#ally’s fic recs

[arcanefox207]

These are some PPCU fics I have read and enjoyed this past month and would like to recommend. Some new. Some Old. All have smut. I apologize the list is so short this month… it’s been a rough one and I’m trying to get out from under this dark cloud. I am going to be doing a monthly rec list in an attempt to read more and help reblog and support some amazing authors out there. Please show them some love. Read all warnings! Not everything is for everyone and that is ok. Please always comment AND reblog fics you enjoy to show love to the authors 🖤

Joel Miller

Solstice // @covetyou Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A Step Into Hell // @aurorawritestoescape After you move into his house, Joel finds himself possessed by the idea of having you. Trying to quench his lustful thirst he decides to get his hands on your nudes. To his surprise he finds something even better. Stepdad!Joel

Honey, Stomach, Mine // @netherfeildren Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. A/B/O

Purr // @joelstummy Joel is a simple landlord. He is really very generous, offering up great deals on his spare apartment units for desperate parents housing their new college students. But he does have one stipulation: No Pets. When an innocent little Freshman breaks that rule, Joel has another deal on deck to make it right again. DarkLandlord!Joel

Lost in the Dark (series) // @iamasaddie One time you decide to cheat on your boyfriend is, of course, the time his dad catches you. Once normal relationship turns into something new, and you are forced to face the fucked up reality of your life. BoyfriendsDad!Joel

Change // @pedgito Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

Throat Coat // @strang3lov3 Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse. DarkDaddy!Joel

A Firm Partner // @whocaresstillthelouvre Mr. Miller needs you to stay late... even if tomorrow is your birthday. Lawyer!Joel

General Marcus Acacius

Love is Heartbreak // @myownwholewildworld Kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for.

Frankie Morales

Eyes on the Mirror // @itwasntimethatdidit40 You're at a turning point in your relationship with Frankie, he tells you that his mother insists on meeting you.

Agent Jack Daniel’s

Rope & Ride // @magpiepills Jack gets more than he bargained for when he gets too comfortable doing surveillance

ICYMI (Previous Fic Recs): December Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika 🖤

[be-my-ally]

A Little More Action Please

woah it's been a while. I won't pretend this is anything more than simple smutty fic - it's not the same universe, but not dissimilar to my suspicious minds one-shots - stand alone p without plot one-shots.

Here's a 1969-70 Elvis fic about the opening night parties for Nancy Sinatra's shows - either occasion can be imagined here but I've placed it within the '69 party. OC reader - 'you' x Elvis in an established relationship.

warnings: afab reader x elvis, p in v sex, fingering, slightly cringy arguments.

wc: 4103

I've used my last taglist from the last fic I posted, but since that was literally months (a year???) ago it may be way outdated now! - I deleted any that seemed to be deactivated - idk how much I'll be posting but if you desperately want to be tagged whenever I upload lmk.

Las Vegas 1969 

Elvis’ been stressed lately. It didn’t come out at you, so much as it seemed to just come out all the damn time, and it was made worse by the fact he wouldn’t share what it was that was so displeasing him; hurried talks with his father and the Colonel that didn’t ever seem to be shared. He’d had a lot on his plate, the rehearsals for his own show, the last minute concerns about how his serious film would be received.  Yet despite the rough edge to him he’d been more like how you remember him being described before you knew him - self-confident and assured. He was worried about how the film or show would be received - sure, but not how he would be. Totally unlike the nerves that have been festering in the background of the past few years.  Even though tonight has literally nothing to do with him he’s somehow made it feel like a celebration; a culmination of the week, of the month, of the reintroduction of Elvis at his most confident. His own performances have been a glorious success, those first few audiences lapping up the palpable relief in the atmosphere, a giddying sort of joy found in everyone - and most of all, him.

You watch him working the room, effortlessly it seems, and you wonder how he does it; he’s so good at it, naturally too - there’s nothing false or forced about it. He laughs just the right amount, even when it’s clear the joke isn’t funny, knows exactly when to interject, when to move on. It spins your head watching him and you’re envious of his ease. It’s not as easy for you - it’s still a fairly new environment; you’d barely been out of Tennessee before this month and with it comes all the nerves and anxiety of the first time. It reminds you of the first time you’d been invited into Graceland, being so very unsure of what to do - what the protocol was, and yet thrust in - excitement fluttering in your stomach dancing with the nerves. The last few nights had been fun, he’d barely left your side and it had all felt so romantic, so exciting, as he took you to the other shows, showing you Vegas, showing you off to what felt like the whole world. 

You glance over at him again across the room, where his palm still rests on her back, her delicate laughter echoing across to you. She looks like a fairy in white, bright blonde hair dazzling in the light. His thumb moves on her back, and you can feel it as if he’s touched you himself. You blink, considering the situation. Perhaps you can blame the alcohol, you don’t normally drink this much. Maybe there’s no need to blame anything. Maybe it’s just understandable that with your boyfriend ignoring you you’d take the opportunity to talk to interesting people without him hovering over you. Yet as you loudly laugh again at her father, drink spilling out of your champagne flute, you feel the slightest tendril of guilt take hold around your chest. 

Elvis turns, as if sensing you, with that look of mild distaste that you’ve grown accustomed to making your stomach twist even though it’s not normally aimed at you. Eyes narrowing even as the smile remains on his face. Your giggles subside, and you regretfully remove your hand from where it was daintily resting on Frank’s elbow. You act as if you didn’t notice or feel his glare, smoothing the soft cling of your dress down and politely excusing yourself. 

The bathroom, as always at these kinds of events, is not the place of solitude you would like it to be, girls patting their already poreless pale faces with more pale powder, and gossiping to one another, lips sticky from touch-ups pressing kisses onto coupe glasses. Yet, eventually, they file out and with a pointed look and nod from you, and a tiny bit of cash, the bathroom attendant follows - shutting the door behind herself. You lock the door. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, heavy makeup under strangely bright lights for a powder room making you look like a child that had stolen their mother’s make-up. It was all far, far more than you’d usually apply. Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you tremble, biting your lip - desperate not to cry and ruin it more than the sweat already has. You don’t even know why you’re so stressed - nothing had been said, you’d not made a fool of yourself but it was like all the days and nights out of your comfort zone were catching up at once as you stood there. 

“Get a grip,” You sing-whisper to yourself, “he won’t invite you next time, if you don’t get a goddamn grip,” as you lazily splash cold water onto your wrists. Wondering if you pretended to be nonchalant for long enough that you might actually become it. The doorknob rattles and you pause, still as a statue - like the prey of a predator, as though the intruder could see you through the door unless you stood still enough. 

You breathe a sigh of relief when it stops before an insistent knock takes it place. You stay silent, hoping they’d just go away. It wasn’t like there wasn’t another bathroom option just down the hallway.  That fails and after another aggressive knock your voice shakes when you shout back that you’ll be right out. 

“It’s me.” You feel your eyebrows rise in surprise at him coming to find you, had you really been that long? You struggle to think if he’s ever come to find you if you separated away from the main crowd at a gathering. 

“I’ll - I’ll be out in a second.” 

“Just let me in - quick, ‘fore someone sees.” The last half of the sentence is muffled, as if Elvis has placed his face to the door, keen not to be overheard. The panic his whisper inspires was enough for you to unthinkingly throw open the door, even though a rational part of your brain was telling you there was no need to stress, and wondering what the issue would be with someone seeing him waiting in a hallway. He saunters in as if he was never worried anyway, peering around like he was curious to see the inside.

“What’re you doin’ all holed up in here?” He frowns, looking at you like you were a child who’d wandered off.  You laugh, attempting to mimic her delicate way - like something bouncing off glass, but it falls flat and you internally flinch.  

“Noth-nothing, I was just, it was just a bit overwhelming s’all. I needed a break for a minute. I was just on my way out again.” You feel the redness creeping up your chest to your cheeks; you don’t even really understand why you’re so embarrassed but you are. He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, and it annoys you enough that somehow you become brave enough to stutter out the rest of your thoughts, “I don’t much like you lookin’ at me like that though.” 

He shuts the door behind him, locking it again, “What’dya mean?” He says in a tone that means he knows exactly what you mean, “I’ve not been in here, why would I be lookin’ at you like anything?” 

“You know what you’re doing.” He has the same face that you were just describing, a kind of patronising bemusement. “You’re looking at me, and making me feel like I’ve done something wrong when I haven’t.” You repeat yourself when he doesn’t respond,”I haven’t!” He hums ignoring you, and steps forward to examine his own face in the mirror. He shakes out his collar, straightening it back against his neck. “Elvis, I’m serious! You’re not, you’re not being nice - it’s not fair to make me feel like I’m in the wrong!” He sighs, turning to look at you rather than at your reflections, tugging you towards him with a grip on your wrist. He looks down at the counter while his thumb strokes your pulse-point like a little boy scuffing his shoe across the floor. 

“Y’were laughing.”  You feel like laughing now, it’s all so predictable - that’s what he was glaring about?

“Elvis, that’s…that’s ridiculous. I thought you were way past this - this weird hang up you have with him.” He scoffs, 

“What?” You hope he acts better than this in his new film, “I don’t care who! But, jus’, you never laugh with me at the moment.” You roll your eyes at his very obvious lie, 

“Oh my lord Elvis, he’s… he’s very charming - you know that! But he’s, he’s, I don’t know,  fifty or something!” He pulls you in closer, 

“Y’sayin’ you don’t like old men baby? Forgettin’ how old I am?” Elvis rubs both of his hands up your arms, making you sink into the sensation even as you internally laugh at his predictability. 

“You’re barely thirty Elvis. Don’t be silly.” 

“ ‘m thirty-four baby.” You roll your eyes, used to his over exaggeration of his age. 

“Exactly.” 

“Well, yeah, but you’re just a young lil thing ain’t ya?” His fingers crawled up your arms, to tickle under your chin, “Just a little bitty baby. Lil’ bitty baby girl.” 

You can feel yourself melting into the baby talk, exactly as he intended it, can sense the unlikely but underlying apology. But, he’s riled you up enough that you don’t want to just accept it. You tut, shaking your head away from his hand. 

“Well sure, but so’s Nancy. You weren’t wasting time ‘catching up’ with her were you?” He’s stunned for a second, blinking at you, and if you were going to back-track, now is your last chance. 

“Now hold on a moment,” He shakes his head, tone hardening, “It is her party, baby. I gotta be pol-” 

“I mean, the whole time you’re there with Nancy - I’m there with Frank, being polite. It’s a double standard El!” He leans back, 

“No, no, no, because she invite-“ 

“You oughta be thanking me! Keeping him distracted from having to watch you sniffing around her! And God, fuckin’ Tina too! and who knows who else!” He steps back, dropping your arms completely. 

“You gonna talk to me like that?” 

“If the goddamn shoe fits Elvis.” 

“I’m just doin’ what I gotta do, and you have no right,” He’s talking through gritted teeth, hissing it at you, “No fuckin’ right to tell me what I can or can’t do. I knew you couldn’t handle it - knew this would all be too much for you out here. But you insisted! You promised you’d come out here and behave for me.” He shakes his head, “I swear - I’ll fuckin’ send you back home to Memphis,” You roll your eyes and he jabs a finger at you, “I swear to god you needta stop being so, so - fucking naive.” He’s really getting going now, “I swear, you’re just -” You cut him off before he can say anything else, muttering, 

“Yeah well - maybe I want to go.” 

“If you’re gonna talk like that to me, you can at least be brave ‘nough to make sure I can hear you -“

“I said! Maybe it ain’t a threat if I wanna go.” He sucks a breath through his teeth,  “Maybe I’m sick and tired of you gettin’ all the fucking fun” He flinches - hates it when you swear, “Tired of watching you gettin’ to fool around and now I want my turn? You ever consider that?” You think about stopping for a brief second, sensing his quiet wasn’t because he was calming down, but now that you’re having it out you really can’t help wanting to push that tiny bit further now. “Maybe I was flirting with Frank fucking Sinatra. Maybe! Maybe I was doing it to make someone else jealous - you ever consider that El?” He opens his mouth and you speed up talking, the rest of the words tumbling out of your mouth at record speed before he can interrupt you, “That maybe that wasn’t even you. Maybe there was someone other than you lookin’ at me.” 

You jump as his fist makes contact with the countertop. You manage to gain enough control of yourself despite your jackhammering heartbeat to watch impassively as his fingers rapidly begin to swell up from the dense tile. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“Goddamn, look what I’ve done?” He’s roaring at you, and you wince at the finger jabbing into your chest. “You- you stand there, humiliatin’ me, lookin’ like that and I swear to god above baby, I’ll kill whoever was lookin’ at you I swear to god, we go out there and you point ‘em out to me, and I’ll fuckin’ kill them.” You don’t point out the irony that he had dressed you for this evening, he’s rubbing his swelling fingers as seems to lose steam “And, and - I’ll, I swear -  you thinkin’ about leavin’ me?” You think about keeping it up a little longer, and really you know you should be considering it more seriously, but you also don’t want to leave him. 

“No.” He nods, self-satisfied, fingers still caressing his bruised knuckles. He takes a breath in. 

“See - exactly. You’re just tryin’ get a rise outta me. ‘S not nice. That’s not - nice girls don’t do that baby, they don’t do that.” You hum, 

“Maybe I’m not nice.” He snorts, 

“Nah, you’re not bad jus’, jus’ all riled up,” He turns you with a grip on your upper arm to be leaning against the counter, pushing you to the edge until you get the message and hop up onto it. His hands knead your legs, and the metal of the bands around his fingers brushes you, his sleeve tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Getting me all riled up, s’not nice.” He huffs it as he leans into you, gripping the back of your neck to pull your lips onto his. It’s intense and hungry, and you can’t remember the last time you felt desperation like this, craving more of him. Your hands come up to finger into his hair, clutching at the slippery-soft strands as he takes total and absolute control of the kiss, of your mind and body. Your head falls back when he pulls away, breathless. 

