#I'm a bee now apparently they're going to smoke me out

[lucent-nargacuga]

they're filling the house with smoke tomorrow

[beeandheroddobsessions]

Don’t Go Away.

Warnings: Supernatural elements, dead!Elvis, Reader is trapped, psychological torture?, manipulation, Elvis is really unstable.

Summary: Reader has plans made and considering the state of house, can’t stay in it. Elvis isn’t having it.

A/N: It took me so long to decide what direction I wanted to take this in. I love love love wholesome stories but I just had to go with difficult reader/obsessive lover. Anywho, happy reading! -Bee💕

The sun peeking through the curtains and the slight breeze across your face welcomes you into a new day. As your eyes adjust and you regain consciousness, the events that took place only hours ago flood your mind. 

Maybe it was an odd dream; there's no possible way you could've met postmortem-

"Rise n' Shine, sleepin' beauty!" 

A shriek fills the room yet again, and it's apparent that last night did, in fact, happen as you remember it. You're gripping the covers for dear life, chest heaving as your heart nearly beats out of your chest.

 Elvis has always found himself funny. Making you jump sky high has him cackling so hard every few seconds it comes out as a whistle.

"Very funny." You grumble. You toss the blankets to the side and swing your legs over the bed, ignoring Elvis and his incessant laughter, to get ready for the day.

The amused booms dwindle to light chuckles as you rummage through your suitcase. Is it warm? You should dress lightly. 

"Are ya busy today, honey?" Elvis questions while catching his breath.

"With the house? Yeah, I ain't got much of a choice but to be." You reply lazily, inspecting a lavender sundress. Not for housework, you think. 

Elvis kisses his teeth, unsatisfied with what he deems a 'snarky remark,'

"No, I mean are ya leavin'?" 

The only reply you offer is a shake of the head. Something else he didn't like. The faux brunet shifts his position, standing directly in front of you. His expression falls flat, and he folds his arms.

"Now y/n, I may be dead but m'still a person. I know your mama taught you better than to ignore someone when they're speakin' to-"

Seeing where this is going has you arching a brow. Who knew he'd feel so entitled to your attention.

"I didn't ignore-"

You can't even get through the sentence before a chair comes rushing from the other side of the room and under your rump. You grip the arms of it, unsure of what just happened. The shocked, more so scared, expression painting your features phases Elvis none.

The man leering down at you breathes in through his nose before placing his hand over yours and squeezing tight.

None of this makes sense to you. Yesterday when you tried to touch him, you went right through, leaving a trail of smoke. Now you're faced with something you can feel. It's unnerving. 

When Elvis begins to speak, a real chill is sent down your spine."  

"Honey, I understand it's early and I gave ya a bit of a fright. That don't mean you get ta be rude to me in my own damn house,” He pauses to take in a breath, eyes stilled trained on you.

“I don't give a damn how much money you spent to get your hands on it. I am trapped here, not you. I'm the one stuck in these walls forever. Not. You."

You're shaking like a leaf. Figuring he's finished, you open your mouth. Elvis holds up a finger, wanting to be sure you understand what he is saying. 

"I know the ins n' outs of this place like the back of my goddamned hand. Don't you cross me twice, sugarplum, wouldn't want you to get lost."

With those striking blues locked with your own eyes, all you can do is nod as you begin to sputter.

"I—M'sorry, Elvis I-" 

As if a switch was flipped, the man before you flashes one of his infamous crooked smiles and clasps his hands together, returning to the drapes.

"No harm done! What'd ya have planned for today?"

The sudden change in demeanor leaves you feeling uneasy. On top of that, you're still reeling at the fact that he could, no…can touch you.

In truth, you didn't know if you could stay here. Aside from the fact that there is a dead musician constantly traversing what was supposed to be your home, it's too dangerous to be in this house right now.

And your mama really was right about the loose beams. Every now and again, the house settles, and you nearly shit yourself at the idea of it collapsing. 

