel your pretty hole loosening up on his tongue, preparing for what’s to come later.

you couldn’t even form coherent words. mindless babbles and noises leaving your mouth sounded like nothing short of music to eren’s ears.

he took his mouth off of your cunt and shoved two fingers in, causing your breath to catch in your throat. with glossy eyes you looked down to see eren’s head resting on your thigh, eyes locked on his fingers sliding in and out of you with ease.

“y’know somthin? i thought about you all night. how badly i wanted to come home and touch you. how badly i wanted to fuck my cunt till you cried. the noises you’d make when i’d stick my tongue inside. love when you let me slut this cunt out.” hazy green eyes never leaving your cunt as he talked. watching it spasm and clench till u came. which didn’t take long as the combination of his fingers and tongue threw you over the edge.

your body contracted and your moans grew louder. your toes curled and your hips involuntarily rocked against his fingers and face. he let you ride out your orgasm, mouth latched to your clit while his green eyes flickered from your face to your pussy.

after you finally calmed down, he removed himself from your cunt and hoisted you up onto his waist. carrying you like a baby to your shared bedroom.

he dropped you down onto the bed and removed the rest of your clothing without missing a beat. eren dragged your hips to the edge of the bed and let his cock spring out from the confines of his jeans. he gave your cunt a couple of taps before you felt the head of his cock push his way through your pussy.

before you knew it, you were folded in half, “fuck baby, love this pussy s’much. let ‘er tell me how much she loves me.” your pussy was so wet, you couldn’t help but hear the platplatplat of eren’s pelvis connecting to your wetness. every now and then you’d hear a slight squelch, which made eren impossibly harder.

while i’m your back, you finally got the chance to look at him, and god did he look gorgeous. his hair hung beautifully over his face due to ur suggestion of wearing it out during his outing. the whites of his eyes were red, making those beautiful sea green eyes pop even more. and you’re just now noticing that his clothes aren’t even fully off as he’s holding the bottom of his black hoodie and white undershirt in his mouth.

he’s quite literally stirring your guts right now. with both hands holding your thighs to your chest and fast, deep strokes, you wouldn’t be incorrect to assume that eren is trying to kill you.

“ba- fuck- baby please slow down.” you pleaded. your body bouncing hard against his hips, head rocking every which way as you try and watch the scene below.

eren shakes his head no at an obscenely fast pace, “no! gotta give ya ev’rthin i got” his words are slurred from the alcohol and muffled by his clothes but he doesn’t care. the only thing eren cared about in this moment was the feeling of you cumming on his dick.

he watched as your eyes rolled back while you arched off the bed. he couldn’t help but put his hand within the gap and pull u close to his chest. at this point, eren was fucking you into the air. he was borderline erratic with how fast he was moving and his drunk strength didn’t make things better.

you knew you would be sore the following day, but who cares when your man is fucking you like he’s gonna die tomorrow?

your moans are loud and eren’s grunts are almost louder. he won’t stop till he makes you cum, and even that might not be enough.

“ren, m’gonna cum!” your lips are spitty and your hair is clinging to your cheeks. your eyes are glossy and tears are beginning to spill out.

despite eren being drunk out of his mind, he still can’t help but think that you look like the most beautiful girl on the planet.

he released his hoodie and licked his lips, “fuck! do it baby! do it on my dick so i can fill ya up. g’nna make ya a mama i swear- fuck! there ya go baby. cum on me.” he strains to get the last part out upon feeling your cunt grip his dick. you were cumming and he wasn’t too far behind.

with a few quick thrusts and extra stimulation to your clit because your pleasure never ends you could feel eren’s cum paint your walls white. his jaw dropped and his eyes rolled deep into his skull.

“mmfh, fuck baby. i love you, i swear ta’ god i do.” was all he could manage before he collapsed on top of you. and after a few moments, you realized that he hadn’t fallen asleep, but his body had literally given out from exhaustion. i mean, what could you expect after a night of heavy drinking and sex?

and after you finally caught your breath, you managed to roll eren off of you and clean yourself up, not minding the lack of after care considering he needed it way more than you at the current moment.

you took a quick shower and returned with a rag for eren. and after wiping him down and changing his clothes, you tucked him into your shared sheets and finally got some rest.

funnily enough for you, eren couldn’t believe his ears when he heard you retell the night you shared the next morning.

“that wasn’t me, i don’t know who you’re talking about” he said with a tomato red face. you had no idea how eren went from the dominant, sex crazed man he was last night to the shy individual he is now. he even looks different with his black framed glasses perched on his nose. the duality of man

with a little giggle, you placed a kiss onto eren’s cheek, “it’s okay baby, i’m just glad you had a great time last night”.

with a roll of his eyes, eren pulled you closer to him on the couch and continued surfing through tv channels, vowing to himself to never go out with his homies ever again.

#eren #eren x reader #eren x y/n #eren x black y/n #eren smut #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren x chubby reader #eren aot #eren ask!

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youaintnothinbuta · 18 days

Text

“Hey now, don’t you start questioning me too.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: your mama is pretty insistent (in a loving, supportive way) on you and Elvis making it serious and going steady with him, but you’re not at that point yet. His is too, and you talk about it on the phone after you hang out. Part 2 here

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!elvis x reader

Word count: 600

Warnings: fluff!! Probably typos though SORRY

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You had just gotten home from your evening with Elvis, the warmth of your home chasing away the chill of the cold evening. With a contented sigh, you shrug off your coat and hang it neatly on the rack.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Your dad called to you from the living room, hearing you come in. Both of your parents were sitting on the couch watching tv.

“Hi mama, hi daddy.” You replied cheerfully, kicking your shoes off by the door before going to the living room to join them.

“I put your clean washing on your bed, darling, it just needs to be put away.” Your mom informed you with a warm smile.

“Oh, thank you,” you replied gratefully.

“Not a problem. Are those flowers by your bed from Elvis?” she inquired with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, they are,” you smiled, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks.

“What’s the occasion? Did we forget your birthday?” Your dad teased, playfully.

You laughed, “no occasion. Just because, I guess.”

“Mmm,” your mother hummed, “are you two going steady then?” She prodded further.

“Mom! No.” You rolled your eyes blithely.

“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll ask you soon. How was your date, anyway?” Your mom teased you some more, as you sunk down on the couch beside her.

“It wasn’t really a date, we were just hanging out.”

“Did he kiss ya? That’s a date if he did.”

“Mama stop!” Your cheeks burnt bright red, “enough with the questions,” you say, trying to deflect her curiosity. “I promise, if anything changes between me and Elvis, you’ll be the first to know.”

Your mom laughs, a knowing glint in her eye. “Oh, I’m sure I’d find out sooner or later,” she says with a nudge. “His mama and I have a way of keeping each other informed.”

You shake your head, unable to suppress a smile at the thought of the close bond between your two families. Despite the teasing and the questions, you know that your parents only want the best for you, and their support means the world to you.

Later that night you sat in bed, on the phone to Elvis.

You leaned back against your pillow, “Oh, she’s relentless! Next she’ll wanna know what color panties I wear, and how many minutes we spend making eye contact,” you joked, recounting the evening’s playful interrogation to Elvis.

He chuckled softly on the other end of the line, “mine wan’t much better. Mama keeps hollering and nagging at me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “Well, what did you tell her?” you pressed, unable to resist the temptation to know.

“Hey now, don’t you start questioning me too,” Elvis teased, his voice filled with mock indignation, “I just told her ‘When the time’s right, whatever happens will happen.’”

Your heart twisted a little at his vague response, but you chose to ignore it. The two of you chatted for a while longer, exchanging stories and sharing laughter over inside jokes. Eventually, though, it was time to say your goodnights.

“I wish I could be there with you right now,” Elvis murmured softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

“I know, Elvis. I wish you were here too,” you replied, feeling a pang of sadness.

It was hard to get to sleep that night. You couldn’t stop thinking about that vague, non-answer he gave. You really were hoping he’d give you a hint that he did want something serious with you. Eventually though, you managed to drift off, your overthinking tiring you out.

Little did you know, he was very purposeful in leading you astray, not wanting you to have the slightest idea he was planning on making it official very soon.

Anyone up for a part 2 where he asks you to go steady finally??

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x-heesy · 9 months

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ᵖʰᵘᶜᵏ ʸ��ᵃʰ: ᵛᶤˢᵘᵃˡᶻ

𝗜𝗙 𝗬𝝝𝗨 𝗖𝝝𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖

𝗜 𝝠𝗠 𝝠 𝗗𝝠𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗪𝗜𝗖𝗛 🎧💃🏽🕺🏼🪩🚀💥

𝝠 𝗧𝗥𝝠𝗖𝗞 𝝠 𝗗𝝠𝗬 𝗞𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝝠 𝗗𝝝𝗖𝗧𝝝𝗥 𝝠𝗪𝝠𝗬

𝗚𝝝𝝝𝗦𝗘𝗕𝗨𝗠𝗣𝗦 / 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝝠𝗧𝗜𝝝𝗡𝝠𝗟 𝗕𝗘𝝠𝗧𝗦 /𝗜𝗡𝗧��𝗠𝗬𝗦𝝝𝗨𝗟 / 𝗘𝝠𝗥𝗚𝝠𝗦𝗠 / 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗭𝗭 𝗜𝗭 𝝠 𝗚𝗜𝗙 𝝠𝗧𝗧𝝠𝗖𝗞 / 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗗𝗥𝗨𝗚𝗦𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗦𝝝𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗛𝝝𝗟𝗘𝗦 / 𝗣𝗨𝗡𝗞𝗦𝝠𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗗𝗘𝝠𝗗 / 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗬 𝝠𝗦𝗦 / 𝗚 𝝝 𝗗 𝗜 𝗦 𝝠 𝗗 𝗝 / ΓЯДCҜФFΓHΞDДУ / 𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗗𝝠𝗥𝗞𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗗𝝠𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥𝝝𝗨𝗦 / 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗖𝗞 𝗜𝗧 𝟰 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗡 / 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝝝𝗨𝗧𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗪𝝝𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗕𝗘𝝠𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗧𝝠𝗞𝗘 / 𝗪𝝝𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗨𝗟 𝗜 𝗖𝝝𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗬 / 𝗪𝗘𝗜𝗥𝗗 𝗜𝗦 𝝠 𝗖𝝝𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 / 𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗡 𝗧𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 🎧 / 𝗟𝝝𝗦𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗘𝝝 / 𝗧𝗛𝝠𝗡𝗞𝗦 𝗟𝝝𝗥𝗗 𝟰 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞 / 𝗜𝗠𝗙𝗥𝗘𝝠𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝝝𝗨𝗧 / 𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗧𝝝𝗗𝝠𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝝝𝗨𝗧 / 𝗦𝗨𝗕𝗕𝝠𝗦𝗦𝗠𝝠𝗦𝗦𝝠𝗖𝗥𝗘 / 𝗦𝗛𝝠𝗞𝗘𝗪𝗛𝝠𝗧𝗬𝝠𝗠𝝠𝗠𝝠𝗚𝝠𝗩𝗘𝗬𝝠 /𝗗𝗥𝝝𝗣𝗕𝗘𝝠𝗧𝗦𝗡𝝝𝗧𝗕𝝝𝗠𝗕𝗦 / 𝗥𝝝̈𝗛𝗥𝗧 𝗪𝗜𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗖𝗛 / 𝗜’𝗠 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝝝

#panicdynamicpandemic #trackoftheday #gifattack #gifmania #moody #edm #electronicmusic #shakewhatyamamagaveya #raaaaven @luna-zylum @bko69er @a-l-e-x-m-a-c-k @boanerges20 #electroshockboogie #dancemfdance #partymusic #lostinmusic #thankslordfordnb

𝗧𝗥𝝠𝗖𝗞 𝝝𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝝠𝗬: Sewer Run by Fourward