He’s grinning at you when he leans back - that smug little smile on his face that makes you want to storm off or smack him, but instead you give in to your other urge. Gripping the pointy edge of his collar in one hand, your other comes up to clutch at him, freshly trimmed sideburns tickling your palm.

 He lets you kiss him, pressing kisses onto his chin, his cheek, his lips. You can’t seem to get close enough to satisfy yourself, and your legs wrap around his waist, the skirt of your dress rising up. Elvis’ fingers press into your thighs as he holds you down onto the counter, and you squirm as the heat builds. He huffs a little laugh even as he leads the kiss again, biting down on the edge of too hard on your bottom lip. You slide back with the force of it until you’re leaning, head against the mirror, and he leans against you while he unbuttons his jacket - roughly throwing it open as much as possible, and you try to lean forward, to shove it down his arms - get it off now. But you’re distracted by the way it pulls his already unbuttoned shirt lower down, and by him moving to rapidly finger open another several buttons, his chest unveiling itself. He’s tan and lean, and you can’t do anything but stare for a second. There’s a thin layer of hair leading lower and you find your hands moving of their own accord. They explore his chest and you feel it move with each inhale and exhale of breath he takes, feel how his intake stutters for a second when you twist his nipple. 

Your hands get in the way of him taking anything off further, and he has to shove you off of him to hastily unbuckle his belt and untuck his silky shirt. He doesn’t bother to take it off - leaving it hanging off of him. Elvis leans back, bitten lips slightly puffy, lipstick smudged across his cheeks and you can’t imagine what your own face looks like or how he’ll go back to the party, but most of the red seems to smear across your own skin as he brings his head back down to your chest, sucking a bruise that you already know your thin halter dress, that’s currently been so carelessly pushed to one side, won’t cover. 

Elvis’ hands roam over you, long fingers of one hand gripping your neck to hold you steady, the other shifting to brush against your skin until his fingertips are dancing over your breast. He sinks down further, light kisses pressing onto you - past his own hand to your lower sternum, before leaning back for a moment.  You gasp as he suddenly tugs you to be barely balanced on the edge of the counter, his hands holding you up as much as they hold you down. Your own hands have to fly back to support yourself to be upright enough to watch him, resting on your elbows. He bends down and you can’t help the whine coming from your mouth at his fingertips inching closer to your inner thigh, how he shoves your dress even further up and out of the way. Elvis moves lower, crouching further down until he’s eye level with your spread legs. 

“Gotta be quiet, honey,” He mutters it against your thigh, his breath tickling as he mouths at your sensitive skin there, “Keep quiet baby, you can do it, that’s it, that’s right -” You can feel him grinning at you, at the way your leg twitches and your attempts at stifling the noises coming out of your mouth, 

“That -oh fuck, Jesus - that tickles - god Elvis,” He shakes his head, knocking against your knees, 

“Gotta watch that mouth, honey, … haveta wash it out if you keep that up.” You can feel him grinning against you and you groan, swearing again, “The mouth on you baby,” You roll your eyes at the irony considering where his was currently nibbling at the crease of your inner thigh, cheek against the lace of your underwear. He leans back for a brief second and you find the words to respond, 

“The mouth - El - the mouth on me?” He chuckles, and he moves forward, head disappearing between your thighs and you tense as you anticipate his lips, his tongue, his breath, anything, on you. You tremble, relaxing and tensing again in quick succession, hips moving at the damp feeling of his hot breath against the fabric, waiting for him to touch. But it never comes. “Elvis!” He moves his hand further up to nestle in the fold of your hip as he stands himself upright again. 

“Don’t have time for that, honey, not right now, gotta - we gotta get a move on,” You nod, resigned, about to stand up yourself, “Where d’ya think you’re going?” You blink, a little dazed and confused - heart pounding. 

“Y-you said we hadta -”

“I can’t go out there like this,” He gestures down at himself, his shirt undone, belt unbuckled, and his trousers straining to hold the bulk of him.  He makes it sound so obvious, and then delicately, like a tease, “But we can’t stay here all night -“ You shake your head, playing along;

“So - So, what should we do?” Elvis doesn’t respond with words, but he moves closer again, spreading your legs further apart to accommodate the bulk of him between them. 

Finally, finally, his fingers slip up to the apex of your thighs. He presses against the damp fabric of your underwear, pressing the sticky lace against you, there’s a slight irritation as it catches on your hair and you squirm at the sensation. At the feeling of the slide and the stickiness. 

“Fuck baby, you’re… fuck, s’that what…thats what he’s done to you?” You shake your head, even as his eyes twinkle at you, 

“No, no, it’s, god - it’s you El, Elvis, it’s - I’ve never felt like this for anyone else.” 

“That right, huh,” He’s slimmer than one, or two years ago, and it’s weird that you can feel the difference in his fingers, but he’s sure of himself oh so sure of himself as he uses a single finger to stroke down the centre of your labia.  He presses his finger against your folds, his thumb rapidly moving higher up and your hips jerk with it, grounding circles though you can’t move far with his grip on your thigh and you whine as he shoves your underwear to the side, undoubtedly stretching them beyond repair and slides his pointer and middle finger in to you, bending them just so.

He pulls away and you pant, but at last he’s unbuttoning his trousers, the last button holding his body from yours, and there’s nothing delicate about it anymore as Elvis slams into you. Your eyes close in anticipation as you expect to bump your head on the mirror, the force of him pushing you to slip across the smooth tile of the counter, but his hands pull you back to him, rocking you back and forth onto him. You’re embarrassingly close, and a swipe of his fingers, along with a slight change of angle is enough to make you shudder satisfactorily if not overwhelmingly. 

He’s evidently close too as he jack-hammers into you, and your hands, now knowing you don’t need to support yourself, clutch at his shoulders, watching the dim lighting bounce across his glistening bronzed chest and face - mouth open as he finishes. He stays curled over you for a moment as he catches his breath. 

Elvis pulls away, grabbing the hand towel from the side and wiping himself off. He does it so matter of factly that it’s almost humiliating, making your tummy flip. 

He rinses his hands, shaking them out before buttoning and buckling himself back up. 

“Yer being foolish out there. Makin’ a scene.”  He gathers himself further, slicking his hand with a little running water and pushing back his edges. Other than his bitten lips and hint of red high on his cheekbones he looks astonishingly put together again but you’re still in a daze on the counter, your legs spread next to him, panties aside. He looks over at you. 

“I’m goin’ back out.” You nod shakily, 

“I’ll, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Elvis’ face hardens, lips pressed tightly together again. He shakes his head, “You’re going to bed.” You’re outraged, legs slamming shut as you sit upright. 

“Well yes sir,” you salute sarcastically, “You can’t just declare that I have to do something and I have to jump to d -” He smirks, eyebrow raising and you can feel the heat rising again up your face in annoyance at his patronising expression, “I’m not a child - you can’t send me to my room like a child Elvis.” You make it a statement as if that will stop him from debating it further. His whole facial expression changes, clearly no longer finding your dissidence amusing. 

“I fuckin’ can. You ain’t goin’ back out there lookin’ like that - so you can either go to bed, or you can go straighta the airport.” He roughly pulls you off the counter, turning you to stare in the mirror and you have to take in the image of yourself, bruises bitten onto the skin above your neckline, skirt hitched and thighs marked, your eyeliner running, lipstick smeared. 

“I’ll..I’ll go to bed.” He nods satisfied, slapping your ass, 

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pulls you into his arms, “I’ll be up soon, you just hang tight till then right?” You nod back at him, and he takes a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at your cheeks. “Just, just gotta - there. Try not to be seen?” You nod in agreement again, having seen yourself you had no interest in a photo being taken of your current state even if you dread him going back out there alone, the inevitable photos of him laughing, looking at someone else. 

taglist: @lookingforrainbows @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen  @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @elvisabutler @eliseinmemphis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @missmaywemeetagain @ooihcnoiwlerh @from-memphis-with-love @dkayfixates

[exhaustedpirate]

tommy offers buck a bumper sticker he finds in a novelty shop two months before the breakup, buck loves it

it's also how tommy knows that buck's car is involved in an accident

[addictofreading]

I drew this in support of Pride Month, but also because even though it's 2023 I still, for some unknown reason, enjoy the hell out of the Klance ship.

These boys make me so happy sometimes it's stupid.

[mr-and-mr-mitchell]

You Can Take The Girl Out Of Sparta, But You Can't Take Sparta Out Of The Girl

After two long years since her husband's abduction, Penelope and her team embark on a rescue mission.

[bucktommyweek]

Getting to Know You - Masterlist

Week 1: Favourite Things

Ddn’t know what  was missing, til you walked in like a vision by reyesdiaz

Something to Share by jamesandanthony

Take off and fly and dive right in by hearteyestommykinard

Tommy’s Favourite Things by Regent_of_Rarepairs

Craft Beer & Love, Actually by Regent_of_Rarepairs

Week 2: A Good Morning

Yours by jamesandanthony

Why do stars fall out of the sky when you walk by thefootnotes

My eyes are caught in your gaze all over again by aesthetictarlos

Week 3: A Bad Night

All Through the Night by jamesandanthony

Put the pain behind you now, we don’t need it anymore by thefootnotes

I was never meant to fight on my own by aesthetictarlos

------

Thank you for those who participated, all of your fics are amazing and I can't wait to read them properly, kudos and comment.

Please give these writers some love, they definitely deserve it.

If your fic is missing or you've filled a prompt late comment on this post.

Wishing you all well, and warmth and love.

@alilypea

[hendolish]

England NT Fic Recs ♡

never know where to start for a pairing or you're new to england nt rpf? here's a shameless collection of my favourite fics to give you a head start 🫶🏻 ———

Jack Grealish/Jordan Henderson

melt by inlovewithnight (8k)

soulmate au where you feel everything your soulmate does and can't bear being too far away from each other. they're just so at ease and in love with each other in this. probably my favourite hendolish fic! <3

About as subtle as an earthquake, I know by Lizz_88 (Bluejay00) (68k)

jack's a stripper, jordan's himself. so much more than what it says on the tin! all the characters are super complex and it takes a lot of work for these two to get together (with no shortage of lap dances and smut along the way) <3

Calm Before The Storm by preachingdoll (6k)

post-euro 2020 heartbreak jack needs a bit of help coping. jordan's there to offer a helping hand... the smut and dirty talk is 10/10

best worst behaviour by Bellelaide (25k)

kind of a hendolish classic, jordan puts bratty jack in his place.

♡

John Stones/Jordan Pickford

Sun City AU by Bellelaide (series, 40k)

honestly one of my favourite fics ever, let alone footie-wise. jordan's on a very british all-inclusive holiday at a hotel where john works. the vibes are just immaculate, you can visualise everything so clearly and there's so much depth to their characters!

Ice Melts by Bellelaide (7k)

enemies to lovers kinda? john doesn't think much of jordan before the 2018 wc but the further they get in the tournament, the closer they become. amazing characterisation and banter as always.

Helping Hand by slatkomore (14k)

with john's career ended abruptly by an injury, he turns to coaching instead and soon becomes the england u19s manager where he meets the goalkeeper coach, jordan pickford...

your world cup or mine? by Bellelaide (15k)

john goes to sleep at the 2022 wc and wakes up back in 2018 where he and jordan aren't together and barely friends. such an interesting concept and dynamic!

♡

Jack Grealish/John Stones

The Things We Did and Didn't Do by InTheFicOfIt (series, 104k)

john and jack sleep together in the aftermath of the euros, the following fic explores everything that comes after, including jack moving to man city and their friends finding out. i'm never usually tempted by this pairing but this fic is so damn good! it's written so wonderfully and there's so much of it- i couldn't put it down!

♡

Ben white/Aaron Ramsdale

happy together by foxholecourts (1k)

this fic perfectly encapsulates their vibe for me. the back and forth between the two of them is just delightful and exactly how i imagine them to be together, but it's also as equally sappy! i love these two idiots sm <3

watching you watching me by foxholecourts (2k)

ben likes to be watched... 10/10 benaaron characterisation from this author as always.

sweettalker by Anonymous (5k)

smut with a lot of dirty talk about the other arsenal lads. ben is very complex in this- an interesting take on their relationship!

I’m Not In Love by ceraunophilex (1k)

aaron falls in love immediately, ben slowly warms to him. short and sweet.

♡

Jordan Henderson/Trent Alexander-Arnold

Shake Me Into the Night by orphan_account (17k)

always hits me right in the feels. based around liverpool winning the champions league, the writing is so detailed and amazing!!

♡

Jude Bellingham/Reece James

the sun and the rainfall by ohsusie (series, 6k)

jude asks reece about some of the rumours surrounding him to help him broach a sensitive topic of his own. reece gives him some guidence. they're so sweet in this!

♡

Dele Alli/Eric Dier

In This World Of Ours by dierdele (53k)

the classic deledier best friends to lovers 2018 world cup get-together fic. you can't beat it, literally so cute oml.

♡

Marcus Rashford/Jesse Lingard

both your hands in the holes of my sweater by yvenger (jjjat3am) (3k)

this one is so much fun hehe, the ~2018 man u squad if they were a sunday league team where jesse's very confident and marcus has a huge crush on him. love the inner dialogue so, so much. ending is super cute!!

i can feel that body shake by princessrosberg (3k)

an england nt night out leads to them getting together and their first time! jesse and marcus characterisations are on point, esp the way they talk to each other <3

♡

Harry Kane/Gareth Southgate

All Good Things... by orphan_account (12k)

their established relationship is so cute in this! post-2018 wc and preparing for the euros, england team banter is perfect.

wished by orphan_account (23k)

gareth is harry's p.e teacher at school. listen… no comment... there's a reason it's the most kudos-ed southkane fic

♡

[transthatmasc]

Hollering

[chaniiverse]

any good chanhee fics that you recommend? there isnt a lot of new biased peopel

Oh my. I love this ask so much! As a channie girlie there really is so less fics of my man 😭. It physically hurts but I re-read so manyyyy of the ones which are out there.

