#*chortles uncontrollably*

[sorrowfulrosebud]

Part two

Katsuki is absolutely riddled with cuteness aggression with his children when they’re born. He just… can’t stop looking at them. Every time his babies coo or look at him with your big eyes, he has to walk away and take a deep breath before he starts to cry.

He absolutely adored his babies when they’re newborns, no doubt about that. He just prefers the 1-2 year old stage where he can be playful and he knows his antics won’t always end in crying.

Katsuki loves blowing raspberry’s onto his baby’s cheeks, relishing in the soft, peach-fuzzed skin rippling underneath him. The deep belly laughs from his baby spur him on, making him blow raspberry’s onto his baby’s chubby neck rolls. He simultaneously cant stand the laughter because it makes his chest hurt in pure sweet pain, but he can’t stop because this tiny person adores him.

He enjoys play fighting his babies, making you play the villain as he dresses your baby in his costume, placing their fat little tummy on his large palm as he makes them soar. Drool goes everywhere as your baby chortles, gummy smile going bananas as they squeal and attack your face, mouthing your nose as you uncontrollably howl with laughter.

He loves playfully biting his baby, soft little nips that never go more than a few millimetres of force. He enjoys picking up his baby’s hand, pretending to gobble up the teeny digits. He only ever gently nips the tips of their fingers. Katsuki adores playing the big bad wolf to his child, gobbling their belly as he soaks in their giggles.

And when they’re older, he enjoys picking them up and slinging them over his shoulder. He often gets scolded by you, to be careful because he could make your kiddies sick. He only rolls his eyes playfully, pretending to eat his kids as they’re trapped in his burly arms.

[arieswritez]

vincible

vincible | mark grayson x gn!reader (fluff)

alright since you all asked so kindly here's the fluff from my last hc 🫶🏾 :

cw: slightly suggestive but nothing nsfw. that's all :D

"why's it looking at me like that?"

the two of you are in bed and with his weight pinning you down, you find it hard to concentrate on what he means.

your head's all fuzzy with the way he's been drowning you in kisses. he kisses you like it might be his last chance to do so: sweet, languid until they melt into something more feral. the way his costume hugs his body doesn't exactly help your concentration, either.

your body's warm as it soaks up his body heat - he's like a fucking furnace - and it yearns. . no. . demands for his attention. you ignore him, making a soft, impatient sound that sounds more like a whine as you try to guide his lips back onto yours.

however, he keeps his head turned to your right, staring at a spot on your bed and says, "what're you lookin' at, huh?"

you pull back, confused, then follow his line of vision.

finally, you see what he sees: a stuffed animal perched against your pillow.

you watch as mark squints at the toy, then, tilts his head and scoffs in indignation as if it's just hurled an insult his way.

"what'd you say?" mark sits up and away from you, puffing out his chest.

the plushie stares at mark with big, black, empty eyes.

you stare up at mark, confused, as he carries on his one sided beef with your plushie.

"they cuddle you while im not here?"

mark crawls over to your plushie and grabs it by its soft neck, his fingers wrapping around the entirety. he pulls it close, putting his nose right up against the toy's. "you wanna say that again, tough guy? don't you know who i am?"

"mark, what're you doing -" you giggle, leaning back on your elbows to watch the ridiculous display before he shushes you.

"hey, you stay out of this. i'll deal with you later." he snaps before turning his attention back to the toy. "oh, you don't care? well, let's see if you care about this -"

mark suddenly shoves the toy into his face.

he flops down atop your bed, wildly flailing with one hand while the other mushes the plushie against his face. he's comically good at it, too, looking like he's being mauled by some feral cat.

he's only emboldened by your uncontrollable laughter: grunting with effort as he rolls over the stuffy and delivers a few blows. even making his own sound effects before he rolls onto his back, your toy gaining the upper hand once again.

this time, he sits the toy atop his face and flails like he's being suffocated. eventually, his body falls limp. the hand that isn't holding the toy upright falling limply at the side of your bed.

your plushie's fought dirty and won.

"i dunno, mark," you manage to say between hiccuping laughs, "you seem pretty vincible to me."

"very funny." comes his muffled voice from beneath the toy. he sits up, stuffy still in hand as he fixes you with an accusatory glare. "laugh. yeah, laugh, while your boyfriend's being mercilessly beaten."

he crawls closer and he thrusts the toy in your direction, waving it side to side by the back of the neck, holding it at arm's length like he's afraid it'll attack him. "i guess you want him now, don't you?"

you raise a brow. "don't misgender my plushies, grayson."

mark retracts the plushie and flips it upside down, looking at its bottom. "oh, right."

you let out a chortle of laughter and he's on you in seconds: pinning you down and smushing the plushie against your face, making kissy sounds while you breathlessly beg him to stop.

[gojoshooter]

Hi bestie. I was at a party and saw this shit. Can you write a scenario/hc where gojo's crush uses his glasses as a reflective surface/mirror to put on her lipstick. Just curious how you think this would play out but this is somewhat so cute to me.

annon im snatching your brain 🏃 this is hella cute

Fifty Shades Of Friendship

an. both seem to like shades—you, on his eyes and him, on your lips

It's a chilly November night, and you're sitting by the bar counters in a little end-year party by your best friend and beloved classmate of Jujutsu High. The charming party host— no other than Gojo Satoru sits beside you on one of the stools and waves towards the under classmen messing around on the dance floor. It's not too late when his eyes land on your smudged petal pink lips, probably caused by the Martini you sipped with it's brim.

He snorts, sitting up his slacked back from the counter and pointing at your lip. ���Look at that y/n, who did you make out with this time?” It's some sort of default setting of his phsycology to make remarks on his crush bestfriend, that is, you, like some damned antibody.

Raising your eyebrows, your fingertips reach for your lip by instinct. “Mm?” he rests his cheek on his knuckles, giving a soft smile “Yes your lips. Who was it, Nanami?” and he receives an eyer roll “Haibara. I knew it” “Martini, ’toru”

Then you're looking around the club, trying to find a quick reflecting surface... none. Hmm, you think, as you take out a wipe along with your rosy-coral lipstick. You're still looking around, when your eyes slide to Gojo's loud chortle watching his dorky juniors. An adorable laugh, and then, oh— there it is, makshift mirror.

Holding his cheeks by your fingers, your turn the white head and watch as a tiny tiny gasp slips out of your bosom buddy “’toru, can you look here for a second?” he binks, nodding unconsciously as his vision drops lower towards your lip that you jut out so adorably. He might just put his on yours.

Phew, if it wasn't for the club's lights, Gojo's red face would've been exposed. Dragging your bar stool, you slip closer to his shades and begin fixing your makeup. He watches your soft lips through the translucent black glasses, occasionally travelling to your puppy shaped eyes.

His cheeks almost match the colour of your lipstick by the time you're done and when your attention finally penetrates the surface of his glasses, you can almost make out his glacier eyes looking back at your softer browns... oh. Butterflies, butterflies in stomach.

Your leaning back straightens comically fast. Coming out of trance, Gojo blinks and looks away rubbing his warm neck. “Woah- woah...” oh gosh, and his pitch comes out way higher than it originally is? Did that little moment effect him someway? You tuck a strand of hair behind, wondering.

“Pretty, y/n... I like it” you smile lightly at his comment, taking your drink back from the counter. And just for the virtue of conformation, you reply softly “You like it ’toru?” a small lick on the corner of your lip, while you try to conceal your uncontrollable smile. Best friends to lovers doesn't sound like a bad trope afterall... “Would you not like to ruin it again?”

There it is—got him, not even the club lights can hide cheeks that red.

masterlist !!

ps. shy gojo >>>> also like and rbs are appreciated<333

tags. @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts @4sat0ruu @therealjustpeachesback

[starshipsofstarlord]

daryl + mouth spitting (reverse)

warnings. smut, unprotected sex, mouth spitting, saliva exchanging, oral sex (male receiving), mentions of punishment, dom!reader, sub!daryl

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Daryl always had his way with you, and now it was your turn to have him at your mercy. At first you had almost been apprehensive of how your man would respond to your dominant hand, however seeing him dazed and in a wild state of submissive ecstasy affirmed you with no regrets. He was beautiful in all of his pleasurable glory, cheeks flushed with a toned hue of red and nose scrunched as your lips were wrapped expertly around his cock.