You texted her about it before falling asleep and she all but demanded you crash at hers until the house was stable.

With your eyes laser focused on the floor, you stammer out your plans before you can be reprimanded again.

"W-well, m'gonna head to the hardware store n' see about pricing to get the floors redone. Come back here, fix what I can until dinner, then get some clothes ready and-"

Elvis can't help how his ears perk up at the word' clothes.' Why would you come back for clothes? Were you going somewhere else? A girl like you shouldn't be out after dark. But his curiosity won't leave him be.

"Clothes for what sugar?" 

The question seems genuine to you like he really is just curious. Elvis knows that's only half of it. You are the only one in years that's come to Graceland and treated it like what it was, someone's home.

Maybe it's the lack of interaction or how you care so much for his home; either way, Elvis isn't all that pleased with the idea of you leaving. Even so, he awaits your answer.

"Oh, m'stayin' with mama for a while. Least till the house is structurally sound. She and I both think it's a little…hazardous." You explain.

When you don't hear a response back, a chuckle escapes you. How ironic. You stand from the chair and realize Elvis isn't even in the room. You shrug and head to the bathroom, a shower calling your name.

When you make your way out and begin to get ready, the lights flicker. Ha-ha, you think.

Once dressed for the day, you leave the room and descend the stairs, keys in hand, headed straight for the door. You turn to call out a quick goodbye to your impromptu roommate, but still no response.

You huff and turn back. When you do, the door isn't in front of you anymore. Instead, you're in the kitchen. Weird. You know for a fact that you walked straight to the door. You spin on your feet, itching to leave now.

This place makes you feel crazy. As you step forward, the scene in front of you rotates; the whole house just shifts before your eyes. Now, you stand in the front room. 

If you could, you'd pick your jaw up off the floor. After standing for a moment, the dash you make for the door should be a record. And yet, the door is pulled out of reach. What would typically be a ten-foot walk stretches into a hallway about a mile long.

 Were you on something? Not enough sleep? You don't remember taking anything. Instead of wasting your time getting to the end of this… new tunnel, you try the back door. As you shuffle through the house. 

You're meters away and think for just a second that you were just trippin'. When you pull it open, what you see makes your stomach somersault. It was just eleven-thirty, and your day had barely started, so why was it pitch-black outside? 

"What the fuck?" You say to no one in particular. Stepping out, you look around, absolutely baffled. You take a few steps backward, placing your hand behind you on the knob or where it should've been. Quizzically, you look behind you. The house was fucking gone. 

Nothing lies in front of you except the porch and what seems to be a perfect circle of trees. You're closed in, trapped, and you can do nothing about it.

"No—no, fucking way." Your breathing becomes rapid, and you can't help but wonder if your ghoulish friend has anything to do with this. You conclude that a regular ghost couldn't do something this extreme. 

At this point, you didn't know what to do. You felt defeated. Plopping down on the porch was the only option you had left. There is no way in hell you're taking your black ass into the surrounding woods. 

Your head finds a home in your hands, and frustration gets the best of you. Tears sting in your eyes, and a soft whimper leaves your lips. 

"I j-jus wanted to go see ab-bout the fucking carpet," you hiccup. 

"I told you how I felt about ladies swearin'." A deep, butter-smooth voice chimes.

You lift your head so quickly it could've flown off your shoulders. The front door is just past the man before you.

Sun is shining through the windows, and you aren't on the porch; you're on the stairs. Confusion doesn't begin to scratch the surface of what you're experiencing. 

Your mind couldn't have played a trick this bad on you. Something like that only happens in movies.

"Elvis? Where the—" You clear your throat and correct yourself when you notice the stern look on his face.

"Did you see any of what just happened?" 

The singer chuckles and squats down to eye level, "Course honey, gave me quite a laugh watchin' ya try and figure out this maze."

You tilt your head. Maze?