Simple gifts: by @sungbeam

This is like the first ever fluff (?) I read of Chanhee which stuck to me. I literally went to Beam’s DMs crying to her about this fic because I just love this so much 😭. I did not stop thinking about this fic for WEEKS especially the line “I am lonely but not when you’re here” it’s just so Chanhee coded!

That’s him, that’s just who he is: by @from-izzy

The first ever fic Izz wrote and that also for ME! Yes people, it’s for me 🥺🫶🏻. When I was reading this I literally started balling my eyes out because of how sad it was. I even sent a pic of me crying too Izz 😭💀. It’s not everyday you’d find a fic about the struggles my man went through and Izz literally depicted it all so well :)

The warmest winter: by @from-izzy

The roller coasters of ride izz went through when riding this fic was so 😭🥲. She really gave it her all when writing this sweet thing and she did not disappoint us Chanhee lovers because she ate AND served 💪. Tbh this fic is just so pure 🥺 the way chani gets jealous of Juyo (I love jealous men and I kid you not I am a possessive chani believer) made me want to bang my head against the wall SHSHSHSHSHS

Redemption of love: by @winterchimez

You guys don’t know how much I love this series 😔. I have never watched any musicals (NOT MY FAULT NOTHING LIKE THAT IS IN MUMBAI OKAY??) but I genuinely saw this one clip (it was in the first chapter of this fic) of the chandelier falling and oh my the way I was like “I NEED TO WATCH THIS MUSICAL!?” But not only do I love this fic because it’s Chanhee but also because ik how much this means to Als 🥺🫶🏻.

Even if the world caves,: by @kimsohn

Yall shru wrote this fic for me and me only and I will die while holding this fic close to my heart because it means a lot to me and I love this very much just the way I love my shru. The way I went through so many different emotions while reading this fic 😭. Like omg I get enemies2lovers AND a cameo of Vernon?? It’s a good day to die yeah? You guys have to read this fic written by shru ASAP!

# ur such an emo!: by @cloverdaisies

I will never shut up about the fic written by clo because they’re just so magical and makes me want Chanhee more than ever. Tbh this was such a surprise for me when clo said she wrote a fic for me 🥺. I already knew that she was busy with her work and all and then she just goes “Sana I wrote a Chanhee fic for your birthday.” Out of nowhere and me just sitting there balling my eyes out because 🥺🫶🏻. And then again we love enemies2lovers in this household especially when it comes to Chanhee so yes. We love this fic dearly.

Black hearts: by @cloverdaisies

The way clo depicted all the prompts given by me and @winterchimez in this fic has me on chokehold ngl 😭. I went to sleep after talking with ally and clo and then when I woke up BOOM BAM POW Clo had posted it already. I lowkey screamed when I saw this and the way it literally has all of our biases in this fic 🥺😭. Side note: I miss our lil trio yall 😭🥺. Late night chats again when 😭.

Valentines win: by @strayed-quokka

Omg my lenlen 🥺🫶🏻. She dedicated this one for me. Ha! *flips hair* be jealous 😍🫵. I was smiling like crazy when reading this fic of hers tho, the way Chanhee was like “no I am going to win this for you. I am not gonna back out” made my heart melt 🥺. Because we all know Chanhee is not a sporty type of person so him trying to win this just made me want to bash my head against the wall 😭🤧. And the fact that it was a POKÉMON SOFT TOY MADE IT MORE BETTER SISJDJDJ.

Chanhee with a girly gf: by @astrae4

If I don’t mention this one it’d be a serious crime and I do not want to go in jail 😭😢. This is the first ever work i read of Gill (that’s a lie. The first one was the channie smau) and this literally made me giggle so much 😭🥺. It has been a while since I read this again but we love this fic a lot 💪

Lipstick stains: by @slytherinshua

This very fic of Chanhee made me fall in love with him even more. Like you don’t get this fic the way I do. It literally took me out of my writers slump 😭🤧. It literally made me want to read other fics again because it reminded me that there are still good writers out there who write for my man 😭🥺. And u get husband channie. What else do you want? Be fr 😭

Something blue: by @deobienthusiast

I was beta reading this fic for K and I divorced Sangyeon and married Chanhee instead. End of the story. I was literally balling my eyes out because no way in hell would I treat my best friend (why be a best friend when you can be my best boyfriend tho?) Chanhee the way the reader did 🙄. Like?? But I love how Chanhee still showed up to her wedding (wanna make it our wedding instead?) despite everything the reader said to him 😭.

I think if you guys want a part two of this plz let me know 🥺🫶🏻. I would have added some smuts but idk if you’re a minor or an adult so 😭. In the part two (if you guys ever want it) imma add the ones I read on Wattpad too! (There’s only two but whatever)

Here’s some Chanhee for a good day ahead!

[buckssuspenders]

Take What You Need, Darling

By allyasavedtheday

Summary:

“Who are you?”

And Eddie intends to answer him, he really does, except-

“You must be Eddie,” the woman says, her earlier hostile tone being replaced with the utmost civility. “Maddie’s fiancé.”

Evan reels back like he’s been punched, snapping his gaze frantically between Eddie and Maddie. “Maddie’s what?”

“How rude of us,” the woman says, drifting away from Maddie’s bedside to come stand in front of him instead. “Eddie, I’m Margaret and this is my husband, Phillip. It really is so lovely to meet you.”

*

A Buddie While You Were Sleeping au.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 14,048

Status: Complete (1/1)

[be-my-ally]

Crash Landing

(aka Big Bunny 4)

Wheeew, only 6 months later than I intended! it's 4am and somehow, despite spending forever on this, I fear the grammar may be janky - so apologies for that. This follows directly from The Lisa-Marie, and the masterlist for the series is linked here!

This is the last of the planned ‘main’ chapters, but there are some time jumps in this and the last chapter, so if anyone has any requests for any bunny/elvis one shots pop them into my inbox and I’ll see what I can do. I have a few little plans to fill out some of the gaps, but no promises on when they might appear. 

warnings: 18+, some mild sexism, p in v, oral (v receiving), afab!reader, skiing, allusions to poor health, Elvis is swearing like… a lot in this chapter. Make of that what you will. References to drug use. THIS ENDS IN JULY 1977 - AUGUST IS IMPLIED. wc: 14k I don’t know what to say - there was meant to be a brief skiing interlude and then all of a sudden I’m 10k in and they’re still in Colorado. 

Early 1977  

Linda is gone for good, finally some of the guys would say, and you couldn’t totally say that you disagreed. It had been stressful - the ups and downs of their relationship, being caught in the crossfires. You had enough experience to know it wasn’t really specific to her but nonetheless it had still been somewhat difficult to witness. It had been hard to face her on the jet, knowing what Elvis was saying behind her back; how adamant he was for them to be over. On the way between stops in the October tour he’d sat on the couch on the plane, glistening with the sweat from the show and still dressed in his white jumpsuit with red flames jumping up his chest, he’d tugged you over, uncaring of the others in the room. Telling you that you were the only girl he could trust to have his back, that he didn’t even know why he kept her around. He didn’t seem to remember, and you didn’t care to remind him that he’d told you the same thing back in June too. Every time she’d suddenly reappear - his desperation to be looked after superseding any desire he may have had to say goodbye to her. Why you couldn’t be enough for him you didn’t know. 

Then, almost immediately after Linda’s gone - and, admittedly, briefly before she was too - you’re meeting this new girl, Ginger, albeit rarely. Elvis for some reason putting her on the Jetstar with her family more than with him. In some ways it helps - the fact that she’s not there all the time, in others it makes you feel awful — his rush fiancee and her family seemingly not even willing or wanting to travel with him. It’s mostly a slow season over the winter though and for some reason Georgia is getting more hours than you and so, you’re forced to say goodbye to your examination of the inner workings of his private life until after the New Year break. It ends up being early February before you get a call to come in for one of his vacation whims.  

It feels like it’s been an age since you last saw Elvis even though it had barely been a six weeks, and you felt guilty that it had felt so nice to relax a little. It was hard when you spoke to your friends, and all their careers or mothering sounded so stressful all the time, they were all jealous of your ‘easy’ job, the extra benefits sounding all too impressive.  Where else would you get a new wardrobe paid for? A shiny new car sat outside for you, or an apartment rented? But it was hard to explain without giving away too much, how it was impossible for you to ever really turn off; how you thought about him all the time, worried about him all the time, even when you were at home.  

He hadn’t been difficult to manage the last couple of months of the year, at least, not as bad as the middle and start of the year, but his moods had turned almost overwhelmingly blue, and it had been tricky to level your tone and actions to appropriately comfort him. You’d started feeling on edge every flight, worried and insecure. So, the break had been nice. It had given you a chance to re-evaluate, take a breather and consider what was best for you to do.  

Elvis himself called to wish you a Merry Christmas, he’d been sweet and kind and promised you a gift even as he made small talk that you knew he disliked, even if he was good at it in that southern way, and it had made you hate him just a little. Your chest aching with the feel that he was treating you like a total stranger. It hadn’t improved when you’d returned to your Memphis apartment from your parent’s house and discovered a card had been delivered in your absence. “Season's Greetings, Elvis and the Colonel and Friends.” You’d allowed yourself the briefest of cries staring at yourself in the mirror while the blotchiness crawled up your neck. You were still an ugly crier despite your best efforts. It’s the final straw, you thought to yourself as you stared at your wild eyes and messy hair where you’d tugged your hands through it. You’ll see it through the summer. Then you’re done. That’ll be just enough time to work out what to do next - maybe you’d go back to school. You dried your eyes, patting yourself on the cheeks. That’s it. Decision made. You refused to give it any more thought. Especially, about why you didn’t just quit immediately if you were planning on it later anyway, not willing to admit to yourself you wanted to give him another chance more than anything else. It was just altogether too much, being the girl on the side of the girl on the side, having to balance being his friend, employee and lover. But you’d had your moment, and you were using your trusty technique of just not. thinking. about. it. anymore.  

You were nervous as you tied your little necktie and pulled at your hem from where you were sure your dress had shrunk over the past month, preparing to greet the men loading onto the plane. It was informal, as it normally was, and you looked back somewhat fondly to your days on Big Bunny, where everything was written and handbooked out with the proper procedure for every situation. Now it was just up to you to decide what to do for every eventuality. In this situation you made the brave decision to hide. So, you tuck yourself away in the galley on the other side of the little half wall, waiting until enough of them have boarded that you’ll be forced to peek out and say hello. There were more people loading on than during the last tour, and despite the extra numbers you knew you were handling this mostly alone - Georgia had been unable to come in under such short notice; something about a grandmother. So not only were your nerves shot worrying about when you should tell Elvis you were quitting and how it felt like you were harbouring some awful secret, you were also having to steel yourself to be overworked and run down by the time you were able to get off the plane. When you peek out around the partition you get the first glance of him and you’re a little embarrassed at how you can feel a flush start to rise just from that look.  

He looks not dissimilar to how he did that first day on Big Bunny - open collared shirt and jogging jacket on - this time a navy blue with a baby blue stripe down the shoulder and arm. He looks good - like you could just burrow into him, and you’re relieved that the sudden demand for your appearance isn’t for something panic-inducing from the way he’s smiling and chatting - laughing with Charlie and Joe. You’d been a little concerned that the rapidity of the request was hiding a more sinister origin after a similar call had preceded a rush to the hospital last summer. But he was looking good, really good actually. Somehow his face had lost some of its puffiness it’d been holding onto and he was a far better colour than you’d gotten used to - perhaps a high from the success of his New Year’s concert as he’d been pleased with the reaction and reviews or maybe even just high off the excitement of his, apparently, serious relationship with Ginger. Although, evidently not altogether that serious since she wasn’t joining them; you’d already decided you’d keep your thoughts about that to yourself. You shyly watch him from across the plane where he’s already sat himself down, comfortable in his own space and leaning against the back - his legs spread wide, retelling some story you’ve already heard once before. You take a deep breath before heading around the little partition, fully intending on acting as if you had an important job to do by the door. You managed to keep the ruse up long enough to shut the door and let Ron know you were all set to go, long enough to hand out drinks and cigars and let them all settle in,  but you couldn’t pass directly by him again without him noticing you, and his arm shoots out, grabbing your wrist as you go to walk past. You barely have a chance to notice his hold on you before he’s pulling you in, forcing you to bend over in order to accept a kiss on the cheek in greeting. You can’t explain why you’re so nervous, but you find your tummy flipping at the close proximity to him. With anxiety or excitement, you can’t quite tell. In some ways it’s slightly more forward than you’d expected from him for having not seen him in a month, but perhaps you had just gotten used to him ignoring you in the months prior.  

“Good evening, Elvis.” It’s a fine line between polite and aloof, and you can already tell you’ll be reliving this interaction all night. His eyes are bright with amusement at your formality when he gazes back at you, his thumb still gently stroking over your wrist.   

“Well, it is now.” He grins as you visibly cringe at his cheesiness, “Good evening to you too, honey.” He looks you over as he lets go of your hand, allowing you to stand back up, and eyeing your hemline, “‘re you ready for the cold?”  

“Hopefully it’s not gonna be too cold on the plane,” You stumble over your words in nerves, “but I can always turn the heat up a little - “Elvis shakes his head, 

“Nah, I’ll keep you toasty, hon, snug as a, as a bug.” You struggle to regain your composure as your mind flickers with images of just how he could be keeping you warm.  

“Hmm, I suppose you’ll have to since someone makes me wear this. But I’m pretty well covered anyway.” You grin in response to his smirk when you gesture down at your stockinged legs.  

“Well, that’s real good doll,” He runs a hand through his thick hair, letting a hint of the grey around his temples show as he pushes it back, and you find yourself missing the steadying warmth of his grip, “but you know - we’re stopping in Vail.”  

You pause, unsure how to put it politely, “Mmhmm, that’s what Elwood tells me.” He frowns, leaning back and settling even further into the seat, arm spreading across the back rest and he shifts so his thighs are encasing you.  

“Alright then miss know-it-all, tell me what I was gonna say next.” He stares at you, and it makes your insides twist even as you can feel heat pooling in your stomach.  