His large and harmful hands grabbed uncontrollably at the sheets that surrounded him, all to aware that he could not touch you without your permission. He was tugging at the material, releasing his frustrations out on the bedspread as your head bobbed up and down his length, tongue flicking around to scrape against his sensitive tip. A chortled moan dragged out from his throat, the sound bouncing off of the walls of your bedroom and shooting directly in your ears.

You had never thought that you would hear Daryl mewl, but he did so as you released his heavy cock from your lips, tending to him with your hand that stroked him gently. "Aw, did you not want me to stop baby?" With desperation he crazily shook his head, making his hair messier and his face warmer with colour. His hips bucked up into your grip, attempting to get himself off with nothing more than your hand, however you smirked, letting go of him all together, cocking your head at his teary expression.

"Do somethin' girl." Without any hesitation he gripped your hair, trying to force you to go back down on him with his hands, having had a sudden surge of confidence. And although you enjoyed having his length stuffed down your throat a hell of a lot, you managed to weave away from his force, shoving him back down until he was flat against the clothed mattress. “Y/n, that’s not fair..” The hunter whined, throwing his fist against your bed in despair, his nose crinkled in resilience of being naked from your touch.

“Life’s not fair Dixon.” You huffed in return, having had enough of his bratty attitude. This was obviously what he had to put up with when your roles were reversed, and you could see why he had the tendency to punish you when he saw fit. Your bottom lip found its home between your teeth as your mind flashed back to how his rough hand would smack against your ass, as you pretended not to enjoy the spankings that he dismissed upon your flesh. You slid up his body, teasingly resting your slick cunt over his leaking cock that was deprived of attention, poising a featherlight cupping that cradled his face with the palm of your hand.

Something flickered behind his orbs as he stared defiantly up at you, it was as though he was silently testing you, to see if you would proceed with the routine that he often took on. Dragging your thumb across his bottom lip, you spoke, your voice escaping you as a sultry whisper. "Open your mouth baby." He was eager to obey you, doing as you asked without any argument, needing anything from you. There was no uncertainty on your end either, he'd spat in your mouth plenty of times, and now that you had switched dynamic places, it felt as though there was one less void in your experimental side of your shared sex life.

Leaning down, you pursed your lips together so that only a string of saliva would drip from your mouth to his, falling directly onto his tongue. He hummed as he swallowed, before he scoffed, a belittling smirk settling onto his features. "Is that it?" You weren't sure what came over you, but his arrogance drove you insane, your pulse pounded in your ears as your fingers harshly gripped his face, leaving indents from your handling of him as you forced his mouth open again, spitting a sufficient amount more into the depths of his mouth. His head rolled around on the cushion that he was resting it on, his lids closing as he became satisfied from your reaction.

"I'm still not done with you Dixon." You stated, dragging your pussy over his cock before you grabbed at his erection, placing it at your entrance as you began sinking down. A loud moan was pushed from his chest, as his back arched off the bed so that he was closer to your nude form, hands running across your bare back before you smacked them away, and forced them against the mattress, using your grip on his wrists as leverage as you began to ride his thick cock. "Remember the rules D, unless you want a punishment." You threatened as he did so many times during such a sensual exchange, causing the man's eyes to blow wide and his lips to stutter in a tripping of apologies.

[cozy-cinnamon-roll]

A Princess' Guide to Interrogating a Radio Demon (Part II)

(read Part I here!)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Charlie, Ler!Vaggie, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, interrogation (in the most playful sense). If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige.

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

First: MAJOR thank you for all the sweet notes and feedback on Part 1 of this fic! I was not expecting such an enthusiastic response, and it really made my week! So grateful to be part of this lovely community 💕

As promised, here is part 2... This one gets a little more intense than the last, but it's still all for fun (and Al can handle it 🤭) So excited to share it with you all!

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Vaggie is never quite sure what she's going to find when she hears a commotion elsewhere in the hotel - especially when it's coming from the direction of Alastor's room.

But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her girlfriend pinning the most powerful overlord in Hell to the floor, tickling him to hysterics.

"Uhhhh..... Sweetie?"

"He won't tell me where he hid it!"

Vaggie just takes it in for a second. "So you're tickling him?"

"How else am I supposed to get it outta him?!"

"That's an... unconventional method, babe."

Charlie pauses her assault to shoot her girlfriend a deadpan look over her victim (who merely remains sprawled out on the floor beneath her, using his reprieve to take in as much precious oxygen as possible).

"You think I'm stupid enough to threaten real harm on The Radio Demon?"

That remark draws a maniacal little chuckle from the crumpled heap.

"Doesn't sound very effective," Vaggie observes.

But Charlie is too busy growling taunts at her victim again, tazing him in the sides. "Sorry, did I say something funny, giggles? Huh?! Did I?"

Vaggie can't help but smile herself at how hard it is for her girlfriend to keep a straight face during her "interrogation." She pokes and prods and scribbles all over the poor man, until his distinctive cackle echoes from the ceiling. And then she sits back on her heels, practically beaming with delight as he continues to shake with residual giggles.

At one point Charlie flashes her girlfriend a goofy grin. "I really think I'm wearing him down."

"Oh yeah. Absolutely, babe." Vaggie leans back against the doorframe with a smirk. "He really looks like he hates this, doesn't he."

As Charlie goes after his ribs again, Vaggie tilts her head. "He's lost his weird radio buzz."

"Oh!" Charlie abruptly clasps her hands to her chest, eyes wide with sudden worry. "Are you okay, Al?"

"Heh - yes, yes, of course..." While he is indeed too drunk on laughter maintain his usual tinny radio filter, the tiniest hint of a wheeze still edges his voice - which surprises Alastor himself more than anyone. His evil cackle is, after all, one of his signature intimidation techniques, and it's never affected his voice before.

But the uncontrolled, helpless hysterics Charlie's had him clutched in is very different from what he's used to. For all his practice intimidating his victims with a well-timed chortle, it appears his genuine laughter is rather rusty.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

Still breathless, Alastor can't help but chuckle at that too. "...Y-you are aware of what an 'interrogation' is, right?"

Charlie's look of concern drops to a mild glare.

"Alright, babe. Step aside." Vaggie curls a dangerous little grin of her own. "I'll handle this."

As he sees Vaggie striding toward him, Alastor scrambles to sit up. "Wait, wait- Vaggie, dear, can't we-" He presses backward, only to find himself cornered between the couch and the coffee table. "Er- can't we talk this over?"

Vaggie crouches down. "You wanna tell me where Angel's speaker is?"

"No."

Fingernails are crawling up both sides before he even registers movement. Poor Alastor is clutched over cackling within seconds.

Charlie may be a surprisingly effective ler, but it quickly becomes clear who taught her: Vaggie is ruthless.

"Get his tummy, that's his weak spot!" Charlie chirps, not even bothering to hide her delight any longer.

"Chahaharlie!!"

Alastor actually feels a spark of legitimate panic as Vaggie's nails find their way to his upper belly, tracing along the lower edge of his ribcage, sending his laughter silent for a moment.

"Hey, if you really want me to stop, you can just tell me what I wanna know."

"YOou cahan-" (gasp) "-PRY it from my-" (brief giggle fit) "-cold, dead-" (wheeze) "-fingers!!"

"Yeah? I'll show you cold, dead fingers..."

Alastor feels a hand slip under his shirt.

"AaaaAAAHH! No, no, Vaggie don't!"

"Oooh, this is a good spot, isn't it?"

"NO don't do that- please please please..."

"What? You don't want me to do this?" Her fingernails skitter across his bare tummy. The poor man can't remember the last time he laughed this hard at anything - which, for someone who literally hasn't dropped his smile for decades, is a pretty high bar to clear. And he's gotta admit, it's the best he's felt in weeks.

"Don't kill him," Charlie pipes up, "I still need him to help run the hotel after this."

"I'm not gonna kill him." Vaggie leans in close. "I'm just gonna keep tickling this sensitive, vulnerable, unbearably ticklish little belly, up and down, over and over, on and on..."

The surge of radio static induced by this one sentence is so intense that it leaves Alastor's own voice virtually incomprehensible for several seconds. He tries to summon a shadow creature, a tentacle, anything, but he's so disoriented the shadows dissipate before they can be directed anywhere.

And that's finally what breaks his resistance. Being rendered helpless under Charlie's fingers is one thing, but being unable to use his powers at Vaggie's mercy is considerably more unnerving.

"OKAY, OKAHAY! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

Vaggie lifts her hands off him, though they remain hovering just a few inches over his torso.

