#and scream playlists and meditation playlists!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butchcarmy · 9 months ago

Text

Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore.

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time.

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't.

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows.

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you.

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself.

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door.

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place.

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice.

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places.

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally.

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite.

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today.

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles.

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again.

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long.

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you.

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose.

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt.

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away.

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh.

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway.

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit.

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake.

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste.

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone.

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue.

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't.

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same.

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign.

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today.

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back.

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.”

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more. The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back.

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately.

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes.

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot.

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut.

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this…

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try.

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly.

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room.

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended.

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him.

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind.

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur.

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste.

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate.

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue.

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips.

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important.

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch.

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears.

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure.

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp.

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip.

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind.

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth.

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard.

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth.

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is.

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored.

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric.

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late.

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit.

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips.

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real.

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline.

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing.

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face.

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair.

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it.

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours.

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together.

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them.

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless.

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before.

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon.

taglist: @zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @thehouseofevangelista @alastorssimp @talas-starlight @jmamas92

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagines #carmen berzatto imagines #my fics #blood orange #ARGHHH ITS HEREEE. i won't lie this chapter was so hard to write #im still having a hard time figuring out what this particular carmy acts like. its difficult. im getting there tho #my smut

186 notes · View notes

tinydefector · 10 months ago

Text

MTMTE headcanons

Some of the headcanons I have for when I write stuff for the characters. So enjoy the silly little things I think about while writing these guys

Warnings: some have nsfw content in them

Words count: 3K

Masterlist

The Scientist

- Perceptor and Brainstorm regularly have intense debates over various sci-fi shows and movies while working.

- Rewind is secretly a formidable DJ and often Swerve has him doing music playlist for the bar.

- Brainstorm insists on demonstrating his latest inventions at weekly crew meetings. Most of his devices are useless or end up causing minor disasters, to the annoyance of Ultra Magnus, it has resulted in multiple new rules being made .

- Rewind is making a documentary about life on the Lost Light. Nobody realised until he released the "behind the scenes" cut that has Magnus and Megatron both drivking energon, “I hate this crew so much” Magnus huffs, “would you rather starscream?”.

- Rewind has amassed a huge secret stash of rare historical films, songs, and books that he pirates from other planets if its stuff he himself hasn't recorded. He'll only share them if you trade rare datafiles with him.

- Brainstorm's experiments have caused more than one shipwide malfunction or strange phenomenon. Which resulted in having to contain the humans on board after realising it affected their skin in a way that the scent made The bots extremely horny.

Cyclonus and Tailgate

- Cyclonus is generally stoic but has a secret sweet tooth. He can often be found sneaking snacks when he thinks no one is looking.

- Cyclonus has accumulated a giant collection of tiny earth souvenirs for tailgate but will never admit where they come from.

- Cyclonus indulges Tailgate's interests just to spend time with him,

-Cyclonus has taken to meditating in the engine room with drift to get away from the daily chaos. UnfortunatelyWhirl joins them every time to "help him find his inner peace" which mostly involves strange noises and objects flying by.

-Tailgate has become convinced the Lost Light is haunted after a prank goes wrong. Now he drags Cyclonus along on nightly "ghost hunts" which mostly consist of jumping at shadows.

- Tailgate gets very excited about trying new types of energon goodies and treats he finds on other planets. Cyclonus has to gently remind him to pace himself so he doesn't get a tank ache.

- Thanks to his small size, Tailgate can easily squeeze into small spaces to repair things or retrieve lost items. Unfortunately he sometimes gets stuck and needs help wiggling back out which has led to some rather spicy times for himself and Cyclonus. Occasionally Whirl.

- Tailgate is an awful shot with firearms but tries to practise constantly. The other bots have to avoid being in the line of fire during his "target practice sessions."

- Tailgate tries so hard to act tough that he sometimes comes across more adorable than intimidating. The other bots try not to laugh...most of the time.

- Tailgate has become obsessed with human paranormal investigation shows. He tries to convince everyone to do a seance in the lower cargo decks and engine room, he forgot the sparkeater was down there.

- Tailgate loves watching old earth movies with the human crew. Rewind is always happy to supply new films from his extensive archives or record them from the humans Movie, Usb and harddrive stashes.

Ratchet & Drift

-Drift and Ratchet have started a betting pool on how long it will take for Rodimus and Magnus to get in a screaming match this time. Ratchet always wins, Drift enjoys it.

-Drift is somehow the richest bot on the Lost Light from his days as Deadlock, he doesn't use his shanix on himself and only spends it on people he cares for.

- Drift meditates regularly and has tried to introduce the crew to Earth wellness practices like yoga, much to their bafflement. He enjoys practising with the human members of the ship.

- Drift meditates for hours in the cargo bay and tries to spread his philosophy of peace. It doesn't always work on this crew of hassling madmen but he does try.

- Drift meditates frequently to find his inner calm. It's one of the only things that allows him to tolerate Rodimus' antics for so long without having a breakdown over the speedster endangering himself.

-asides from Rung *cough Primus cough* Drift is one the oldest member of the crew who wasn't statused, but no one can tell due to how well he looks after himself now, but Ratchet knows how bad he used to look.

- Ratchet has a comm channel blocked nearly every night to "discuss medical matters” it's his line to bitch talk with Rung.

- Ratchet has a secret ship called the "USS Nail-Him-To-The-Berth", which is a small shuttle solely used to stealthily transport Drift to remote planets for romantic getaways. Drift jokingly added captain's stripes to his arms without telling him, drift was in fact the one who brought him said ship as a job gift.

- Ratchet having a secret collection of badly written medical holodramas he'll never admit to enjoying. Claims it's just for "research." But many nights you can find him, Drift and Rodimus curled up together watching them.

- Ratchet grumbles about why he signed up to be a doctor for a ship full of unruly idiots but deep down he cares about them all. Even Whirl...sometimes.

- Ratchet has banned Brainstorm from the medical bay after one too many experiment explosions. Now he has to do checkups in the hallway.

Megaton

- Whenever he's frustrated, Megatron mutters to himself in ancient Cybetronian. Unfortunately, a lot of the curses and insults have been lost to time so they just sound silly now to some of the younger bots, it nearly makes Rung freeze up hearing the old text.

-Megatron has stowed away in one of the escape pods when things get too much. He leaves a note saying he needed a break, and he tries to make himself as small as he can inside the pod.

- Megatron has started joining Swerve at the bar after shift and they've developed a genuine friendship, though Megatron still pretends he finds Swerve annoying.

- Megatron has developed a secret hobby of arranging tiny furniture and scenes inside empty energon cubes. He claims it helps him relax. Eventually some of the humans ask him to help with arranging their own furniture

- Megatron has a secret hobby where he writes romance novels under a pen name. He's actually quite the romantic, quite a few bots have read his work but he rather keep it under a pen name these days after the works he used to publish.

- Megatron has taken to leaving sticky notes reminding Rodimus of the task he has to do. It doesn't always work but it has gotten Rodimus to remember a few things.

- Megatron writes "broadly, deeply philosophical" in his captain's log, then spends an hour ranting about the merits of proper temporal coordinates and in the end both he and Ultra Magnus tend to both have rants over how bad Rodimus’ spelling is.

-megatron always gets roped into babysitting whatever wild creatures Whirl and Rodimus find/rescue that week. On many occasions the humans have been left in his care against his pleads.

- Megatron has started a small garden on one of the observation decks and finds the meticulous care of plants to be a calming hobby, it had become the food score for many of the humans on board and they are rather grateful to him for the hobby.

- During movie nights, Megatron always ends up with either (Rodimus or insert) falling asleep on his lap.

Skids

- Skids is clueless about his own strength and accidentally breaks things all the time like datapads or fuel cubes. He apologises profusely each time.

- skids gets way too invested in holodramas and movies, and yells at characters' bad decisions. The others gently tease him for it.

- skids tried exotic new fuel mixes in the hab suite's energon dispenser that usually end up glitching it. Swerve has to come and fix it.

- His favourite Earth movie is The Fast and the Furious because he loves seeing high-speed races, but he can never remember the characters' names.

- He once tried to make cybertronian energon goodies for humans and ended up nearly giving one of them food poisoning, Ratchet had to inform him humans can't consume energon.

- Skids volunteers to test out new gadgets from Brainstorm but often ends up as an unwilling test subject when things go wrong. He's developed a strange immunity to most sedatives at this point.

- Skids loves catching up on gossip and can always be counted on to have the latest gossip. He just may not always get all the details right…

Ultra Magnus/ Minimus Ambus

- Magnus takes Rodimus' jokes and antics way too seriously and has trouble understanding sarcasm or joking around sometimes.

- He has an extensive collection of data pads cataloguing Cybertronian laws and regulations. He reads them for fun in his spare time.

- Magnus gets distracted while trying to scold Rodimus because he's also trying to find the words to express how disappointed he is.

- Whenever the Lost Light encounters something unknown, Magnus volunteers to write the official first contact report in excruciating detail, complete with footnotes and bibliography, most times he also needs the input from others to help with making decent impressions.

- Despite his stern demeanour, Magnus has been known to crack a dad joke or two when he thinks no one is listening, it starts happening more often when Megatron and he are working together.

- In a desperate attempt to loosen up, Magnus once joined Tailgate and Cyclonus for a night of drinking. He got absolutely overcharged and started doing karaoke. It is now part of Rewind's collection of Rare footage.

- Deep down, he's a softy for romantic holodramas.

- Somehow Minimus Ambus accumulates a massive collection of tiny human souvenirs like shot glasses and snow globes that he treasures. He meticulously dusts each one weekly.

- In recharging moments, Ultra Magnus mutters equations and legal codes. His docking clamp also twitches in alignment with Enforcer protocols it's another rare thing that only (Megatron/ Human insert) know about.

- Ultra Magnus has memorised and could recite the entire Great Charter of the Functionalists as it was something he did study mainly for knowledge.

- Ultra Magnus has hidden photos of Rodimus doing ridiculous dances and lip sync battles with humans when he thinks no one is watching Proud Dad™️.

Rung

- Rungs office is soundproof but sometimes Megatron or Rodimus can still hear him having meltdowns after appointments with certain patients.

- Rung has a very rare high grade collection, some of the cubes are older than bots on the ship.

- Old war stories give Rung flashbacks, and most times he has to walk away so he doesn't try and correct people on events he was present for.

- Deep down Rung is a bit of a gearhead and loves helping Brainstorm in the lab, but don't tell anyone - it's his little secret joy.

-To help decompress after long therapy sessions, Rung knits tiny sweaters for all the human's onboard the Lost Light. Even made oen for Miminus, as other botss find out they start asking for small requested pieces from him.

- The other bots have a gambling pool going on about how long it will take Rung to get fed up with Rodimus' antics and throw something at him. So far no one has won.

- Rung had an impossible time getting anyone to show up for their therapy sessions until Megatron joined, now he seems to have a Very steady flow of patients, many with Ptsd.

- Rung has redecorated his room with alien silk cushions and incense burning meditations pods. Crew members often visit just to relax and vent about ship problems.

-Rung never truly stopped being primus. It's just after so many millions of years, he's tired and he'd rather if people could just forget. His biggest fear is that one day he might turn out just like Unicron.