“Uhhh,” You struggle, to try and think of what to say that will maintain the teasing playful tone, feeling like you’ve been called on daydreaming in the middle of class with everyone’s eyes on you and simultaneously totally distracted by the feel of his legs against yours. He smirks as you flounder, “Well, perhaps, that you uh,”  

“You can say you don’t know.” He sing-songs it, “Silly little girl like you can’t know everything, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the frustration rise at his teasing,  

“No. I suppose not.” He smiles crookedly, pleased he gets to tell you the next part, even as he explains it like you’re a little slow.  

“I was goin’ to say that I hope you’ve got a coat somewhere…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “since you’re comin’ with us.” Your brain goes blank.  

“Me?”  

“Why not?” He straightens a leg, it, perhaps inadvertently, knocks against yours and you immediately feel your gaze pulled to it, the heat of his thigh against your knee making your head go fuzzy. “Been a while since we’ve been off this plane together.” He’s looking at you hopefully, eyes wide behind his shades and you can feel your insides fizzing with excitement - even as you feel the need to protest,  

“Oh well that’s very kind but -”  

“C’mooon, honey - it’ll be fun! Hot cocoa, and, and skis, and playin’ in the snow.” His leg moves again, the soft cotton blend of his jogging suit catching on your nylons, “Dashin’ through the snow…” Your mouth opens, about to make a Paul Anka joke but one look at his encouraging smile puts you off,  

“Oh, well, like I said, that’s very kind - but I don’t, I don’t have any clothes or coats or boots or -” He cuts you off with a tut, rolling his eyes and shaking his head like you were being particularly stupid.  

“I was only kidding before.” He sounds a little petulant at the suggestion, “You don’t needta worry ‘bout that - we’ll get you sorted out.” He nods, as if you’d already given him your agreement.  

“That’s very generous Elvis, but I don’t know how to ski.”  

“Don’t worry I’ll teach ya!” He seems overwhelmingly confident considering you and he both know he doesn’t know how to ski, “You can just be - hey!” He sits himself back upright in his excitement, knocking against you enough that you shift on your feet, “You can just be my little snow bunny, can’t ya?” He laughs as he says it, and his laughter is infectious - you find yourself giggling along with him,  

“I suppose that would be fitting.” 

“ ‘Sides what else were you gonna do while we were out?”  

“Well…what I normally do - fly home or stay in whatever hotel I’ve had booked for me.” He looks curious for a second, “Sometimes I visit people if we’re close to someone I know.”  

“Do I book ‘em?”  

“Uh. Well. I think maybe your daddy does? Or, whoever’s organising everyone on your behalf yeah, sure.”  

“Oh…” He looks contemplative, before with a frown, “Are they nice?”  

“They’re fine El - it’s normally the same place the band is.” It’s sometimes a shithole but you’re not about to tell Elvis that.  

“Would you - why… did you not wanna come with me?” He half-whispers it and your brain stutters to a halt,  

“What? That’s not, that wasn’t ever an option Elvis.”  

“Well. It is today. Come with us.” He holds out a hand, serious for the first time in the conversation and with his eyes looking at you like that even if you’d wanted to refuse you couldn’t. You nod in agreement, acquiescing to his demand. 

 “C’mere then.” He tugs you down against him and you wriggle into place on his lap, the fabric of his trousers catching on your nylons as you settle against his sturdy thighs. He rubs gently at your calf, his thumb and forefinger encircling your ankle and you feel yourself relax out of your self-consciousness to enjoy the closeness.  

You laugh at a terrible joke at Joe’s expense and Elvis’ legs shake underneath you as you collapse against him in a fit of giggles. Your giggles taper off as you feel him twitch against your thigh. You school your face but can’t stop yourself turning to look at him in surprise, and more than a little excitement. His expression is unchanged, and you wiggle almost imperceptibly, come out, come out and play. It twitches again, and Elvis shifts as if in discomfort, you glance around but no one else seems to be paying you any attention - already distracted by something or someone else so you feel comfortable you’re not about to get caught as you try to wriggle your hand down to him. He immediately clamps an arm around your waist, holding you tight in place - your arm caught between you both. He looks down at you amused and you bite your lip - a pretty pitiful attempt at seduction,  

“Shh.”  

You indicate to the bedroom, more than a little disappointed when he shakes his head. “Later baby.”  

He keeps you trapped on his lap, making it impossible for you to go and do anything, making the boys make their own drinks even when they try and ask you. Even when you try to whisper that you need to get up, he holds you there, gently soothing you back into compliance with a press of his lips, a whispered promise, a stroke of his fingers.  

“Elvis I really hafta get up - we’ll be comin’ down soon and I’ve gotta make sure - “ 

“It’ll be fine baby, don’t worry ‘bout it.”  

“Well, we can’t just sit here forever - at the very least I’ll have to go and open the doors.”  

“Shit baby, Ron or Jim or God, I’m sure even fucking Elwood can manage that. No offense doll but I think they might even be more qualified at it than you. Besides I ain’t payin you to open doors.”  

You push off his chest, turning to face him and interjecting before he can even continue that thought,  

“You sure as hell aren’t paying me to keep you ‘company’ either.” He rolls his eyes,  

“We’ve been through this, I don’t give a fuck about the plane or anything else. Your job is to care for me.” His eyes burn behind his shades, and the intensity of his frown takes you a little by surprise. You stroke the wrinkle on his brow,  

“‘m sorry but look - I have a couple of things I have to do and anyway you’re gonna have to put a seatbelt on in a second, because it’ll get bumpy - and if you hit your head, I’m not being responsible for it.” You wag one of the heavy gold seatbelts at him and he sighs,  

“Well, fine, but you’re mine soon as we land. No excuses then.” His hand strokes your thigh, and your tummy flips,  

“No excuses. I’ll be yours as long as you want me.” There’s a hum, and you both suddenly realise Larry has come a lot closer than before, “Your hostess I mean.”  

——————————— 

Ron patted your arm as you disembarked with the others. “Remember we’ll be there soon too,” He looks at you, “We’re staying at Betty’s aunt’s place, but I’m sure we’ll be invited round.” You nod, reading between the lines and you smile, 

“I’ll bear that in mind.” 

“You do that. Have fun.” He winks, disappearing back into the cockpit and you take a breath before rejoining the group dispersing into a collection of cars.  

“What’s she doin’?” The whisper travels as you climb into the car, Larry and Joe start to reply but Elvis jumps in before either could get their words out too.  

“Goddamnit,” He kicks the seat in front although it certainly wasn’t Joe who had piped up, “She’s coming too - so shut yer fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”  He shouts out the open door and slamming it shut. He slides across the bench seat to be pressed close against you, his hand curling over your thigh.  

You smile shyly, pleased when Shirley turns around to smile at you, you weren’t her biggest fan - she’d never been overly friendly, but at least she was now acknowledging you.  

A whirlwind shopping excursion ensued while Elvis sent the other car to scout out where he wanted to stay. You were a little taken aback, but not altogether surprised, that he’d demanded the trip on such a whim that he hadn’t even secured proper accommodation, but he did a fairly good job of explaining himself while you were being sent back and forth from different stores for the appropriate clothing.  

“The thing is …” You kind of zone out while he talks, the story leading from one to another, before returning to the actual point he was trying to get to, but you appreciate the rumble of his voice and the gossipy tone that makes you feel a part of his exclusive little group. You manage to capture the gist though; that he was pretty sure they could stay at the same lodge as last time, because it was a friends but he hadn’t actually asked - since the decision to go away hadn’t been made until yesterday, and that he couldn’t see any reason why not - but if they had problem with it there was surely other, bigger better lodges to stay that would be overjoyed to host him.  

You were tired by the time he decreed that you finally had a suitable wardrobe and he looked over the collection of bags with satisfaction, although - despite the three other coats he bought you, he still felt the need to lament that it was a; 

“Damn near trav’sty,  none of these backwater stores have white fur. Can’t be a proper little snow bunny,” He sighs, “Joe - make sure we order her one for next time.”  

Your chest glows at the nonchalant way he says it - like he just expects you to be there again. Like it’s no big deal. The other car returns with good news, and they all filter up to the same lodge as the year before. 

“I reckon Ron and Bob’ll regret being such fucking, well, they’ll regret it anyhow now - once they see this and know they could’ve been here too.” You don’t know what to say, so you stick with saying nothing and Elvis tuts and shakes his head, shifting to stare out of the window, although he doesn’t pull his hand away from where you’re making little circles on his palm.  

It’s dark and late outside, and yet Elvis demands everyone get suited up to go and play in the snow, and everyone is in high enough spirits not to protest. You’ve not yet had a lesson though, and as you pull on your brand-new ski suit you playfully refuse to even entertain the prospect of heading anywhere on actual skis - Elvis doesn’t seem to be disappointed, grinning at you under his mask and gesturing for you to clamber onto the back of his snowmobile.  

Despite his promises on the plane, things never did, that first night, progress past heavy petting in the bedroom - but it was something just to have his thick weight next to you in the bed, laughing and joking as he pressed kisses down your face and throat. His little huffs of laughter as you returned the favour tickling his chest made you feel the same pleasurable contentment as if he’d decided to fuck you for hours.  

It was rare, recently, for him to be in such high spirits and still lucid - and you couldn’t help but wonder whether Dr Nick had managed to work out the exact right combination of drugs to keep him perfectly stable, or if he was contributing more placebos. Either way, you weren’t privy to their intimate conversations, nor allowed to witness his daily dosing. The most you saw was the little pills he put into his palm, twice as many as he tipped into yours, before bed and in the morning alongside the occasional couple that he nonchalantly explained them away simply as “Jus’ a little painkiller.” Shrugging his shoulders.  But either he was being a lot sneakier - and you weren’t sure you should be viewing that as a good thing - or he was finally listening to concern and easing himself off a little.  

It felt like it had in those first few weeks after you’d met him - carefree and fun. And somehow you felt yourself relaxing from the tense feeling you’d had since the start of last year. The worries falling off of your shoulders. You spent the first two days joined at the hip - not even really partaking in the snow sports on offer; snuggling up on the snowmobile and then taking yourselves off to curl up in the lodge instead.  

The third day, or really night - since as always with Elvis you soon found your days and nights flipped around - he was ecstatic about the fresh, perfect snow and clear weather and you’d all been sent out to play.  

It felt like a long night by the time Elvis was happy to let everyone return to the house. He hadn’t even joined you on the slopes properly, instead choosing to order everyone about from the comfort of his snowmobile.   

“C’mon fellas - get into a line! Go on! I’ll chase ya!”  

“For god’s sake Billy, move it along! You nearly made me take your whole damn leg off!” A pause, before raucous laughter ensued, “Again!”  

Still, you hadn’t minded this turn of events since it meant you hadn’t had to try and remember your rushed and hurried lesson on the nursery slopes that afternoon. Instead, you’d given it one go accompanied by his shouts of laughter at your falling,  

“How’d a dancer get to be so goddamn clumsy?”  

“I wasn’t a dancer!” You’d protested from your position flat on your back in the snow.  

“You danced real pretty for me though doll.” You rolled your eyes, scrambling back to your feet, trying not to pout as you brushed yourself off, he shook his head laughing once more before shouting back at you.  

“Aw now darlin’, that ain’t a pretty sight. C’mon, better hop onto the back of here, it’ll be a bit safer for you.” He’d said it through giggles, and you felt the determination to get down by yourself rise up again,  

“That won’t be necessary!” You attempted to take off again, and just as you were attempting to straighten your skis, about 12 feet from where you had last fallen, you were on your side again in the snow. Elvis didn’t give you a choice this time, angrily killing the engine completely and storming over as best he could through the thick snow, yanking you up by your arm and dusting you off himself.  

“‘S not the time to be stubborn, C’mon now.” You can’t see his facial expression, obscured by his layers and the dark but you can hear that his annoyed words would be accompanied by tightly knitted eyebrows and a frown. 

“I can do it.” You angrily pulled your arm out of his grasp, the momentum immediately making you start to lose your balance again, and Elvis catches you before you could fall for a third time. 

“For heaven’s sake,” You can practically hear his eyes roll, accompanied by a sigh as he tries to change tact, “I’m sure you can, but it’s dark, and you’ve already tripped twice.” You frown, and he placates, a soothing hand rubbing down your arm, “I just, I just worry about you baby, c’mon, let me look after you - you’re liable to break - no no no, don’t look at me like that,” His hand comes up to cup your face, “I just care about you s’all, don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it so honestly and affectionately that you find yourself nodding in agreement, and truthfully, despite your obstinance, you couldn’t have agreed more - you probably would break a leg if he’d let you go on. He grins at you, “There we are, you know it makes sense, don’t you - there’s my good little bunny. C’mon then, hop to it,” He pats your ass encouragingly, although the padding makes the action redundant, and you slowly make your way over to the snowmobile. 

You climbed onto the back slightly awkwardly, almost reluctant to be too close in front of all the guys, despite your cuddling the days before - they’d always been a little more distracted by their own activities to spend much time assessing yours. But Elvis yanked your arm around at the first possible chance, patting your hand where it lay against his padded stomach and tugging you to press yourself against him. You were getting a little bored, and nervous, of all the commotion so you found yourself totally content to curl against his body for warmth and tuck your chin into his shoulder. Despite your brand-new base layers, and soft down ski suit, there had still been enough of a chill in the night air, and from laying in the cold snow, that you were eager to be as close as possible. Elvis’ figure was more padded than you were used to feeling him, his coat also puffy and filled with down. You took immense pleasure in squeezing him tightly enough that you felt the padding compress, eager hands trying to find his body underneath. You found yourself considering, as one hand came to play with the little hairs escaping his mask and goggles at the base of his neck, that it was a damn shame you were both so covered up, since you couldn’t smell him. If you’d been less love-drunk on him you’d have been amazed at yourself; at thinking it was a damn shame, you were unable to smell an undoubtedly sweaty man.  