It takes a solid minute for Alastor to catch his breath. "For heaven's sake, you could've just asked me..."

Vaggie scrunches her fingers in the air a couple times, causing the radio demon to fold up like a lawn chair.

"Ack! Nonono I'm kidding!! I'm kidding!" He fights back a fit of nervous giggles.

"Ten seconds to spit it out before I go borrow Nifty's feather duster."

Alastor rolls his eyes. "Oh please. You think you can threaten me with cleaning tools? Don't be ridiculous..."

"Five seconds." Vaggie turns to Charlie. "Hey babe, have you tried his ears?"

A little squeak of microphone feedback. "13th floor hall closet, second-to-top shelf, under a dead rat."

Charlie recoils. "Ew! Al!"

"Pardon, two dead rats." As Vaggie withdraws her hands Alastor sits up, brushes himself off, and reaches for his microphone. "Second one came along as I was arranging the first, and... offered to help."

Charlie just stares at him in horror as he stands and twirls his mic with his usual classy flair, the very picture of eccentric elegance - as if he hadn't just spent the last twenty minutes being reduced to a hysterical mess on the floor.

"Is there any point in warning you not to pull something like this again?" Vaggie mutters, more to herself than the demon.

"No. But you can if it makes you feel better." Alastor grins and offers a hand to Charlie as she gets to her feet. "That was a lovely chat, my dears. Next time I need a good laugh I'll be sure to commit another petty theft."

Charlie rolls her eyes as he turns on his heel and strolls off.

"And let me know if you need help finding the batteries for that speaker," he tosses over his shoulder.

"OH you little piece of-"

--------------------------------------------------------------

This was such a fun fic to write! Hope you had fun reading it too.... let me know what you think!

💜 - Cozy

[jjkeremika]

Goofy (pt2)

description: levi fucks some sense into you

Goofy pt1: (you think levi’s too serious. he thinks you’re too goofy)

pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader

warning/disclaimer(s)?: NSFW/MDNI; hair pulling; light choking; blow job/throat fucking; obedience; spanking; angry/rough/punishment-kinda sex

“oh, have i got a real fucking good joke,” levi answered darkly, licking his lips as he read your expression, as he barely leaned in.

you lamented when he took a step back, but squeaked once he tugged on your bony hips, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

you were his height like this, your lower half sat on the table, feet hovering above the floor. the anger flaring in his eyes branded into yours.

his thumb dug into your right hip, and you winced slightly at the pressure. “titans ripping us limb from limb,” he stated coldly, his thigh rubbing against yours.

your face visibly dropped and your body recoiled lightly, your mouth formed a slight oval. you narrowed your eyes. “that’s not funny.”

his answer was immediate. “no, it’s not, is it?” he chortled darkly, his fingernails squeezed your thigh, a light ache spiraling outwards. you stopped breathing. “but that’s how all these jokes will end.” he narrowed his eyes, his fingertips sharply digging into your skin like they risked breaking through your pant fabric.

“you goof off in here,” he spoke despondently, pointed at the ground, then to the windows, “you kill us all out there.”

you rolled your eyes, the dull ache from pushing them too far into your skull prominent. “we’re not stupid,” you muttered softly, feeling yourself curling inwards, the security crumbling beneath you, “we wouldn’t joke out there.”

“what do you think we’re teaching you?” the irritation tainted his words like venom in snake bites.

both hands moved to your thighs, grabbing on like life support in a raging river. his glare swept through your soul and settled uncomfortably in your gut, each breath not filling your lungs because his hold squeezed the air out.

a faint twitch of his eyebrow caught your eye. “do you think you’ll survive out there acting like this?” he asked incredulously, a temporary shadow casting over his face. “i’ve seen people die for less.”

your silence was deafening, and the words rattled in your head like there was nothing else in your skull. the heels of his palms slowly slid up your pants, pushing into the muscle, stopping near your hip bones.

levi continued, his expression littered with repressed guilt, his eyes flooded with memories, “i’ve watched colleagues die following every step in the book.” he made chilling eye contact, his eyebrows sternly frowned. “you will get everyone killed.”

the conflicting heat built inside you. “maybe we’ll die of boredom first.” it slipped out, and it was a sentence you regretted the instant you saw the flame spiral uncontrollably in his eyes, saw the deep grey twist into a fiery mess.

his jaw locked, his body tensed, his veins displayed, and the hand that was originally on your hip rocketed to just under your chin, holding your neck with a tight grip.

levi leaned in, kept his face millimeters away, so close you could feel the tiny hairs reaching out for him.

you felt your lungs stop, your heart beat racing faster than ever before, pulsing in every extremity.

your brain was numbing it out, all thoughts and incoming feelings drowned out by the roaring of your arteries, brining your attention to the strong desire in your chest to close the gap, to touch him back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you,” he said it so quietly you almost missed it, your brain taking seconds to listen and process. it wasn’t a question, he wasn’t asking. he didn’t care.

you noticed he stopped breathing too, noticed the veins popping out in his neck and the muscles hugging his collarbones so tightly you wondered if you could taste the iron in his blood, under his skin.

“wel—” your mouth was moving without any forethought.

your sentence was interrupted with his grip on your neck and a tight hold on your upper arm, yanking you off the desk and shoving you to your knees before your feet could even touch the ground.

your knees started throbbing lightly, but you couldn’t spare any attention from the heat radiating in front of you, from the absolute glare and curled lip and intimidating stance.

“shut the fuck up.” his hands moved to his pants, your eyes following the movement, your eyes widening slightly, pupils dilating, mouth parting, as you watched him unbuckle his waist band, seamlessly slide his zipper down.

you moved to stand, but his hand whipped to your shoulder, pushing you back into the position. “where do you get off? running your fucking mouth like that.” his tone deepened to an octave you’ve never heard, one you didn’t know possible.

your eyes flicked back to where his pants had fallen to his knees, where his hard cock eagerly waited your attention, shading the same bright red that settled on your cheeks.

“oh my go—” you whispered, cut off by a strong hand pushing the back of your head closer, until your face was right in front of his throbbing cock, your jaw starting to quiver as you became aware of how very dry your throat felt despite the saliva building on your tongue.

your mind was reeling. you’d never seen a dick in person before, the reality supremely larger than you’d imagined from the occasional awkward glance at a poorly hidden erection from the boys or ymir’s lewd drawings or even in the uncomfortable few sex ed classes the garrison held.

“what the fuck did i just say?” the hand tangled in your hair and you desperately watched with dilated pupils and shifting eyes as he lifted the shaft with his other hand, bringing it to your lips.

you thought of licking the liquid leaking out the tip, drooling down the sides. your eyes shifted around, trying to take in as much as you could.

you looked up at him as he spoke, the heat washing over you tempting you to look away, look literally anywhere else, but his hand tightened around your head and you couldn’t control it anymore. or maybe you just couldn’t bring yourself to want to.

the eye contact was chilling, an immediate tether that couldn’t be torn apart. “i’ll teach you to fucking listen,” he practically spat, his stare alone sending shivers through your spine, settling heartily in your pelvis. “i’ll teach you to fucking obey.”

the tip was at your lips and pushing itself inside, your jaw reacting immediately and molding itself around the thick extremity, pushing against the limits of your lips.

levi gave you no time to adjust to the sensation, no time to even notice the taste of his precum as he immediately started shifting his hips deeper into your mouth and pushing your head farther down, fighting a gag complex you never knew you had.

your knee shifted under you, startled by the sudden rocking of your body syncing with his hips.

“fucking suck it, baby,” the groan rumbled from deep within his chest, an unprecedented spout of neediness erupting with increasing speed of his hips. your lips burning with the heat from the softest, silkiest skin, your throat aching with the pounding, your roots threatening to rip from your scalp.

the noises were obscene, and he repeated himself when you didn’t react, as you fought the gags and boldly glanced up, looked into his eyes.

electricity ran down your spinal cord, screamed for you to follow his order, to hollow your cheeks and listen.

“fucking do it.” you closed your eyes, couldn’t bear the weight of his unbroken glare, pupils absorbing and memorizing a sight he frequently imagined and never thought possible. you obeyed.

you cautiously brought your hands to his thighs and ignored the hot tears on your waterline as your throat burned from the fast friction, his thick, long cock threatening to curve down your esophagus with each thrust.

aside from short, deep moans and exerted grunts, levi was quiet, listening to the echo of his labored breathing, of his cock stretching against the roof of your mouth and gliding inside, reconciling each noise with the sight of you on your knees, taking almost most of him.

suddenly he pulled away, snapped his hips back faster than he soared in omni-gear. you chased after him, moaning lightly at the itching in your pelvis, your brain finally having space in your to process your own racing heart beat and throbbing clit, a wetness spilling out of you with each pleasurable pulse.