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urmomsgnocchi · 1 month

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18+ minors dni i stg sub!joel miller (taste of switch!joel in the end) x fem! reader

little drabble bc all I can think of today is using joel miller like a toy it's very bad!!

bf!Joel Miller's competitive ass losing a bet with you and your prize is to have your way with him until he taps out

warnings: overstim (unrealistic standards for ppl with penises. will we ever really know how many times joel came? 😔), joel calls you mama 2 times get over it <3, good boy!joel miller, bondage but very light, unprotected piv sex (not mentioned but also condoms are not mentioned), tiniest bit of oral m!recieving, riding <3, now that I think abt it consensual free-use/somno kinda?? for like 2 seconds??

joel isn't a gambler by any means, but he trusts his luck now and again. so when flirting during game night leads to a bet on who would win the most of the games you'd set out for the night, he'd thought he had it in the bag....

hours later he's tied to the bed frame by the silky straps you keep in the box under your bed, whining and panting as you ride him through his second orgasm of the night. your touch hasn't left his body since your little game started

a water break in between, little check ins reminding him that he can tap out whenever he wants but he's gotten competitive again, he won't let you win.

he's a big strong man he can handle a few orgasms? you'll tire out first right?

hours and hours pass and Joels blissed out and pussy drunk, tears shining on his cheeks and throat raw from all the whines, moans, screams, he barely remembers letting out. he can't tell how long you've been at it or how many times you've pulled pure bliss out of his body, all he knows is that he's wet, whether it's from your pussy once again soaking his lap, from your mouth that's kissed and kitten licked every inch of his skin, from his own cum that's dripped down from you onto his thighs and bedsheets, or from the cooling sweat that's trickling down his forehead and neck.

he feels you tighten around him as he vaguely recognizes your moans through the fog of his last orgasm. your body chokes him tight as you reach your peak once again and his body starts to shake. he mumbles out what's meant to be "thank you mama" but comes out more like choked gasps and shuddered breaths as he feels himself twitch inside you. you climb off him and trace the last little dribbles he has left with your tongue. he jolts at the feeling, his body pulling taut as he tugs on the ties still securing him to the bed posts and lets out the most pathetic little strained whines in protest.

"all right baby I think I'll tap out for you huh?" you speak down to him from your position between his twitching thighs, "think maybe you took as much as you can" your finger gently tracing down his now soft but still weeping cock.

a weak whimper in response "please baby. m'done"

"did so good for me though my sweet boy" you untie his arms and let him curl into your side, stroking his hair as his body finally slows it's shuddering.

you wake up hours later to joel's cock, firm and warm, sliding in and out the apex of your thighs, his voice hot, wrecked, and alive in your ear,

"mornin sunshine," his arms snake around your waist and hip to pull you up where he wants you "didn't think I gave up did ya? just needed a breather, now let's see how much you can take mama..."

#joel miller #sub!joel miller #sub!joel smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller is a sweet sweet boy #joel tlou hbo #sub!joel

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spooky-switch · 4 months

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Mama Bird || Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3 Tickle Fic (Squealing Santa 2023)

Summary: The new baby raccoons have imprinted on Rocket and will not leave him alone; Quill couldn't be more amused.

Author's Notes: This is my Squealing Santa gift for @fanficsandfluff! I hope you enjoy it! It's such an honor to have been chosen to write for one of my biggest inspirations in this community!

"Oh, come on!" Rocket groaned, watching as the fluffy little creatures stumbled after him, letting out little cries for attention. "I know you guys wanna play, but I've got work to do! I can't hold ya' all the time!"

The smaller raccoons gave no indication of understanding (or caring about) what Rocket was saying, mewls growing louder at the sound of his rocket.

"I am Groot." Groot chuckled, grinning down his friend. Rocket gave a small scoff, shaking his head.

"I got LUCKY raisin' you so good with how you acted out. This is WAY different; look how many of them there are! And they're so...small!" Rocket retorted, letting out a soft sigh as the little creatures began to crawl up his legs, seeking the comforting warmth of his torso.

"You're the one who wanted to take them so badly." Quill chimed in, a gigantic grin of his own plastered to his face. "Besides, you're their mama bird, of course they'd wanna stick with you 24/7."

Rocket shot his captain a glare. "I ain't no mama bird! Besides, it's not like I could just leave them behind on that ship, could I?"

Quill shrugged. "True, but I DID offer to drop them off on earth once I had recovered, and you were the one who turned down the suggestion."

"You can't just drop them off on some strange planet they've never been to! They wouldn't have made it there, either!"

"Rocket, they CAME from earth, they would've been fine. Besides, it's not like I would have just dumped them in the woods somewhere. Earth has people specifically trained to take care of creatures like them until they are old enough to survive on their own." Quill replied, a teasing glimmer entering his eyes. "I think you just got attached to them and knew you'd miss them."

The older raccoon huffed. "Oh, shut up!" He looked down, watching as two or three of the little ones made it to his torso, immediately attempting to burrow under his clothing to gain better access to the soft, warm fur of his stomach. "Hey, watch it, will ya?" He grunted, half-heartedly attempting to nudge the little creatures away.

"I am Groot!" The tree-like alien snickered, shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth.

"S-Shut up! I ain't ticklish, I just don't want them crawlin' all over me like a bunch of little bugs!" Rocket snapped, though there was no malice behind his words, and a smile was already tugging at his lips as he continued trying to pry the little raccoons off of him.

"Aw, come on! We all know THAT'S a lie!" Quill smirked, uncrossing his arms and wiggling a few teasing fingers Rocket's direction. "You're ticklish as shit, dude!"

"I said shut up!"

Rocket squirmed, hopping from foot to foot as soft titters began to build up in his throat. He could feel the little creatures' paws scratching gently (yet infuriatingly ticklishly) at his torso, quickly driving the older raccoon up the wall.

"Shihihihihihihit! Knohohohohock it ohohohohohohoff!" The raccoon giggled; he ACTUALLY giggled! Quill let out a snort of laughter, shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his mirth.

"Oho my god, this is the cutest shit I've ever seen!"

"I am Groot!" Groot replied, nodding in head in agreement, causing Rocket's cheeks to heat up beneath his fur. The raccoon lurched forward, a wheezy cackle tumbling out as one of the little balls of fur found a particularly comfortable (and ticklish) spot on his stomach and nuzzled up to it.

"I'M GOHOHOHOHOHONNA KILL YOU BOHOHOHOHOTH! HELP MEHEHEHEHEHE!"

Quill raised a brow. "Now, why would I do that after you LITERALLY just threatened me? Nah, I think I'll just let the runts have their fun with you for a bit. You need to laugh more anyways." He retorted with a smirk, his sass only increasing Rocket's desire to wipe that smug grin off of his face the instant he managed to pull himself together. The raccoon was already plotting how to get his claws and tail on his leader's sensitive stomach and underarms; how to reduce the man to a shrieking mess.

Oho, yeah, Quill was a dead man.

#ticklish!rocket raccoon #mentioned ticklish!peter quill #guardians of the galaxy tickle fic #tickle fic #sfw tickles #sfw tickling community #squealing santa 2023 #spooky's tickly stuff

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small-sinclair · 1 year

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House of Bricks

As a request from @buzzybee-26 to make "Forgive Them" a happy ending :3

Bo x mother fem!reader

Welcomed readers: @ahmnom (becasue you inspired all of this), @sketchy-rosewitch

Tw: mourning a miscarriage, mentions of murder, talk of past abuse, Bo calls reader 'mama' but not in a sexual way,

Three days has past since you came here with your child. Three days since the hole in your stomach grew and shrunk all at once. Three days since you've moved from the bed, letting a stranger care for you baby girl along with you. He shot your husband and sunk his body at the bottom of the creek. Only Louisiana and his shot gun know what he did, and you weren't sure if you were thankful or scared. If he could kill your husband, why hasn't he turned the barrel on you?

Sometimes, you would look over to see him cradling your daughter in his arms lovingly. He seems to know how to hold a child, you noticed, but you can see how scared he was when he bounced the child slightly in his arms and hands, whispering to her gently. Yesterday, you woke up to find him in the chair in the corner of the room feeding her and talking to her in a low voice.

"Ya think Mama will move t'day?" He asked Jasmine. "If not, 'at's fine." His eyes met yours, kind and gentle, then looked down at Jasmine. "Until then, ya reckon she might lik' steak? Been itching t'cook sum. Fire up the coals 'n cook." Then he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Bet ya if I put som' in t'blinder, I reckon y'all drink it."

You couldn't help but shake your head. "She can't have meat yet."

Bo's eyes meet yours and gave an award winning smile. "Yer talkin' now, huh?" He stands up with the child in his arms and sat at close to you. As he walked, he talked to Jasmine as if she was his own, saying, "Wanna see Mama, lil' sun-dew?"

He passed her to you, and her bright smile warmed your heart. His little giggles filled the room as you took her from Bo. You cradled her in your arms and kissed her head. You met his gaze as he towered over you his his hands on his hips, his eyes lingering over you and Jasmine.

"She's a good kid, Mama," said, licking the bottom of his lips. "I... I hope I wasn't oversteppin'."

You shake your head as you laid her on her back on your legs. "Normally, I would snap and yell, but you seemed fit for the job in a way."

"Job?"

"Yeah," you locked eyes with him. "You act like as if you're her dad." You let a sad smile form. "Thank you for taking care of us. Of her."

He returned the smile in kind, his hand taking yours and lifted it up to his lips. He left a kiss on your knuckles like a gentleman from one of your romance books. When his eyes met yours, you felt your heart flutter slightly. "Yer welcome, Mama," he drawled, his voice deeper.

But that was yesterday, and yesterday is history.

Last night, you were reminded of who these men truly are: killers, blood chasers, hunters, murders.

A group came in yesterday and one tried to come to the house, but Bo was quicker. You didn't see the kill as you shielded Jasmine from the screams, but you could hear Bo laughing at the man as he tried to fight, to get away from him. You heard the sickening sound of a knife gutting him while he was still wiggling and very much alive. You heard his blood in his throat until there was silence. The hair on your neck stood as you hard his boots come to your door. He knocked before opening the door slightly. He didn't come in, but you could tell his face was painted with crimson red. "Darlin'," he said breathless. "I'm sorry ya had to hear 'at," he said, his voice light and apologetic. "Stay in here, kay? Don't wan'ya or Jasmine seein' t'livin' room."

Since then, you haven't heard him, and you were scared. He could end you today or later. Why hasn't done it yet?

You heard the door open and his boots walk into the room. His boots were heavy as he walked across the floor, and the weight of the bed lowered when he sat at the end. His oil stained mechanic jumper hugged his arms from the Louisiana heat, and the curls under his trucker's hat stuck up from the sweat. He looked over at you then back at the crib where Jasmine slept, taking it off his hat and hung it at his fingers. He brought it down from the attic a couple hours after he brought you to the house with the help of the wax masked man, Vincent. He folded his hands as he leaned forward on his knees.

"Hey," he said lowly, his voice careful when he talked. "I made somethin' fer ya at t'church." You didn't move or give knowledge of him, but you were listening. He knew you were listening. "Le'me change outta these rags an' take ya there. Sound good?"

"Why?" You whispered.

He clinched his jaw and looked up at the the crib again. "Because ya need t'see it, darlin'--"

"Don't call me darlin'," you spat. "I'm not yours."

Normally, he would've hit any woman who would say that to him, but he understands this pain, your pain. You lost something too close to your heart. "Le'me change and I'll come get ya, okay?" He held up his hands. His hat was on his knees, and he put it back on.

As much as you wanted to stay in bed, you nodded. To find the strength to get up from the floor and move on; it will be a long race and it would be an even longer time before you find a way to be better. Is 'better' a good word? To be better after this? You closed your eyes and allowed a tear to shed. The amount of times you've cried and screamed in your pillow in the past three days would've made Todd laugh, his voice calling you pathetic.