You have no idea how long you spent on the back of the snowmobile, hands roving all over him; only that you quickly lost all sense of self-consciousness and instead felt a rising feeling of possession. A dangerous feeling if ever there was one, but enough that you felt your manicured hands staking their claim, rubbing over his arms and back. Elvis seemed to be enjoying it, shifting to be closer to you whenever you moved away, and patting at your arm.  

When he finally, at speeds far too reckless for the early morning night sky, drove you back to the lodge he barely said a word to the rest of the group grabbing your hand and pulling you straight to the master bedroom. It was exciting and, whilst you were almost reluctant to get your hopes up too high, your thighs had been clenching of their own accord for the past hour and you could feel the dampness of your underwear against your warm delicate skin - it was impossible not to; you’d been on edge for hours.  

He’s sweaty from his layers, his red face revealed when he pulls his ski mask and goggles off, there’s a hint of stubble coming through and his face looks alive, cheeks plump with his grin. You were happy to be back in the comfort of the wood-panelled bedroom, although its cozy feel belied the chill that seemed to remain in the air of the wintry cabin. Elvis doesn’t say anything as he concentrates on taking off layer after layer until he’s mostly down to his bare, pinkened skin. You smile when it’s revealed he hadn’t backed down from his childlike refusal to wear proper base layers, silk shirt coming into view but at least you can tell from the sweat patches and his damp skin that he’d certainly been warm enough. You feel like you’re melting from the inside out from the sheer fondness overtaking you until he tugs it over his head, an unusual lack of care shown to it.  You meet his eyes in pleased surprise, and you’re further taken aback at how he manages to make his eyes twinkle so much, playfully glittering in the low light of the room. You can see his smirk growing as your eyes travel down his bare chest, an involuntary noise spilling out of your mouth. It’s been so long since you had the chance to stare at him like this. Elvis gestures at you, disrupting your intense focus, and you suddenly realise you’ve been standing still staring at him for almost too long, so you rapidly start to unboot yourself. You don’t get any further than kicking your shoes off before Elvis is suddenly in front of you. He brushes your hands off of yourself, fingering at your zipper himself. He twirls it between his fingers, ever so gently with one hand - the other coming to distract you from the anticipation by cupping your face, drawing you around to look into your eyes.  

Elvis’ hair has always been long enough for you to run your fingers through, but it seems to have grown almost thicker, and you inch even closer to stroke his cheeks, pushing back his hair - frizzy from its woollen containment. Despite Larry’s accompaniment on the trip when you brush back the hair at his temples you can see the same hint of grey starting to show through as before, and you can’t resist stroking the strands there.   

He smiles at you, pulling you into him to kiss you, making you breathless. As soon as you were distracted, he was unzipping the jacket of your snowsuit, shoving it off your shoulders and down to your waist. It falls to your feet by itself and you immediately pull off your under layers. It simultaneously feels frenzied but also slower than before; like both of you couldn’t wait even though you knew you had the chance to take your time. You lean back so he can tug your undershirt over your head, barely breaking contact with his lips. He pulls back, grinning, after fiddling with your bra clasp, the straps falling from your shoulders. Soon you’re practically nude, your naked chest pressed against his.  

He feels solid against you; it’s been a long time since you both had the opportunity to take your time like this, and his body feels slightly different than before. He still had that uniquely Elvis feel but he was sturdier, and though you doubted it could possibly be true, it felt as if his soft carpet of chest and stomach hair had grown larger, trailing down into the swell of his stomach like a tantalising arrow. He’s surer of himself than he was the last time you found yourself naked with him, reminding you of how he was back on Big Bunny, his broad yet slender hands firmly spanning your sides. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were finding him so attractive because it had been a while, or if it really was just that he always looks good. Any thought was swept from your mind though when he recaptures your mouth, his lips soft and firm against yours, and his tongue insistently presses past yours in a way that could only be described as eager.  

The movement of your chests against each other is enough for you to gasp against him - desperately moving to be closer, trying to practically become one with him. You can feel him smile at your desperate noises, before he moves a little. One of his hands slide down to rest at your waist, the other encircling your wrist. He holds it at your side, your other arm is trapped between you, and you whine at him between gasping breaths that it’s not fair, “C’mon El, that’s unfair, let me touch you,” He grins against your cheek, his spare hand moving to palm up at you.  

Elvis presses a kiss against the side of your mouth, and as you start to voice your protests at his movement he mutters, “I just need - let me light the fire, hon.” against your skin, the vibration of his voice causing you to shiver. He pulls away with a final tug to your bottom lip, and you find yourself pouting at the loss of his heat. You fold your arms across your chest, a little self-conscious now he’s moved away and besides it was slightly chilly, but you couldn’t bear to let him leave you - besides weren’t you about to warm each other up? Although, maybe you were more ready than he was; as he was soft still, and the thought of him tending to the fire - the domesticity of the combination made your stomach clench perhaps more than if he’d been hard and ready to go. But still, you were reluctant to allow him to move away.  

“I’m sure I’m hot enough,” He shakes his head, kissing your hand as he lets go of you entirely, “Honestly - we-we’ll be under the covers in a moment anyway, and I’m, I’m already burning babe.” But he’s already wandered over to the fireplace; thankfully it had been left pretty well set-up, and all that really has to be done is the physical lighting of the kindling already in place and you console yourself with the knowledge that it should only take a few seconds.   

“Not gonna let my bitty baby bunny get cold, hims gotta take care of herses.” He mutters seemingly mostly to himself although he was more than loud enough for you to hear. It does the job he intended it to, and you can feel yourself start to melt in response. He glances back at you as he crouches by the fireplace.  

“Hadta do this in the army baby,” You start to laugh at his tangent, “Yeah I did!” He ardently refutes your chuckle, “- with none of these fancy tools,” He’s holding up a box of firelighters, “No siree, just two sticks and a rock and I could light anything up.” You giggle, finding the situation all the more amusing when you notice he seems to be struggling to light it now. He keeps trying with the book of matches from the side, but for some reason they just won’t seem to take and he huffs, swearing, standing himself back up from his kneeling position to storm over to his jacket, fumbling in his pocket for one of his lighters. Your jaw drops as you watch him reach inside the fire to hold one of the crumbling firelighters in his hand, and he lights it to the accompaniments of your shrieks and admonishments;  

“Elvis! Oh god put that down! You’ll set your - oh lord, you’ll set your chest on fire doing that!” He turns to grin at you, before swearing as the fire licks his fingers, throwing the flaming chunk into the fire, and finally - finally watching as the kindling starts to flicker.  

“Told you, honey, no problem at all.” He shrugs his shoulders, but your heart rate hasn’t yet levelled back out and you can’t help but continue to scold him.  

“Jesus, what would I have told everyone! I swear -” He stands up, away from the fire now crackling to life, holding his hands out placatingly,  

“No, no, no,” He grins, “No sweat, baby, I knew what I was doin’.” He’s got that boyish glint in his eyes, happy as only a man who has achieved a stupidly primal action like lighting a fire or setting off a firework can be, and when you continue to scold him he suddenly rushes at you, knocking you off your feet and sending you tumbling together onto the bed. His broad arms come around you, holding you like a movie starlet swooning in his arms.  

“Shhhh…. honey, bunny, I knew what I was doin’ ok? You see, I was just foolin’ around, pretendin’ I couldn’t light it - you know, just messin’ with you a little, just - just for fun.” You snort in disbelief, although you’re quickly distracted as he kisses the crook of your neck, following an invisible line down to your shoulder and back up to your neck, one of his hands coming to hold the back of your neck while the other traces circle on your stomach. You gasp, and you can feel his grin against you.  

“El—vis, oh - god, you can, let me get these off - please,” and you wriggle out of your panties, shoving them to your knees and kicking them off, when you manage to flick them off of your ankle  your legs return to the bed, slightly more parted than before, desperately inviting Elvis to do more.  

“You believe me don’t you honey?” His fingertips dance over you,  

“Wha-” He repeats the question, 

“You believe me, right, bunny? Y’know I could’ve lit it in seconds?”  his fingers trace below your belly button.  

“Uh, yeah, yeah, of course - who needs firelighters! Not Elvis!” He grins at you, and the sight of it makes you tease further, “Boy, you could, you could,” You giggle breathlessly, “You could make it a part of your show, you know - what can’t Elvis set on fire?!” You do a jazz hands gesture for emphasis. Elvis throws his head back in laughter, his head hitting the pillows and you wriggle in pleased amusement next to him for a moment before he sits back up,  

“Oh ho - you take that back, little girl,” His fingers prod into you, tickling your sides and you scrunch up as you giggle more,  

“I take it - oh! I take it back! You did, you did an excellent job.” He nods in self-satisfaction,  

“Now,” his hands soothe the pinkened skin from where he’d jabbed into you, “Let me make you feel good, baby.” Elvis leans up and over you, cupping your face to pull you into another, deep, kiss while his hand finally travels down past your navel, brushing over your inner thighs. Your hips jerk up, as if offering yourself up to him. You can feel his arousal growing against your thigh, twitching like the little bunny nose he claimed you had. 

“Lord, bunny, you’re so soft, can barely feel ya, s’like silk down here I swear to god.” Your eyes slip closed, your back arching at the feel of his soft pads sliding through the silky wetness of your folds, and your legs opening a little wider of their own accord in invitation, begging him to go lower or higher or something. When all of a sudden you feel a chill at the loss of his presence as he moves away. Your eyes flutter back open to see him, bare ass on show, bent over and poking at the fire - adding an additional log that immediately crackles and spits, onto the top.  

“El-Elvis.” The situation catches you by surprise; to be abandoned in favour of fiddling with a fire could be seen as a little offensive in some ways, but it tickles you and the giggles overcome you before you can ask what exactly he was playing at.  

“Ah, sorry honey, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging’ there but it was in danger of goin’ out.” He runs his hand through his hair as he stands back up, his hands falling to just below his hips for a second while he surveys the fire - making doubly sure he’d gotten it set up.  He stretches, and you admire the muscles in his back as they move with his arms for a moment. He turns and stalks back over to the bed - immediately jumping beside you, bouncing you up before he gathers you back into his arms. His hand reaching across you to cling you to him, arm over your waist, finger barely brushing a nipple.  

“You should worry about me going out at this rate -” He laughs at you, rubbing his thick fingers down your sides.  

“Ohh-ho, but baby, bunny, I thought you were burnin’ for me? “He does his famous lip movement, somewhat self-deprecatingly, “just a...” He moves his hips next to you, “burnin’ love. Uh-huh? Bunny love?” You bite your lip at him - it was funny, but more than anything you can feel the arousal growing again in the pit of your stomach. He smiles at you, not expecting a response before he shakes his head, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before flopping back to stretch out on his back. You roll with him, lazily kissing his chest. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt with him in months, maybe even in the past year.  

He slides his hand back down, one of his long, thicker but still fundamentally slender, fingers preceding the others. You’re more than ready for him, and while your hips move in response to him pressing it past your entrance it’s not enough for the desire burning inside you.  

“’S no good - can I - are you, are you ready for me?” He looks at you a little surprised,  

“Yeah, sure, just - how d’you want the pillows.” He makes as if to get up and move himself off of his back, but you stop him with a hand to his chest. Your fingertips tweak his nipple, just the tiniest bit and you take pleasure in his open-mouthed reaction; perhaps a little surprised at your initiative and he looks wide-eyed when you tell him,  

“Well, maybe I could…uhh..y’know,” You gesture vaguely towards his cock, he blinks at you, “Climb on?” His mouth stays open for a moment before he seems to remember himself, remember that such an offer shouldn’t seem a surprise to him. If you had the brain power to think you would consider it a little sad; the confidence he’d had on Big Bunny in comparison to now. He shakes his head, even as he settles back against the headboard, seeming to recollect himself, smirking.  

“Sure thing, honey, I just thought women didn’t like doin’ any of the work.” You roll your eyes, not bothering to mention that this wasn’t even the first time you’d ridden him, but still, you swing your leg over him and with a helping hand from him to position himself you settle down, your thighs straining over the breadth of his lap. You immediately regret your decision to face him when you realise it means he’s watching your face almost too closely, and you say a silent prayer of thanks that you had had enough experience with him that you weren’t overly intimidated.  He holds himself steady, letting you sink yourself down onto the sturdy length of him. His own face screws up, falling back onto the pillow behind him at the feel of the warmth of your wet heat pressing down onto him. You struggle for balance for a second, before your hands find their way onto his shoulders for a moment while you adjust to him. It’s been a while, a fact Elvis points out as he gasps at you that,  

“Oh - lord, Jesus, honey, you been waitin’ for me? Ain’t - God, takin’ me so goddamn perfectly; feels just right for little Elvie, such a good little bunny, all for me.” Your hands scramble down his chest to his, admittedly thicker and softer middle, to push back and hold yourself up.  

“Elvis - you feel, oh, I, I’ve missed this,” You shudder around him,  

“Can tell,” He huffs as you start to lift up on your knees, “Can tell you’ve been so good for me, huh baby,” He grips your hipbones, “just a itty bitty baby bun bein’ good for me, holdin’ on jus for me.” You moan at the feel of the different angle he hits inside of you from this position, and as you find your momentum rising up and rocking yourself back down you feel your confidence growing.  

“Oh, uh-huuh, good girl, oh lord that’s sexy…” You moan in response as you lean backwards a little, encouraging him to come up to play with your breasts. It amuses you how he still tweaks and pulls like a teen in the back of his daddy’s car, yet somehow, he manages to get the pressure just right, grinning at you knowingly as he licks his fingertips before bringing them back to your nipples twisting them just enough that the combination sends a rush of wetness. It’s a distraction for a second, but mere moments later and your thighs are screaming at you. Unlike on Big Bunny though this time you’re determined to see it through, and you blink through half-closed eyes at him, his own sweaty face staring back at you, mouth-open. Your hands paw at his chest, struggling to find something to grip to get the leverage you need, fingertips scratching at his chest hair, and Elvis eventually puts his hands back to your waist, his own hips moving to help you bounce on him.  