Whirl

-Whirl is always stealing Rodimus' energon drinks and mixing them with high grade. Rodimus gets plastered and wakes up in weird places without remembering how he got there.

- Whirl loves to sneak up on Tailgate and startle him for laughs. Cyclonus threatens Whirl with dismemberment if he doesn't knock it off.

- Whirl starts an underground gambling pool for betting on who will be the next couple to get together. Nautica and Velocity are currently the frontrunners followed closely by (insert and Bot of choice).

- He snuck into Megatron's quarters on the Lost Light and messed with all his decor, moving furniture around and putting self-portraits of himself on the walls. To this day no one knows if Megatron has noticed and why nothing was said if he had.

- Whirl hacked the shipwide intercom to play love songs on repeat for a week straight. He claimed it was for "motivational purposes" but many bots suspected he was just bored.

- No one can prove it was him, but after one of Tailgate's game nights someone released glitter bombs all over the ship that took days to fully clean up. Suspicion fell on Whirl, it was in fact Tailgate who had gotten Whirl to make it for him.

-Whirl accidentally joining every single one of Tailgate's hobby clubs and getting waaay to into each one, to the little bot's surprise. No one knows how to tell him he's in the sewing circle by mistake.

- Whirl hits on everything that moves, despite constant rejections. He took getting thrown in the brig by security as a good sign once.

- Whirl talks a big game and seems chaotic, but he is actually the most mature when it comes to looking after children. When one of the humans on board had a baby he became rather protective of them and their child. It also transfers over with sparklings (if/when) they are on the ship, he and Megatron are dubbed the babysitters.

Swerve

- Constantly redecorating the bar to try out new lighting/theme ideas. One day it's a tiki bar, next it's a speakeasy.

- Always bugging the other bots to join in games and activities at the bar. Usually ends up being the only one participating in crafts or dance contests.

- Clumsy and easily startled. Accidentally breaks something in the bar at least once a week through spills or failed dance moves.

- he Makes crazy custom drinks with wild synthetic engex concoctions. Often leads to strange/funny reactions in customers.

- Endless list of nicknames for all the other crews. Brainstorm is "Sciencebot", Rodimus is "Hotshot", etc. Loves giving codenames.

- Secretly a shipper and enjoys gossiping about who he thinks is into who. Always trying to play matchmaker between crewmates with whirl.

- His favourite game to play at the bar is "Who Would You Rather?" and he always chooses the wildest, most inappropriate options to get a rise out of people, he loves hassling the humans over their strange biology.

- Swerve is secretly hoping Megatron will one day ask him to be his personal assistant. He has the whole job role planned out because Megatron would make the best security guard. Swerve's bar fights would become such a problem that Megatron would consider said roll.

- Swerve is convinced he's going to open the best bar/restaurant in the galaxy someday. He experiments with new fuel and engex recipes in the ship's improvised kitchen to the dismay of Ultra Magnus.

- Swerve's bar gets rowdier each week as new engex flavours are tested. Merchandise bets and wild stories are the norm.

- Swerve refuses to let Megatron stay in his bar without paying his tab in full first. But over time he starts handing off drinks to the old war lord.

Rodimus

- Rodimus is constantly coming up with ridiculous dares to try and get Magnus to lighten up. So far he's had one of his human companions shot whipped cream at the enforcer before they bolted".

- Rodimus is banned from the ship's engines after the sparkeater incident, mainly for his own safety.

- Rodimus gets distracted easily during conversations and often trails off its Megatron who's the one who realises it and gets him a large figure toy so he can keep occupied while in meetings.

- He doodles elaborate designs for new finish styles and ship paint jobs during important briefings and lectures, much to Ultra Magnus' chagrin. Megatron tells Magnus to ignore it because it's one of the only ways Rodimus seems to take in what is being said to him.

- His habsuite is constantly a mess of strewn tools, parts, paint and upgrades. Drift tries to tidy it and just gives up.

- Has started using ridiculous Earth slang he doesn't fully understand like "groovy" and "far out" just to get laughs. Drives Ultra Magnus nuts, the humans find it rather amusing watching him use it in the wrong terms.

- Secretly loves 80s hair metal music but would never admit it. But he loves listening to it in his habsuite while working on things, he loves human music alot.

- He tries desperately to be the cool, laid back leader but is constantly stressed and awkward. Inside he's a nervous wreck, worried that no matter what he does he's living in Optimus' shadow as a prime.

- Rodimus stays up late watching Earth romcom movies and serial melodramas to get leadership tips, but mostly just ends up confused, he loves cuddling with (insert) as they explain the plot for him to make it slightly easier for him to understand.

- He compulsively taps his pedes when anxious and doesn't realise he's doing it. Megatron is the one who normally send him away knowing that the more tapping the less Rodimus is listening when he's in this state.

- His favourite Earth beverage is monster energy drinks, which the humans find rather amusing. (Energy Fluid au, he takes one mouthful and nearly spits it back out. “WHY ARE YOU ALL DRINKING TRANSFLUID!?!?” it leads to a lot of discoveries with *human insert*) He hassles them a lot with the promise of their favourite drink, no this dirty pervert instead just fills cups with transfluid and tells them that he has his own secret stash of monsters. As it gets around alot more bots start to get rather interested in how the humans had a drink that was pretty much the flavour of their transfluid.

294 notes · View notes

konniesreality · 1 year ago

Note

Hey Konnie, I'm going to share my success story with you.

So, for context, I've known about the void for I think over a year and I've been in the LOA community since I was 8. I've also had the most disgusting life all around especially when it came to my spiritual life but that's not important right now.

I've always been lazy when it came to the void, like on one hand I was like "Finally a method that guarantees success no matter what" but on the other hand I was like "Ugh, this is too much I don't feel like doing this right now" and kept making excuses. Because I knew about waking up in the Void State I'd go to bed and just fall asleep after listening to subliminals and affirming thinking that was going to do anything for ME personally. (P.S. just because it didn't work for me doesn't mean it won't work for you.) I did this for MONTHS and kept wondering why it wasn't working. Like I knew I was lazy but I just really couldn't bother at all...until recently.

I decided that I wanted to change and that I'd go back to the basics of the Void. I switched out the subliminals that I used before and created a fresh playlist. Link: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLA_GYb1XT6i7XafhzWTNCnerDt1x9HOiz I simply worked on fulfilling myself internally and went within entirely. Then, two weeks ago I randomly decided to just "meditate" into the void. So, I just laid down, stayed still and RELAXED. I didn't even think about the Void, my attention was to simply relax and be. Eventually, I did relax to the point my body went slightly numb so I took it as a sign to start affirming for the Void. The affirmations I used are "I am" and "I am void". I started experiencing soooooooo many symptoms such as the floaty feeling, losing my senses, the darkness behind the eyes getting darker (I wanted my void to be pitch black hence why it got dark) also that really weird eye fluttery thing idk what that is called but yeah I had that too. I was literally spinning and my heart was about to jump out of my chest istg BUT I focused on my breathing and my affirmations.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Now, mind you, I've NEVER gotten this close to entering the Void IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. But I kid you not, I felt myself literally DETACH from my body, well I more felt it in my face/head because I couldn't feel my body but you get the point. Like I felt HOLLOW like WHAT. I was internally screaming and I started to smile because I was like "I'm finally entering the void after how long now." Buttttttt when I was literally five seconds away from entering the Void completely my lovely father came in the room to ask me something so I OBVIOUSLY snapped out. (Still salty btw) But I can tell you that I was 90% in the Void and they weren't lying about feeling pure bliss and happiness and feeling calm as well as being one with yourself because I felt it too. And when I "got out" I felt SO SMUG cause I was like, I finally figured out what method works best for me AND I know when and how to do it.

So, my directions in case you want to try it out.

Go to bed around 30 minutes - 1 hour earlier. Or do it when you're going to take a nap, but it works best for me at night. Also, make sure your eyes are like slightly burning, not ask why just trust me. but not to the point it's watering just enough to make sure you're a little sleepy and will make you relax easier because I find that works best.

2. Then, relax your body and allow all thoughts to float by, don't pay any attention to it. Also, focus on your breathing. (You can do breathing techniques but I just went with a slow but natural pace of breathing, for me of course)

3. ANY SYMPTOMS IGNORE THEM ALL!! It may be hard but honestly, it's kind of like ignoring someone when they talk shit- bad example but you knowww. Just focus on breathing and affirmations here.

4. Make sure to affirm when you are ready, trust me you will know because it'll be like a gut feeling. Or when you feel really relaxed like you're in a tropical paradise or something just start to affirm. Also, I would imagine things that I'd be doing in my hr (home reality) because affirming is kinda boring after a while so I interchanged them.

And that's about it, I think the important thing to take away here is to do what works FOR YOU. If you know that this method doesn't work for you but you saw it works for me, that is not an invitation to change your method. Also, remember always that the void IS YOU, it will not exist without you so don't put it on a pedestal. You got this always and have fun living your dream life. You were born a master of the void so no excuses.

Also that new subliminal that you made is LITERALLY the only sub I use now and it's BOMB. But I obviously linked my playlist bc I used to use it.

OMG IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!! Thank you so much for using my subliminal and most importantly sharing your success! It’s the truth! Find what works for you and R E L A X I know you will get in again!! TSYM for linking the playlist too! 💕💗💗

#ask #void state #void state success story

276 notes · View notes

deminetly · 2 months ago

Text

୨A THOUGHT DAUGHTERS GUIDE TO ESCAPING BOREDOM୧

……………………………………………………………

make posters for fake events and leave them around town

buy a cake, some balloons and a present for yourself, pretending like its your birthday

go for a run through the forest in a flowy white dress

tape googly eyes on trees

read a book and highlight every word you find beautiful

start a new religion

thrift old electronic items and take them apart

world build a fantasy universe

melt an ice cube in your hands

go to an art museum and try to guess the meaning behind pieces

lay down in a field and try to find shapes and clouds

unlock new locations to yearn in

stare at a candlelight for hours and just think

enter imaginary portals through woods

befriend a crow

follow a cat or a bird around to see where you end up

lie in your journal

thrift or make small dollhouse furniture

start collecting something (stamps, buttons, stickers, or trinkets)

make a trinket dish from clay

watch a YouTube video or listen to a podcast about a topic that interests you and take notes in your journal

go to places alone until you meet somebody naturally

make clay houses for fairies

make charms from clay

go to a graveyard and find your birthday

make ocs, their lore, relationships to each other and personality

ask your classmates for homework answers and analyse handwriting

design emojis for emotions you’ve felt but couldn’t explain

start a philosophy club with your imaginary friends

learn or make a new language

find an unpopular band and research fun facts about it

go out and collect junk for junk journaling

go out and find a place that you would like to live in if you were a fairy

solve/make sudokus

find your old journals and read through them

build or plan out a treehouse

make specific and really random playlists

meditate

make your own paints from natural ingredients

draw your childhood plushie as a person

buy an old painting from a thrift store and restore it/add your own touches

grab a couple of things from around your house, pose them together and draw or paint them

try to capture an emotion by painting or drawing it or make up a totally new emotion

do a study or research project on another artist

draw something that challenges you until you’re fine with the end result

re-create an old painting

write your own fairytale

draw carpets

design movie posters

personalise everything you own

go to an antique store and contemplate the forgotten history behind every object

try to capture a scene from your dream

watch I believe in unicorns (movie)