You felt a callous finger brush your tear away. You wanted to slap his hand away but you welcomed the touch. It's been a while since you felt actual care. You were hurt, and they knew. They let you mourn for your loss, but...

His hand left but you caught it, pulling at his arm. "Hold me?" You whispered. "Please? I-I don't wanna be alone right now."

Your voice being that soft nearly broke him. He waited for you to scooch over and he kicked off his boots and placed his hat on the nightstand before laying down next to you. You buried your face into his chest and started to cry against. His hand raked through your hair, shushing you gently, as his arms held you closer. There was something him inside that wanted to keep you safe forever and a day. There was something that he wanted to do to keep you alive and well in his life, but you had to say it. He couldn't force you or make you. Bo closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. There are no words in the world that could comfort you, he knows this, but he'll try.

"My brother, Vincent-- you remember him? Well, he'll be 'ere watchin' your kid while we go," he whispers in your hair. "She'll be safe 'ere wit' 'im."

"Why the church?" You whimpered. "Why?"

"Y'all see," he promises. "But, listen... listen," he pulled away and brushed your hair back. "Le'me change. Can't le' t'Lord see me in 'is." You chuckled at his words, giggling at his drawl, and he loved it. He loved hearing your laugh, seeing your smile. He made it his mission to make you smile everyday as long as you were in Ambrose. "I'll drive ya there. Sound good, Mama?"

You closed your eyes and calmed yourself, nodding. "Yes, that's fine."

Bo gave you one last hug before getting up. "I hung a dress on the door if ya wanna wear it." He looked back at you as he stood at the door, looking back at you. "If not, 'at's fine. Ya don' have'ta." He gave you a sad smile and left the room, closing the door softly so he didn't wake Jasmine.

************

Bo combed his hair back with grease and made sure his black suit looked perfect in the mirror. He worse it to see his mother, to visit and mourn still. It's been 4 years since his mother's death, and it's been 5 years since he started killing. His mother died by his hands, and he'll look for forgiveness until his dying breath. Even in the grave and beyond he'll keep looking for it. His mother wouldn't let him in until her dream was filled, and he promised to kill any soul that wondered into this town.

Then you and Jasmine came along, and he had to think back on his words and care. He thought of your smile and your cries. He thought of your blood and how scared that baby was. He didn't like men like Todd, and he didn't want that man in his town part of his mother's dream. What to do with you? He didn't know, but he hopes you stay.

Gods, he hopes you stay with your kid. He always wanted a family, but he never found the right woman to make that happen. He wonders if you're that person, that woman who would learn to love a monster. His father told him he was beyond love, beyond help. He was just a teenager when his father told him this, and he believed him for a long time. Even after killing his father, those words were tattooed over his heart.

But every time he holds Jasmine, her hand wrapping around his finger, and giggle and cooing up at him, his aching heart just burns deeper and brighter for her. She has his heart wrapped around her little fingers the moment she reached up to take his hat.

If there's a God, please, have her stay. Have them stay here.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he looked at himself. He looked like a true southern gentleman that his mother craved him to be.

Bo came pattering down the stairs and froze when he looked at you. You were dressed in the sundress he picked for you with your hair in a braid. You had Jasmine in your arms as you rocked back and forth in his father's rocking chair. You had a bottle in your hand as you told your story, and it caught Bo in a web.

"...and the wolf huffed and puffed and blew the house down," you cooed, a smile over your lips. He came down the steps quieter as you continued the story. "So, the two little piggies went to the house of bricks and said, 'Brother, the big bad wolf is coming! He knocked down my straw house. He knocked down our brother's stick house. Please, help us!'"

At the bottom of the steps, Lester sat between Vincent's legs, and Bo joined them to listen to the story. Lester rested his head in his hands, a content smile on his face. Vincent had was drawing in a sketch book, and his pencil moved over the paper with ease. The pencil outlined you and Jasmine in lovely shadings. Bo leaned against the railing, looking at you with warmth. Again, something inside him ached as the emptiness filled his lungs. You're such a good mother...

"And the older brother said, 'Of course, brothers! Come inside! The Big Bad Wolf won't get ya!' And they entered the brick house and waited for the wolf. When the wolf came, he said to the house, 'I'm the Big Bad Wolf! And I'll huff and puff and blow the house down and have you little pigs for dinner!'" You pushed Jasmine's light brown curls back, smiling warmly.

The sunlight in your smile made Bo blush, and the fears came over him: what if you leave? What if you don't want to stay? Then what? What would he do? Then something terrible formed. What if he was falling for you too fast?

"And the wolf huffed and puffed and tried to blow the house down, but it didn't move. The bricks stood strong and still. So, the wolf tired again. He huffed and puffed and tried again! The three little piggies were safe inside the house of bricks as they watched the wolf grow tire and tire until there wasn't enough air in his lungs. Soon, the wolf gave up. He turned away and ran off." Your voice grew softer and softer as you pulled the empty bottle away from the sleeping girl's mouth. "And the three little piggies were safe, living happily-ever-after in the older brother's house of bricks."

You stopped rocking and put the bottle aside. The little joy in your arms was all you had left in this strange town. You were afraid of this town, and you would be a fool for not fearing these men.

But that tugging came back inside you, and it said to trust them. They cared. If the didn't they would've let Todd beat you then and there in the House of Wax. If they didn't care, they would've killed you after they too Todd. It's a funny feeling and you didn't know what to do. Even when Bo said Vincent was going to watch your daughter, you felt... comfortable? Certain? Safe? What was that feeling inside you that made you trust Vincent?

You slowly stood up from the chair and cradled your daughter. You nearly jumped to of your skin when you saw the three men sitting at the bottom of the steps, and they were looking at you like a blind man seeing a sunrise for the first time.

"Ya a good mother," Lester hummed, his smile still there. "Mama nev'a tol' us stories lik' 'at."

You gave a sad smile then looked down at your child. "I try to be good," you whispered. you didn't want to wake Jasmine. "I really try."

Bo stepped over his brothers and recomposed himself, straightening his tie. "I'll let ya put the babe down then we can go." He kept his voice down because he was afraid he'll wake her. "Vince and Les will do a good job takin' care of 'er while we go."

"Will we be long?" You asked as you rested Jasmine's head against your shoulder.

"Depends, ma'am," he answers honestly. "But I'll be wit' ya t'whole time." His blue eyes shined as you gave you a grin. "Promise."

You looked between Lester and Vincent, who were starting to stand up from the steps, then you looked down at Jasmine. "Do you two know how to hold a baby?"

"Is it like holdin' a racoon?" Lester asked, tilting his head. "Gotta keep the head up an' mak' sure it don't bite?"

Vincent's hand shot up and smacked him upside the head. He shot him a glance then looked back at you apologetically.

You giggled as you walked towards them. "Hold out your arms." Vincent looked down at the baby then at you. He did as he was told as you placed the baby in Vincent's arm. "Support the neck, watch the head. Yeah, that's right. Hold her there but not too tight..." He followed your instructions. "Now, every now and then, just tap her on the back and rock back and forth. She's already been fed, so she don't need to eat for a couple hours. Hopefully, I'll be back soon." You gave Vincent a smile. "I also changed her nappy, too, so you don't need to worry for a while."

Vincent looked down at the girl and smiled warmly under his mask. She's so tiny in his arm as she rocked back and forth gently. He always wanted a kid.

"We'll be back soon," Bo hummed, looking between Vincent and you. "Won't be long." You followed him to the door and looked back at the two men. Lester was looking over Vincent's shoulder at the little girl, his brown eyes bright and filled with love for her. Vincent swayed gently back and forth, and his mind was already thinking about turning on the classical station to keep the soothing atmosphere. "Be back," Bo promised.

**************

The drive from the house to the church was silent, but it was comfortable and heavy. Bo would look at you then back at the road. The short drive ended, and Bo got out of the truck to open your door, helping you out.

"You didn't need to do that, Bo," you said, a sad smile forming.

"Hush," Bo answered. "Was betta than t'let it happen." He held out his arm and you took it. "Com'on. I... we did something for ya."

He led you to the side of the church and entered the small cemetery. He stayed silent as he led you down a small stone path, passing older stones and markers. His boots clicked over the stones and stopped. There's an area that looks new and fresh. Flowers covered under a freshly caved small angel stone with the date you came in Ambrose. The angel held their hands as if they were in prayer, their head looking down at the grave. The carving didn't looked rushed but carved with care and timeliness. You looked at Bo then at the stone. You looked at the stone as you let go of his arm. you took steps forward and knelt in front of the stone. You touched it as tears started to build up. The lump in your throat tighten as you looked up at Bo.

"You," your words broke, "made a grave? For them?"

His jaw clinched as he looked down at his feet, closing his eyes. "It didn't feel right not t'do anythin', Mama," he admitted. "I... I'm sorry. Just thought it... it would..." his words fell as his eyes locked with yours. There were tears falling from his baby blues. "I wanna do righ'. I thought 'at, well..." He clinched his jaw and looked away. "I'm sorry, Mama."

You looked away from him to look at the tombstone. "Vincent made this?"

"Lester did, not Vincent," he answered. "He c'n carve stone. Vincent and I picked t'spot an' flowers." He closed his eyes. He needed a cigarette. "Thought it would help."

Your fingers ran over the stone. Careful hands took so much time with this artwork, and it was all for someone you lost. You rubbed your eyes then moved the fresh flowers around the stone to make it look filled and loved. It doesn't bring back what you lost, no, but you felt like you were healing. It'll take forever to heal, but this is a start; a damn good start. "Thank you, Bo," you whispered. "This... this is beautiful. Thank you." You looked up at him and held out a hand.

He took a step and took it, and you brought him down to the grass to sit next to you. You two stayed silent as you looked at the stoned angel and listened to the world around you. The birds chirped their songs as crickets hummed from the marsh. You felt comfortable to rest your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes. You made up your mind, and you were glad that it came to you.

"Bo, may I ask something?"

"Anythin' y/n."

You lifted his head and looked up at him. "Can... can Jasmine and I stay here? In the town? I have nowhere else to go."

His heart leapt to his throat. Someone up there heard his prayer, but reality kicked in. He knew this town. He knew himself and Vincent. "We ain't the nicest men," he warned. "An' it might get dangerous from time to time." Then a warm smiled formed. "But I promise, I swear, you an' ya kin will never be harmed. No hands, smacks--nothin' like 'at as long as ya livin' 'ere." His hand lock into yours and brought it up to a kiss. "I swear it, Mama."

You lifted your arms and pulled him into a hug, and he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight embrace. "Thank you, Bo," you said in his jacket. "Thank you."

He pulled away and looked down at you. "Do ya wanna stay a while? Or head back to t' house? No rush or nothin', hon."

You looked back at the stone and leaned against him. "Can I stay? Just a bit longer?"

He wrapped an arm around you, his eyes looking over the stone, mourning with you silently. He'll never forgive himself as long as he lives, but he'll try to make up for it. He's beaten himself up in the garage whenever he was alone. He'll look for forgiveness between you and the stone forever and ever. For now, he'll keep you and Jasmine safe and happy.

He promises, y/n. He promises.

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suckthatskittlebiiitch · 1 year

Text

"You know you're mine, right?"

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × !Black Reader

Warning" Smut! Dirty talk, light slapping (ooh la la 😩)

A/N: Honestly im back In my daryl dixon slut Era and I won't apologize for it.

Summary: Daryl and a few others went on a run for supplies but came back with a few new faces. One of which had her lips against daryl's cheek...

"Where the hell are they?! It's been, " You checked the clock on the wall adjacent to the window you were currently peaking through the curtains of. "3 hours!! Oh my god, what if something happened?! See, I knew I should've gone. WHY DID I listen to Rick?!!" You huffed. Honestly, it hadn't been that long, but it felt like it. "Y/n girl, it's only been like maybe 45 mins tops." Rosita chuckled at your impatience. She knew how worrisome you got when it came to your family being out so long... especially a certain archer you've been dating for the past 4 yrs.