You can no longer bring yourself to care about how you look - entirely lost in the sensations - groaning a little in annoyance as your hair falls over your face and into your eyes. You struggle to try and brush it away while still keeping your balance and momentum but quickly you feel Elvis’ hands move from your waist, one large sweaty paw coming up to push your hair off your face, his thumb stroking down your cheek after it’s tucked back. You let him slip it past your mouth as you rock onto him, moaning against his soft skin. His mouth stays open watching you with heated eyes,   

“C’mon now, mama, finish the job.” You nod rapidly, his thumb tumbling out of your mouth, and he trails the spit-soaked digit down to rub along your thigh, letting his hips jerk into you, rolling with the movement. His hand sinks down, and your hands come to his shoulders as he starts to roll his thumb against your clit, his hand resting on the joint of your thigh and his other coming to back down to clutch at your hipbone. You’re almost there when you feel his hand suddenly pause as his hips thrust up more aggressively than before - more like how he used to perform and you’re about to shriek in protest, tell him off for stopping you right at the precipice, until you see his face screwed up, perfect lips open.  

“Oh - Oh, fuck, fu-fu-uck.” He stutters the word, relief palpable, as if releasing after an immeasurable time. His hand moves back to play with you, his thumb moving rapidly, rubbing exactly over the right spot and it’s almost too much, the overstimulation making you lose your words as he slips and slides it back and forth. You’re begging him for something, although you’re not sure what and he praises you as you grind against him.  

“That’s it, that’s it,” Elvis is breathless still as he encourages you, “C’mon bunny, you can give it to me baby, c’mon baby, c’mon.” He’s growling in your ear and you fall forward, his softening cock rubbing wetly against your folds as you land against his chest. His voice is enough to tip you over the edge, and you find yourself rutting against him, gasping into his collarbone before going stiff, stomach muscles and thighs convulsing as you twitchingly hurtle through an orgasm.  “Shit.” He swipes his thumb over you again and you flinch away, but he pulls it away himself, shushing you before he pats his other hand onto your back and you jolt at what amounted to a an unintentionally heavy thump, his thumb stroking and soothing you back to quiet. His lips press against your shoulder blade, I love you it feels like he whispers against your skin, and you shout it back to him in your mind.  

The next day you think to get ahead of Elvis, sending him to go and play with the guys while you rush back into the house, claiming a headache and a desire for an early night. You’ve lit the fire by the time he gets in and while you’d debated waiting for him naked and ready, you’d grown too self-conscious in his absence, so you were tucked under the covers; supposedly reading his book he’d left on the nightstand although you’d done more listening out for their return than actual reading.  

You can hear him shouting to the boys on his way through, no regard for the idea that you might be asleep. He comes bounding through the door, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of you. The door falling closed behind him with a clunk.  

“You waitin’ up for me, bunny?” You swallow, trying your best at seduction, shoving the covers off to unveil your lingerie clad body,  

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “Waiting and waiting just for you.” He grins, unzipping his jacket and starting to stalk towards you. The fire crackles and he pauses, his head turning to look at it.  

“Oh. You lit it without me?” Your mind runs in circles as you try to work out his tone,  

“Um, yeah - it was cold, so…” He frowns, looking back at you, huffing as he shoves off his jacket entirely, you come to the realisation that he’s actually a little annoyed, “I, I, just thought it would save you a job - you know, it would all be done, and you could just…” You gesture down yourself. He doesn’t respond, finishing stripping himself off and collecting up his pyjamas to take them into the bathroom with him. 

“Elvis? You’re not, don’t be mad at me - I really was just trying to be helpful.” He shakes his head,  

“I’m not mad, baby.” Elvis disappears into the bathroom leaving you to squirm on the bed, your tummy in knots. You’ve put his book back on his nightstand and have tucked yourself back under the sheets, feeling too exposed to stay as you were, by the time he comes back out clearly ready for bed himself. He throws back the sheets, climbing in,  

“I-I like doin’ it honey, honest -” He opens up his arms for you to curl into, “I know the place has proper heat and all, but it just feels more, uh, atmospheric, doesn’t it?”  

“I know El, that’s, that’s why I lit it?” He hums against the top of your head,  

“I know sweetheart, uh, thank you, but I like taking care of you.” You nod in understanding, trying not to be too disappointed that your attempt at doing something nice seemed to have derailed your night. “So, what did you think?” He nods towards his book, 

“Oh, I- I barely got a chapter in, I didn’t wanna lose your place,” You settle against his chest, 

“Oh no, honey, I’ve - I’ve read it over and over, not got a place to lose - you go right ahead.” You mumble a thank you, but make no attempt to move, “Or I could read it to you?” His hand strokes your back, and you nod your head against his chest,  

“That would be nice - yes, thank you.”  

“Did you like it?”  

“Mmhmm…. what, what do you like about it?” He never picks the book back up and you happily drift off to the sounds of his deep voice rumbling on about his spiritual conclusions from the text.  

——————————— 

The next morning you find yourself waking up much earlier than everyone else, and you end up unable to fall back to sleep. You eye the bottle of pills on Elvis’ nightstand, but you would be too nervous to take something without waking him up and he looks so peaceful, gently snuffling beside you. Instead, you end up pottering about in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and curling up onto the couch in the living room with his book. An hour or so later Billy stumbles across you on his own hunt for a cup of coffee, and it’s almost awkwardly silent for a second as he stares at you from across the room. You’re just about to ask if there was something he wanted you to do when he breaks the silence first,  

“You know…he’s really going for Ginger.” He looks you up and down, “But, you could - well, what I mean to say is that the boys like you.” You’re taken aback, unsure what he even means by that, and you stumble over your response,  

“Oh, I don’t - I don’t wanna step on anyone’s toes or anything, you know I’m just - I’ve never been skiing so Elvis asked and -” He cuts you off mid-sentence,  

“Look I’m not saying you’ve gotta go around acting like you’re off the streets, but just you know. If you wanted,” He gestures in the general direction of the hallway and Elvis’ bedroom. “I’m sure… well I know I wouldn’t protest.” You swallow hard as you try to consider the correct response.  

“That’s very kind of you to say. I appreciate it.” You’re a little nervous this is a test and while part of you wants to bombard him with questions about what the issue is with Ginger - and does he really think you have a chance with Elvis? Like his girlfriend? You’re not sure how much will get back to Elvis and you’d rather be painted as cold than desperately vying for Ginger’s spot.  Part of you cringes at the implication that all the guys were out discussing his relationships; that they all thought they knew best, on the other hand the little you’d seen of Ginger did little to change your perception from the same as theirs. She seemed nice enough, but Elvis certainly seemed a lot more hot and heavy than her. Even if there hadn’t been a lot of hot and heavy lately - except, apparently with you.  

Later, when everyone but Elvis was up and despite everyone else’s protestations (and Billy’s attempts) you stayed firm in your resolve not to let them light the fire in even the main room. If Elvis wanted to do it and liked doing it, you were going to be damn sure it was there for him to do. It was storming quite heavily outside, and while you waited for Elvis to wake up, you’d all decided it was best to hang around inside.  

You settled down on the floor by the coffee table to set up some cards, pretending to be nonchalant about where you’d placed yourself even as you hoped your position would put you exactly by his legs, and the perfect distance for optimum warmth from the, soon to be lit, fire. Elvis chooses that moment to walk in from the bedroom, in yet another strange silk shirt and tracksuit combination.  

“Hi doll,” He bends over to press a kiss the top of your head, and you lean up into it. He rubs his hands together in an exaggerated motion as if for warmth when he stands back up.  

 “Shit. It’s fucking freezing in here.” He looks around, “Why’d no-one light the fire?” They all turn to glare at you, and you start to explain, stumbling over your words.  

“Yesterday! Yesterday - you, you were offended, when I - I just thought you’d enjoy it!” You protest, and Elvis stares at you, eyes narrowing as if you were the white witch putting the cabin into permanent winter. 

“Offended! Lord, the whole goddamn world will be fuckin’ offended when I can’t sing for shit b’cause I’ve caught pneu-neu-monia and my throat’s scratched to all hell!”  

“Oh, I didn’t - I mean, the main heat is on - I didn’t think…” He ignores you to plop himself down opposite to where you were sitting, miles away from where you’d been planning and anticipating for him to sit. Elvis angrily gestures towards the fire and both Ed and Dick rush towards it, making sure it was lit quickly. You can feel the other girls look at you sympathetically, even as you desperately try to avoid everyone else’s eye, annoyed and upset at being publicly scolded. It’s bad enough for Elvis to be pissed off with you in public, you didn’t need their pity too. It felt like you were being judged for not knowing how to deal with him like this, you can feel some of them - Joe and Shirley for sure - rolling their eyes at you, but you didn’t know better; every time he’d been annoyed in the past you could escape with the excuse of needing to get something from the galley or you were alone in the bedroom together - and you could use other methods to soothe him. But to be in this situation in public was completely unchartered territory, and though you knew everyone there had to be aware of your relationship and situation, it still made you uncomfortable to be having an argument out in the open. At the first opportunity you have you excuse yourself, claiming another headache and shaking your head at Dr Nick’s offers of painkillers you head off to the bedroom. 

Elvis comes barging in an hour or so later, and you flinch at the bang of the door against the wall, already bracing yourself to be accused of sulking or some other continuation of the argument but you remain where you lay in bed, on your side facing away from the doorway and try to concentrate on the words on the page of his book again. He sighs, and just as loudly as he’d opened it he slams the door closed. He makes his way over to you, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking over at you.  

“My little bunny isn’t mad at me is she?” His tone is almost contrite, and you immediately roll yourself over to look at him. He’s got a boyish look on his face and you can feel yourself starting to melt, but you’re not entirely ready to forgive him yet.  

“I’m not mad at you Elvis.” He frowns, titling his head like a confused golden retriever. He lets his head flop into his shoulder as he peers at you.  

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” You hum back at him, trying hard not to be swayed by his expressive blue eyes. He clambers up onto the bed, to cuddle into the side of you, running a finger down your arm, “Oh you can’t be mad at me, bunny can’t be mad at him - not when he yuvs her so so much,” He curls his arm around you to tug you closer to him, and you struggle not to smile as he continues baby-talking you, “not his bitty bunny,” He presses a kiss into your arm, shifting himself to place several leading up the back of your neck, and then leaning over to press them against your shoulder, he murmurs against your skin, “she wouldn’t ever be mad at him, his bitty, baby, bunny who he yuvs…” Your heart clenches. You know he’s manipulating you, and you’re still embarrassed, but he sounds so sincere. Even if he’s only saying it so he doesn’t have to outright apologise Elvis suggesting he loves you in any way is enough to make you forgive him.  

“I’m not mad at you, I promise.” You roll around to look at him, staring into his eyes, “I swear Elvis - I’m not. I’m sorry for trying to control the situation.”  

“Nah, nah you were just, you were just tryin’ to take care of me - I see that, let me, let me make it up to you baby,” His fingers glide over your stomach and sides, toying with the waistband of the corduroy trousers you were wearing. He looks deep into your eyes, searching for something, and he smiles a moment later, “C’mon bunny, lemme make you feel good. Let hims make it up to hers.” His fingers wriggle under the waistband while the other pops the buttons and you lift your hips to allow him to take them off.   

He presses his lips to yours, ever so briefly, and you try to chase him even as he pulls away, his palm holding you down while he moves his mouth down your neck. He sucks a bruise onto your collarbone, and you shift in his grip, rubbing your thighs together as he laps at the little maroon mark. He sits up, settling himself between your legs but keeps his hand on your stomach, its wide span pinning you against the bed. No rings this time to dig into your skin, just the intimate feel of his fingers flexing against your abdomen. He brings his other to pat your legs apart. You flop onto your back, unable to stay in a crunch staring at him, the look on his face as he stares at your pussy too much to take.  

You’ve been tense waiting for him, and though you feel yourself automatically relax into his thick hands you still worry momentarily that it’s going to be hard to get you to finish. You don’t want to disappoint him, and you open your mouth to tell him as much when his rough tongue laps at your soft folds, twirling around your clit. His tongue has lost none of its finesse, and he has no difficulty, with the help of two of his fingers to bring you to the brink within a few minutes.  He laps against you, sideburns tickling your inner thighs, for what feels like forever and you’re struggling to keep your legs open and not wrap your thighs around his head, contenting yourself with tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him into place with the little strength you could muster. He’s not quiet when he does this - Elvis never is, uttering his own pleased little hums that seem to harmonise with your own, much louder moans and curses, the vibrations rebounding around your core. It’s not long before he sits up, mouth glistening - clearly ever so pleased with himself while you pant away the white spots behind your eyes.  

“There’s a good girl now.” He pats at you, “C’mon back out now - ‘s no good sulking in here.” And though you never were sulking you find yourself tiredly nodding at his instruction, more than willing to do whatever he asks of you, boneless and biddable.  

——————————— 

It’s strange when you get back home - It felt like you’d been away for months, wrapped up in your little Elvis vacation bubble, and yet it had scarcely been two weeks. It’s absurd that it’s such a struggle to adjust again. You’d let yourself get so close during the trip that it was painful to have to force yourself to watch and listen as he calls Ginger before you take off on the way home, or to be totally ignored as they all clamber out of the plane when you hit the ground in Tennessee. The trouble with Elvis, you thought to yourself as you finally sunk back into your own bed, was that he was everything. More than everything - everything revolved around him, like planets orbiting the sun and it felt near impossible to escape his gravitational pull. You knew your mother would say, “Baby, finish on a high; keep the memories.”  The issue with that is that now you’ve had a little you want more. There’s no way in hell you can quit now. Not before you’ve had just a little taste more, just one more fumble, one more heated look from him, one more whispered I love you into your neck. But you have no idea if the desire is reciprocal; it’s hard not to read too much into it when your presence is conspicuously absent in March. You didn’t even know they were going to Hawaii, or that they had gone until Georgia told you about it while mentioning their rushed return home. Did he think you’d have a problem flying him and Ginger somewhere? Or did he think you wouldn’t be able to be discrete; a laughable idea since you’d been proving yourself in that department for the past three years. Elvis doesn’t mention it to you, so you keep quiet too, and almost immediately after regular service seems to resume.  