try shifting

make an altoid wallet room for your calico critter

make a pinterest board for your future home inspo

paint squidward

write a poem about pomegranate

thrift old magazines, cut out letters as well as cute pictures and make a collage

rank studio ghibli worlds you would live in

make statues from foil or clay

mini research projects

thrift flip ties

freeze random things

draw your non dominant hand from different angles

do makeup inspired by random pictures

write an essay about why fairies and unicorns are real

have a deep conversation with your mom

make up a movie plot, design posters and print them out then leave them around town

watch “poor little rich girl”

world build your own planet with all kinds of different creatures and lore

have a pinterest board called “pinterest bag” and save anything you want in there

make ocs (find pictures/draw them, make their personality and lore)

make a trinket box from a matchbox

write an assay about a life lesson

go for a walk with a mug of tea or a bowl of cereal

create new words for emotions or feelings you’ve felt but couldn’t explain

learn to insult people poetically

research black holes

guided meditations

go to an amusement park just to scream

make up your own typology system

attempt to break a random world record

pierce your house plants

search up philosophical questions and answer them or even make up your own

draw yourself as an angel

make nature potions with lake water sand grass rocks etc

find a secret hangout

get into spirituality

try to lucid dream or research other peoples lucid dreaming stories

go for a walk after rain and collect snails

manifest

make a new mythical creature

worldbuild an imaginary universe/planet

organise beads

try to draw scenes from your dreams

watch old disney movies

start a new religion

find shapes in clouds

build a hangout for fairies

make a trinket shelf from clay

glass art

paint on spoons and forks

make duct tape wallets

decorate your wired headphones

make a becklace from rings

newspaper art

make stamps from erasers

make clay picture frames

make earrings from random items (q-tips)

make a fabric sketchbook

make keychains from bottle caps

make 3D collages from paper

make an altoid wallet candle

make a mini version of your room

recycle your old clothes

make paper stars

research paradoxes

try lucid dreaming meditations

argue with your plushies about the philosophical takes/views you gave them

like a candle and stare at it until you get an idea

fake journaling (make up a persona and journal as if you wear them, make up situations that happened)

buy cat food to hold in your purse at all times in case you see a stray cat

make jam and decorate the jars (bonus points if you gift it to your grandma)

research the deeper meaning behind childrens cartoons

craft a doll, take it to cute places and have photoshoots

write down the longest midwest emo song titles you can find

watch or make a video essay

thrift old magazines, cut out the coolest things and make collages

stare at your own reflection for hours

go for a walk but you can only go back once you’ve complimented five people

decorate your bag with diy patches

try something you think you’re not gonna like and write about whether you liked it or not in your journal

make a spacehey profile

design new posters for your favourite movies

nap on a med of moss and be observed back into earth

sing your favourite songs to your cat in cat langauge

telepathically send people dreams

walk around town and perform fake plays in front of security cameras

create fake evidence suggesting you went on an adventure that you never really went on

paint all of your toe nails different colours

open your window and breathe in the fresh air, absorbing the world around you

shower without any lights or music

design and build a new musical instrument

when out of inspiration, take your journal and a camera, go on a walk and take pictures/write down anything that inspires you

stick quotes/poems around town

drink tea outside after it rained

play a movie on mute and improvise the dialogue

with a camera and a pair of boots, make a photo log of a day in the life of an invisible man

learn morse code

make a “my five stages of grief” playlist

write a love letter to your favourite season, seal it in an envelope and tuck it into a book you only read during that season

as you go for a walk discreetly scatter wildflower seeds along your path. imagine how in the future a small patch of flowers might bloom unexpectedly because of you

build a tiny altar to your daydreams. find a small shelf or corner, decorate it with objects that represent your wildest dreams and fantasies (crystals, feathers, dried flowers, trinkets)

have an indoor picnic. lay out a blanket in your living room at midnight, make yourself a snack and read poetry by the candlelight

use your feelings as inspiration to draw a whimsical map, labelling places like “the valley of nostalgia” or “the Hills of quiet contentment”

have a tiny art show at home, create a few tiny pieces of art like drawings, sculptures or crafts (no bigger than a coin) set them up in a small display area

host a tiny funeral for a habit you’re ready to let go off. write a short eulogy, light a candle, say your goodbyes and thank it for serving you in the past before letting it go

get a jar and each day add a small object or note that represents your mood (like a shiny bead for happiness and a cloudy pebble for sadness) watch your jar change as your life does

write a letter, seal it in a glass bottle and send it into the ocean

write a poem with words found in your junk drawer. dig through your junk drawer, pull out random items and let each object serve as a prompt

leave a small secret gift for a stranger. wrap a tiny object (like a pressed flower, a kind note or a little charm) and leave it somewhere in public for someone to find (a park bench, a library book, a bus seat)

find a beautiful rock, paint a face on it, carry it around for a week, taking pictures of the adventures you went on together

bake a single cupcake or tiny cake just for yourself, decorate it, light a candle and make a wish

go for a walk and pretend you’re on a quest. imagine you’re searching for a magical object or solving a mystical riddle as you wonder, narrate your journey

make a playlist for an imaginary creature

write a thank you note to an inanimate object (like your favourite mug or pen)

put together a time capsule for a fairy (add buttons, crystals, dried flowers, pearls, trinkets, glitter, a poem) and bury it or hide it in a nook of a tree

go for a walk with a glass jar and fill it with tiny magical items you find along the way, go every day until it’s full

invent something absurd and useless, like an umbrella warmer or a toast unbutterer

take a colouring book and break the “rules” (colour outside of the lines, make the sky green)

create a tiny world in a jar (put in moss, stones, crystals, water etc)

make and decorate a dollhouse to leave it in your garden for a fairy

craft a magic wand

make a trinket necklace

make a memory box

start collecting dead bugs

make drinks that look like potions and have a stargazing picnic while drinking them

write postcards to imaginary places like a floating city or a forest made of glass

build a bug hotel or bird house

try stole balancing

carve a candle

create your own tea blend using herbs, flowers and spices

write penpal letters to an imaginary friend (a fairy, mermaid or unicorn) make up an ongoing story thats happening across multiple letters

try to mix a new colour and name it

instead of walking or running, go skipping

research ways the world could end

look for bones in a forest, near a road or river

write a fake history for a mundane object like a spoon

invent new words for oddly specific feelings you’ve felt

create a tiny menu for an imaginary restaurant

attempt to do something so random that it might be the first time someone ever did it

make an all about me page (include style, hobbies, kins, pride flag, pronouns, age, a quote)

make a pinterest board for your younger self. pin things that they would have liked

make snow animals on trees

play dress up while watching a dress up video on YouTube

research where random memes started and where they came from

think of whimsical questions to debate (are clouds better than pillows? are sandwiches tiny beds for ingredients?)

decorate your shoes

gather old hats, decorate them wildly and exchange them with your friends. invent backstories for their previous owners

paint rocks with faces, name them and set up an adoption agency for friends to adopt

decide on your halloween costume and start collecting everything you need for it already

turn a corner in your room into a museum with weird exhibits like hair from a unicorn or a rock that can talk

rewatch your childhood favourite movies and cartoons

try a new hobby every day for a week straight and vlog it

create a secret handshake for yourself

invent a new holiday and celebrate it

have a secret handshake with the moon and do it every time you spot her

write your favourite word in your journal in as many fonts as you can invent

set reminders for random times, writing down little rewards that future you can give herself

make a “this reminds me of me” pinterest board or journal page

make your own tarot cards

write a love letter to yourself

go on a winter run (run through the snow, throw snowballs at trees, make snowangels, dance around the dark streets)

write an essay or journal page about why you would choose happiness over money or money over happiness

ask the universe a question and shuffle your playlist to see what it has to say

listen to every song called sleep walk and rank them

instead of bedrotting try treerotting

draw other people artworks in your style

try to create an organism inside of a bottle or bowl

make a music video (lizzy grant style)

try to create a new dimention or perspective by drawing it

start writing down if you notice any changes in your life or other people around full moons

start taking dice with you everywhere to help you make decisions (even numbers mean yes and uneven numbers mean no)

make your own eyeshadow palette (with pictures from pinterest) and name the eyeshadows

#thought daughter #hobbies #activity #outdoor activities #whimsy #whimsical

41 notes · View notes

greattigerssimp · 3 months ago

Text

Punch Out!! Wii boxers and their workout regimes.

(Got inspired from @bucketspammer4life and their buckets-worth of Punch Out headcannons, so here I am making mine! Teehee. We all saw cutscenes about how Lil Mac trains for matches, but what about the other boxers?? Find out here!)

Glass Joe: 🥐🇫🇷

- Hates waking up early, so he starts later in the afternoon/evening

- When he works out, he wears a black hoodie that says "But first, coffee" on it.

- Focuses on cardio to stay in shape, and because his natural upper body strength is abysmal

- Kaiser sometimes helps him prep for matches and tends to over-praise him... like, Joe will do 2 push-ups and Kaiser will be on his knees, screaming about how amazing Joe is doing.

- Hates dieting to build muscle (since it takes him away from his beloved breads and wine), but if he has to, his go-to meal plan consists of Greek yogurt, berries, PB on whole grain sandwiches, and salads.

- His workout playlist consists of a variety of music, but quite a lot of Daft Punk. He's a closeted fan of them.

- He used to sparr with Gabby Jay before he died. It was his only real practice and upper body exercise he got. Nowadays he sparrs with Kaiser or Bear Hugger for practice

Von Kaiser: 🔩🇩🇪

- Opposite of Joe, focusing on his upper body strength only.

- Wears his classic slutty white tank top and army pants... and iconic boots while working out.

- He also wakes up stupidly early for a run, and almost got mugged one morning one time.

- A rare pull-up lover! Dude is shockingly good at pulling his own weight.

- He's also scarily good at climbing stuff... don't blink, or you'll see him on your roof all of a sudden

- Uses techniques from his own regime to help train his students

- Workout playlist is boring

- Very meat heavy diet, both on rest and training days. Very bleak breakfast, mainly consisting of eggs, toast, and black coffee.

Disco Kid: 🕺🇺🇲

- One word: Boxercise.

- Takes lessons with Heike as his teacher

- Ofc wears the leotard. He's had that leotard for a while, actually... he says it fits fine, buuuut let's just say that there are certain signs that show the outfit getting small on him...

- Exercises whenever he wants; his classes are indoors, so time isn't an issue for him.

- Has over +20 playlists, one for every day, of ever hour, of every "vibe."

- If he's training for a fight, he'll usually rely on greens and vegetables to help him keep him focused. Also plenty of protein shakes (his fave flavor is cookies and cream)

- Aside from boxer-cising, he enjoys going on afternoon or morning walks with his mom (and sometimes April tags along)

King Hippo: 🦛🏝

- His only idea of "working out" is to swim butt naked at the nearest beach

- The only music he listens to is the ocean ✨️

- He always eats a punching bag before hits fights... no one knows why. That should tell you enough about his pre-fight diet.

Piston Hondo: 🥊🇯🇵

- Like Kaiser, works out early in the morning, but also late at night too

- If he's in public, he's wearing a white t-shirt and sweat pants. If he's working out in private, he's wearing this pink Sailor Moon tank top he's owned since he left Japan.