Before you could say anything the sound of the gates opening up caught your attention. "MOVE THATS THEM!!" you yelled pushing, but not trying to; Rosita out the way and opened the front door, jogging down the steps of your home to see who's coming through those big metal doors. Worry and anticipation crept through your body as you hoped to see everyone walk in safe and together. Thankfully that was the case but there were also new faces you didn't expect to see.

Two men, 2 women, 3 children all looking exhausted and scared. One however that wasn't included did not....your man, your archer daryl dixon.

He gave a half smile as he looked up seeing you waiting for him, you wanted to run and smother him with kisses but couldn't because he had a woman who was limping on his shoulder. Ah okay no biggie you thought...until

"T-thank you so much, we couldn't have made it without you 4." She smiled up at him and kissed him on the cheek. Daryl wasn't expecting such a form of gratitude and frankly...you wasn't either.

"Y-yeah yer welcome.." he mumbled. Daryl took a few steps not so subtle steps from her, but ms ma'am didn't take the hint.

"let me return the favor to you somehow-"

"I know you can return it by backing the fuck up from my man" you hissed with folded arms across your chest. The woman looked taken back and quickly returned the favor in question. Her hands were now in front of her. Daryl chuckled while shaking his head. "Sunshine..."

"we'll take them to the infirmary to get checked out and questioned," Michonne said with a smirk as she, Abraham, and Glenn took the others away.

Daryl wrapped an arm around your shoulders, kissed your head then tapped you on the ass silently telling you to follow him to your shared home. Once inside he shut the door with his foot. "Always so firey ain't cha baby" he drawled

"Only when I see a woman touching what's mine, from the root of your head down to the bottom of ya feet that's aaalll mine baby..now" You walked up to him pushing his crossbow off his shoulder then gently set it on the table nearby before jumping into his arms.

Daryl caught you in his big strong arms and slapped your ass with one hand. "M' all yours mama ain't gotta worry bout nobody taken me from ya" he kissed you softly on the lips. The kiss turned into more when you gripped the back of his head making him grunt. Daryl carried you over to the couch laying you down roughly.

He sat up to make quick work of taking off his shirt and undoing his jeans while you did the same with yours. You pulled him down to kiss him again and bite at his lip making him moan. "Fuck woman.."

"oh don't worry baby, im going to do just that" With a sly grin you pushed him against the couch to straddle him, hovering above his throbbing head just a little before sliding down slowly. You both moan in unison, he was so thick and you felt full every time. Your hips started rocking back and forth, the wetter you were the better it felt.

"who's dick is this Daryl?" he moaned and started bouncing on him. He gripped your hips grunting and moaning. "it's yours...fuck..yours..baby" he mumbled. You slapped him lightly. "can't hear you dixon..who's. dick. is. this." your hips moved faster, and moans were getting louder as that tightening feeling was coming.

"Dicks yours sunshine..take that dick..dirty fucking slut" Daryl slapped your ass then pulled you down into a rough kiss.

"Mmmmm yes..yes fuck baby i-IM CUMMING!!!" he held you close as you both came simultaneously. Heavy breathing came from the both of you, as he turned you over so he could lay down with you on top of him his dick still inside your pussy.

"See...had to..remind you who you belong to" You panted and kissed his chest then his neck. Daryl nodded as he lightly traced a pattern on your back, a smirk on his face.

"Still a lil fuzzy...might need another reminder"

#daryl dixon x black reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon × female reader #daryl dixon x reader

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onmyyan · 6 months

Note

🗡️Psycho🗡️ Anon, here again! #3?

I don’t think you’re ever gettin rid of me now that you’ve told me you like what I’ve submitted to ya. Ya bad for me n my ego. You’re enabling me hun. It does mean a lot to me though and I am very happy I’m makin you foam at the mouth. Your men make me go feral and I obviously have stage 4 brain rot for all your OCs. No treatment for me. No salvation either doc

So here some intense follow up appointment delulu I got from the long ass Ashley Hunt AU story with hard core city girl reader I sent earlier. Buckle up bitch…you’re probably always gonna be in for a long haul with me…

Leavin off from Ash and our HEA, we got twins on the way n shit. And Ash is gonna give us at least another 5 babies too since we his happy lil breedin sow. But we gon speed up in time and not focus too much on dat, cause in the end we got 6 sons and 1 lil baby girl who da youngest. All back to back pregnancies. Ash got dem sexy hot dominant genes and really just gave his sons all the gifts he himself has. Tall, handsome, strong, chivalrous, charismatic, intelligent, etc. (They probably god’s favorites too). And we were like a fuckin printin machine makin copies n wonderin why the fuck we havin so many sons. So we fuckin delighted when we finally got a baby girl and are finally able to put the towel in cause we were also done havin his babies too. We love him. But 7 is plenty…

And so our story is really gonna focus on our lil baby Princess, cause she’s basically gonna be the “new reader insert.” Lil baby Princess grows up as a total daddy’s girl and is also doted on by her 6 big bros. She knows how to do some farm work, though she mostly inside helpin us her mama doin domestic work as it’s a bit more tough takin care of 7 men by oneself and we can always use an extra pair of hands in the kitchen. And you bet Ash is drillin in the same work ethic into his own sons as his own pa did to him. Builds character...

Lil baby Princess grows up wantin more in life. Just like how Ash’s sons inherited near almost everything from him, she inherited near almost everything from us her mama. Princess wanna leave the small town fast and is dead set on doin so when she graduates with her associates degree from the local community college. Her daddy, Ash managed to convince her to stay at the community college first. Get out general eds, stay closer to home before makin the big city leap and potentially getting a bachelors degree. Reluctantly Princess agreed to it but still had to go to the next town over since that’s where the community college is. Her home town is still much smaller…

And so she finally got her associates degree at 21 and is headin to the city to find a job n new life once the summer passes. It’ll be her last summer at home with her family she’s decided. On one of her casual outings ridin a horse she finds a man stuck on the road. Flat tire. Nice car too. He’s very handsome, tall, and muscular…to everyone else. But to Princess he just average and nothin much to look at. That what livin with 7 men built by Greek gods for 21 years does to ya. Makes ya numb to everyone people will conventionally say is beautiful n attractive. And Princess grew up with every woman around her thirstin over one of her bros and her father too. Even women from other towns would find excuses to swing by and gawk at the 7 men workin on the farm. So needless to say Princess isn’t wooed by men’s appearances…

Princess decides to help the poor fellow out cause her daddy raised her right. Offers him up a ride on her horse and tells the man she’ll call a truck for his car later. The man accepts and thinkin she’ll have to help him up on the horse for some time, the man easily mounts on the horse like it’s the second nature? And in an expensive suit too? She shakes it off and they go back to the Hunt farm…

During the ride the man asks Princess her name and what not (and I guess it’d still be Y/N cause the excuse is that she was named after her mama by Ash’s demands). Princess asks his name too, he gives it to her, and then no more talking on her end. This confuses the man as all his life people have usually wanted to make conversation with him. Or have usually always commented on his beautiful appearance by now. But not Princess. She really doesn’t give a shit about a stranded man’s life story. She’s here to do a job and get on with her life. And of course she’s immune to beauty at this point…

They finally come to the Hunt residence where Princess puts away her horsie and fixes up the man some water and food, bein a good host and all. She calls up the local mechanic and informs them of the details. Princess then just straight up leaves the man and tells him if he wants to take a nap, shower, whatever, to help himself. This is a fuckin power move as Princess has truly run out of shits to give in life. And she still ain’t tryin to converse at all with the man. Man is livid right now. Seeing Princess’s eyes filled with indifference. He confused as fuck too. Wonderin if she mentally sound or this is some country culture etiquette he doesn’t understand…

Now for the good shit. The Hunt men all come in as with so many hands workin on the farm now, shit gets done exponentially faster even though they got more stock and stuff over the years. They a little confused at first seein a posh lookin man greet them. But nothin gets bad as the man quickly explains the situation that happened. And the man is stunned to lookin at all these 7 aesthetically gorgeous men. The man is very confident in his own looks and it rarely happens in his life that he starts to get a bit insecure about them…

Ash asks the man where his daughter is, and the man replies that she just left? Much to the laughter of Ash’s 6 sons howling that “they’ll have nothing to ever worry about” with Princess. The man’s ego is damaged at this point. Is he unattractive? Is he undesirable? But he easily keeps a calm and collected face and voice…

The Hunt men politely excuse themselves having to go wash up from workin all day, leaving the man all alone again. We the mama enter the area, having heard commotion n stuff. We were preparing dinner n stuff in the kitchen which was far away. We go through same process and introduce and meet the mystery man. The phone rings and it’s the mechanic tellin us that the car won’t be ready for quite some time and the man will have to hitch a ride out of town if he’s got somewhere to be urgently. We inform the man and also ask if he got a place to stay. He don’t since he was just drivin by the town, so we offer him our home for the time bein. He hesitantly accepts…

Man decides to converse with us instead since we’re the most hospitable and social person he’s met in the family. He asks about our family and we do him. He keeps his background vague and we get the hint not to pock around. He really is just curious about our daughter, the Princess of the family. And we happily tell him all about her. Her hopes and dreams n stuff. Much to his delight that Princess seems like a normal human being n not a mechanical doll…

And that when he get the idea to propose to Princess later to take her with him out of the town to see the city and new places. Cause while he hasn’t fallen in love with her at first sight or anything like Ash did, there’s something about us that’s drawing him near. Perhaps it is our absolute indifference to him, and the fact that he just wants to prove something to himself. He wants to “figure us out.” Princess is a bit of a conquest and trophy to him, and he’s not afraid to admit that. So what’s the harm in this mutually future beneficial relationship? He’ll provide for Princess to get out of town and be able to see the world, and in turn he’ll get us to fall for him. The perfect plan. Nothing can go wrong…

A Princess for a Grand Duke, isn’t that fitting? Though the man will keep that a secret for as long as he can. If she asks questions about his wealth he’ll just pretend he’s an investor or something. One things for sure, Princess will definitely keep him entertained for a long time. A really really really long time…⁄(⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄)⁄

And scene! I just love imaginin different flavors of a yandere stories. Like dis one is obviously a much more slower burn than the whirlwind romance of Ash and his wifey. And it’d really follow the descent of madness of a Grand Duke yandere who’s truly falling into love and obsession over his lady. He thinkin he in control at first but realize steadily fast that he can’t live without her. And to make it worse, he never lose control of things in his life. Not his looks, his composure, etc. so it makes this predicament even nastier for him to deal with. But lucky for us Princess, havin grown up with Ash as our daddy and 6 big bros who also have some questionable “protective” tendencies, we have a bit of a contorted sense of love too. So our “normal” is much different than other people’s “normal”

Also did you like the hint I dropped in dis drabble about the mystery man’s background? It was about him being able to easily get up on a horse despite being in a suit and lookin all fancy and stuff. Cause not many people can do that. So you either know how to do it as a career…or as a hobby…

Final thought as to why a Grand Duke yandere ya thinkin? From your OCs ya got the Delmonts who are criminal flavor, then Ash who’s country flavor, and then other popular yandere archetypes tend to be royalty, famous, or CEO more often than not. So I thought that royalty would be fun since it’d give the new leadin man not just an abundance of financial power but social power as well that CEO power might lack. Ya know…since royals can have diplomatic immunity and CEOs pretty much don’t. Some new flavors for the spice cabinet is always good. Besides I also just wanna see a man abuse his absolute power with impunity in yandere stories sometimes…So if ya ever decide to make a new yandere OC. Here an idea. I don’t mind ya usin it and I’d be thrilled if ya did

Love 🗡️Psycho🗡️ Anon

A/N: OKAYA THE INSTANT BRAIN ROT THIS GSVE ME SBDJDKD YOU DID IT AGAIN MY LOVE OMG THE WAYYY I INSTANTLY FELL IN LOVE WJTH THIS PIECE EEEE THE SIX OLDER BROTHERS WHO ARE CARBON COPIES OF ASH??? HELLO??? AMAZING WRITING THAT DOWN Holy FUCK‼️‼️‼️💗👄💗 NOT TO MENTION THE DUKE EEEEEEEE AND PRINCESS IS SUCH A PERFECT NICKNAME FOR BABY GIRL I CANNOT YOUR MIND IS SO BEAUTIFUL THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME AND US ONCE AGAIN😩😩😩😩❤️❤️❤️UR POOKIE FR HERE SUM V SMALL BEC MY BRAIN IMMEDIATELY STARTED HAPPY DANCING W THIS CONCEPT

Princess stared at the man, her hard (e/c) eyes unwaivering, unmoving in their glare. She sucked her teeth, hearing her father's voice in her head as she stuck her hand up waving the stranger over.