“fuck, take your pants off,” he demanded breathlessly. “now,” he added when you didn’t move.

your brain was still processing, the blood still loud in your ears. your body was frozen, still didnt move even when he stepped forward, felt the chill from his looming shadow trigger goosebumps on your neck. “do you need me to fucking do it for you? now.”

your lip curled into a taunting smirk, felt a powerful burning set fire to your chest. the muscles in your calves and thighs burned with pulsing hot blood as you stood up, maintained his gaze.

“why did you stop?” you were surprised by the sound of your voice, deeper and raspier. you ignored the sore tissue in your throat, the burning at the edges of your lips as the smirk grew wider, as you took a subtle deep breath. “getting bored?”

your pants made a noise as they hit the floor, but neither of you heard it over the squeak of levi’s shoes as he rushed the grab your hips, digging his thumbs and settling into the dips once he’d turned you around and pushed you into the desk.

you felt the bruise form as his palm collided with your back and shoved down, bending your spine as your torso collapsed onto the table and curving your bum over the edge. “that’s a yes,” you mused, softly giggling.

your giggle was cut short by a shove forward and a sharp sting to your bare left cheek. you squealed as another smack landed on the squishy flesh, felt the fat jiggle in response. you curled your spine, pushed back into the feeling.

“count,” levi ordered, his stinging hand slapping against your pink and plushy cheeks, a lighter imprint on the skin from the immediate contact.

you tried to scoff, but the force forward was pushing the air from your lungs. your stomach dropping to your pelvis when you realized you weren’t keeping track. “and if i don’t?” you ventured, your voice breathless and shaky from each smack. you thought of lifting onto your arms, but you were relaxed into the awkward position. “you’re going to spank me anyway.”

the next smack was harder, bending into your back and digging the table into your wet upper thighs. he grunted, goosebumps pushing to the skin near your ears as he spanked you again on each cheek, a sharp delayed sting racing up your spine like an exclamation mark.

he smacks you again. “oh, there’s one,” you breathed out, a sad excuse of a chortle as your lungs struggled to function, as your pelvis hoarded the blood supply. the skin throbbed as the heat of his hand disappeared, as you felt yourself dragging after him like you were on a string. “oh! two!”

“shut the fuck up,” he grunted out, a light breathy laugh escaping, a smile on his face that he couldn’t repress—didn’t even want to.

you smiled widely at his tone, could feel the warmth coming through. “you told me to count!”

both of you went still as the air echoed with distant laughter. the hairs on your neck stood up as you and levi listened closely, wondered if it was the same boisterous, struggling-to-stay-quiet laughter you two were so, intimately familiar with.

you lamented that you rapidly sat up, catching ymir and sasha’s faces peaking from the door window. you two rushed to get dressed, felt a different heat of embarrassment underlying a stronger need to smile, biting deep into your bottom lip as you wondered how much they saw, as you recalled the entire event and rubbed your throat and bum.

he gave you a look, an apologetic flash in his eyes for rushing out, but the deep red on his chest and face screamed he needed to leave. you followed levi out, and he rushed off. his heels echoed as he walked down the hallway.

you immediately noticed sasha and ymir running up to you, and you covered a wide, repressed smile with your palm, enjoyed the giddy heat in your abdomen. “i’m guessing i don’t have to tell you much.”

you turned to see sasha jumping up and down, giggling and squealing with excitement and grabbing at your arm. you resisted the urge to jump with her, but you excitedly held her hands in return.

“in the fucking boots!” ymir cackled, wrapping her arm around the other side of you and sasha, “that’s some queen and king shit.”

“uh, you have to tell us everything!” sasha said, glancing to historia who had pink cheeks. “we didn’t even see his cock,” she added in faux sadness, pushed out her bottom lip and pouted.

“that’s because it was in her mouth the whole time,” ymir laughed, playfully rolling her eyes, bumping her arm into yours.

“did he tell you off?” historia asked cautiously, still anxious about whether or not they were going to be separated. “did he say anything?”

“oo, dirty talk,” sasha sang, shimmied her shoulders lightly and wiggled her finger, pointed at ymir, “now thats sexy.”

“n-no, i meant—”

“he told me to shut the fuck up,” you confessed, feeling the blush at the memory, knowing it was visible, still wondering how much they knew. sasha and ymir laughed.

you finally noticed admin near the wall, bright pink cheeks and shifty eyes. he was rubbing at his elbow.

“armin, what are you thinking?” you asked, noticing the light distress he was in as he rubbed at the back of his neck, kept switching his weight between his feet.

he shook his head, and ymir rolled her eyes. “armin, you swore your clitoris. you can tell us,” she said as sympathetically as she could, but it still came off a sharp tongue.

“it’s just,” he made brief eye contact with historia, ymir, and sasha before settling on you, “is he going to do that to us?”

[makeyoumine69]

Hey sweetheart I hope you're getting there! I just wanna say that you're appreciated and loved❤️Patrick is just..🥵Could I possibly have a fanfic of Patrick Bateman x fem reader who has the most disgusting thoughts about him with a hint of voice kink please? Much love princess 🥰❤️

My dear, thank you so much for your amazing support and your request! I hope you like it! 😘😍✌

— [MASTERLIST]; [My imagines and short requests]

Patrick was away on a business trip, so you were left alone in his fancy apartment in New York. Almost every day he called you and you had little cute conversations, where he mostly complained about his stupid co-workers and how much he missed you. But one day, your conversation turned into something really spicy.

"What did you just say, honey?" Bateman chuckled in amusement and brought the phone closer.

"Nothing," shit, did you actually say your dirty fantasies about him out loud? "Never mind Patrick, it was just…"

"What are you wearing?"

Fuck, his low, seductive voice sent shivers down your spine, it forced your toes to curl uncontrollably, because you wanted him to be here now more than anything else in this world.

"Uh, um…well, I'm wearing a short casual dress," you replied as your finger nervously twirled a lock of your hair. "With no bra underneath."

"Oh?" you heard his slight surprise, and it brought a bright smile to your face. "If so, how about you get under the dress and play with your nipples for me?"

A muffled gasp of excitement escaped your suddenly dry lips: "Patrick, stop teasing me… you know how much I miss you and…"

"That's the point, sweetheart," Patrick purred into the phone and you noticed the slight sound of his pants unbuckling. "'C'mon, those tits deserve attention and I'm so fuckin' upset I can't touch them right now."

"And if you were here, what would you do with them?" This question came out faster than you even had time to think.

His low chuckle echoed in your ear as his voice dropped even lower, "I'd suck those delicious little tips until they swell up, honey," he murmured, his hand already wrapped around the base of his fully erected cock. "I'd bite them, arghh… I'd twist and pinch them really nice."

Moaning softly, you found yourself breathing fast and your peaks were so hard from the things Bateman was telling you. You cursed barely audibly and let the straps of your dress fall over your shoulders, exposing your well-formed breasts.

"Patty…" you mewled as you finally tugged on your hard nipple. "God, I miss you so much."

"I know, darling, I know," he mused, slowly stroking his thick dick. "I miss you even more, believe me."

"Patrick, go on…please!"

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be that horny," Patrick chortled, his voice seemed to flow right through your veins, setting your whole body on fire. "I bet you're so soaked right now. Aren't you?"

Fuck, you had to claw at your knee from how aroused you already were. Abashed, you slowly opened your legs and immediately felt the wetness between them.

Damn it!

"I'm so fucking wet, Patty," you closed your eyes and guided your hand to where you needed it most. "Oh God, I wish it was you, touching me right now…"

"Imagine it's me, honey," his guttural groan made you whimper in response, coaxing your fingers to slide over your delicate petals. "Imagine me palming your juicy pussy…mmhm…I wish I could taste it!"

"A-aww! Parick," your shameless wining was like music to his ears. "I want it so bad!"

"Baby," his jerking motions became more intense with each passing moment. "Shit, I'm gonna cum if you keep moaning like that..."

With a sly smile, you threw your head back as you couldn't hold it any longer - you shoved two fingers into your dripping cunt and your mind immediately went into a frenzy, especially when you heard his sexy muffled sighs.