- He and Tiger practice meditation together. Mental health is just as important as physical health!

- Cardio lover

- Disgustingly quick reflexes

- One time, he used a treadmill at the gym, and he accidentally broke it after running in the highest setting for over an hour.

- Playlist consists of J-Pop and a little bit of vocaloid. Like Joe, he's insecure about the music he likes.

- Absolute W workout diet. Rice + home made chicken or white fish, crunchy sea weed strips, and lightly seasoned edamame?? All inside a cute bento box that looks adorable AND portions out the food??? Sign me and the WVBA up! He changes it up a lot, too, for the sake of trying new things.

Bear Hugger: 🐻🇨🇦

- Trains anytime of the day, wearing anything. Sometimes he'll train butt naked in the woods to really "capture the bear spirit."

- Bears, squirrels, you name it! He's trained, at least with every North American animal, at least once.

- Loves hockey! Not only does he watch it a lot, but he's good at playing! He and Lomasi play for fun or for training.

- Doesn't really listen to music while working out (he prefers the sounds of nature) buuut he does have a playlist all about country rock.

- His diet? Raw fish. Either caught by him, Lomasi or the bear he trains with.

Great Tiger: 🐅🇮🇳

- Doesn't actually work out... his clones do, and he resuscitates the energy from their efforts.

- Does meditation with Hondo... will float unconsciously during meditation.

- His playlist consists of authentically Indian music, mainly ones with a calming aura. He listens to them while meditating

- Will sometimes go on jogs with Hondo and get hilariously left behind because Hondo is naturally speedy

- Works out/meditates shirtless

- Would have a W diet if he knew how to cook. He mainly gets Hondo to make him bento boxes for lunch and dinner. Had a prime phase for a good 2 months

Don Flamenco: 🥀🇪🇸

- Works out shirtless in the summer, low-cut tank top in the autumn and spring seasons, and doesn't work outside during the winter.

- Also loves swimming! His swimming exercises are pretty rigorous. Also, he posts thrist traps of him swimming for attention lmao

- Carmen decides when he can and can't work out. Someday's he can work out at night or in the morning, and somedays he can't

- His workout playlist is all sorts of disorganized. He's got authentic Spanish music in there, but he also likes his fair share of girly pop (thanks to Carmen), and because of his one emo phase, there's a bunch of metal and punk pop in there. One minute he's listening to "Firework," the next, it's "Misery Business."

- He would absolutely LOVE to have his own Spanish based diet, but nah... Carmen's rich parents usually cook for him every night. He's stuck eating unseasoned chicken and cold collared green until his fights. And no, he isn't allowed to cook for himself, even though he can do so pretty well.

Aran Ryan: 😈🇮🇪

- Upper strength dude, straight up. If he's not punching something into oblivion, he's not working out.

- Works out all night and sleeps all day.

- Will trash talk whatever inanimate object he's beating into oblivion.

- Got arrested once for fighting random strangers on the street... police were called after he bit someone's finger off. Claims he was just working out

- Wears a "punch me, I'm Irish" tank while he's working out

- Playlist consists of Irish and British punk rock bands

- Gets hot way too easily; the place he works out in has to be breezy/cool or he's getting distracted

- No diet whatsoever. No one's taking his fish and chips or his shepards pies away from him, no sir

Soda Popinski: 🍾🇷🇺

- Booty shorts and crop top tank top. Doesn't matter what the weather is... he's wearing this. He gets a lot of stares...

- Hates cardio, makes him anxious bc he's so tall. Focuses on upper body strength

- He isn't into basketball, but if we was, he'd be really good at it; would be a nice way to train.

- During his withdrawal phase, he found it horrible to work out. He felt so tired and weak for days on end, and lacked the motivation needed to workout.

- Broke lots of training equipment back in his spiked liquor era.

- Playlist mainly consists of Russian hits that he grew up with + the occasional folk song

- Sparrs with Macho Man for totally straight reasons (liesss)

- Very safe, very bland diet... but it does the trick, and it doesn't make him throw up. He's very conscious about what he puts into his body, since he's afraid of how the liquor would react to it.

Bald Bull: 🐂🇹🇷

- Wears a boxing outfit + tank top

- Also meditates, but privately.

- His entire work out regime is as closeted as possible.

- Very calm when working out... he's almost a completely different person than how he is in the ring

- Listens to calming white noise instead of music

- Diet isn't that rigorous, but it isn't particularly unhealthy either. Baklava for breakfast, lean kebabs for lunch, and Manti for dinner.

Super Macho Man: 🌊🇺🇸

- Wears the same speedo he does in the ring when he works out. If it's cold outside, he'll wear a Hollywood Blvrd hoodie and no pants, aside from that speedo.

- ONLY works out on the beach he lives by, and only does it in the afternoons.

- Blasts his music on the beach... he listens to a DISGUSTING amount of pit bull. It's either him, or any other rave song that's been played dozens of times

- Either swims, surfs, or punches a bag. He'll record himself doing this too

- Likes to sparr with Soda on the beach... and surf, ofc, this is my AU and Soda x Macho Man is built upon romantic surfing moments !!!

- Also hates dieting, like Joe, but if he has too, he'll stick to steaks and energy drinks. Also enjoys morning Mimosa's

Mr. Sandman: 💤🇺🇲

- Very private work out routine

- Spends entire days in his apartment, just punching a bag and listening to a playlist designed by Mr. Dream that TOTALLY doesn't have subliminal messages... ha-

- Puts bulking powders into every piece of lean meat and energy drink he consumes; its borderline unhealthy

- Ofc the bulking powder he uses is created by the WVBA...

- He's lowkey miserable, but pretends he's not.

50 notes · View notes

mossy-petrichor · 5 months ago

Text

Mossy Petrichor's healthy coping 101

Do you always dissociate from distressing situations, repress strong emotions or deal with stress by self harming? Do you have 0 idea what it means when people talk about "coping"? This post is for you!

I usually see this happen a lot in people who were emotionally neglected (like yours truly), which is unfortunately really common, but no less traumatizing

Psa: all of this is based off my own experience, as someone who also had no idea how to cope and learned it by themselves. This isn't medical advice!

So, what does coping mean?

When you go through a stressful situation, you can feel your emotions at a 10/10. To cope is to bring this down so you don't lose your mind. This can apply to anger, sadness, hopelessness, fear

I like to separate coping into two ways:

Expressing the emotions in a healthy way

Calming yourself and bringing the emotions down (when you can't express them, or when those emotions do more harm than good)

I usually go by 1, but 2 can be used for when, for example, feeling angry at someone who can't change. So you keep feeling this anger that you can't do anything about, and it'll just make you feel worse to keep feeling it whenever you look at this person

Here's some things to make sure to do if you're feeling shitty:

Drink water

Eat a meal

Shower/bathe

Take a nap

Move your body (go outside if you can)

Socialize, talk to friends

(think of yourself as an animal in the zoo. If you noticed them feeling bad, what would you do to make them feel better?)

Here's some examples of how to express emotions healthily:

Singing loudly, screaming, humming, stimming verbally, talking to yourself out loud about what made you feel bad

Acting, drawing, painting (it doesn't have to be perfect! Just express whatever those emotions feel like, in whichever way feels right)

Writing poetry, visual poetry, making playlists, writing (like projecting into a character, make them do the things you wish you could do to cope)

Writing about how you feel, crying, venting (can be counterproductive, so if you feel like venting is just making things worse, try something else!)

Dancing, jumping, running/walking, exercising, cleaning, stimming physically

Ripping paper, chewing on something

Baking or cooking, going outside, playing with animals, gardening, taking pictures

Here's some examples of how to calm your emotions when you can't express them:

Watch something that makes you laugh

Consume comfort media (make a list! Videos, series, movies, books, songs)

Play a chill game

Make a list of things that make you happy and read it

Listening to music

Taking deep breaths, tensing and relaxing your muscles

Engage with things that make you happy (a hobby, art, an interest)

Meditation, sitting and thinking about your emotions

This isn't an extensive list! Coping is a very personal thing, and all of these are suggestions if you don't know where to start! In the beginning, it can (and will) feel like it doesn't do anything, because you're used to immediate solutions to make you stop feeling unpleasant emotions, and healthy coping mechanisms don't work immediately - it's a long term thing

Some of these can make you feel worse, in which case you should just try something else. As I said, they won't immediately make you feel better until you're more used to coping healthily

Eventually, you'll reach a point where it feels more intuitive and less forceful and uncomfortable, but you have to get past this first phase! It's like building a muscle, and it takes work. With practice, you'll figure out what works best for you and what doesn't

I promise it gets easier :•)

#feel free to send an ask if you have any questions!#mental health #coping #coping mechanism #emotional neglect #emotional abuse #actually cptsd #how to cope #mental heath support #mental health advice #healthy coping mechanisms

29 notes · View notes

magneticelysia · 10 days ago

Text

How to Embody Song Jia’s Personality and Mindset: A Gen-Z Guide to Becoming That Girl

“Slay your way through life like Song Jia—poised, confident, and effortlessly chic.”

She’s the Blueprint

Alright, let’s talk about Song Jia, aka Freezia, the OG “it-girl” of elegance and bad b*h energy. Her vibe? Impeccable. Her mindset? Unstoppable. Whether she’s serving looks or walking into a room like she owns it, Song Jia is the embodiment of main character energy. Wanna channel her level of finesse? This blog will break it down—step by step—so you can boss up, glow up, and live your best life with the same confident, classy vibes.

1. Confidence Is the Core

Song Jia doesn’t just exist—she owns the space she’s in. Her confidence is unmatched, and you can feel it in the way she talks, walks, and holds herself.

How to Level Up Your Confidence:

Fake it till you make it: Hold your head high, shoulders back, and walk like the world’s your runway (’cause it is).

Hype yourself up daily: Look in the mirror, play your favorite playlist, and remind yourself, “I’m THAT girl.”

Unapologetic vibes: Own your quirks and imperfections. Song Jia radiates because she’s true to herself, and so should you.

2. Elegance Meets Sass

Song Jia balances elegance with a touch of playful sass, giving her that hot and classy aura Gen Z loves.

Get Her Graceful Yet Fun Personality:

Practice polite confidence. Be kind, but don’t let anyone walk over you.

Add a little humor and wit to your conversations. Song Jia’s charm lies in her ability to be relatable yet mysterious.

Embrace soft power: Don’t overexplain or overshare. Let your actions do the flexing.

3. Glow Up Like a Pro

Let’s be real—Song Jia’s flawless aesthetic is what makes her stand out. From her glowing skin to her stunning wardrobe, she’s always serving top-tier looks.

Skincare Routine Goals:

Consistency is key: Stick to a basic routine—cleanse, tone, moisturize, and sunscreen (SPF is non-negotiable, babe).

Glazed-donut glow: Add a hydrating serum to make your skin dewy and lit.

Match your inner glow: Your confidence makes you shine brighter than any highlighter.

4. Serve Looks Like a Queen

Song Jia’s fashion screams luxury, even in the simplest fits. She makes neutrals, sleek silhouettes, and statement pieces look effortlessly chic.

Style Breakdown:

Think minimalist slay: Neutral tones, tailored fits, and clean lines.