"Get on, we'll take you somewhere safe, get this all figured out yea?" Princess says, no hint of suggestion in her soft voice. The stranger staggered for a moment before offering her his famous grin, a smile that had gotten him far in his life, "Thank you- really you're too kind, what's your name?" He says smoothly mounting the horse, expecting some fanfare from the desert rose before him, but instead he got a stiff nod and, "(Y/n)." was all he got.

She clicked her tongue and the horse took off, she hadn't waited to see if he was situated, a small smile on her face as she heard him gasp at their sudden departure.

#yananswers #anon submission #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #new yanderes alert‼️‼️‼️‼️#psycho anon you have my whole entire heart

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crash-and-cure · 2 years

Text

If I Were You Part 2 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Reader tries to navigate the immeadiate aftermath after that fateful night with Elvis, to varying success. WIth his return to performing on the horizon reader questions is if there is a way of forward that causes the least amount of damage for both parties. Elvis sees only one path forward.

Note: This is based on @venus-haze One shot If I Were You. Please go read that before this because it’s absolutely incredible. And yes before anyone asks I had her full permission to continue the story and she has been on board the whole time. I swear on my life this was originally a one-shot to continue on and let it be known what I saw for reader and Elvis’ future. Then about 5k into this story and realizing there were so many scenes I wanted to add within the first week alone for these two, I just went all in and decided to restrain this chapter to a week. There will be at least one more chapter following this. Reader is cis female, and aside from that no other descriptors are used. Full disclosure I do use this song, which, while never performed by him, has all the makings of one, and it fit to well in the scene it’s in. I do have a Bachelor’s in Psychology, but I am not a therapist, so nothing here should be treated as genuine mental health advice. That being said there is alot more focus on reader this time around. Please read the warnings before deciding to read.

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: Yandere fic so there are themes of obsessive , manipulative, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. There is an informal therapy session depicted here as well in which topics such as performance anxiety, sex, exploitation, and substance abuse are discussed. Depictions of drinking that may be seen as delving into alcohol abuse territory, as well as some other erratic behavior on readers part. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes oral (f. recieving), pentrative sex (m/f), spanking, some daddy kink, and other dom/sub undertones sprinkled throughout. And of course Elvis’ mommy issues and readers daddy issues (truly aa match made in hell). Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, manipulation, and uses of coercion. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

My Masterlist

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You kept that bottle of wine, you can’t fully explain why though. Worse yet you kept it in the bottom drawer of your desk, and every time you opened that drawer these past few months you were always secretly hoping that it wouldn’t be there and would always feel the disappointment when it continued to be there out of your sight. How poetic you thought idly as Elvis forced open that locked drawer after curiosity over the glass clinking sound had gotten the better of him.

Recognizing the bottle he let out a dark chuckle. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought you didn’t take gifts from us patients, Doc?” he said, very much amused as he used his teeth to take the cork out. “Don’t worry though mama,” he paused taking a swig, “I forgive ya’. Least I could do after all ya’ gave tonight.”

Shaking both in shock and humiliation, you grabbed the bottle and after nursing it for a beat too long, you proceeded to ride him to oblivion as he sat in your own desk chair in some twisted attempt to regain control of the situation. Though the closer you got to your peak, it became clear that this was all in vain. The way he sat there, lounging back, one hand behind his head and the other leaving finger-sized bruises on your rear, guiding you as you desperately chased your release, he was the very image of a King on his throne. It was on that thought that you proceeded to shatter around him once again that night, drifting as he whispered in your ear what a good girl you were.

The rest of the night proceeded as a blur as the next conscious thought you had would be wondering how you were going to get to work the next day as he drove you home in his own car. You don’t quite remember giving him directions, but for the sake of your sanity you just assumed you did. And in some perverted form of chivalry, he even walked you to your front door and gave you a tender, almost sweet, kiss as though he didn’t have you bent over your own desk not even an hour ago, before departing into the night.

You’re in a fugue state as you work toward your nightly routine. You don’t taste your dinner, you don’t hear the music from your neighbor’s radio, and you especially don’t feel his cum flaking on the skin beneath your blouse. Nope. Definitely not. You’re too ashamed to even look at yourself going so far as to shower with your lights off.

As you settle into bed that night, your sleep is fitful as you try your best to decide what to do about this night. In the end, with all the evidence of your tryst washed away, you resolve to ignore these feelings at the very least until you have to see him again.

What you can’t ignore the next morning is your car, that had no business being there, in its usual spot, along with your keys in the ignition. Not really trying to think too hard on the implications you would rush to work hoping to clean up before your first client of the day.

To your surprise everything in your office is already in order: No furniture askew, no suspicious stains on the desk or chairs, not even the panties that you swore didn’t come home with you anywhere in sight. The only proof that last night even happened at all was the broken desk drawer and the slight tenderness on your ass.

The days following that session were hazy at best to you as, even during work, your mind was occupied by him. You formulated plans as to how best to address what happened and why it must never happen again. Elvis has always had a reputation as a bit of a cad, so perhaps you can both treat this as a one time thing. Something that he had to get out of his system in order to successfully further his treatment. Even in session he confessed that he had trouble with maintaining monogamy to almost all of his previous partners - though, you thought, he did immediately follow that up with the justification that he was looking for the “right” girl.

You pushed that notion away, he will understand - he has to understand - that it would be better to return to the previous professional relationship. So come Thursday morning, you take steps to effectively unsex yourself; no makeup, loose fitting pants and blazer, hair in a less than flattering style, the whole nine yards. All of this done in an effort to make yourself a less viable option for a sexual partner .

As you leave your apartment you catch a glimpse of your ill-fitting attire and you can’t help but be reminded how as a child you would wear your fathers suits and declare you were going to be a Doctor like him. As you would swim in his oversized coat, you remember feeling lucky to receive a dismissive glance your way and monotone orders to return the clothes back where you found them. You rush out to your car before you can dwell on that train of thought.

If your other patients noticed your sudden change in style that day, no one mentioned it. You had previously taken pride in the level of professionalism you were able to maintain, but in the grand scheme of things, looking frumpy for one day of work could hardly be deemed the worst thing you have done.

As 4 PM rolled around you were still in the process of convincing yourself that you were ready to confront this head on by not confronting it and acting as though nothing ever happened. You can do this- you have to do this- you told yourself.

4:15 PM, you were ready for the knock on the door that would not come that night.

4:30 PM, you were still waiting in a rigid state with your pen and notebook clenched in your hands, full attention at the wooden door, like a dog waiting for its owner to come home. You shudder at the comparison.

4:45 PM, you were justifying his tardiness with his upcoming concert, and even with your barebones knowledge of performing, you realize that these types of things are planned weeks, even months in advance. And so you wait.

5 PM and you’re already mentally packing up to go back to your apartment. You know that all of your things are sitting at your desk but you wanted to spend as little time looking at it as possible. These past few days, you had the irrational fear that even so much as looking at where your indiscretion happened would tip off everybody. You disregard that reflexive response that makes you clench your thighs together when you look in its direction.

5:15 PM you can no longer ignore the stiffness in your back but you're doing your best to disregard the feeling of rejection that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Because this seems to be the place where you make your worst decisions, you decide to pull out that damned bottle of wine. You see the teeth marks on the cork, and you push down the part of you that blushes at the thought of putting your mouth where his was.

It is in that moment with the stopper wrenched free and you thinking about a man you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about, does the shrill tone of your office phone ring. It’s embarrassing really how quickly your hand shoots to answer it, moreso when you answer with a mouthful of cork.

“Hww-” you quickly spit it out. “Hello this is Dr. Y/L/N.”

It is little comfort when you recognize the voice.

“Baby I’m so sorry that I missed tonight, but I coulda swore I told one a my boys to let ya’ know I wouldn’t make it.” he said apologetically. “We got rehearsal’s all this week for Saturday and my minds been all over the damn place.”

Baby, you thought as you took a quick gulp of wine. Early on, he had slipped and called you tha, maybe a month or two into his treatment. You, as gently as you could, informed him how you would appreciate it if he wouldn’t refer to you as such. He reassured you that he meant nothing by it as he apparently calls everyone that from time to time. You accepted that answer and didn’t say anything the few times he would say it later on.

Looking at the bottle in your hand, you had spent the last few days blaming it for being your first misstep in your career, but retrospect is funny like that and you’re now realizing it was one in a series of many over the last year. With him continually elbowing his way back into your life, you doubt it will be your last.

“That’s alright Mr. Presley, just please don’t let this happen again in the future.” is your response, wanting to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I’ll see you for your next session on Monday.”

“Speakin’ a that. I was hoping we could reschedule today for Saturday,” he said before you could lift the receiver from your ear.

“Mr Presley, I don’t work on Saturday’s,” you half-heartedly protested.

“Then you’re free,” he quickly countered. “Doc, it’s just that… I’mma need some help gettin’ my head straight before the show, cause it’s been over a year since I done this, and even longer since I done a show sober.”

You immediately clock what he’s trying to do, and for all the ill-advised actions you’ve taken in the last week, you didn’t get your license out of a cracker jack box. “Elvis, that is in no way appropri-”

“Well it’s the show,” he quickly cuts you off. There is a dark edge to his tone as he continues. “And what happened on Monday. I think I really need to talk to someone ‘bout it.”

It doesn’t have to be you, goes unsaid.

He’s got you there and you know it, and currently you’re in no state of mind to try to find a way around this. So rather than doing anything semi-responsible and enforcing the boundary you have set, you down most of what’s left of the bottle and agree.

“Darlin’ that’s perfect. If there’s one thing I can promise, it's a helluva show” You can almost feel the self-satisfied grin over the phone. “I also been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said with not lettin’ people know that you’re my therapist, and you’re right.”

The neck of the bottle is clenched so tightly in your fist, you’re concerned it may shatter at this point. That earlier feeling of rejection being quickly replaced with dread.

“So I think I best I send you a lil’ somethin’ to wear for the show, I want them knowin’ you’re my girl, not my shrink, and you don’t exactly dress the part Doll.” he says this with such a cool authority that leaves no room for argument.

You stared off into space with this offer. You’re idly reminded of months ago when you had him practice an exercise in control. He did, you observed, have an excessive need for control in almost every aspect of his life, but this mindset also held the detrimental effect that everything that went wrong was also his fault due to the control he felt. So you came up with this exercise so you could both figure out where it is reasonable to be in control, and in which places he could relinquish it a bit. One aspect he mentioned that he often controlled was the way his girlfriends dressed, which you will admit made you do a double take. The only thing you commented on that detail was that so long as both parties were consenting he was truly not in control of the entire situation.