I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

BENEATH MILES OF STONE. XXI ;

🪙 chapter map 🪙 John Wick x Fat Fem Reader 🪙 the very delayed next chapter. i think this story was last updated in march. you guys don’t know how mind blown and grateful and giddy i am to have people connect with me over words and interests and the things i write. please enjoy and let me know what you think and pay attention to trigger warnings. 🪙 TW ; nsfw, violence

John’s a man of his word. Exactly 24 hours after he promises to fix things, and after 24 long hours of being tailed around an assassin hotel by at least eight bodyguards who, thankfully, know the meaning of personal space, he has a solution. 

A solution that he is scowling while telling her about. She tries to ease some of his rage while he talks, takes his boots off and ghosts her fingers up and down his bare back. 

He flips her hand over in his own, examining the pretty metallic black coated over her nails. “Who did this?” 

“Addie,” she says, smiling. “I really like her.” 

He smiles fondly at the shimmery hue. “Making friends?” 

A little giggle and eye roll, and he shudders when she reaches a particularly tender spot. How can she resist spidering back over it?

The uncontrollable way he bucks against her is insanely endearing, her soft touch more potent than bullets, apparently, and she can’t help but tease him about it. “I think I found your kryptonite, John.” 

He tackles her mid-chortle, puts her on her tummy and pins her there. 

“Can’t you just let me winnnn?” She kicks her feet into the mattress. 

“There you go again,” he muses, contemplating tapping the squirm out of her ass. Or biting into it, leaving the ident of his teeth on the plump, pretty flesh. “Trying to use cute as an advantage.” 

“Is it working?” She asks, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“Little bit.” 

God, she’s fucking adorable. It’s painful, this desire to gobble her up, sweeten his belly with sugar and everything nice. “I get this feeling sometimes, that you don’t want to be touched? And if you don’t, that’s okay…But you can tell me.” 

And what would be the harm, especially since she already seems to be inside of him so deeply he’ll never be able to unstick all her pieces from his marrow.

“I want you to touch me,” he says, aching at the prospect of her withholding that. “But I’m not used to it.” Even when he’s fighting, the number of times opponents land a hit are paltry in comparison to his own, and even then he barely feels it. 

Nothing like how soft she is with him. She is the direct opposite of what he’s used to; maybe that’s why he’s so love drunk, enraptured with the novel flavor of compassion. He grimaces at the dimpled red skin on the backs of her thighs, remnants from his rough facial hair, soothes over them with his thumb, unintentionally tickling her. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, squirming under him. “Just tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?” 

“Okay.” He decides to go back in, because the thought of her avoiding him because of this debacle is terrifying. “I’m not used to losing. I’m not used to giving up control. I’m not good at it.” His monotone catches on a rare high note, and she blinks blankly at him for a moment.

“Have you ever been tied up?” 

He laughs at her suddenly shy, averted gaze. “Yes, I have.” 

“And you can get out of it pretty easily, I’m guessing?” She’s only teasing a little bit, prodding at his inhumane skill levels. 

“Your guess is right.” 

“So, have you ever been tied up in a way you can’t get out of?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You want me to, yknow, tie you up? Make it so you can’t win?” Nervous and writhing, quickly amending this. “You don’t have to, just if you want. I don’t wanna force you into anything and I—“

But he’s lost a little focus, thinking about being at her gentle, teasing mercy. About being bound and open for her, this small, kind thing intent to torture him with sweetness. His cock hardens until it leaks. “I would love that.”

“Yeah?” She asks, beaming up at him. 

He swallows. “Yeah.” 

He lets her up, smooths her hair back, kisses her head. “I need you to come to dinner with me. The Tarasov’s want to meet you, and they will keep you safe if I’m unavailable.” 

“Does Viggo need eight men to replace you, John?” She kisses his palm, thinking of the men in suits trailing her earlier, of the different ones now standing outside of their room. 

“I’m invaluable to him.” There’s really no cocky inclination to that, just a deep guttural sadness, a regret even. 

She pushes his hair back behind his ear. “Viggo needs you.” 

He nods. 

But I want you. This she keeps to herself, watching his lips ghost her knuckles. 

“Does this mean I get to go back to my life? Still with you in it?”

“Yes,” he tells her. “And if I find a way to keep you with me that’s safe, I’ll never leave you.” 

“I’m sorry I’m being like this, but I have responsibilities to other people. Other things. My patients, Michael—“

He shushes her with a peck to her top lip. “I know.” 

“Hm.” She smiles at him, wide, pretty eyes twinkling. “If I’m gonna tie you up, you gotta teach me how.” 

Chuckling a dark kiss to her forehead, he hums in agreement. “Do you have anything formal in your closet?” 

“Define formal?” 

“Dresses.” He pauses, imagining her in a pretty sundress, and his brain gets fuzzy again. 

“John,” she calls, snapping him back into reality. “What kind of dresses?” 

He really is distracted. Rubs the back of his neck, knows what he would like to see her in, something satin and clinging, accentuating her curves just enough to keep him from strangling anyone that looks too long, and then, to match, and underneath, only for him, sheer feminine lace. 

She tries to wait for him to become functional, and loses her patience. “I only have one dress and it’s off shoulder, knee length, flowery. Actually, I dunno if it even fits. It’s from a long time ago…college graduation, I think.”

He longs for the days where his cock was under control. She tries not to notice, eyes looking anywhere but down. 

“Is…that okay?” Big eyes, pursed lips, hopeful little smile. Additionally, then, he longs for the days where his heart was under control. 

“Let’s go get it,” he says. 

——————————————-

Thankfully, and despite lurid, bright visions of her modeling that coveted, pretty college dress for him, he manages to willpower his cock soft before they enter into her apartment where her roommate is busying himself in the kitchen.

“This is him?!” Michael is suddenly very angry, although the other two are very confused as to why. He spins around, and the flour on his neon pink apron fluffs around him. 

Michael marches up to the taller man and points a powdery finger into his chest. “You! John! You’re fucking around with my friend’s feelings?!” 

Before she can intervene on this interaction, Michael does something stupid, unexpected, and altogether horrifying: He slaps John in the face. 

[sunnywindow]

Jellyfish mermaid concept

Floyd Leech x Reader

Just a little concept I had floating in head about childhood "friends" concept with Floyd!!

---

You were staring at the water's surface above you. Usually, you'd be out right now, floating aimlessly, following food..

The surface called you, pulling at your heart like it was tied to a string

Each breath you took felt like it took you closer and closer to food, nourishment, enrichment; and each exhale likewise plunged you kilometers back to the bottom of the sea.

You heard words drifting past without ever registering them, lost like those leaves in the wind you've read about. You felt the current pulling you further up to the surface.

There was laughter and giggling in the forefront; there was murmuring a little ways off. And somewhere deep and dark in the nursery, there was crying.

But at the surface of the water, there was food. And your stomach gnawed at you desperately. Loneliness tried its hand at weakly scratching its way out. Sadness pulled you up helplessly, stripping you of your autonomy. Emptiness ate at you from your stomach, to your eyeballs, to your fingertips.

On the outside, the laughter got louder, as did the giggling. As for the hunger, it grew exponentially more loud and demanding by the second.

Loneliness ripped you up into tiny little ribbons. Sadness’ grip on your wrist was beginning to bruise. Emptiness almost eating you whole.

And then you heard a scream from a few meters away.

Its pitch was as thin as a needle, as sharp as a knife. Shrill and long and precise and piercing you straight from one ear to the other. The laughter stopped, as did the giggling, and the murmuring. You barely noticed that the far away crying had long been silenced from something a while ago.

Food compelled you to look down.

You had scarcely registered the small fish stuck in between your tentacles. Its eyes were wide and white and all but bulging out of their sockets. It looked you in the eyes, with desperation, pleading; something you couldn't quite catch nor see nor recognize in your hunger. 

Regardless, it was food, and you ate it.

No longer alone, your stomach settled. No longer sad, you descended back to the class area. No longer empty, you were whole. You were complete.

And then another sharp screech pierced you from the sides once more, making you flinch and hiss at the noise. Screaming, crying, weeping, screeching, yelling, all and everything; all at once.

“Teacher! He ate a student!!”

“.....Hh-”

“Teacher! She did something bad again!”

“Oh my!”

“Eek!!”

“Whatever..”

And then you heard wicked laughter. Sinful, irreverent laughter. It rang like a bell through the belltower that was your classroom area.