Accessories? Subtle but powerful. Go for gold hoops, a dainty necklace, or a sleek handbag.

Rock that clean-girl aesthetic. Messy? We don’t know her.

5. The Unbothered Mindset

What truly sets Song Jia apart is her IDGAF attitude when it comes to negativity.

Mindset Shifts to Adopt:

Stay unbothered: Don’t let the haters or trolls get to you. Block, delete, and move on like a queen.

Protect your peace: Prioritize self-care and mental health. Spend time journaling, meditating, or binge-watching your comfort show (no guilt attached).

Be low-key: Keep your wins and plans private until it’s time to share. Song Jia knows how to keep people guessing.

6. Main Character Energy

Song Jia’s life screams movie vibes. She doesn’t just exist—she lives.

How to Romanticize Your Life:

Wake up early, light a candle, and journal with an iced coffee by your side.

Plan outfits that make you feel like you’re walking into Paris Fashion Week, even if it’s just the grocery store.

Document your life aesthetically—polaroid pics, candid selfies, and vibey reels are a must.

Your Freezia Era Awaits

Channeling Song Jia’s personality isn’t about copying her—it’s about stepping into your own power with her as inspo. Be confident, stay unbothered, and live every day like you’re walking on a runway. Because guess what? You’re not just a side character; you’re the main event.

Now go slay, bestie! Your Song Jia era starts NOW.

- luv from Elysia <3

@magneticelysia

15 notes · View notes

yoshihashismattebum · 1 month ago

Text

Favourite Albums of 2024

Spotify Wrapped was fun and all, but I have one problem with it: it only focuses on individual songs! (Okay, that's not strictly true – I have many other problems with it as well. E.g. 'why is this playlist full of songs I've never listened to' and 'wtf is this AI podcast bullshit') Anyway, one of my goals for 2024 was to listen to more whole albums and I think I generally succeeded! I didn't listen to a ton, but more than previous years for sure.

So I thought it would be fun to pick and share my top 3 albums of the year! Here they are, in ascending order!

3) Yard Act - Where's My Utopia?

Post-punk jams that dig into the contradictions that come with fame as a punk band. Self-deprecating and unapologetic in equal measure, with lyrics that tread the line between 'smart' and 'smart-arse'. Oh you can dance to it too.

Highlights: We Make Hits, Dream Job,

2) St. Vincent – All Born Screaming

I'm not sure what genre this falls into. Rock? Alt-pop? Wikipedia reckons 'art rock', so let's go with that. Whatever you want to call it, it's a masterpiece of songwriting. It spans so many different genres and so many different themes: fame, identity, religion, grief. It's achingly raw and personal, but a lot of it is all too relatable. There's also another version entirely in Spanish, which is very cool!

Highlights: Reckless, Broken Man, Big Time Nothing

1) Allie X – Girl With No Face

Before this album, I'd always liked one song by Allie X (All The Rage) but could never get into anything else she'd done. Well, with the release of this album I'm pleased to say that that's no longer true. I honestly struggled to pick just 3 highlights because it's so packed with catchy alt-pop bangers. The lyrics are right up Tumblr's street too, with meditations on chronic illness, identity, gender, body dysmorphia, and one song that's all about getting top surgery. Truly exceptional imo.

Highlights: Black Eye, Off With Her Tits, Weird World

Honourable Mentions:

Sløtface – Film Buff

Sløtface are probably my favourite band of all time. Their live show this year was the best gig I've been to, let alone my favourite gig of 2024. So it's a shame that this album didn't quite crack the top three for me. Musically, it's the same joyous pop punk that I absolutely adore, but the lyrics didn't quite hit for me in the same way as their previous two albums. Still well worth a listen though!

Highlights: Quiet on Set, I Used To Be A Real Piece Of Shit, Final Gørl

Teen Mortgage – Teen Mortgage

I'm not entirely sure that this one qualifies as an album tbh, which is why I've excluded it from the top 3. Spotify has it down as a "compilation", so I think it's just a collection of their singles so far? Anyway, it kicks ass. It's the essence of punk: fast, loud and uncomplicated. Sometimes you don't need clever lyrics or subtle wordplay: you need 90 seconds of furious drumming, barely intelligible vocals about calling in sick to work, and a growling guitar riff that makes you want to fight God. Pure catharsis.

Highlights: Sick Day, Falling Down, Doctor

And because this is Tumblr, let's turn it into a tag game! Reblog this with your favourite albums of the year if you like! And tag some people whose recs you want to see!

I'm sure @thepenultimaterolo @thewaythroughthewoods and @unpairedbracket would have some great choices! And I'd be interested in hearing from @sycamoretrees @caranoirs and @counting-ducks as well if you're up for it! No pressure for any of you of course (and certainly no need to write as much as I have lol). Just if you feel like it :)

#Spotify #spotify wrapped #Spotify wrapped 2024 #music #non wrestling

7 notes · View notes

thatbanditqueen · 2 years ago

Text

No One Walks Out Chapter 2

No One Walks Out On Big Daddy

Chapter 2: Sweet Baby

Summary: Elvis convinces Becky to come out with him and she gets to know him better. Angst and smut and fluff and smut and angst ... historical inaccuracies.... for instance, I know Larry only did hair but he does make-up in this fic for narrative agility.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, cunnilingus, gratuitous chest nuzzling, sex, cursing, drug use and alcohol, some mild weird mind games and jealousy, a toe suck if you don't blink.

Sorry about the typos I've been agonizing over this since I finished it Friday,not totally happy with how it is but it was fun to write...

Words: 14K

Catch up on Chapter One here

There will be a chapter three, but for the love of big daddy please like, reblog, comment, share with your maiden aunt if you enjoy this fic.

This is playlist of music from 1970 - 1975 that I've been listening to get into the time period because I'm a huge dork.

Monday, June 9,th 1975, Jackson, Mississippi

Approximately 6:10 pm

About ten minutes since we begin in Chapter 1….

You glared at Elvis over folded arms, resolve hanging on by a thread, tempted to give in and go with him, but also, stuck. The heat of irrational anger and competition burned your chest. You weren’t even sure what this contest of wills was about, but you didn’t want to loose. You looked up at the ceiling, the fluorescent light flickered, and you wicked the sweat off your arms, vaguely aware you hadn’t slept, you hadn’t showered, and you hadn’t eaten much in the last 24 hours. A notion poked you at the edge of your consciousness that these factors had probably impaired your judgement, and maybe you weren’t making good decisions. This was, of course, true. All rational thought had been derailed by a night spent drinking, smoking pot and fucking Elvis Presley. Who, unlike you, hadn’t skipped sleep in order to rush home, get a kid to school and then go to work. No, Elvis had spent his day in rock star land where he could sleep as long as he wanted, eat breakfast at 3 or 4 pm and enjoy a leisurely shower. God he smelled amazing.

You, well, you had started to smell worse and worse and worst as the day wore on. There was no way you were going anywhere that involved getting naked with him. No. Last night had been the best night of your life, but you know how this ends, rock stars don’t date single moms who manage hardware stores. They date beauty queens and movie stars, usually all at once. Where could this possibly go? Just be done with him, rip the band aid off now. Stand your ground. What was he going to do, throw you over his shoulder and carry you off into the night? You looked back over. Elvis was leaning into the doorjamb, his hands resting on the front of his hips, under the slight rotund swell of his belly, fingers spread wide over the sides of his belt. Eyes closed behind tinted sunglasses, you watching his adam’s apple bob up and down as he breathed steadily and stifled rage transformed into an eerie zen demeanor.

A minute ago he had hurled a torrent of swear words your way, it had been terrifying, yet, strangely arousing. You pushed the giddy tingle at the center of your hips down, thinking what the fuck is wrong with you? The guttural grain of Elvis’ “goddammit” had gone straight from his tongue to your clit, igniting a fire that simmered in your belly. You had never seen such intense masculine emotion. Almost all the men in your life had been tight lipped and stern, yet very passive aggressive when angry. Not Elvis. He was a walking hurricane, unpredictable, impulsive, volatile. It was exciting and terrifying. However, right now, he was completely calm, seemingly meditating and quietly whispering to himself. Someone walking in would never know he had been screaming at you and punching the door frame moments ago. He turned to look at you, opening his eyes. They were dark, piercing, almost a purplish black through the lavender sunglasses. You could feel the air leave his throat as you watched him exhale again, and moved in your direction. The hair on your back stood straight up and you squeezed your arms tighter against your chest. Elvis’ tall frame hovered above you, his gut pressing into you with each inhale, his breath filling the space between you with warmth. Elvis’ entire body oppressively overwhelmed you. The cold metal of his rings caressed your cheek and his voice was now calm and low, yet commanding.

“You don’t know me very well.” He sighed into your neck. “Tell me I cain’t do somethin’, an’ well, honey … that just 'bout guarantees I’m gonna do it….” His lips moved closer to your left ear, he leaned on one hand against the wall next to your head, the other pulled your arms slowly away from your chest. Heat sizzled at the base of your spine as you looked down, his fingers grasped your hand tenderly.

“I can tell you ain’t never been with a real man before…. A man who treated you good …” then he whispered, “took care a’ his baby…. if you know what I mean?” He waggled his eye brows, while his fingers traced along your jaw, then down over your breast to your tummy and hips. “Took care ‘a you so good, you always came when he called.”

His lips moved closer to your left ear as he spoke, a feverish heat tingling through your lobe, a crooked smirk raised the left side of his mouth. You say nothing, but your breath hitches in your throat as he pushes even closer, his lips almost on your neck, and you shake your head, looking down. Don’t cry you tell yourself, but you exhale with a loud, stilted tremble.

“Shhh, shhhh s’ok honey,” Elvis' left hand moves from gently rubbing your hip to trail up and down your side. ”Cuz I’m gonna show you what s’like to be with a real man.” He leaned closer, kissing the nape of your neck, his soft lips searing into the spot below your ear. “I always take care a my girl.” You gasped as the warmth from each word hit your neck as he continued.

“I see you. I’m a seer…and I see ya, Becky, I see you. Underneath all this stubborn bitch crock of shit you putting up, you’re just a scared lil' girl… scared of being hurt, scared of being happy, scared of how good it was with me last night.” He paused, breathing deeply through his nose, and you looked down, shaking you head, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up into his dark purple eyes and the promise you saw in them to over power you, to break you, to own you completely.

“S’ok… Cuz I’m gonna fuck ya so good, the only words you’re gonna know to say when I’m done with you are ‘yes daddy.’” Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes remain locked on Elvis, trying to summon contempt and indifference, even as the spark in your core blooms up your chest. Elvis’ fingers work their way under your shirt, gently soothing you across your belly, and up over your bra before resting on top of your chest. A whimper escapes your mouth, and you look up, your voice cracking as you feel your resolve melting away.

“Elvis… I can’t….”

“Shhh… see, that’s the fear I’m talking’ bout right there… “

He leaned in and nuzzled the side of your cheek with his nose, gently rubbing up your jawline, his right hand over your heart, his left moving down to stroke your side.

“Shhhhh little girl…. Shhhh…. I ain’t gonna hurt ya …”

“It’s not that..” You whisper, your eyes averting his. “It’s just… I’m a mess… I haven’t showered, or ate much, or slept… I’m so exhausted… you deserve a proper date … you should be picking up a beauty queen or a play boy bunny…”

You felt the vibrations through his tummy, pressed further into you, as Elvis chuckled.