Doll indeed, you think bitterly. Did he take it as a challenge? Whatever the case may be, one thing becomes evident. You have no doubt what his intentions are anymore, no overwhelming emotions clouding his judgment, nor any post-orgasmic high having him say things he doesn’t mean.

As you look at the near empty bottle of wine while you sit in the room where your career has lived and will inevitably die, you can hardly say the same thing about yourself.

Mark had insisted you keep it that night months ago, and after realizing that there was no way of returning it to Elvis without bringing up the incident again, you kept it in your office for the sole reason that it felt wrong to keep it in your apartment. Too Intimate, you had thought. You begin to wonder how your life would have been had you told Mark why you wished to refuse the wine. Maybe you would have been strong enough to put your foot down and keep this relationship professional… or maybe he would have taken the same approach you took, and let it slide under the guise of Elvis not knowing any better at the time. Elvis seemed to have that effect on people, of wanting to justify his actions in spite of it everything.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way he sounded when exhausted, or just maybe it was looking into Pandora's proverbial drawer and finally finding those lost panties with the evidence of your attraction to him stained into the fabric. Whatever it was you found yourself finishing off the bottle and agreeing to his requests - demands really- and drunkenly trying your best to rationalize to yourself why you shouldn’t burn your license to ash at this very moment.

The next day rolls around and you return to your normal wardrobe. Though that morning you can’t help but take an extra long look at it as though the promised new addition will change it fundamentally. You chalk that thought up to you still being hungover. As the day continues, you try your best to be more attentive to your patients that day, because even if you failed to do so once, these people deserve a space free from your own personal issues.

You’re not surprised to be met with a package at your doorstep, though the colored box and large bow it arrives in are a bit much for what you assumed to be a single dress. What you’re met with inside is in fact a full outfit complete with even the undergarments you assume you’re expected to wear. The style itself so far from your typical business professional taste, it circles into the territory of a disguise. You even have to admit that there is an air of brilliance to it, since you doubt even you would be able to recognize yourself in this outfit.

Though in that regard, you already have a lot of trouble doing so lately.

Your tentative plan as of right now is to attend the concert and take part in this impromptu therapy session, and you will discuss with him what happened and explain why it is in fact critical to his mental well-being that this affair goes no further. You begrudgingly admit that come Monday, you will have to start from square one with him, but this is the only path forward you can see anymore.

That Saturday morning is devoted to running in and out of grocery stores, trying to gather as many tabloids featuring Elvis as possible, if you’re going to -temporarily- play the part he wants you to play, you will have to look like it. The rest of the day is devoted to primping and preening to get said right look. This brings back memories from undergrad, you and a friend preparing for a double date and Priscilla, along with various other celebrity faces, taped to the mirror for inspiration. Specifically you remember after being able to achieve her dramatic cat eye, your friend joking that if this college thing didn’t work out for you, you could put in an application for being Elvis’ next girl. You laughed at how preposterous that idea was at the time.

Your thoughts of the past are quickly interrupted by rapid knocking at your front door, and you quickly put the finishing touches on your makeup and throw on the ensemble. At the door you’re met with a familiar blonde whose apparent agitation swiftly surpasses whatever momentary discomfort he clearly feels at encountering you once again. Though in that moment you’re at least grateful Elvis had the good sense to not involve anyone else in this matter (that and the fact he didn’t send a limo).

Getting into the car you’re praying for a long and silent trip to the show. Jerry not reading the room says to you “Sorry for rushing you out the door back there, um…” he says. “It’s just been a bit of a crazy week, and the Boss is just wigging out about every single detail.”

“I understand” you attempt to placate, wishing for this exchange to end as soon as possible. “You have a job to do.”

“By the looks of it, so do you,” he says in an attempt to joke, though he quickly cuts himself off after seeing you tense up. He quickly apologizes and as you turn to look out the window, you hear what sounds like a flask being opened and Jerry downing a good portion of it.

You resist the urge to demand a shot of whatever he’s drinking because, as poorly timed as that joke was, you are on the clock. And for as unprofessional as you have been lately, you don’t think you’ve quite gotten to the level of drinking right before a session. Because that’s what this is: an emergency/supplemental session that will precede a momentous occasion for your patient, and out of respect for his privacy, you are in disguise so that no one will know he’s even seeing a therapist. You’re hoping the more you tell yourself that the less ridiculous it will sound.

And due to the fact you're on the job you reason, it may be best to get an idea of his state before going in. “How has he been today? I’m sure the stress of the event is getting to him,” you ask.

“Yeah, uhh… he’s been in a bit of a mood all day,” he says carefully.

“Meaning?”

“He’s basically been sayin’ that he wouldn’t perform until he saw you,” he says, looking anywhere but at you.

And there it is, you think. You give a simple nod in acknowledgement to Jerry, as he is all too happy to let this conversation peter out. You now recognize what Elvis is attempting and using Jerry as a proxy for. Despite all your training that tells you that you’re not responsible for any actions your patients take, you feel yourself start to shoulder the burden of getting him to perform tonight. Not only that but it seems you also bear the responsibility of putting him in the right headspace to perform well tonight.

The rest of the ride to the show itself is quiet, which you’re grateful for, as it gives you time to steel yourself. Jerry as well seems to ease into a more relaxed demeanor the way one would when doing something that has become routine. It seems he’s no stranger to ferrying women to the King of Rock and Roll.

Regardless of the slight pang of sorrow you feel momentarily at that observation, you try to see the upside to it. That this… thing with Elvis, your patient you have to remind yourself, will be short-lived.

Arriving at the venue, you are immediately led backstage, and you’re not sure you can write off the feeling that everyone was watching you to paranoia on your part. Whatever it was, you surmised, there were more than a few people beyond Elvis expecting your arrival. As you were ushered to his dressing room, you felt equal parts dread and anticipation as to what would be on the other side.

What you weren’t expecting was your office. Though that may be a stretch, you can’t seem to find the logic in a dressing room having two chairs facing each other with a small table between them complete with a box of tissues right on top. The entire arrangement takes up an inordinate amount of space in an already cramped room, and you can’t help but conclude that it is intentional.

You find the man of the hour in an open robe (sans shirt, though thankfully with pants on) sitting cross legged on the sofa in what you recognize to be a meditative position. You wouldn’t say he is quite disheveled, but every time you’ve seen him, he’s looked nothing less than immaculate. So finding him in this state with his hair undone and no ostentatious clothing is slightly jarring. Upon hearing the door open he cracks open one eye, and seeing you his face breaks into that handsome grin you’ve become far too familiar with. “Y/N, baby you’re here.” he says feigning surprise.

Not even acknowledging what he just said, you make your way into the room and Jerry, clearly just as disturbed by the setup, closes the door behind you. You glance at the clock on the wall showing that you had a little over 2 hours until the concert was set to start, just enough time for a full session and then some for him to get ready for the show. There is no way this was not meticulously planned, you conclude.

You sit down placing your bag on the floor, as he takes his time to stretch out for a bit before he strolls his way to sit astride the chair across from you. There with an amused look on his face, he says nothing apparently wanting you to start.

Considering there is no protocol as to how to conduct a session in this highly specific situation, and not wanting to immediately open with the elephant in the room, you decide to begin with just idle chit chat. “So… um, I didn't know you practiced meditation.”

“Yeah, it was somethin’ I picked up in San Diego,” he says off-handedly.

“I’m glad that it works for you,” you say as neutrally as possible.

“Oh, it don’t,'' he clarifies. “It works in gettin’ everyone to leave me the fuck alone for awhile. But not in the other ways it’s supposed to.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement as he continues. “I got into yoga when I was down there too.”

“Do you find that works better for you?”

“Yeah,” he verifies. “When I feel somethin’ real bad, I gotta move. It don’t matter how.” This makes sense as he's a very physical person. You are aware of his love for Karate, and you briefly consider recommending he pick up Tai Chi as a happy medium between meditation and martial arts to help him in achieving mindfulness. Your thoughts are interrupted as he continues. “Too bad I ain’t been able to practice in a while.”

“And why is that?” you softly probe.

“I been needin” a partner,” he said with a sly grin, very much an offer.

There’s your opening, you think to yourself. This is the moment you can make a bid to reinforce some level of boundaries between the two of you. Where you can tell him that Monday was a mistake and should never happen again. That this infatuation with you is in fact detrimental to his mental well-being and will destroy your career. And most importantly that there is no future between the two of you.

“Elvis, please” you say, exhaling in frustration. “About what happened on Monday… I think it would be best if we-”

“Well,” he chimes in, “I think it best we save that talk for another time,” his severe delivery leaving no room for argument. Fear grips your throat as he continues in a notably softer tone, “Everything out there is ready for me to play, but up here,” he says, putting two fingers to his temple. “I don’t know ‘bout. Darlin’ I need your help right now, because I can’t do this without you”

Almost everything within you says to push forward no matter what, and tell him right here and now. The one thing that stops you is knowing for a fact he will be devastated with what you have to say. And then what? You leave and he’s unable to perform, leaving hundreds devastated. And come Monday will he even show up, or will he make the call and have you immediately reported for your part in this whole ordeal. Not to mention the long-term variables of if he will even want to continue therapy should you fail to get him ready tonight.

You sigh in defeat, as it appears you have no choice but to concede on this matter and focus on the immediate task at hand. “So you mentioned over the phone that your head’s been all over the place this week. Tell me, is this how you normally feel in the days leading up to a performance?”

He looks pleased with your question and answers “Not in the last few years no. I mean, first time in Vegas it was a little like this, but after a while that all became routine.”

He leans his chair back and reaches behind him to the vanity table to reach for a glass of water. This angle puts his full chest on display and you can’t help but rake your eyes over the hair there and follow the trail of it down to his-

Focus, you think to yourself.

He offers you a glass, and in spite of how dry your mouth feels at the moment, you are trying to no longer accept anything from him at this point regardless of how small, so you refuse. “Tell ya’ what though,” he says, taking a sip. “I ain’t feel this nervous since my early days of performin’ and I would shake somethin’ fierce on stage,” he laughs a little at this statement. “That’s actually parta where all my dancin’ came from.”

“I see.”

It’s unsettling how you could almost mistake the rest of your time together as a typical session with him. The only cosmetic differences being the harsh lighting from the vanity behind him and the uncomfortable feeling from the leather chair sticking to the back of your thighs. You’re also at a bit of a loss as to what to do with your hands without anything to take notes in, and the outfit has you feeling particularly vulnerable. As for his part you doubt you’ve ever seen him this relaxed in your presence before; leaning back with his legs spread and his robe exposing a mouth-watering amount of his torso. If you had to guess, it may have something to do with you being in his territory so to speak, as opposed to the typical setting of your office. Or maybe he’s just into your humiliation.

Aside from those factors, you would have even labeled today as a successful session… that is until the conversation takes a turn.

“I’ve done what feels like a thousand shows, most of them without all that crap Nic was pumping me with, but it feels like… I don’t know. Like that was some other guy that was performin’ and that he ain’t here tonight.”

“This ‘other guy’ has he always been a part of the way you perform?”

“I ain’t feel like myself on stage in a long time.” he said morosely.

“Elvis, I want you to try to recall a concert where you did feel like your true self. It doesn’t have to be the last time you felt this way, just the most memorable.” You replied leaning forward.

The half smirk that creeps on to his face makes you regret that question though. “Actually the show that comes to mind is the comeback special. You seen it before?” he asked.

Yes. “...No, I-I believe I missed that one,” you manage to stutter out.

He grins knowingly, “Well they had me in front of an audience, maybe less than a hundred people and had me dressed all in leather with only a small square for a stage. In spite all that I felt free especially since Parker had almost nothin’ to do with it,” he said wistfully. “He chewed me out later for it, sayin’ shit like how it was no real audience and that they were told when to clap. But I knew…”

His hungry gaze meets yours and you feel a kin to prey about to be devoured. “You wanna know how I knew?” he said.