As the voice chortled, and crowed, and roared in hideous, selfish pleasure, it's owner gasped desperately for air.

It was as if he was fighting to breathe, or as if his gills couldn't work and he was seizing uncontrollably; with heinous laughter being a symptom.

The laughter grew louder, the tears grew louder, as did the yelling, and the pointing of fingers. What in the ocean was going on?

Two eels swam up to you later that day. Or perhaps night. It was too dark to tell. 

Their eyes shone gold, one each, on opposite eyes. With blue hair and blueish tails, they slinked through the water, cloaked with darkness, as a predator would stalk its prey.

They looked familiar, and yet something in the way they existed screamed at you “danger, danger, danger”.

“Sssaw that little stunt you pulled, kid,” said one of the golden eyes. 

Neither of them could be much older than you were, and you could hear youth and inexperience bleed into the slippery eel’s voice.

The other golden eye chuckled politely. “It caused quite the shock, you know.”

Their voices grew closer, as did the shine in their eyes.

“Made that little girl cry.”

 It felt like they slithered closer to your eyes, so that they’d pluck them out; to your fingertips, to shove their fingernails up your own.

“The poor child. You ate her friend.”

Closer and closer with teeth sharp as knives, beared and ready to shred you apart into their next meal. 

Stay away, stay away, stay away.

“My, how cold, pushing us away Like that. Right, Floyd?”

Danger, danger, danger.

“Yep.” The predator-boy popped the ‘p’ sound as if popping an egg open. His crescent moon grin was pointed with sharp edges. “Kinda makes ya curious when they try to run away like that. Huh, Jade?”

“...Sh..” Your voice was cracky, having gone unused for months. You gulped and hoped they cracked whatever confidence the predators had.

“Woah!” It did not. “The lil’ jellyfish has a backbone, after all! Sick. Whatsit gonna say.”

You glared at the expressive eyes. It glinted the most immediate danger between the two pairs. “..Shove off.”

“Ehh, we just wanna play!” You could feel him in the water elbow his brother lightly. “Right, Jade?”

“Of course, Floyd.”

“Yeah,” said the ‘Floyd’ predator. His eyes pierced your own, and you could have sworn they’d gone blind and useless. “Just a liitle game we call Mutiny.”

“What’s your name, lil’ jelly?”

“..(Y/N).”

“Woah, fancy. I'm Floyd, an’ ‘ats Jade.”

“Good to meet you.” He extended his sharp talon of a hand. You didn't shake it.

“Pshh, (Y/N)'s got spunk. Okay. Cool.”

[joka13]

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 1

WARNINGS: none

It's the start of your fifth year attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You enter through the magnificent doors to the Great Hall and are greeted by a rush of nostalgia: the smell of the floating candles' melting wax, the beautiful image of the clear night sky instead of a ceiling, and the sound of the other students chatting in excitement. You go to join your fellow Slytherins at their assigned table on the far left side of the room.

You are met with the traditional hugs and "how was your summer's." Just as you find a seat next to your friend, Maddy Dewmond, the crowd of fresh first years enter the room following nervously behind Profesor McGonagall. You chuckle to yourself, remembering how anxious you had been as a first year. The room grows quiet as the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, comes to the stand and begins his annual welcoming speech.

You listen halfheartedly to the headmaster. You've heard this speech four times already, so you busy yourself by fidgetting with the utensils on the table in front of you. Your gaze wanders gradually, and you find yourself meeting the eyes of a Gryffindor at the other side of the room.

Even while he is sitting, you can tell that he is tall, and his hair is a lovely rusty-orange color that reminds you of leaves during the fall. You recognize him as one of the Weasley twins... George maybe? The distance makes it hard to tell exactly.

He flashes a handsome smile and you can't help but return the gesture, though you're also suddenly flustered. You force yourself to go back to playing with the fork, but you discreetly watch through your bangs as he leans to the left to gently nudge his twin's shoulder. Soon, after Fred follows his brother's gaze, both twins are staring at you from across the room.

Now you are twice as much flustered. You can't ignore the pair, so you wave awkwardly in their direction. The twins waggle their fingers goofily in unison back at you in response, causing a grin to spread uncontrollably across your face. Excited butterflies come alive inside your stomach as you fight the urge to giggle outloud.

Your attention is caught by the sudden absence of Dumbledore's voice. Was the speech over already? By the way the students around you are whispering anxiously to each other, you think not. You must have missed something.

A woman with a toad-like face dressed entirely in pink, who you assume is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, gets up from the professors' table to join the headmaster at the stand. She introduces herself as Profesor Umbridge. Not far down the table from you, Draco Malfoy talks in a hushed voice to his cronies.

"...father told me about her," you hear him say. "Do this school lots of good, she will. I'd bet the last of my galleons that she'll be able to have Dumbledore fired by the end of the year. Y'know, with all of his bustle about You-Know-Who." Malfoy spots you watching him. You quickly turn away, but it's too late.

"Good to see you, y/n. How was your summer?" Malfoy asks. You can hear the mockery in his voice, but you refuse to let him get a rise out of you. Everyone between you and him is watching you, waiting for your reply.

"Fine, thanks," you say reluctantly. You, once again, return to the fork.

"Aw, come on," Malfoy pouts. "Won't you ask me how my summer was?"

You set the fork down, straighten your posture, and smile while trying to ignore the many eyes on you. "I won't."

Malfoy and his buddies respond with quieted, but obnoxious "ooooooo's" and vicious snickers.

"I think she likes me," Malfoy chortles as you turn away and let your hair curtain your face to hide the heat rising in your cheeks.

Maddy rolls her eyes. "Don't pay any attention to them, y/n," she whispers. "They tease you only because they can't have you." You nod, though you find her statement hard to believe.

You glance up for a brief moment and notice Fred and George are huddled close. George whispers, pointing directly at you. Then Fred speaks and nods towards Malfoy. The frustration Malfoy had caused you changes to curiosity as Fred pulls out his wand. Underneath the table, he points it at Malfoy and a mutters something.

"Ah!" Malfoy hisses as he jerks forward, tipping over a glass of pumpkin juice. It is as if someone had pushed him from behind. He turns around, furiously searching for his offender.

You look back to the twins who, at first glance, appear to be innocent. Fred's wand is no where to be seen and both him and George are looking at Dumbledore. (Professor Umbridge has since returned to her seat.) George even fakes a yawn. You struggle to hold in a laugh, and it almost breaks free when Malfoy ends up blaming Crab and cuffs him on the back of the head, gesturing angrily to the pumpkin juice spill in his lap.

"What's so funny?" Maddy asks.

"I'll tell you later," you chuckle. You make eye contact with Fred, who winks at you. You grin and mouth, "Thanks."

"Anytime," he mouths back.

[mega-aulover]

Tease

This is for the wonderful @gremlinddrawss who drew a wonderful Everlark This DRAWING Named the TEASE

thank you for your wonderful art...Rated T - unbeta'd - all mistakes are mine-

Katniss and Peeta’s first time was a few weeks ago, but since then they had been dancing around the other about doing it again. It wasn’t good. It was awkward, but the promise of more was there. The tension was thick between them. They exchanged shy glances. Anytime they brushed each other, Katniss would get goosebumps all over. Yesterday evening, Katniss felt flushed due to Peeta’s heated stare as she ate his flaky aromatic bread. Afterward, she’d poured water over her face to cool herself down. Cold showers were becoming the norm.

Katniss couldn’t take it anymore and she prepared.

Sunday morning Katniss couldn’t wait to spend the day with Peeta. He normally didn’t bake or paint on Sundays. It was their day to lounge about and do nothing. Katniss took a deep breath, as she dressed. It was chilly outside, and she wished for it to be warmer so that she could wear one of the pretty dresses that Cinna had designed. Instead, she wore a sweater her mother had knitted for her, on top of a crisp white shirt and comfortable pants.

She bounded down the stairs to find Peeta drinking his tea at the breakfast table. He had cooked a hearty breakfast of thick fluffy pancakes, and mounds of bacon and eggs. Typically Katniss would've devoured the food, but today she had a different breakfast in mind. She had a game in mind, something pleasurable.

“Morning,” Peeta said as he took a sip of his tea.

“Where are you ticklish,” Katniss blurted, she felt the way heat flooded her cheeks.

Peeta spat out his tea. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately grabbing a towel to dry himself off.

The situation made her want to laugh. A small giggle escaped her lips and it was followed by an unfeminine chortle.

Peeta began laughing.