“Why, do y’all even have any of ‘em bunnies here in Jackson?” He stepped back, motioning to leave. Another chuckle, and he was flourishing a silk paisley handkerchief from his breast pocket, holding your chin up as he wiped your eyes and your forehead. The apples in his cheek formed as he matched your reluctant grin.

“Go on baby, stick out your tongue.”

You furrowed your brow, twitching your mouth, as he reached in to his pocket.

“Stop a twitchin’, for the love of Jesus. Les try one of those ‘yes daddys’ I was talking ‘bout…”

You scoffed. “I will never say that, specially to someone who tells me to…”

He looked down at an assortment of pills in his hand, and pulled out a single, small white capsule, grinning.

“We’ll see ‘bout that… mean time, just stick out yer tongue, woman!”

With a humpf, you acquiesced, and Elvis dropped the pill on your tongue, pushing it back in your mouth.

“Trust me, you’re gonna feel better in a few minutes… s’like caffeine, but a lil' stronger. ”

Swallowing, you look into his eyes. “What was that, speed?”

“Do I look like a drug dealin’ commie? I’m a federal drug enforcement agent.” You cracked a grin, and his eyes grew serious. “That’s the god’s honest truth. This stuff is jus ‘scription medicine, a diet pill. S'not strong, ain’t gonna get you high. Trust me, I’ve studied this stuff... I’m a trained healer - told you last night….”

“Ok… but I’m still a mess…”

“You’re not a complete mess. Goddamn, check out this fine lookin’ belt. Man, that’s really sumpthin'.” He grinned, amusement in his voice as his hands slowly pulled off your orange work vest from the top of your shoulders, then moved to the buckle of your belt. His belt. The belt you took as a souvenir back when this was just a one night stand. Elvis soft mouth was on your neck again, and your arms somehow found their way over his shoulders. Just as he moved his mouth from your neck to lean in and kiss you, you hesitated and pulled back.

“I - I …. I don’t know if —“

His finger moved up from their efforts to unhook your jeans.

“Hush now… no more guff. I’m here because something happened last night. I know you felt it. S’like we’re vibrating on the same frequency….”

“Elvis, you’re crazy…”

“No, now listen… I … my bed felt so cold when I woke up and you were gone… I’ve been missin' ya all damn day… wasn’t gonna be able to do anything else til I found ya…”

His timbre was high pitched, and you heard it crack with vulnerability. His eyes filled with unabashed desire. Somehow in the last few minutes, Elvis’ temperament had gone from indignant swagger to sweet and needy. His right hand moved lower to fondle your left breast, his soft lips kissed your ear, and you tilted your head into him. It was freeing in away, to give up pretenses, and you let out a sob, releasing all the tension you were holding in. Elvis moved his hand from under your bosom and kissed your tears away. His face was framed by the soft, plush rounds of his double chin, and you leaned your forehead into them seeking out the warm comfort of his flesh. You would be happy to sink farther and farther into him and loose yourself in his snug, inviting body.

“Shhhh … s’ok…” Elvis’ arms encircled you, and you buried yourself head forward into his neck, collapsing on his shoulder. His hips thrust forward into you, the swell of his belly smushed up into your breasts. Steady and strong, his hands smoothed you over your back, his mantra of murmured shsshhhhs continuing as he cheekily pulled the hem of your shirt over your head. You helped him, shaking the last sleeve off your arm impatiently and throwing it on the ground.

His lips were now on yours, gently kissing you, then bringing your head towards him, his tongue sliding into your mouth, sweeping over yours, daring you to push back, to resist it. Your hands gripped him at his neck, drawing him down further into your mouth, his finger fervently grabbed your hips and lifted you up, cupping your ass and you wrapped your legs around him.

You felt him grunt and heave slightly as he carried you to the desk at the back corner of the room, his eyes unyielding, locked on yours, anchored by stormy dilated pupils.

“Gawd darlin’…I’m getting to oooooold to sweep lil’ girls like you off your feet.”

“Next time I’ll sweep you off your feet.”

“Honey, they’d be sweeping us both off the floor if you tried ta carry me across a room….” He grinned a breathy grin as he put you down.

Your bra was on the floor, followed by his jacket, and you squinted for a moment at the gun tucked into his waist. He smirked as he took it out and threw it on top of his jacket.

“There are three more, baby, wanna try to find them?”

Your breasts heave up as a guffaw slipped over your lips, but you forgot about his guns as Elvis pulled down your jeans, slowing to gently take your shoes off. He brought your left foot up to his cheek, nuzzling against your warm, soft skin, kissing the top of your arch, then following suit to take off the other one, reverently, slowly, removing the sock and then stroking the top of both feet as he looked forward into the center of your black cotton panties. You squirmed, suddenly self conscious and he bit his lower lip, hungry eyes meeting yours as his hands moved up your ankles towards your thighs. You shivered when the top of his index fingers delicately traced a line over your knees, clenching as he grasped the sides of your panties. Your hand went to Elvis’ shoulder.

“Hey… wait… why are you doing this? ”

“Figure I wanna do as much of this ‘fore I get too old,” he murmured, grinning up at you.

You smiled back, tousling his hair, exhaling.

“That’s not what I meant …. I meant …. like….… you can just, ya know, I mean we can just…you don’t really have to worry ‘bout, you know, doing this for me.”

You pulled on his collar, but Elvis resisted, swiping your hands away and slapping your hip, an expression of delight on his face as he watched your side ripple in response. He pulled off your panties, leaning closer to your muff while looking up at you.

“Listen good, this is the last time I’m gonna ‘splain this. I’m a grown man, I don’t do anything I don’t want to. Now, lean back… and jus remember to breathe.“ He winked, a silly grin growing as he lifted your legs over his shoulders, kissing the hair at your entrance before parting you with his mouth and pushing in, tongue first.

The vibrations of Elvis deep moan reverberated through your pussy, his shoulders heaved up and his whole body moved in rhythm, slowly licking you from your taint to your clit, savoring your soft, slick silkiness.

He paused, sitting back to remove his glasses, murmuring to himself as his thumb worked in circles around your nub and you found yourself moaning out, uncontrollably.

“You need to get me some windshield wipers for those…” he looked at you, clearly amused with himself as you giggled. “We coulda been back in my hotel room doin' this if you weren’t so difficult…. never met a more stubborn woman… “

You moan, looking off to the side, as he rounded the bend of your clit, then lowered his fingers, flicking his wrist to slowly push his right index finger inside of you.

“This ok, baby?”

You nodded, you neck arched back as you cried out. Elvis was touching you in a way no other man had ever touched you, had ever wanted to or cared to try.

“Want me ta keep going?

You nodded your head, breathy whimpers stuttering out.

“Know what I wanna hear…”

“Yes…… Elvis….” You smirked.

“So goddamn stubborn…” he shook his head, leaning backing into your hips, his mouth consuming your pussy, his tongue now stroked you softly and each flick made you shiver with a tingle. A burning fire coiled behind your belly as he moved his index finger in and out in time with the bob of his head, groaning into you. The sensation became almost too intense and your head thrust back, eyes looking up at the ceiling. Shifting your weight onto your wrists, you begin to move your hips forward to meet his mouth, surging to chase the tension building in your core as Elvis’ lapped and then sucked your clit, index finger rotating slowly within you. You found his finger somewhat distracting, and were just about to ask him to stop, when he hit a spongey nerve point inside you and your hips jerked back. You feel Elvis chuckle as he pulled up for air, his left hand holding up your hips to bring you back closer while he crooked his finger inside you. Each time the pad of his finger hit that spot you twitched.

“What is that? Ahhhh! Ughhh…” you cry out, your breath heavy because the sensation is so intense, it terrifies you. Elvis wipes his mouth on your thigh, his thumb is back at it, and he seems to delight in every twitch of your belly as you clench around his finger.

“That… that’s the magic spot, lil' girl… Can’t believe I’m the first one to find it…” his eyes found yours, and he swallowed, deeply. “Goddamn. You’re blushing like a nun…”

You cannot take your eyes off him, even as his finger flexes and crooks into you and your mouth flinches open with a loud, insuppressible, high-pitched moan.

“Hff, baby….you look like a scared kitten staring down the mouth of a gator…. ‘fraid he’ll snap ya right up…” he gnashed his teeth together loudly, for effect, exhaling deeply with another chuckle, before returning to lap at your clit, dragging his tongue slowly over it, up it and down it, and then all the way around it.

Your thighs quiver on his cheeks and you let out another squeak, embarrassed. The feeling of impending eruption terrifies you, and another powerful moan emerges unsummoned through your lips, half from pleasure, half from fear. You’re torn between your drive to climax and the almost unbearable sensation his tongue is beckoning from you. The dexedrine begins to take effect, and a wave of energy pulses through you. Every sensation is suddenly ten times more intense. A volcano erupting, your orgasm bursts forth and shocks you as you thrash into Elvis’ nose, crying out while the euphoria sweeps over your body.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD, oh my god…” He leans back, watching with a coy smirk as he thumbs you through it, wiping his mouth again on his right sleeve this time, his left hand holds you steady at your hips.

“Elvis stop, stop! I can’t take it any more.”

“Ok honey, s’ok, now,” he beamed, slowing the flick of his wrist, gently drawing out his index finger. “Man, twitching and clenchin’ so hard thought I might lose my damn finger in there… think I’ll call you Twitch for short. ”

You let out a loud snort, slapping the side of Elvis’ head playfully as he smirks up at you, leaning back on his haunches, now wiping himself on his pants.

“You make my …. my … my nether regions sound dangerous …”

Elvis’ right hand smoothes your pubic hair down.

“Nah, nothing I can’t handle, baby…. just needs to be tamed is all…” he winked.

“So, come tame me…” you offer, laying further back on the desk top, caressing the side of his face with your left toes. He brings them to his mouth, slowly sucking on the big toe and you moan out, not expecting how delicious the soft, wet suction would feel. You can see the bulge of his cock shadowing his thigh as he pulls his mouth off your toe with a pop.

“Oh Jesus, take me to heaven now cuz I really am getting too old for this.” Elvis grunts, pulling on the desk to stand up.

He brushes off his knees, then shifts between your legs, and your hands pull him down by his collar to kiss your lips, not sure how you feel tasting the salty tang of yourself there. You think maybe you like it. Feeling your way to his belt, you begin to pull it apart as you kiss him back, but his right hand moves to firmly stop you.

“Dontcha want to fuck me, daddy?” Fuck, what made you say that? You chided yourself, you hated how happy it made him as you watched his grin grow wide. He shook his head, taking your hand and kissing the top.

“Honey, I didn’t come here to fuck you in some dirty, dingy store room… I came here to invite ya to supper ‘after my show, which I might miss on account of you being a spoiled, no count brat…. so we better pop to it.” He looked you in the eyes as your smile faded and self-conscious guilt swept over you. He pulled you in tight and pressed his forehead against yours. Your noses touched, and his breath was warm and comforting.

“C’mon sugar, course I wanna fuck you, fuck you so silly all ‘a Jackson can hear you call out my name.” He chuckled. “But… this is not exactly the romantic setting I like to make love in…. know what I mean? Let’s get back to my place, get you all fed and cleaned up.” He bent down and handed you your underwear and pants. “Want you down in front at the show. Imma have Joe run out and grab you a proper dress….” Now he was handing you your bra, then your shirt. “But we better scoot, I go on at 8:30.”