"What're you talkin' about El-"

He shakes his head, "Honey, don't you think if I coulda walked out that door I would've?" 

When he says this, you nearly vomit. You walk straight through his chest, prepared to rerun the same routine, but you pause for a moment.

"Elvis, you stay where I can see ya." You command. 

He shrugs his shoulders and does as you ask, "Didn't know ya liked lookin' at me. M'flattered."

You roll your eyes and move toward the door. Again, you end up in the kitchen. When you approach the entrance, the house does what it did before and spins on itself.

Elvis doesn't understand why you'd do this twice when once is enough to make someone nauseous. Tenacity has always been one of your best qualities though. 

When you head for the back door, Elvis rests a hand on your shoulder, spinning you around to face him.

"Baby, ya can't leave. Don't waste your time."

You scoff; he can't be serious. 

"Mama left, the movers left, so why can't I?"

Elvis purses his lips, irritated because you won't just drop it. 

"Honey, seriously. Just have a seat, we can-"

"No, I need to go. There's gotta be someway out, Elvis. I ain't stay-"

Elvis's hand meets the wall near your head, mood shifting. The anger ever-present in his eyes lets you know he means business. You fail to realize the sourer he gets, the worse the house's condition.

It's a peculiar thing to watch. The paint on the walls peels in time with the rise and fall of his chest; the lights flicker as his eyes dart across your face. As his face reddens, it gets a bit dimmer. 

“Y/n, last warnin’. Don't interrupt when m'speakin', darlin'."

His darkened orbs bore into yours, searching for defiance. When he is confident you'll keep quiet, his breathing begins to regulate, and he takes a step back, adjusting his shirt a bit.

"This house is structurally sound, and you will stay here tonight. For now, just relax."

The air is thick, making it hard to breathe, even harder to speak.

 "I can't do that Elvis. Look at what just happened…" You whisper, hoping the soft tone won't set him off again.

He almost deflates when he realizes shaking you up didn't do as much as he thought it would. Who gets put through something like that and decides to be difficult?

Y/n L/n, that's who.

 It was starting to bother him; you were clueless about his trickery and capabilities. You should be weeping at the fact that everything is back to normal, and yet here you are, still trying to leave.

He could always make it harder for you to get off the grounds. Keep the illusions going. It's never worked in his favor, though. Everyone dies running from him. Usually, Elvis couldn't give two shits. 

But he already met your daddy; your mama is sweet and kind. And you, well, in Elvis's eyes, the only woman besides his mama to love him without question.

It was the house you fell for, and you could preach it all day long up and down the streets if it made you happy. Elvis wouldn't buy it for half a second, though.

 Why else would you go through the trouble of ensuring everything was untouched? Why would you keep everything he liked? Why buy a dying house you can't afford, if not to save him? 

Elvis saw through your coverup, and in his mind, you love him, and you're staying.

"Honey, you're the first person to…" He sighs, thinking of a way to make you understand that you belong here with him. 

"Don't go away, y/n. I ain't seen anybody worth seein' in years. Jus' spend some time with me? Hm? It don't seem too likely you'll leave soon anyway."

You ponder for a moment. If Elvis is right, there is no leaving anytime soon. In which case, it couldn't hurt to have company.

"Altight. But, ya promise to help me figure this mess out later on?" You ask

Elvis chuckles, not because what you said was funny, but because you have no clue what you've gotten yourself into.

"Of course, Sugarpie.”

Taglist: @powerofelvis @prayerstopresley @re3kin

[spacejamdvdadinfinitum]

Does Leona bring Kenta into classes or is he not allowed to? Bc the image of Kenta on Leona's lap while in class is very funny to me.

And speaking classes, how do the teachers react to Leona bringing his kid to school??

Hmmmmmm! Well, it depends on if Kenta can behave himself during a lecture.