“What was that about,” he asked when the mirth died down.

Katniss took a deep breath, “I want to…” Her cheeks burned, and even her hands looked flushed. “You know… upstairs.”

“Really?”

Katniss took his hand and gently tugged him forward as a way of answering his question. Peeta followed behind obediently. When they were both kneeling on the bed, Katniss noticed he shared her goofy grin.

“You first,” Katniss said biting her lip, glancing up at Peeta from beneath her lashes.

Peeta nodded and reached out and tugged off her sweater.

Katniss jovially raised her arms. Her head got wedged in the sweater, and he laughed when it finally came off. She began snorting like a pig and couldn’t help herself.

“That was graceful!” Peeta began laughing.

Couldn’t help but feel giddy and laughed a full belly laugh, as she said, “Capitol worthy!”

“You would make Effie proud with that level of etiquette,” Peeta said his blue eyes shining.

Katniss loved the fact that she could be her authentic self with Peeta. There was no pretension, no expectations, he loved her unconditionally. Her heart bee-bopped in her chest, as she leaned forward to take his sweater off. “You next.”

His muscular torso appeared slowly. Katniss was taking it slow, enjoying the show.

“Kanmifff,” Peeta said from behind his sweater.

Katniss suddenly became nervous and pulled his sweater off, dragging his head down. She could hear his laughter at her jerky movements. He then snorted loudly.

This caused her to smile uncontrollably. “I think you missed some of those classes on etiquette.”    

“I think you ripped my ears off,” Peeta said.

Katniss leaned forward and gently placed her hands on his face, giving him a teasing smile, gently cupped his face. “Real,” she whispered, as she gave him a kiss on each ear. Then she whispered, “Catch me if you can baker boy.” Katniss popped off the bed and ran.

Peeta sat there momentarily stunned, as she opened their bedroom door Katniss could hear him laugh-shout, “TEASE!”

She laughed as she ran out, anticipating the chase, this was one of the good games to play.  

[thatbanditqueen]

No One Walks Out Ch 3

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 3: Don't Be Rude

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

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

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

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

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

Catch up on Chapter One here

Catch up on Chapter Two here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ida…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tons, EP, all the time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elvis - please ma’am…”

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

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

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

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

“What the fuck, Jerry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs again, “Well, not exactly…”

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

“Hey… Mr. Kishke, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stops when she feels your hand on her shoulder.

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

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

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

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

“Elvis, why are you here?”

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

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

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

“Wanted ta see ya….”

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

Elvis inhaled, and looked down, shaking his head.

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

“Oh, so you can read my mind?”

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

“Mmhmm, and what am I thinking?”

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

“Ha! You are delusional.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

You blush, “I… umm … I think—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He did not say that…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Song link here]

Love,

It seems like only yesterday

You were just a child at play

Now you're all grown up inside of me

Oh, how fast those moments flee

Once we watched a lazy world go by

Now the days seem to fly

Life is brief, but when it's gone

Love goes on and on

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love will live

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love will last

Mmm mmmm mmmmm

Love goes on and on and on

Once we watched a lazy world go by

Now the days seem to fly

Life is brief, but when it's gone

Love goes on and on…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ok, time for bed!”

“Wait mom, but is he?”

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

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

“No, baby, we only just met—“

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

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

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

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

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

You look at Jerry, crossing your arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how did you even find me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Listen, I’m serious…”

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

“You have a girlfriend, though right?”

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

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

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

“And how is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You begin to unbutton his shirt, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’ok… you ok?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? You liked the fried tofu?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

READ CHAPTER FOUR HERE

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

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list....

[ficbrish]

Part of my Flufftober Spring one shot collection

"The Pale Elves"

cw: Sickness, teasing, cptsd

Tav Vistri, Shadow-Cursed Lands, near the end of Act II

“You look a little pale.”

“Rich. Coming from you,” Vistri chortled.

It was true, Astarion’s skin was a colorless white. It used to shine with the kiss of the sun, but then he died, and in rising again, kept death’s pallor. Vistri didn’t have much room to talk though. She had a lavender, periwinkle sort of tone, which was rather light for a drow.

But even more so tonight. Her coloring was different, more silver than purple.

Which, in turn, colored his response. Usually he’d play along, tease her for being just as pale as he was. Instead, Astarion fretted over her with a surprising amount of concern. He didn’t consider himself to be a particularly empathetic person, and yet here he was, hurting at even the prospect of her discomfort. Worrying like a mother hen! It was wrong. All of this was wrong.

“No, I mean it,” he said, “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

No more than a second later, she sneezed.

There was a handkerchief dangling in her face when Vistri opened her eyes; a frowning Astarion at the other end. Grudgingly, she snatched it out his hands, furious at her sinuses for their poorly-timed betrayal.

No one ever passed her silk scarves from their pockets when she needed one. His thoughtfulness landed in her heart like a burn on frozen skin. He also wasn’t allowed to be right. They were in the midst of the Shadow Curse Lands, hot on the tail of those Absolute cultists. Of course, she’d rather stay at camp and rest! Her muscles ached to the bone, and the power of the curse this close to Moonrise made her head pound. Grumbling, she blew her nose with an unfortunate honk.

“What in the hells was that?!” Astarion asked, laughing.

Come to think of it, he’d never seen Vistri blow her nose before. Such a normal thing. He wasn’t prepared for her to do it so abnormally.

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused, having lived with that sound her whole life.

“It’s like a…” his laughter cut off his words, “Like a fucking foghorn! What is that?”

Offended, she answered, “I’m blowing my nose!”

Astarion fell back, laughing, into his bedroll. He tried to right himself, but this newly discovered quality of hers kept him too weak to sit up.

“It’s not funny!” she pouted.

“Yes!” he was struggling to speak normally, “Yes, it is!”

He was lucky his uncontrollable laughter was so precious to Vistri. It made it almost not matter that it was at her expense. Almost. Her pride still prickled, hardening the casing of her chest. But he broke it so easily. The sound of his beloved laugh lifted her heart, like a hearth roaring on a snowy night.

She tried her best to sound serious, “Keep that up and maybe I’ll start feeling less generous.”

“You don’t mean that!” he chuckled warmly, crawling his way back to a sitting position.

“Yes,” she crossed her arms, “I do!”

“No, please!”

Even the affectation of anxiety and regret in Astarion’s voice tugged painfully at her heart. She leaned in and kissed the side of his head, whispering, “You know I could never deny you.”

His remaining giggles stilled into a soft, happy smirk.

“You couldn’t?”

“Never, ever.”

“Well…” He paused, stopping himself from admitting something painfully sincere. Then continued with a teasing brow, his tone changed, “I’ll have to remember to take advantage of that, won’t I?”

Vistri leveled her brow with his, “I thought we were learning how not to take advantage of each other.”

“Ugh! You’re quite right,” he pouted, then cheekily bent his frown into a warm smile.

They joked around about it, but theirs was a sacred promise. An experiment.

Is love real?

Are they worthy of it?

Wrapping her arms around Astarion’s neck, she purred, “That doesn’t mean you have to keep your hands off me.”

He chuckled softly and drew her in closer, holding her tighter. Caressing her nose with his, he savored the lightness in his head at her proximity. His nose flicked hers aside, tilting her head up to align her lips with his, leaning forward to gently meet them.

This was the new world they were exploring. One where they kissed for the sake of a kiss.

She felt his hands cradle the back of her neck. Everything in her relaxed. Tensions she didn’t know she held suddenly let go into his embrace.

“Lucky us,” he spoke against her ear.

[hollyethecurious]

CS WIP Wednesday Challenge

Thank you to @captainswanwipwednesdays for putting together this challenge!

Prologue Challenge (pre-week one)

Post a list of your current WIPS with the last line you wrote/posted from each.

(I decided to only include fics currently residing in my WIP folder and not any from the Back Burner, Plot Bunny, or Wild Hair folders)

Pan Says... (posting)

From Part Nine:

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, holding her close to his chest once more. “Of course we’ll get that chance. We’ll have an entire lifetime to say all the things that need to be said. They’ll find us. Of that I’m certain. They’ll never stop fighting for us. And neither will I.” “Good.”

CS Grimm AU (for this year's @cssns)

“In over my head?” he said in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know, love,” he murmured in a low timber, edging a bit closer to her. “If there is one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.” “Mhmm,” Emma hummed, meeting his taunting expression of challenge with one of her own. “Well, I’m going to insist that you stop by afterward in order to prove that to me.” He smiled down at her, another message alerting from his phone, indicating it was past time for him to go. “As you wish.”