In spite of your gut instinct that you are delving into dangerous territory with this conversation, you’re far too curious at this point. So you try to swallow that uneasy feeling and reply in the affirmative.

“I came in my pants,” he says, taking a sip of his water, as neutral and matter of fact as if he were just telling you what he ate for dinner last night.

“Wh-what?” you said, for the first time in your career, truly at a loss for words.

Sex certainly wasn’t a taboo subject to discuss with your patients, and it wasn’t even the first time you discussed it with Elvis himself. But those conversations typically surrounded your patient's fears of intimacy with a new partner, and even though that wasn’t a concern for Elvis, he did make reference to it when discussing his need to please others. Most importantly though when discussing sex with a patient, you’ve never actually had the experience with them.

“It was the weirdest thing, Doc. Never happened before, hasn’t happened since,” he said, at complete ease with himself. “Sure a few close calls here and there, but it never got to that point. Hell, it mighta been the suit itself that did it for me. What ya’ think it means doll?”

And what can you say to that really? You try to even out your shallow breathing as your mind races through the possible implications of this reaction. You have certainly never met another performer before so you’re unsure whether this is even unusual to those in his line of work, but at the same time most people who do what they love for a living also aren’t sexually aroused by it, let alone reach climax through it alone. Previously you would have labeled yourself as firmly within that category, but that damp feel beneath your dress proves otherwise.

Across from you, he waits patiently for your reply, but he is also openly delighted by your squirming state.

“I-” you clear your throat. “Um… Sex is a perfectly natural thing.”

“Don’t I know it,” he smiles rakishly.

“Yes I…” you say, briefly losing your train of thought. “A way of interpreting the… arousal you feel on stage is that being there and performing in front of an audience comes just as naturally to you. As for what happened at your special, it may have been the moment you felt most acutely aware of your desire to be on stage.”

He nods his head and you continue. “You’ve mentioned previously how you were unsatisfied by your movie career by that point in time. So the return to the stage may have also acted as a cathartic release of all these pent up frustrations you were feeling up until that moment.”

He raises an eyebrow at that in the way he typically does when he’s confused by your wording. “Basically you were feeling unhappy for a long period of time, so when you felt the joy of being back on stage, you’re…” you hesitate, suddenly embarrassed. “Body, as a result misinterpreted that joy as arousal. And adding to that, Parker’s disapproval as well as the feeling of being free that you described. It all culminated into that… reaction.”

He sits on your presumption for a moment, before chuckling a bit. “I see where you’re comin’ from on that doc. Though I gotta ask.”

You pause, apprehensive to what he may ask. “Ask what?”

“What are my chances for a repeat performance tonight?” he asks in a way you could almost mistake as innocent. As you feel close to hyperventilating, he continues. “I mean those things you brought up from the special are here tonight sooo…” he quirks an eyebrow, putting it on you to continue.

“...well… um” you draw out, truly dumbfounded and without any words to respond to that. You’re only saved from this conversation by hurried knocking at the door behind you.

“Well, looks like we’re outta time here doc,” he said standing up, prompting you to stand up as well. With a hand on your lower back guiding you to the door, you don’t miss the fact he’s effectively dismissing you. “Baby, thank ya’ for comin’ down here tonight and settin’ me right. And I just want you knowin’ that this whole show is because of you. I don’t think I woulda made it this far without my girl” he said looking down at you and bringing you close while his other hand was on the doorknob.

Your primary focus is trying your best to collect yourself before you need to go out there, but you’re so astonished by how he just so casually slipped in “my girl” into there. You know then you have to say something.

“But… I’m not your gir-” you quickly cut yourself off as you see his jaw clench, the previous look of satisfaction on a dime replaced with one of intense indignation at your denial. Before you can even begin to feel regret for your refusal, his expression just as rapidly shifts to one of downright mischief.

Not wanting to find out what that look meant, you attempt to turn towards the door, only to be halted by an iron-like grip on your jaw. “Not my girl, huh?” he says, forcing you to look at him, as he brings his face closer to yours. He then whispers, his lips just barely brushing yours, “tell that to them.”

You can’t say you weren’t expecting him to bring his lips closer to yours, but you can say you weren’t expecting to be such a willing participant this time around. You can tell yourself all you want that you did it to save him from the embarrassment of being walked in on with a less than willing woman, but it seems, deep down, the both of you knew better. So you played your part as you grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck as your lips came together, and he was all too willing to believe in your role as his hand snaked down your back. You’ll never fully know (or at least admit) who closed the distance that night.

All you really know is that being in here with him as he was now, was nothing short of intoxicating, in a way it had never felt in your office. You were not one to participate in drugs, but as his tongue slips past your lips to wrap around your own, you truly believe you could become addicted to this. His scent, his taste, his touch, all of it threatened to consume you whole and never let you go.

He was so all consuming in fact, you barely registered the sound of the door opening beside you, but you definitely don’t miss what feels like a dozen sets of eyes in full view of the both of you. You’re aware that you should in fact be more embarrassed of your compromising position with your arms thrown around his neck and his hand firmly on your ass. But with all the shame you’ve been feeling this past week, this hardly registers as the worst. Though you do feel a spark of it when he pulls away, and you let out a small whine from being denied his plush lips, until you feel them near the shell of your ear.

His breathy demand for another session after the show is hard to deny in your state, and more so when you see the color of your lipstick haphazardly smeared across his downright sinful smirk. It goes without saying what that will entail, but you surprise even yourself by not immediately running for the hills. Instead you, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, stumble past a line of people rearing to get in and do their job. This venture, not at all aided by the playful swat he gives your behind. The “knowing” looks on some of their faces tells you what they are all assuming. Part of you wishes they were right, because doing that would somehow have been less shameful than what actually happened.

After that “session” you try to compose yourself as best as you can, and make your way to the ladies room. Alone in the restroom you see your face in the mirror and to your relief aside from the smudged lipstick, you look relatively fine. You reach for your bag to touch it up, only to realize that you forgot to grab it when he was leading you to the door. As you shudder at the thought of going back to retrieve it, you finally realize how much of a sopping mess you’ve made of your underwear.

Insanity is truly your only defense for your next course of action, as you quickly remove your panties and dispose of them.

After cleaning yourself up a bit, you end up wandering around backstage with a new resolve to not think about him. You still have roughly another hour to kill before the show is set to start, so unsure what to do with yourself until that time, you attempt to strike up conversations with your fellow VIPs. Your attempt at keeping your mind off of him proves fruitless though, as it becomes apparent that word travels fast behind the curtains, and their interest in you begins and ends with Elvis. You’re flooded with questions as to what he’s going to wear tonight, what he’s going to sing, if there will be an afterparty at Graceland and subsequent requests for you to try to get them invited. The only time any questions are directed at you, it’s simply polite inquiry as to where you met him and how long you’ve known him, and you try to be as vague and non-descript as possible.

One woman remarks how she thinks she saw you in a magazine last week along with “the big man himself.”

“Guilty,” you reply with a nervous laugh, because you truly are. How would you even begin to try to explain the truth?

You are able to meet most of the members of the so-called “Memphis Mafia,” and get the rundown as to who does what in the group after asking in an effort to get a basic conversation going. It doesn’t go unnoticed that none of them ask what you do for a living, only mildly interested in the fact you’re the new girl, as though being Elvis’ “girl” is supposed to occupy the totality of your existence. Usually you would take offense to this, but under these circumstances, you know the fewer in the know, the better.

You don’t think you’ve ever truly considered the world he lives in until this moment. A world in which he’s surrounded on all sides by women that want him, and by men that admire and/or envy him. What does that do to a mind when everybody he meets falls into one of those two categories? How would one handle someone who doesn’t fit into either category?

Eventually though Jerry finds you and brings you to your seat, front row and center, because of course Elvis would. You know from his stories about his Vegas residency that he would often kiss women in the front row, and you already have a feeling as to how this is going to play out. As Jerry leaves, you contemplate making a break for it at this point, but without your purse, that idea is quickly tossed out.

You look around your area and breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that all are virtually unrecognizable. You know from the tabloids that this concert was deemed one for the ages already, being essentially his second comeback and with rumors flying around that there would be more than a few international attendants this fact is not all too surprising. There’s a small swelling of pride within you knowing that he is so loved worldwide that you quickly try to stamp down.

As the curtain goes up and the music starts to blare, you make the conscious decision that at this moment you are not his therapist, and that you are merely a fan. That you will be without worries at the state of your career right now, without fear that the APA is breathing down your neck, and definitely without any guilt to the sexual attraction you feel for him at this moment. Afterall you’re a fan, isn’t that just par for the course?

So as he steps on stage and immediately makes eye contact with you, you play your part. You get lost in it even, as you dance and sing and make a fool of yourself. He’s just… incredible doesn’t even begin to describe what he is as you’ve never seen someone move like he does, never felt music as you did in this moment. There’s not a single inch of the stage that’s not occupied by his presence as he’s able to keep the crowd fully enraptured for music they’ve undoubtedly heard hundreds of times before. His command over everything truly brings a new perspective to his King epithet.

Despite your best efforts you cannot help but think of the comeback special incident and in the brief moments between songs you can’t help but observe and this makes you feel all the more like a voyeur. In spite of the fact that there’s a couple hundred people watching the same show you are, they aren’t cursed with what you know. Unintentionally you read into every gyration, every hip thrust, even every time he throws his head back looking for any indication. You had thought about what he looks like in the throes of ecstasy an inordinate amount of times already this week, so you even compare every face he makes up there as well.

Eventually, after two demands for an encore, Elvis merely has to put a finger to his lips to command the rowdy crowd down. “Now before I go,” he pauses with a slight quirk in his lips as he hears their protests, but continues with “I’m gonna leave y’all with somethin’ new.” This statement is met with uproarious applause as he gestures to the band behind him and begins.

Want me to love you in moderation?

Do I look moderate to you?

Not even two lyrics in, you know you’re in trouble. Previously he had the decency to not single you out as he worked the entire crowd in front of him, but as he sings you know exactly who he’s directing this song to.

And are you any better? Like the other women in the front row you move to the stage, as you're overpowered with the urgent need to be as close to him as possible. You’re overwhelmed with just about everything at this point: the audience, the song, him, and all your conflicting emotions this past week all reach a crescendo as he kneels on the stage before you. You’re crowded by his fans all reaching out to touch him as though he were some divine being. But you knew better.

Girl, you better learn

Can’t hold it in,

And girl you better learn

I just can’t win

Cause I don’t see the worth

I don’t see the worst

He is something monstrous, demonic almost. Elvis is a siren-like creature who is leading you to your doom. As he leans down closer to you, you stand on your toes, willing your knees to not give in at a time like this. The women around you flock even closer, all trying to get a piece of him, while he puts a hand underneath your chin, his eyes challenging you to stop him. He may very well be a siren but you’re his victim who is all too happy to drown at this point.

And I’m still tryna figure out if it

Always

Has to hurt

Unlike the last few times, you were very much prepared for this kiss. At least you were, until he proceeded to lean away from you and plant the kiss on the woman directly next to you. Time slows at this moment, truly forcing you to take in every single detail of what is happening not even a foot away from your face. He kisses her with all the filth and passion you were craving in that moment, and she just as enthusiastically kisses him back.

His face is glistening with sweat from his performance that runs down onto her, but this woman doesn’t seem to mind. She will leave this concert and forever be able to have an interesting anecdote to tell at every party she will ever attend. This will be her one crazy story to tell about Elvis Presley, and the more logical side of you truly envies that about her.

Finally, after what was perhaps only seconds but felt like an eternity, he breaks away from the kiss, though that doesn’t ease the heavy stone that has settled in your stomach. You want to cry, you want to scream, and judging from the state of the women around you, you wouldn’t be at all out of place. You’re upset that you’re in this position, you’re devastated over the fact that this is the man who holds your career in the palm of his hand, and most of all, you’re heartbroken that you even wanted him to kiss you at that moment.