You weren’t pleased for long, when it became clear that while he hadn’t looked much worse for wear after the apparent ordeal in Hawaii, and his voice sounded as good as before - none of this was to last. The monotony of the road, the easy habits of most of a decade immediately flooding back to him.  

Despite having spent as much, if not more, time with him than a girlfriend would have done in the past three or four years, the long days and nights spent together you can feel him drifting. You had been there when other girls were there, there when they weren’t - watched over him awake and asleep. But you weren’t. You weren’t his girl, you were, at your core, essentially an addition to his jet. An amenity. So, when you get the call that a couple of tour dates were cancelled and that your services weren’t needed, before an almost immediate redaction and urgent request for your services, to get him ostensibly home, and in reality, quickly to the comfort of a hospital. You were at once concerned - you weren’t allowed to be worried, that was for family and friends - for Ginger and Vernon to pace back and forth in a waiting room. Your job was to remain calm. Professional and calm, even if you knew that had he been more conscious he’d have demanded your presence. He’d said as much after Linda had left - that you were his first choice. Maybe not just an amenity after all. That you would have been the one with his head in your lap, dabbing at his forehead - rather than Ginger’s hesitant pats to his arm. But it’s not you, and you have to simply take a deep breath, hoping that you’d at least get an update. 

There were, by May, so many signs that things are going wrong, even to your untrained eye. Maybe because you saw him less and less, the flights short between tour stops, the requests to see you at the hotels suddenly lacking, that it doesn’t feel like a gradual change in the way the men describe it to be. The paranoia, the fear, and the sheer absurdity of his behaviour all seem to hit you all the more because you were able to directly compare to when he was doing alright, to how, mere weeks ago, you’d been having a grand time in Vail together.  

The guns. The guns had become a symbol of his sheer level of turbulence. He’d threatened you before, at a time where it had seemed so out of the blue it was laughable - now, if he’d done the same thing you’d be more worried - he wasn’t as careful as he had always been. You weren’t a pilot, you didn’t have the same responsibilities, but even so the guns at Binghampton had almost cost you your job and would have certainly cost you your reputation had it all gone south. Had Elvis not somehow, despite his state, been able to effectively charm the officer in charge into forgetting his apparent oversight; although how, considering the guns had tumbled out right in front of them, was anyone’s guess. The ramifications were awful though, you and Ron and Elwood stressed about the ‘cargo’ on the plane, while Elvis shouted to anyone who would listen that he could do what he goddamn liked, waving his narcotics badge at anyone who tried to tactfully protest. You hated it.   

It’s a long flight, at the end of a long week. It’s been trying for all involved, although Elvis has spent a lot of the time that you’ve seen him in a half-asleep state, desperately trying to recover from the strains and stresses of the brutal tour schedule he’s been put on again. You’ve corralled him into the bedroom on the Lisa-Marie, it’s a six-hour flight - not nearly long enough for him to recuperate properly, but enough that you actually have a fighting chance for once. He’d been playful and handsy the day before, the way he was sometimes - likely having taken one too many uppers, but you could tell from the lines and bags under his make-up that, though it’s been ages - to try and tease or play with him now would be borderline cruel. Instead, you focus on making him comfortable, tucking him up with you under the soft covers of the large bed, petting him exactly as he likes it. He’s just starting to calm himself down and you continue to murmur to the top of his head when he suddenly starts talking,  

“I don’t, don’t wanna marry-marry her.” His speech is slurring, and you can’t be sure if it’s from sleep, or the effects of the palmful of pills he’d taken an hour ago, or some combination of it all. Oh, so maybe that’s why he’s gone off the rails?  

“You don’t, - you don’t have to El- if you don’t want to,” You murmur back to him, acknowledging internally that he must be both absolutely exhausted and feeling miserable if his immediate response wasn’t to tell you to mind your own goddamn business.  

“I’ve gotta take care of it - get the boys to take care of it…. Daddy'll do it for me. He should.” He nods to himself, but his eyes stay closed.  

“Elvis, sweetheart,” You whisper to him, “you can’t make your daddy do that for you, you’ve… gotta do it yourself.” You pat his back, and he burrows his head further into your lap, your fingers finding their way into his scalp, curling around and into the hairs at the nape of his neck as you gently stroke his head and back. “She’s, she’s a reasonable girl - I’m sure she’ll understand-”  

“That’s…” There’s a long enough pause as his breathing evens out that you’re fairly sure he’s asleep, but then he mumbles back, “’S not her ‘m worried about…’s her, her folks.”  

You try desperately to reassure him, muttering about how no-one could judge him for making a sensible decision, and better to cool it off now than later, but it’s too late, and the only response you get back is the sound of him snuffling in his sleep, his eyelids and forehead relaxing as he curls his legs into you, snuggling against your warm heat, tucked against the thick gold comforter.  

You try to relax yourself, but your mind is whirring at a thousand thoughts a minute; all too many of which were imagining poor Vernon being gifted with the unfortunate task of breaking up with his son’s girlfriend.  

You feel sorry for him, you never believe when the husbands of your friends make jokes about how they’ve been ‘trapped’ - it’s a man’s world, and it seems absurd to suggest that someone’s womanly wiles were solely the root of their relationship crisis and yet, his description of his relationship is starting to sound less like young fun and more like a calculated entrapment. For perhaps not the first time in his life. You sigh again, and jump when Elvis pats your arm,  

“Shhh, s’ok, s’ok baby, I got you,” He’s fast asleep, eyes twitching being their lids — but still, his hands swipe over your side as he clumsily pats at you, shushing you while he does. The notion makes your eyes fill with tears, how could he still be so utterly sweet and dependent? 

The next morning he made no reference to the night before, or his whispered confession and you dressed and continued on as normal. Your mind though kept floating back to the words Billy had said to you back in early February. Should you attempt to make a move? Or at least, make sure Elvis knew you were totally available? Before you have the chance to act on any of these impulses though there’s a rumour spreading across the group - that Elvis wasn’t coping, that he needed a break, that the tour was going to have to be cancelled. You’d pushed it out of your head, hopeful he’d just need a decent rest that would be enough to rejuvenate him to get through the tour. But tragically, the rumour had turned out to be true and you’d delivered him home to Memphis amidst cancelled shows and runs to the hospital. He’d looked terrible when you’d left him, looking back at you at the top of the plane steps. You want to turn up, check he’s ok, check that he’s sure about Ginger, that if he’s not going to end things then that she knows how to take care of him. That she’s doing the best she can.  

It had been radio silence since that last flight and perhaps you should be assuming that no news is good news, but you find yourself thinking about him most days. Worrying and waiting. You wonder if he would let you in if you went to Graceland to see him, or if that was altogether too presumptuous, hell you’d heard all about how he hated girls that were too forward. But he loved to be taken care of - you supposed it all came down to control, and though you were desperate that he be well looked after, and you wished you could supervise that yourself, you were otherwise happy to let him take the lead – it was just altogether too scary to do anything else.  

——————————— 

Finally, in the middle of the third week of July you get a call reminding you of the upcoming tour, and then, almost immediately after you agree, an unusual call from Elvis himself. The phone ringing insistently less than 5 minutes after you’d agreed to the tour details.  

“How’re you doing baby?” He’s talking in that slow drawl he does when he’s sleepy, worn out from the day - from rehearsals maybe, or just life in general. “My bitty baby doin’ ok, huh?” 

“I’m just fine,” You’re impossibly hungry for details, but reluctant to sound too eager, 

“My yittle bun-bun lookin’ after herself?” You’d basically already told him this, but the wording makes you blush, and you don’t mind repeating yourself for him, “Of course. I’m ‘cited to see you.”  

“That’s good, well, that’s reeeall good honey, because, uh, you see,” His voice takes on the explanatory tone he so enjoys, both didactic and gossiping, “I don’t know if you’ve heard… or I suppose you wouldn’t have yet, but uh, Ginger’s not, she’s not coming on this tour with me, we’re, uh, we’re well…” He trails off, and there’s little breathy noises down the phone to you, which lets you picture the way he would have just taken off his glasses, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose.  

“Oh,” What else is there to say? ‘Oh Elvis, I’m glad you’ve ditched your fiancee?’ Hardly.  

“She was just, just a lil too young, jus’ a baby, not, she just - it wouldn’t be right to make her settle down with me right now. Not, not when I don’t know if she really…well you know.” You don’t know what to say, and Elvis waits only for a brief second before filling the silence himself,  

“The thing is - I wasn’t sure, I don’t know if you’d heard, I’ve uh, I’ve been, well, I’ve been real sick to tell you the truth. Weren’t sure I were gonna make it out to this tour and we thought for sure we were gonna have to cancel but well, here we are.”  

“You’re not… you’re feeling better?”  

“Yes ma’am.” At least that sounds confident, “Got myself a new doctor, and ‘m, uh, on some new, uh, treatments and uh stuff.” He pauses, “Playin’ a lot of racquetball.”   He sounds slightly sheepish, and while you’re endlessly curious you don’t press the point.  

“Were you just ringing to confirm I’d be around?”  

“Well, here’s the thing, the thing is, honey, the thing is - I know you’ve already had a call, but you see, I was sorta hoping maybe you’d be happy to cancel them plans?”  

“Oh. You don’t want me on the plane?” There’s a moment of silence before he swears to himself, muttering down the phone that he’d learn to have some balls one of these days.  

“No, No, you misunnerstand - I want you on the plane, and off the plane - I just want you to come with me.”  

“Oh.”  

“If you can’t, well, I understand.” He sounds resigned, and your heart breaks a little, “But, I want company baby, and I want yours.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, breathless in your excited agreement, 

“I want yours too! I’ve been - Billy said, well I’ve been hopin’ for months El, I miss you so much when we’re at home, and oh, I’d love to.” Somehow you can hear him shaking his head through the phone,  

“That meddlin’ shit.” You giggle back at him, and he laughs in response before he keeps talking, “So - pack your bags, honey, and I’ll send a car to get you at the usual time?”  

“So, am I - like working?” He huffs at you, 

“No - no, not workin’ for me no more - just being there for me. Want you to be my girl baby - be good just for me - not chasing down the other guys to make ‘em drinks.” You shake your head, brain skipping over the important part of the statement to the last part for a moment.  

“I don’t believe I’ve ever ‘chased’ the other guys,” He huffs down the phone,  

“Well lemme tell you they’ve been chasin’ you, wolves chasin’ their lil bunny,”  

“Hmm, there’s only one wolf I want to eat me though Elvis.”  

“S’that right?” 

“That’s right.”  

“Well then, I’ll have it all ready for you, s’probably easier, y’know this late notice and all,” You read between the lines that Ginger’s still at Graceland, “that I’ll uh, you’ll be waitin’ for me on the Lisa-Marie?” You cringe, but he does sound more like himself than he has in weeks, and hopefully - unlike with Linda and Ginger he’ll keep to his promise and actually get rid of her before you get on board.  

“Mmhmm, that should be fine.” You hear him move away from the phone for a second, talking to someone else for a moment,  

“Right, honey, I’ve - I’ve, I’m bein’ told I’ve gotta go now - got a meeting in a minute, but don’t be afraid to call - anytime, you’re to be put straight through to me, y’hear?”  

“Yep, Elvis, I hear,”  

“Alright then, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then - you take care of yourself baby,”  

“You too El,” You’re about to say something stupid, like I love you, but with one last,  

“Ok - buh-bye.” The line’s gone dead.  

——————————— 

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last three chapters -

@lookingforrainbows @ooihcnoiwlerh @ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @literally-just-elvis-fics

[s-c-g-s-c-g]

Friday Fic Recs

Last year over the week of my birthday I rambled about some of my own fics. This year, I have a fic rec format! So, for this Friday Fic Recs I am self-reccing some of the fics I wrote in the last year of my life. Arranged in descending wordcount order and incidentally reverse posting order. Includes two fandoms.

No, I'm Not Afraid To Disappear (Star Wars)

Stass Allie time loop fic! Stass Allie time loop fic! Time travel fix-its have always been a favorite of mine and an outsider perspective? I love turning the plot of a super famous movie into an increasingly awful mystery for the main characters to unravel. Angst and trust issues and betrayal! Do note the tags! I mean them. Also, this is a big bang fic so there's lovely art as well!

This Is All Your Fault (Star Wars)

A fun one shot with Maul and Obi-Wan as little padawan rivals stuck in a bad situation. I like to think it's funny. There's plenty of bickering and troublemaking from both of them. Also, Mace gets a moment to shine as a good master.

What We Never Know (Batman)

Looking back on it, what would he say? This is the last one shot from this fandom to see the light of day back in September. It centers on Tim and Jack Drake's relationship, specifically Tim's emotions about his dad and the fact he never had a chance to tell him he's bi. This is mushing two continuities together for the sake of introspective queer angst and I'm happy with it.

[rosemariiaa]

what’s the stalker fic you have i see everyone talking about i can’t find it 😔

i have written no stalker fic guys !!

it’s an idea i came up with, which i was supposed to write but didn’t get far lol, my lovely

@hcneymooners did an amazing job on her -> slasher!pazzi fic (very good read)

i’m not sure if i’ll continue mine but i’ll def think about it , if you guys want it :D

[allylikethecat]

Hey Ally! I’m wondering if you have any recommendations for angsty gatty fics/authors? (I’ve personally coined you the queen of that very specific sub genre haha) and in general, did you have a favorite fic you read (regardless of fandom) in 2023?

Hi! Yes! There are many talented Gatty writers in this fandom and I am so grateful to get to share the same space as them!

Some of my favorites are:

Literally anything and everything that @lookedlikethebins who can be found on AO3 as andfacedown has written - everything hurts SO GOOD

I've also been really enjoying @sundrownsthehouse who can be found on AO3 under the same name.