He looked over at the clock, and you followed his gaze, it was 6:35.

You turned, buttoning your jeans.

“Not Joe…..”

Eyebrows tensed, Elvis’s eyes were sharp as he looked up from tucking his gun back into his waist.

“What you got against ol' Diamond Joe?”

“I… ugh… let’s say we didn’t hit it off exactly, last night…. “

Elvis pulled you in front of him, and then took a step back, grabbing a comb from inside his coat, then brushing your hair, clucking his tongue when your hair flipped back the wrong way. Content after fixing your part, he tucked the sides behind your ears.

“That’s better… looks good down, jus like that….” He bit his tongue in apt concentration. Comb in pocket, he put his arm around you, and led you out of the room, down the hall and towards the front of the store.

“Wanna wash your hands?”

Elvis stops, and takes his right hand off you, then brings his index and middle finger up to his lips.

“What, this hand baby?” He sucks on his fingers, his eyes dancing. “Not ever gonna wash this hand again.” He chuckles as you swat him and his hand returns to your side, continuing to walk you to the front of the store.

“So why didn’t you and Joe, uh,… ‘hit it off’?”

You pause, then look up as Elvis walks you into the store front.

“Yeah, well…. he couldn’t take a hint and was kinda being … pushy… last night …. right before you started lobbing pretzels at me … He told you my name was Rachel, cuz that’s what I told him…. I don’t know, I guess didn’t want him to know my real name … I…”

“Huh… I see… alright, honey, don’t worry about Joe… I’ll take care a him.”

You paused outside, locking the front door before pulling it shut, and then gasped when you saw the long, black car in front of the store with three guys waiting in it. How long had they been there, an hour? A large man sat at the wheel, another skinny one next to him, and then there was Joe frowning in the back seat. He looked out the window after making eye contact with you. Elvis opened the back door, and barked at Joe to jump in front, motioning for you to get in.

“C’mon Becky," Elvis helped you.

“Becky?” Joe asks, turning as the car takes off.

“Yeah, well it’s Rachel to creeps who can’t take a hint, but it’s Becky to every’un else.” Elvis barked at Joe, who started to turn. “I don’t want ta hear it, Joe, just keep your head forward an do as yer told,” Elvis said, palming a few pills out of his pocket and swallowing them dry. Joe huffed and hit his hand on the door.

The younger man in the middle seat turned, and shook your hand.

“Hey Becky, I’m Jerry.” Then he looked at Elvis. “What took you so long?”

You blush and look down.

Elvis smirked. “Yeah, sorry to keep ya fellows waiting, decided to have a snack.”

Jerry’s eye brows bent in confusion.

“I thought it was a hardware stor—-“ The driver jabbed Jerry in the ribs and he grimaced, turning back around.

“Yeah, s’its a hardware store alright, but they have a bunch of peanuts, pretzels, jerky… what was that honey? Cold beaver ya got out for me in that ice chest in the back? Tasted pretty good once we warmed it up.” Elvis put his right arm around you, chortling as your cheeks turned bright red and you buried your head in his shoulder. “I’m sorry baby, these guys have been working for me for over fifteen years, ain’t nothin' to be embarrassed about…”

Somehow, the idea that Elvis might make his entourage wait around regularly while he was off fucking random women didn’t make you feel any better. Groaning the groan of someone who suddenly feels like a cheap, anonymous, whore, you leaned into Elvis’ armpit, and he responded by patting your back. You react to his tender rub and chortle by slapping his belly. He laughed harder, and pulled out a cigar from his breast pocket, lighting it up and humming as he rolled down the window.

“Hey, Lamar, what’s that department store downtown Jackson? The good ‘un we went to back in May?”

“Kennington’s.” The driver in front responded, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Jerrah, you’re gonna go run in and get Becky here a few dress options, Lamar’ll come back for you after he takes us to the hotel.”

Joe let out a loud sigh.

“That a problem for you, Joe?”

Joe shook his head. “Have better luck for her at the Dress Barn, they ain’t gonna have her size at that place, nothing over a 10… she’s a 14 if she’s a day…”

You shifted, sinking further into the seat and blushing again.

Elvis hit him in the back of the head.

“Lamar, pull the goddamn car over.” Elvis gritted his teeth as the vehicle came to a stop. “GET OUT! Dammit, Joe, must have lost yer damn mind… if ya can’t be polite to my guests, you can walk yer happy ass back to the hotel.” Joe scoffed and looked over at Jerry in disbelief. “Don’t look at him, ya can file your complaints wit me. Rude mother fucker, I swear… forgettin’ your manners. Forgettin’ who the boss is ‘round here.” Elvis slapped Joe on the side of his head again, and Joe swore under his breath as he jumped out of the car and slammed the door.

“Right.” Elvis murmured as the car drove off again. “Where were we? Oh right, let’s drop Jerrah at that store. You know what kind of dresses would look good on her, right Milk?” Jerry turned around, looking you up and down. “Now, go ahead sweetheart, tell him your dress size, and shoes too… Jerrah, write this down.”

You look Jerry in the eyes. “Um…. dress size is a 12… 9 in shoes…”

Jerry smiled at you, writing it in a small notepad, and hopping out as Lamar drove up to the curb at Kennington’s, yelling at Jerry, “The hotel’s just a few blocks away, I’ll be right back.”

———————————

Lamar flashed a broad smile at you as he helped you out of the car, and walked you and Elvis to the service elevator, opening doors and smiling at the staff you passed coming in through the back of the hotel. You ran your hand through your hair on the ride up to the pent house, imagining Joe walking backing in the summer heat cursing your name with each step. Great. Noticing your far off look, Elvis squeezed you into to him, bringing your other fingers up to his mouth to kiss them.

“Nice fingers… that’s a French manicure, so you can’t be a mess all the time.” Your face softened as you look up at Elvis’ profile, flapping his left cheek with your fingers.

“Well, unlike some people, I usually don’t spend my nights awake at rock concerts followed by one nights stands. Getting my nails done, it's one the few things I do just for me. You’re welcome to admire them all you want, but…. they’re not for you.”

Elvis chuckled, lowering his arm from your shoulder to slap your ass as you get off the elevator, and you turn towards him, mock hurt through a smile as you walk backwards.

“There’s that back talk again, thought I knocked that outta ya…” he smirked, licking his lips.

“Ha! Never! You may have temporarily dazed me, but no man will ever tame me!” you announce, and shriek as Elvis raises an eyebrow and steps toward you.

“Oh, we’ll see ‘bout that…” he calls out, and you giggle, shrieking as you turn to run down the hallway, rounding the corner past the hallway you made out in last night and towards the pent house door. You can feel the thud of Elvis jogging behind you echo through the entire passage way. You sigh out as you get to the door and realize you are stuck, you don’t have the key, and you squeal out as you feel strong, hefty hands grab you at the waist and turn you around.

“Gotcha!” He smiles, panting. “Man, what’s with you… this ain’t the Kentucky Derby baby… that’s the fastest I’ve run since I was in the army… back in 19… 19… 1916…”

You laugh out a “Ha, ha ha!” then feel his chest heave as he lifts you over his shoulder and starts to spank your bottom lightly. “Just you wait til I get you inside!” You slap him on his back, yelling out “Put me down you big brute,” through playful gasps and giggles. His fingers fondle your butt and thighs as he walks into the hotel room, and they glide over your backside as he helps you slid off his shoulder.

“You are a thick girl, aintcha?” He draws you into him, and you respond slapping the top of his belly.

“Ha, I’m ‘bout average… you should talk, you’re thicker than I am …” The laughter in your voice stops as you notice Elvis’s smile tighten and fade, his belly tenses up. You notice the hurt in his eyes, instantly shifting to sooth his chest. “The unfair thing is, though, men just get sexier the thicker they get.” Elvis’ eyes warmed as you played with his collar, talking into his chest.

“Huh, that right? Well you should know honey, this layer right here,” Elvis patted the paunch protruding at his abdomen. “S’just an extra layer I keep around on purpose, as protection, it’s my bullet proof padding… really, that’s the truth.” His grin returned.

“Mmmhmmm… I feel safer already…” you bent your chin into the opening of his shirt, nuzzling his warm chest hair. “I know I’m thick, the opposite of the pretty women you usually date… Joe warned me last night, I’m not your type…”

Elvis grabbed your hips, kissing the top of your head.

“Well honey,” he laid another kiss on your hair, “ya ain’t particularly nice,” another kiss, “ya don’t have particularly good manners… or any for that matter…” his finger traced along your neck to your collarbone. “Sneakin’ out of a man’s bed room without sayin' good bye, like a thief in the night…” you felt his fingers turning your chin up to him. “An' I do like it when my dates show up already dressed nice, wid their hair an' make-up already all done up…” he was trying to play it straight, but he couldn’t stop himself from breathing out a faint giggle through his nose. “But trust this, Joe don’t know shit, and he don’t tell me what to do or who to screw.”

Elvis’ other hand stroked the side of your body with the back of his knuckles, the cool of his rings following as they trailed up from the top of your hip to the flap of flesh at your bra, where his knuckles lingered, tenderly rubbing that spot back and forth. Your heartbeat quickened, there was that lightening bolt rising up your spine. Elvis whistled out and you feel him stiffen against you. “Hell, you might be the most ornery, stubborn lil' girl here in Jackson… but there’s something about you - God put you in my life for a reason - the lord works in mysterious ways. ”

“Like, through your dong?” you smirked, your hand moved down his chest to brush over his inner thigh, his hard, extended length spasmed under your touch.

Elvis guffawed, then groaned.

“Sometimes… yes. Course. Lil Elvis is an implement of the lord, baby, just like the rest of me.” He looked pretty amused with himself, a humorous lilt intoned his words, and his voice rose up in jest like a preacher. “Wouldn’t feel so good if we weren’t supposed to use it…”

You quirk your eyebrow. “That’s a bunch of bullshit… God does NOT care about your hard ons… ”

“Oh ye of little faith. How would you know, anyhow? He sent you to me, didn’t he? And suddenly I’m in hard-on town! Honey t’weren’t no accident. Everything happens for a reason. I really believe that. He brought you to my room last night for a reason, you caught my eye for a reason. There are bigger machinations at play that you and I can’t even begin to understand…”

“So I’m just a pawn in some celestial sort of plan to help you to get your mojo back?”

Elvis’ hand left your arm pit and moved to slap your butt, then pulled you closer.

“Now woman, see here, my mojo is just fine. It’s just... selective… You always have a smart retort, dontcha.”

You nodded up at him. “I mean, I have a brain and I know how to talk, if that’s whatcha mean.”

He pulled you even closer, clutching you from your back.

“Know what I think?” He asked, and you raised your eyebrows, stroking his sideburns. “You talk too much.”

You huffed and pulled on his collar.

“So you want me to shut up and just be, what, some sort of snake charmer, huh? Doin’ the lord’s work to bring your python out?”