Did he not see you? Did he mistake her for you? Shouldn’t you be glad about this new development? That hundreds of people weren’t witness to you flagrantly breaking every rule and ethical responsibility you made upon becoming a therapist?

He answers all these questions with the single look he gives you as he stands before you, his lips now stained red from that random woman.

You want looove

You feel a tug at your elbow as Jerry once more guides you backstage. Elvis for his part shamelessly watches you walk away all the while belting out those final lyrics of his song. As the lights from the stage blink out, and the crowd proceeds to explode in near-deafening screams and hollers, and you see him bow out as the curtain drops. You try to make yourself numb to it all as you make your way through the bustling corridors, but in reality you can’t ignore your heartbeat thundering through you, nor the uncomfortably slick feeling between your thighs.

You have to get out of there and you know it. But you also want to stay and there’s no denying that. You have accepted that he has an unhealthy attachment towards you, and you naively thought you could work to dismantle it over the next few months to get him back on track. But seeing him kiss that other woman made you realize that this attachment threatens to be mutual, and that is truly where it will derail.

Before you can figure out what you’re going to do, you’re back in front of his dressing room door and you walk in not even having bothered to knock. You find him along with several members of his crew already in there but upon seeing you he grins and a simple wave of his hand has them all scurrying out, leaving the two of you alone. He stays seated at the vanity, too comfortable apparently, with his feet propped up, the upper half of his suit peeled off of him, and a towel around his neck. He doesn’t even bother to fully turn around to look at you directly, he simply watches you through the mirror.

“You enjoy the show Darlin’?” he says, lightly dabbing himself with the towel. “It sure as hell looked like you did out there.”

Despite knowing he saw how you behaved, you still try to lie with an indifferent, “You did good up there.”

“Ahh, baby” he draws out in a light teasing tone. “Don’t be like that. Why don’t you come over here and tell daddy what’s wrong?” Your breath hitches at his casual use of that word and you find your feet making the decision for you. You make your way over to him and you finally find your purse on top of the vanity. You go to grab it but in one fluid motion he grabs your hand and you find yourself on his lap. As he leans forward for a kiss, you see the red that still paints his lips and without even thinking you use the towel to wipe some of it off.

He makes a pleased hum at that, believing that this is what has you acting this way.

Is it not though? You think sarcastically. After rubbing off most of the color you drop the towel letting it fall back into place on his chest. He takes your hand into his, and your heart does an embarrassing little skip as he gives it a sweet kiss.

“Baby, I was raised to be a gentleman,” he said, adopting a chivalrous affect. “If my bestest girl don’t like me kissin’ others, all she’s gotta do is say so. Then I ain’t never gonna do it again.” His eyes pleading as he waits for your answer.

So that’s what his plan was, you think bitterly. You’re resentful over the fact that it worked at all. But he doesn’t need to know that.

You rip your hand away from him as you reply with as much resolve as you can gather, “You can do whatever you want Elvis,” before mulishly looking away. He evidently didn’t like that answer, as he stood up to prop you onto the vanity and placed himself between your legs. You try to escape his grasp only for him to place his hands at the top of your thighs, effectively pinning you in place.

“I can do whatever I want?” he says in a low, challenging voice, looking you directly in your eyes. It is only then do you regret your wording. Were you not so petrified, you would have admired his ability to quickly turn your own dismissive words into seemingly an invitation. There is no denying the trembling force in your body at this point and with the way he’s holding it is only inevitable that he will find your secret. And as though reading your mind, you feel his thumb brushing your inner thigh, and he finally notices the slick feeling in between. If you're going to be honest with yourself, you think you’re even more wet than when you walked in.

He makes an approving hum as he flips your skirt up, and you get the momentary pleasure of seeing his eyes widen at your lack of underwear. That is until he quickly bunches up the material past your hips and you feel mortified at being naked from the waist down in a room you don’t remember locking. You’re even more mortified as he kneels down and begins to pepper your inner thighs with light kisses. You instinctively try to close your legs, but his grip makes it impossible, and he notices your effort.

“Ahh, sweetness none of that,” he drawls out, emphasizing his point with a small nibble at the sensitive flesh that has you cursing. You feel his hot breath waft over you and as you’re trying to wrap your head around what’s happening, he teasingly licks a stripe up your slit, giving you a taste of what he has to offer. You gasp for air as though you’re about to drown.

“I can do what I want, can I?” he asks knowing you’re far too preoccupied to answer. “Well I want this,” he purrs, emphasizing his point with a soft kiss to your clit, which you meet with a strangled moan. He chuckles at your reaction before resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. “But I gotta know what my girl wants,” he trails off.

Your muddled mind cannot even begin to process the question itself before he follows up with. “What’d ya’ say mama? Do you wanna be my girl?” he says looking up at you with those piercing blue eyes of his, and you know there is not even a choice anymore. You’re so far gone at this point, you hardly hesitate in saying yes. “No, no mama. I wanna hear you say it.”

You can already feel a few shameful tears trailing down as you cover your face with your hands, as though that will absolve you of your next words. “Yes… I want to be your girl,” you cry out desperately, and he dives straight in.

All of your composure is tossed out the window the moment you feel his mouth on your needy cunt, you moan and shout freely, no thoughts given to the people undoubtedly outside of the door. He’s going at an unhurried languid pace, exploring your nether regions, seemingly trying to learn what gets the biggest reaction out of you. He’s apparently indifferent to how desperately you need to cum. You grab at his hair and try to bring him closer, desperate for some control of this situation but the noticeable tightening of his grip on your legs make it clear that he’s going to take all the time he wants.

You’re there for what feels like hours before you’re at the point of begging him to let you cum. The King finally takes mercy on you as he stuffs his fingers into you while simultaneously nursing at your clit as you are finally allowed your release.

You’re a mess after that devastating orgasm, and as he brings himself back up to you, you don’t put up a fight to this kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, and the smallest, pettiest part of you feels victorious over that woman whose name you will never get to learn. Before you can dwell on that part of yourself, he spins you around so you’re facing away from him. Despite all of that you still feel yourself wanting for more, and as you look over your shoulder at him, you know he is very aware of that.

“Were you watching mama?” he said, pressing kisses to your neck as he undoes his belt. “Were you sittin’ there, wonderin’ if I did it again, and that’s how you got this wet?” You let out a small keen as you feel his cock just barely brushing at your entrance, and he presses a hand on your back, prompting you to bend over the vanity fully. You give a slight shriek as you feel a sharp swat on your ass. “Answer me,” he growls out, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you say, pushing yourself backwards to him.

Another swat on the other side, “Yes what?” he rasps.

“Yes daddy,” you nearly cry out and you bury your head into your arms in shame as he drives into you. Once slotted fully inside, he pauses giving you time to adjust to him. The stretch of him burns only slightly this time around, though mostly you feel satisfaction as he feels achingly familiar.

“You don’t gotta worry mama,” he pants next to your ear. “I saved it all for you,” he says as he slowly begins to push his hips back and forth into you. You find yourself just as eager as you push backwards to keep him within. You close your eyes to the sensations, as this feels like the closest you’ve come to a reprieve in this whirlwind of a week he’s caused. You want to lose yourself here, and for once want to believe as he does that this is any way healthy or sustainable for the both of you. This delusion has the ability to ruin you, but for the moment you truly just want to indulge yourself in it.

Reality will always win out though. At some point he thrusts so hard, your feet no longer meet the ground, and you have to brace yourself on the mirror. Here in this position you’re truly forced to look at yourself for seemingly the first time as you truly are. You see your eyes bloodshot and pupils blown, your mascara trailing down your face, and, mortifyingly, you're drooling from the pleasure at not only what he’s doing to you but the sight you're met with in the mirror. You also see him behind you, looking more animal than man with the way he forces your hips to meet his pace and the snarl that mars his face. It’s all too much for you to handle. The only way to describe how hard you came in that moment would be violently, as you convulse and sob terribly at all the shame and pleasure you’re experiencing in that moment.

You feel him pull out, and moments later you hear a shuddering howl as he paints your lower back with his cum, effectively marking you as his. You sob even harder with the realization you had not even been thinking about protection in the last week, and now you fear that there will be another cord that will forever tie you to him.

If he sees your tears he ignores them and places a kiss on your cheek before sitting you down in front of the mirror. He lets you know that he has a press conference soon, but that he will meet you back home for the afterparty. He quickly dresses himself while you use a tissue to fix your makeup and try to make the wrinkles in your dress less noticeable. Once outside the door he hands you off to one of his men with orders to take you back to Graceland.

It is only as you’re pulling up to Graceland do you realize you gave no resistance whatsoever to his whims and didn’t even try to insist you go back to your own apartment. You pay no thought to that as you see there are already many of his people there to celebrate his astonishing performance, and the last thing you need is to draw more attention to yourself by being the one woman having a breakdown at the party.

So you slip back into your role as his girl, though can you even say that it is simply a role anymore when you fully agreed to it.

Eventually he arrives home and is met with all the praise and glory he has earned tonight. Yet he barely looks at anyone before he seemingly sweeps the room to zero in on you. He grins and approaches you to sweep you into a hungry kiss which is met with various wolf whistles and cheers from those around you. You are still playing your part for the audience you tell yourself.

The rest of the night is spent on his arm essentially advertising to all attendants that you're his. Eventually he announces to no one in particular that he is starting to feel tired, and it feels like only moments later when a mass exodus occurs, no one daring to stay past their welcome. The grip he has on your waist though tells you that he has no plans of letting you go.

That night and the following day in Graceland you spend in a daze of fucking and resting and even more fucking, interspersed with conversation between the both of you. Surprisingly you find yourself opening up to him as well, and with the conversations being not so focused on him, it’s easy to pretend that this is even remotely natural.

You do make a few attempts to leave that day, each time met with some pushback on his part to get you to stay. Each attempt is met with some excuse on his part be it being too early, his fans outside the gates, his exhausted state etc., and immediately following your concession, you are bombarded with physical affection and compliments as to how understanding and what a good you are for him. You allow yourself to indulge in this fantasy for a little while longer, and stay another night with him.

The next morning, reality sets back in, and there is no denying your active part in this anymore. He kisses you good morning and he reminds you that you have work today. You’re amazed that he hasn’t already made you cancel all of your appointments today, until you remember who you have your final session with later. You shower and use his toothbrush, no longer hesitating to do something you would previously labeled as far too intimate to do with anyone, let alone a patient.

You are however disturbed but not surprised when you exit the restroom and find a full outfit ready for you. This one is more in line with your regular work attire but the blouse does have a rather loud pattern, a far cry from your admittedly limited, colorwise, wardrobe. Without the tags, you briefly wonder if this is something left behind by the previous stand-ins or if he bought it for one of them to better pretend they were you. You push that thought aside as you finish getting ready for the day. Being early on a Monday morning you are able to be driven to your office without the worry of any ogling eyes. He even gives you a parting kiss at the door and it feels far more domestic than it has any right to be.

You would deem that day almost normal. You are of course exhausted from the strange weekend you had, but somehow you also feel unfettered when compared to the stressful week you had previously. You receive some compliments on your blouse, and you are able to, through tightlips, confirm yes when someone asks if you got it from someone special.

Other than that you are able to get back to your standard attentive self for your patients. Having worked with Elvis for nearing a year at this point, has had the unexpected benefit of making your other patients seem easier in comparison. You laugh at their funny stories, you dole out advice and insights when asked, and you comfort them when needed. These moments in between your nearly all encompassing thoughts around Elvis, you find, are a welcome respite from the looming black cloud that is your future as a therapist.

Eventually though 4:30 PM arrives and you hear a knock at the door.

#my fic #elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #for once #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere #yandere!austin!elvis

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