Crowley

For starters, Crowley isn't too KEEN on letting Kenta stay at first. They don't have day care facilities and he worries that the child will be a distraction to the other students.

"Not like you've cared before, Crowley." Leona will sneer.

"I don't NEED day care! I'm almost 9!"

Ultimately, Crowley will allow it so long as Kenta won't distract the class. And he won't for the most part! Though outside of class, Crowley is rather fond of how Kenta keeps Leona on his toes. Teaches him responsibility! And how hard it is to keep tabs on children.

Kenta does not trust the bird man. Thinks he's shifty as hell but he can't exactly say that out loud.

Prof Trein

Prof Trein's the first teacher to have Kenta in his class, and it only takes one glare to get him to behave himself. Despite Trein being rather soft on him, he still expects Leona to keep his son in check and behaving.

If anything, Kenta keeps LEONA in check, as he keeps waking him up during lessons to ask his dad what Trein's talking about. Trein just. Smirks at the fact that Leona gets no peace in his classes now. And NOW LEONA HAS TO PAY ATTENTION to answer Kenta's questions.

Lucius also enjoys Kenta's company, as he likes that the kid is FLUENT in Beastspeak. Like, he talks to the cat more eloquently than he does with people. The reason is apparently, he and several other whelps were babysat by an irritable old tabby cat that they called Miss Abby. She taught them to speak Feline pretty damn fast.

Lucius reports that the kid also has a comprehensive list of animal swear words.

Prof Crewell

At first, you'd think Crewell didn't like the cub. But it's easy to keep him occupied.

You remember the really dangerous chemistry kits that they used to sell in the 60/70/80s? The ones that had MERCURY and HYDROCHLORIC ACID and stuff in them?

Yeah, Crewell lets Kenta play with the magical equivalent. Even has a print out of how to make things like smoke bombs and such. Consider it payback for all the times Leona slacked off in class.

"You see, you mongrel. Your own pup has a healthy interest in the art of alchemy! Look at him with his little goggles and lab coat. It's quite cute. Why can't you be as motivated as he is?"

Kenta is all for this. He's delighted to learn, even if he's risking chemical burns or catastrophic ( to a child ) mistakes that might do things like turn his hair green or make his voice really deep.

Ashton Vargas

Oh man, if you thought that Jack liked the kid, Ashton is ready to sign the adoption papers and steal him from Leona.

While Kenta doesn't care about gaining muscles, he is HIGHLY interested in climbing and running and jumping and tumbling. And he's an endless font of energy, meaning Vargas has someone new to compare the other students to.

Vargas happily sets up an obstacle course in the gym to 'test his students' but it's more like. He wanted to see Kenta's abilities in action before he starts pushing him/ adjusting how his work outs should be. It's a lot of climbing and crawling, and it's quite fun to watch the older students struggle while Kenta laps them all.

Kenta FUCKING LOVES Vargas. He loves the huge man and is like "WHOAAAAA" over how BIG he is. Thinks he's the bee's knees and BEGS Leona to hang out with him when they're not busy.

Leona loves the idea of Vargas babysitting, but hates that now Kenta wants him to exercise alongside him. Waking him up at ungodly hours ( read: 6 am ) to 'go for a morning jog' and such. He's in Hell and Vargas is the Devil.

Sam

Ahhhh, Sam.

Sam immediately takes a liking to the little guy since he likes buying snacks off him. He's willing to taste test a lot of the newer goods, telling Sam if the stuff is good or not. And Sam is willing to let him have the first few samples so that Kenta can come back with Leona's wallet :)

But he also makes sure Kenta is WATCHED when he comes in, since the little guy also has sticky fingers. A force of habit from his time in the back alleys. Same is a lot more forgiving than most, not even telling Leona about the incidents. But Sam makes sure the kid works for him as punishment so that he can keep a closer eye on him, learn his tricks.

And Kenta learns a lot about Sam and his backroom dealings.

More than he should. But he's good at keeping secrets :)