It's Only Green Where You Water by an anonymous user has absolutely broken me in the best way and I am still obsessed with it even though it hasn't been updated since April - I hope the mystery author is okay! (They have a few other fics listed in the author's notes as well that are also incredible!!)

@0ceanxey3s is another author I really enjoy - and can be found on AO3 as 0ceanxeyes it's more of a general / friendship dynamic between Fictional!Matty and Fictional!George compared to a romantic one but wow do they manage to hurt me in the best way!

@betweenthings2 that can be found on AO3 with the same name has also written some lovely angsty fics!

As always, my all time favorite fic i read in 2023 was Poses by @vinylandcoffeecollection - this is literally my favorite fic in the entire Gatty tag and I have reread it way too many times.

There are SO MANY lovely talented writers in this fandom and this tag and I am sure that I've forgotten some as I just did a quick scroll through my bookmarks tag on AO3! I hope that you enjoy some of these if you haven't read them already! In addition to Gatty I read a lot of Hockey RPF - particularly Leon Draisaitl / Matthew Tkachuk - if that's something you're interested in let me know I can send you SO MANY recs lol Thank you for your kind words about MY writing and for your continued support! I'm so honored and grateful that you've been enjoying my little sub genre of pain and suffering 😂 I hope you have a great rest of your week and thank you again for reading!!

❤️Ally

[darksxder]

EVENT!

ally’s birthday bash!!! / 400 follower celebration!

thank you so much for following and supporting me! sorry my work has been few and far between lately! but that changes with this event!!!

starts: 06/07/2023

12 PM EST

ends: 09/07/2023

12 AM EST

what will it include?

*headcanons

*drabbles

*mini fics (request away!)

*fics (easy target pt. 3 & to devour -ur welcome)

(FOR ANY CHARACTER(S) ON ANY OF MY MASTERLISTS)

rules

be polite & patient

max. 3 prompts for 1 request

can request without using prompts! be creative! go batty!

look at my request rules before submitting!

only submit a request once please!

but you can submit multiple different requests ( diff prompt / plot/ character(s) )

i do poly! pairings ( no limit ) !!!!

be detailed with requests! I love detail!! but know that it will be a mini fic!

prompts are under #prompts or #ally's birthday bash

reblog to spread the word ( if you'd like ) :)

this event also includes...

*personal questions

*thirsts!

*writing process talks

*fic recs

*moodboards

*snippets of fics near completed

thank you!!! i hope to hear from you all thursday to sunday! i couldn’t think of a better way to spend my 20th birthday tbh :,) ily guys <3

[midnightsnyx]

im dead this was way too cute 😭

homecoming | matthew tkachuk

summary: five times matthew came home to you from a roadie

warnings: lots of fluff, pregnancy, babies

a/n: hey hi hello! i’ve wanted to write for ratty for awhile and finally came up with this. hope y’all enjoy!

xoxo

nina

one.

You danced around your kitchen as you made dinner, your hips swinging to the music pouring from your speakers as you stirred the pasta on the stove. You loved cooking and you often found yourself getting lost singing to your favorite songs as you worked in the kitchen.

“And all the girls think that they’d be your partner,” you sang into your wooden spoon, your hips moving as you belted the words. “They’d be your partner! You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you!”

A deep chuckle sounded behind you, making you drop your spoon as you spun around. Leaning against your entryway was your best friend Matthew Tkachuk, his sly grin plastered on his face as he smirked at you, “Don’t let me interrupt, you know I love Carly Simon.”

“Jesus you can’t scare me like that,” you gasped as you put your hand to your chest, only causing Matthew to laugh harder. “How did you even get in here? When did you get back?”

“You gave me a spare key months ago,” you watched as Matthew grabbed a paper towel and crouched down to grab your dropped spoon, wiping up the mess of sauce it left behind. “Got in an hour ago, wanted to see my favorite girl.”

You could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks as Matthew smirked at you. You’d been friends for a few years now and he never failed to pull that reaction out of you.

“I was just making dinner if you want to stay,” you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to the pasta and sauce you had going. “It’s pesto, your favorite.”

“Good thing I brought your favorite wine,” Matthew walked back to the entryway before reappearing with your favorite red wine and a bouquet of multicolored tulips. “And your favorite flowers.”

“Matty…,” your eyes widened in shock as you looked at your best friend who simply grinned at you. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Just trying to show my favorite girl how much I appreciate her,” Matthew smiled as he stepped closer to you, setting the wine and flowers on the counter before skating his arms around your waist. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. Couldn’t get you off my mind.”

Your heart was racing as you met Matthew’s eyes, his grip on your waist pulling you closer to him, “And what were you thinking about?”

“How you’re my best friend and how much I need you in my life,” Matthew’s voice dropped down to just above a whisper as he leaned his forehead against yours. “How much I want to kiss you, to stop calling you my best friend and start calling you my girlfriend. How much I love you….”

As soon as the word leaves Matthew’s lips you’re closing the short distance between the two of you, your lips pressed together as your fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Only took you five years,” you grinned up at Matthew who in turn rolled his eyes before he leaned down to kiss you again. “And for the record… I love you too.”

two.

You’d had quite possibly the longest day at work ever. Between your boss being an absolute dick and your clients being snarky and rude you were ready to curl up in bed with a bottle of wine and a trashy rom com. And that didn’t even get into the traffic that had you coming home at an ungodly hour.

It didn’t help anything that Matthew was on the road right now and wasn’t due back until tomorrow. Your hands shook as you unlocked your apartment, the urge to call your best friend turned boyfriend so strong that you were shakily grabbing for your phone as you made your way inside.

Once you closed the door you leaned your head against the cool wood, heart hammering in your chest as you tried to hold back tears.

The attempt failed.

Your shoulders shook under the weight of your cries, your bag dropping to the floor as you cried to yourself in the doorway of your apartment. The weight of the day settled over you as your knees grew weak and you nearly dropped to the floor.

But you didn’t drop, instead a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and you gasped slightly as Matthew pulled you to his chest.

“Hey hey, it’s okay baby,” Matthew soothed as he held you close. “It’s alright, I got you.”

Your sobs continued as Matthew led you to the couch where he promptly sat down and held you close as you continued to cry. You sat in his embrace for a few minutes, letting him soothe you as you clung tightly to his shoulders.

“I thought you were supposed to be back tomorrow,” you sniffled as Matthew rubbed his hands across your back. “I thought-“

“I’m here now, that’s all that matters,” Matthew mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “What’s wrong baby? What can I do to help you?”

You relaxed slightly as Matthew held you, his body pressed so close you couldn’t help but take the comfort he was giving you.

“I just… It was a long day,” you sighed as you pressed impossibly closer. “It sucked and all I wanted was you and now you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here baby,” Matthew cooed as he pressed his lips to your temple. “I’ll always be here for my favorite girl. No matter what.”

Matthew held you through the night, eventually pulling you toward your bed and dressing you in your pajamas. He held you the whole night and when you woke in the morning with him pressed against you, you couldn’t remember why you were upset in the first place.

three.

It was late, but not late enough for you to have to explain why you weren’t asleep yet. Matthew was due home any minute now, and you were more excited than you would ever been. Even though the Panthers had lost in the semi finals for the Stanley Cup, you couldn’t hold back the grin that was threatening to split your face.

Matthew walked into your bedroom just shy of midnight. When he spotted you wearing his jersey and what looked to be little else his grin widened.

“Sorry you guys got knocked out,” you whispered as Matthew toed off his shoes and made his way toward you.

“S’okay. I have some fun plans for the off season I’ve been eager to get to,” he grinned as he began to unbutton his shirt, your eyes going straight to his toned chest.

“Like what?”

Matthew smirked as he removed his shirt and moved toward the bed. He grabbed your left hand and pressed a kiss to the ring that adorned your finger, “Like making my favorite girl my wife in a few weeks.”

“Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and twelve minutes but who’s counting,” you grinned as Matthew straddled your legs and pressed kisses to your cheeks. “Matty!”

“I’m sorry I only respond to ‘hubby’ now,” you laughed loudly as Matthew buried his face in your neck, lightly nipping at the skin. “God I love you baby.”

“I love you more, hubby.”

four.

It was nearly 3 AM but you couldn’t sleep. The other side of the bed was cold and Matthew would be home soon from a roadie out to California. Normally you wouldn’t stay up to wait for him, he’d usually slip into bed at some ungodly hour and wrap his body around yours. But he had taken a hard hit in his game against San Jose last night and you couldn’t stop worrying about him.

You heard the front door creak open then close quietly, Matthew’s footsteps echoing softly in the living room before he started up the stairs. It wasn’t long before he appeared in the doorway of your shared bedroom, heaving a sigh as he saw you were still up.

“I’m fine, baby,” Matthew tried to reassure you, but as you turned on the bedside lamp you let out a loud gasp. “It looks worse than it is.”

“You have a black eye and stitches, Matthew,” you threw the covers off, walking toward your husband. Once you stood in front of Matthew, his eyes avoiding yours, you cupped his face in your hands. “Jesus Matty…”

Matthew shrugged out of your hold, beginning to pull off his suit as you sat on the edge of the bed, “It’s fine, that fucker had it coming.”

“You can’t keep getting into stupid fights on the ice,” you warned as you crossed your arms under your breasts with a wince. You’d never been concerned about his on ice antics before, but it was different now. “I need you to come home in one piece.”

“I always do, don’t I,” Matthew scoffed but when he turned around he could see the tears shining in your eyes. “Baby it was one fight. I’m a hockey player, it’s what I do.”

You nodded and sniffled, wiping at your cheeks, “I know but… I can’t keep watching you put yourself on the line, I can’t keep worrying every time you’re playing that something horrible is going to happen.”

Matthew stepped towards you, his boxers hanging low on his hips as his shirt and pants had been abandoned behind him, “Hey, I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere okay? What’s really wrong, huh? You’ve never had a problem before.”

“I’m sorry I just-“

“Don’t apologize,” Matthew shook his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, you’re the most important person in my life, my favorite girl. I’m sorry I scared you.”

You nodded but sat in Matthew’s embrace for a few more minutes, letting his warm body soothe your anxiety.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth and I’ll be right back,” Matthew pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you into bed and heading for the bathroom. Your eyes had just closed when you heard him all but shriek. “Babe?”

Matthew reappeared in the doorway as you sat up, his eyes wide as he held up two plastic sticks. You grinned sheepishly as he looked from the tests to you, “I forgot they were in there. I was going to buy a tiny jersey and surprise you and-“

Before you could get another word out Matthew was across the room, pulling you into his arms as he peppered your face with kisses. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you as he held you close.

“Fuck baby, I’m never getting in another fight ever again,” Matthew murmured as he pressed his face to your hair. “I’m never leaving again, I’ll only play home games and when the baby comes I’ll retire and-“

“Matthew,” you giggled as you pressed your hand to your husbands cheek. “You’re not retiring, you’re barely 30. And you’re not changing your schedule. Just be a little more careful, okay?”

With a nod Matthew settled into bed next to you, his hands instantly gravitating to your flat stomach. He sighed into your neck as he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to the warm skin, “I can’t believe we’re having a baby.”

“Me neither,” you smiled as you cuddled into his hold.

“I’m screwed if it’s a girl, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

five.

“Riley get down from there before you bust your head open,” you sighed as your three year old daughter grinned at you from her place on the kitchen counter. “I’m so serious right now! When your dad gets home he’s going to be so mad!”

“Daddy!”

“Yes, daddy,” you crossed your arms over your swollen belly and fixed the toddler with a glare. “He’s not going to like that you’re not listening to mommy.”

“Daddy! Daddy!”

You sighed as you rubbed a hand over your face in exasperation. Being nine months pregnant and dealing with your daughter while Matthew was on a roadie was not easy. Riley had a wild streak that made her hard to handle on good days, but she always seemed to act up more when Matthew wasn’t around to help you.

“Riley Chantal I really hope you’re listening to your mama,” you whipped around and sighed in relief as you saw Matthew standing behind you. “Get off the counter.”

Riley scrambled off the counter as Matthew pulled you into a hug, your shoulders dropping as you let him hold you, “Thank god you’re here.”

“Missed my favorite girl,” Matthew murmured into your hair as he held you close, one hand coming down to cradle your baby bump. “How’s little man doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” you grinned as you watched Riley run toward her father. She wrapped her arms around his legs and Matthew broke away from you to lift Riley up. “You happy daddy’s home?”

Riley nodded as she looked up at Matthew, “Mimi is coming over!”

“Mimi Chantal?” Matthew questioned as Riley nodded her head. “Why’s she coming?”

“Cause mommy’s having a baby, duh,” Riley said the statement with an air of certainty as she looked at you. “Right mama?”

Matthew looked at you in confusion but you simply smiled as you’d settled a hand onto your belly, “My water broke half an hour ago.”

“And you didn’t call?!”

“I checked your location and made sure you were headed home,” you stepped around Matthew and gestured to the hospital bags by the door. “I was ready, been ready for a few weeks now.”

“Holy fuck-“

“Bad word daddy!” Riley shrieked as she slapped a hand over Matthew’s mouth.

“Sorry baby girl,” Matthew sighed as he kissed Riley’s cheek, watched as you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. “Babe?”

“I’m fine,” you breathed out, eyes snapping open. “I’ve been having contractions all day.”

“Babe!”

The front door burst open just then as Chantal walked in, Riley immediately wiggling out of Matthews arms to run to her grandma.

“Matthew Brendan I really hope you’re not yelling at the woman who’s about to have your baby,” you chuckled at Chantal’s remark before another contraction hit you. You took a deep breath but struggled to hold back your groan as pain surged up your back.

Before you could say anything Matthew was at your side, rubbing your back and holding you close, “Okay let’s get going before you have this baby in the car.”

You straightened up and gave Riley a kiss before following Matthew out the door, accepting his help as you stepped up into the passenger seat of your SUV.

“Looks like I came home right on time,” Matthew grinned as he leaned across the console to kiss you.

“Don’t you always?”