CS Land Run AU

Hadn’t he promised his brother no more fighting, no more gambling, no more unsavory activities? Hadn’t he promised they would make a fresh start of things here in America? A fresh start required funds, though. Should he win his bouts, the purse would more than cover their expenses for the next several weeks, providing them a cushion of resources whilst they settled in and began to build a life here. Besides, hadn’t his brother always told him that a man unwilling to fight for what he wanted deserved what he got? Killian was willing to fight for the future he and Liam dreamed of obtaining in this new land. It had been worth the risk when he’d wagered on getting them here, so was it not worth the risk now? “Well, lads,” he said, standing once more and donning his hat. “What time is the match and who do I pay?”

Mob Sequel

She glanced back at him, his expression telling her his gratitude was for more than just her willingness to deal with Hyde and get them breakfast. The melancholy in his eyes tore at her heart. She wanted to protect the sanctity of his cabin for as long as she could, allowing him to have these moments of vulnerability until duty dictated he put on his armor and face the day without any visible weaknesses. “Take all the time you need,” she told him, waiting until he disappeared into the washroom before opening the door.

Enchanted Forest AU

Uncontrollable laughter filled the cabin, first guffawed by Emma and quickly met with Hook’s own chortles, the ridiculousness of the entire conversation hitting them both full force. Once they’d both calmed themselves back down, Hook yawned and said, “I know you have many more questions, love, and I promise to answer each and every one of them as best I can, but… perhaps we could continue to do so in the morning? I have a feeling tomorrow will bring a new set of challenges for us, and I, for one, would rather face them well rested than not, if it’s all the same to you.” “Of course,” Emma replied with a yawn of her own. “You’re right.” “Good night, Swan.” “Good night… Hook.”

Curious about any of my WIPS/posted works? Come Ask Me!

[tryskomys]

Moonchild

Remus Lupin x OC/reader

just a little wip bit ;) og potterheads rise up but not too quickly bc we’re ancient and have joint problems

Preview:

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“Please, Professor! You’ve promised us that you’ll have a guess!” Hannah Abbott whined, nudging the small vial towards Hesperia with her chubby finger. She cleared her throat and smirked at the excited giggles that filled the shabby classroom. The bundle of girls that stayed behind after class whispered something among each other, she tried her best not to listen. Looking around, she let out a loud, heavy sigh, rolling her eyes.

“Merlin’s beard, I swear, if it’s just a transfigured Dungbomb I’ll turn all of you into Puffskeins.“ she threatened them with her cherry wand and a tuft of pink sparkles emerged from its tip with a loud crack. She stiffled a laugh when the girls jumped at the sudden noise.

She tucked her wand into the eyelet sown on the inside of her tweed vest, carefully grabbed the vial and twisted it open with a muffled pop. It puffed out a small cloud of iridescent mist, twinkling as it evaporated around her nostrils. The scent hit her senses like a stunning jinx and she immediately recognized the substance, quickly holding it away from her face, her nose scrunched.

“Come on, that’s a low blow, ladies.” she shook her head at their giggles, masking her grin with a frown.

“I remember when Professor Slughorn made us brew Amorentia in fifth year, the smell of mine made him vomit, though. I nearly failed my Potions O.W.L.s, but that’s just between us.” she shrugged as the students erupted in another wave of giggles. She was just about to cork it again when Parvati gasped.

“Professor, please, please tell us what you smell!”

“Yes, say it!”

“We won’t tell anyone, promise!”

The girls babbled over each other until Hesperia sighed and put it to her nose again, making them squeal in excitement.

“Fine, let’s see…” she whispered and closed her eyes. She carefully smelled the glass edge of the vial, trying her best not to accidentaly dip the tip of her nose in it. Her hand softly shook when the cloud swirled around her again.

“…forest soil…cold wind…”

The girls silently chortled and she playfully shushed them, opening one eye to peek at the group.

“…hm, interesting. My sixth-year Transfiguration schoolbook...” she closed her eye again with a dramatic solemn expression and the girls’ laughter ricocheted off the stone walls, clearly oblivious to the fact that it wasn’t a joke. She suddenly felt overpowered by the thought and all mischief dissapeared from her features. Faint annoyed voices filled her ears.

‘Come on, you know how it goes, Moony! You’ve read the chapter.’

‘I can’t do it if you keep staring at me! What kind of tutoring is that?’

‘Merlin, where the hell am I supposed to look, then? I need to see your wand movement.’

‘You’re insufferable sometimes.’

‘Well, so are you! Maybe you should take your own advice for once and eat the damn…’

“…chocolate.”

There was a few seconds of silence after her shivering sigh before she blinked again and swiftly corked the vial, carefully laying it on the table. The memory floated further and further away from her mind. When Hesperia finally looked up, she was met with wide smiles and pink cheeks as the girls uncontrolably giggled.

“Well, I’m certain that you shouldn’t carry such a dangerous substance around the castle. Five points from Hufflepuff, Hannah, I’m sorry.”

The giggles turned into groans and she continued. “Who brewed it? Come on, don’t get all shy now!”

Susan Bones reluctantly raised her hand, rolling her eyes in the process. She started to open her mouth to protest but Hesperia spoke first.

“I might be very bad at Potions, but even I can recognize such a correct and potent brew. Ten points to Hufflepuff for your impressive skills.” she added in a whisper and winked, making the group sigh in relief and break into chortles again.

“Come on, now, off you go. Shoo. If you miss Charms, professor Flitwick will give me detention.” she waved them off and they thanked her, quickly saying goodbye over their shoulders before they errupted into whispers she could no longer hear.

She stared at the simple vial and walked backwards until she hit the uneven wall, resting her back against it. She turned her gaze to the ceiling, mindlessly scanning the dainty frescoes that peppered it. Her chest was flooded by a familiar scorching pain.

She suddenly heard footsteps accompanied by the sound of wood clicking against wood - a cane - as Remus opened the door with a loud creak and walked out of their office above the classroom. He leaned against the chipped wooden doorframe.

“Pomona was right about the Shrivelfig jam, I even managed to fall asleep for a bit. How did it go?” he softly smiled at her and straightened up, slowly limping down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of his worn-out brown sweater but didn’t respond. She just took a deep breath.

Forest soil. Cold wind. Old schoolbooks.

Chocolate.

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[thlayli-ra]

Just popping a CM Punk whipping scene under the cut here in anticipation for Saturday;

***Warning - contains blood, torture and (surprise, surprise) whipping!***

Punk looked over his shoulder and his worst fears were realised as he spied the long leather whip in Torres’ hand, a thick, heavy, implement that was showing signs of wear and tear. But the deterioration done to it was a fraction of the damage it could unleash on soft, vulnerable flesh.

‘Remove his shirt,’ Torres ordered.

Punk tried, he tried. Tried to squirm his way free, to pull himself away from the slaver coming towards him, tried to stop him from yanking up the back of his T-shirt over his head and stuff it under his chin. He jerked at the cuffs as he felt the night air sting his exposed back.

He heard Torres chortle behind him, the closest thing he’d heard to a tiger’s growl. ‘I’m surprised to see you haven’t marked your back yet,’ he noted, referring to the lack of tattoos under Punk’s shoulders. ‘I will do the honours for you.’

Punk only had a fleeting second for the panic to set in as he heard the whistle of the whip hurtling through the air towards him. The smack was deafening, feeling as if a firecracker had exploded inside his skull.

But the pain!

There were no words to describe it. It burst through him, throwing off every one of his senses as a primitive instinct took over - one of pure panic! Gone was any form of facade or control and in its place, it left a raw, naked emotion as exposed as the pink skin of Punk’s shoulder blades.

He screamed out at the shock of the pain, ears deaf to the whoops of joy from the men around him.

No time to think or regain his senses before the next blow struck. Another howl tore from Punk’s throat as he felt fire lick across his back from his right shoulder to his left hip, scorching another stripe into his skin that oozed with warm droplets of red.

In all, there were five lashes, each one more devastating than the last. By the end, Punk could barely stand, his whole body shaking like a leaf in a gale. He remained there, tethered to the rack of the cab with his cheek pressed against the window of the truck, his stuttered breath blowing mists of condensation onto the glass. He quivered uncontrollably as fire seared his back, feeling the blood run down and pool into the waistband of his shorts.

- Excerpt from Out of the Ashes