“Huh,” he grinned, his hands now pulling on the cushiony curves at your hips. “By George, I think you finally got it. Now come-a here and be quiet.” He leaned forward, you felt the softness of his mouth on yours, your upper lip caught between his, and his nose crushed into your cheek. Elvis’ fingers grip your sides as he mumbles low. “You’re not bad looking when you hush up…. Not bad feeling’ neither... s’nice to have somethin’ to hold onto…”

Elvis was just beginning to pull your shirt up when you hear a cough behind you, and look over Elvis’ jacket to see Charlie jump up off the couch, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. Charlie must have been sitting there the whole time. Elvis’ arms dropped to his sides, and he spun around.

“Charlie, goddamn it boy,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you make yourself known, huh?”

“Well, EP… I … I …”

Elvis mocked him, “I ….? I…? I what? ‘I’m a big ol’ pervert?’” He sad the last part in a high falsetto voice. “Go on, git outta here.”

“Yeah, sure thing, boss.. ummm… it’s just that its 6:45…. probably head out to the Coliseum in an hour… wanted to check in with you ‘bout —"

Elvis held his hand up to Charlie to stop him, and grabbed you by the hand, walking you through the suite, into the master bedroom and over to the bathroom. “There’s the shower, Twitch —“

“Twitch?”

“Yeah, member? That’s my new nickname for ya… cuz you twitch so much, and so prettily too….”

You groan and put your face in your hands.

“Oh god…that’s why I never feel comfortable letting men do that…”

“Honey, you didn’t let me do nothin'… I do what I want….sides, nothing more natural, nor more beautiful…”

“Ughh..”

Elvis took your hands from you face, and kissed you.

“I wish you didn’t blush so hard, might make me tease you less….” He stroked your cheek. “We better put the breaks on for now. Gotta get me to the show on time. Go take yerself a cold shower an’ get all scrubbed up…”

You bobbed your head in assent, turning to walk to the shower. Elvis hung on the door frame watching you undress, winking as you look back at him over your shoulder and blowing you a kiss before he closed the door. The top of your head tingled, you felt wide awake, probably the pill Elvis gave you, but your forehead ached and the back of your eyes throbbed as if they were pushing up into your skull. The hot water soothed you and your muscles relaxed as you exhaled into the steam. You started to feel human again, washing the grime and sweat and sex from the last 24 hours off. You heard the bathroom door open, the last of the soap swirling down the drain as you finished rinsing out your hair, and you peeked through the glass door to see Elvis back, an approving smile on his face and a towel in his hands. You step out and his smile widened.

“Just how I like ya, naked and quiet.”

You reach for the towel but he shakes his finger and starts to dry you off, beginning with your breasts.

“Maybe you should go find a foxy mute to date… hmmm?”

“Now there’s an idea, ya know any?” The towel moved to your shoulders, and Elvis spins you around, gently rubbing the terrycloth over your back, bottom and legs. Then he spins you back to face him and wraps the towel around you, using it to draw you into him for a kiss.

“Charlie and Jerry are grabbing my suit, I’m about to go get ready. I have your dress,” Elvis gestured for you to follow him back to the bed room, where he handed you a gold lame evening gown with a cowl neck. “There’s a hair dryer under the sink, honey, do you have any make up with you?”

You shake your head.

“Man, you really didn’t do a good job planning for our date tonight…”

“Ooh, you mean my kidnapping? No, sorry…”

“Never met a more willing victim…”

“Ha!”

“S’ good thing you got kidnapped by someone who has a hair dresser, I’ll have Larry do you after me.”

You hear the door at the front of the room, and Elvis pats you on the bottom, again, as you turn back into the bathroom.

“Hey guys, back here!” You hear his voice call from the adjourning bedroom. “Becky’s in the john gettin’ ready… Black Phoenix, good. Tell Lamar, I want supper laid out up here after the show, fried chicken, meatloaf, potatoes, maybe something healthy, like potato salad? Have ‘em fix it up good. Some snacks, you know, for us to pick at. Drinks. And I don’t want half of Jackson up here again…. just family.”

You tune them out, looking around for the hair dryer, eventually finding it next to a stack of boxed enema kits under the sink, an amenity that struck you as somewhat odd for a hotel to provide. But Elvis was only in town for a few days, why would he need so many? You didn’t want to think about it. Hair dry and somewhat straightened, you exhaled, taking a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, breathing slowly and trying to get your heart rate to slow down. Straining to get the gold dress over your bust, you suspected it is a size too small. The top was like a corset, constraining as it sucks you in, pushing your breasts up and almost out of the loose, cowl neckline. You snapped one of the thin gold straps, wondering if it would hold out for the night or break under the pressure your curves were exerting on it. Luckily, the gown fell looser at the waist, and the sleek, lame felt cool and silky over your bare legs. The shoes, at least were the right size, a set of matching gold platform sandals with a thick heel. A thick three or four inch heel. A thick heel that would mean walking may or may not work out for you, so you would need to go slow.

“Good, cuz you can’t breath anyway…” you tell your reflection.

Sucking in and moving slowly, you opened the bathroom door, finding Elvis sitting at the vanity decked out in a white jumpsuit with a black, zebra belt that has looped chains draped around the bottom. The silhouette of a large black bird in flight was stitched in black sequins on the back, and when he turned to look at you, you see the same silhouette on the front, black shiny wings rising along either side of his open chest. An older white guy stood behind Elvis, combing his hair out with his fingers and a spray bottle.

“There she is! Larry, this is Becky.” You nod at them, smoothing your hands over your belly, pulling up at your neckline.

“I think Jerry got me the wrong size… feel like I’m busting out of this dress…”

Elvis chuckled as he stood, walking over to you, hands on your waist, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as they stared down at your heaving breasts. “Nah, you look just right.” You cocked an eyebrow as he led you to the vanity and told Larry to get you ready while he sat back in the large, leather chair on the other side of the bedroom and smoked a stogie. Your eyes met through the reflection mirror as Elvis watched in amusement while Larry made small talk with you.

“Nice to meet you, Becky… is it short for Rebecca?” You nod. “Beautiful name… a Biblical name.”

“Hmmm, I s’pose, if you go in for that sort of thing…”

“Yeah, well, I go in for all sorts of things … you don’t?”

You purse your lips slightly. “No, I stopped believing in fairy tales when I grew up…” Elvis cocked an eye brow, exhaling his cigar and smirking as he shook his head, as if to warn you that you had no idea what you were getting into.

“Oh Becky, oh man, that really hurts me to hear you say that,” Larry dusted over the top of your cheeks with blush. “Gosh, if that’s your definition of growing up, I hope I never do… what’s the meaning of life without the deeper, spiritual mysteries of the world… how do we achieve a higher plane of existence?”

You sighed, “Life has no meaning, Larry, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but it’s all just chaos and I guess… I guess we just do our best to enjoy the way things get thrown together and figure out how to survive…”

“Oh man, oh man, in some ways, what you’re saying is very - close your eyes for a second, I’m gonna dust a finishing powder here - is almost existential, from a philosophical perspective, but I… well, I’ve experienced too many coincidences, too many psychic exchanges, almost too many dimensions to be able to even start to come back down to where you are.”

You were trying not to squint as he did a second coat of mascara.

“I didn’t go to college," you mutter, "So I’m not sure I really understand everything you're saying… but, its not like I’m miserable. I like my life, I guess...Sure I wish somethings were different, but… I don’t think I’m part of some bigger, coordinated plan… "

Larry clucked his tongue.

“What’s your birthday?”

You were startled for a moment, then responded. “July… July 26, 1948… why…?”

“8 …. You hear that EP? Just like you, her day of the month adds up to an 8!” He whispered to you. “Birth dates that add up to 8, well, they’re quite powerful… what, you don’t believe in numerology either, huh? Don’t you feel hopeless wandering around this beautiful earth, thinking like that? Were you raised with any religion?”

“Sure, yeah, my folks are Jewish, I still think of myself as a Jew - I.. um…it’s more of a.. um cultural thing, I guess… if I had kids, I’d raise them the way I was, but I’d be honest with them about how things really are….”

Larry’s face lit up, as he turned to his bag to pull out a bottle of hairspray.

“Oh, I should have known you were mishpacha, look at those dark brown eyes… Oy Rivka, it makes my heart break hearing you talk about life so cynically…. Where did you find this one, anyway, EP? She’s cute, she’s smart and I can sense that you’ll have a real positive effect on her, bring some spiritually into her life... if she’ll just open up her mind …”

Elvis smiled devilishly, standing.

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t think I’ll have any probably getting her to open up for me… found her at the party last night, she’s just some groupie hanging round, wouldn’t let me be… practically begged to spend another day with me…”

Elvis stalked toward you, a smug look plastered on his face, his hand was on your shoulder as he looked into your reflection. Larry stepped back, pleased with his work. Looking at your reflection, it was a lot more makeup than you ever wore, gold eye shadow shimmered almost to your eyebrows. But you smiled, embracing the utter absurdity of it all and giving yourself over to the pleasurable of feeling glamorous. Not recognizing the tired, disheveled workaday Becky who walked into this pent house in jeans and converse an hour or so ago.

“Groupie…mmhmmm.. that’s me…” you smiled a broad, fake smile as you rose, grasping Elvis' shoulder to steady yourself. “This week it’s the great Elvis Presley, next week, Aerosmith is in town. Fingers crossed I can sneak into their party…”

Elvis grunts as he pulls you in front of him, hands on your waist.

“Ha! Not if I have anything to do with it….”

You playfully slap his shoulder, meeting his eyes.

“Told you Presley, no man can tame me…”

He grips your butt, then smacks it.

“I ain’t just any man, Twitch… mmhmmm… you’ll see…”

You turn to Larry, saying in Yiddish, “How do you stand working with this asshole, huh?” Larry laughed, and Elvis crooked an eyebrow.

“Hey, now… what she say?”

Larry looked over at him, “Oh just how lucky I am to spend all my days with you.

———————————

Heading to the coliseum in a caravan of long black limos, you realize it’s past 8 o’clock, and you are anxious for Elvis when you arrive only 10 minutes before he is supposed to perform.

“Isn’t this cutting it close?” You murmur, taking his hand out of the limo and hanging on to his arm for dear life as you stumble alongside him through the stage door.

“Nah, honey, this is how I like it… otherwise I’m a caged animal, prowling around the dressing room. No, it’s better this way... I walk right from the limo onto the stage. Keeps the momentum going.” He looked over his shoulder. “Jerrah! I want Becky up in front, in the middle, and have someone keep an eye on her. Don’t won’t her gettin’ smashed in the stampede of women running up to get me.”

He looked down at you and winked.

“And Jerrah, I’m gonna need you to do better with the gatorrrr - ade tonight, last night my throat was so dry I thought I was Bob Dylan.”

He grinned down at you to see if you got his joke. You rolled your eyes, and he slapped your left butt cheek playfully. Again. Your butt was getting more attention in the last few hours than it had in the last ten years.

“Now, that was a good one… shudda laughed... most stubborn audience in Jackson, guys, right here. Look at how hard she has to work to frown at my jokes. ”

You lean into his shoulder, relishing the coziness of his body enclosed around you as long as you could before you arrived at the backstage curtain. Elvis hands began to tremble slightly as he stepped away from you. Caught off by how cold and alone you suddenly felt without his arm around you, you noticed that Elvis’ breathing became shallow and panicked as he let go of you and walked toward the curtain, mumbling to himself.

”You can do this boy, you can do this….you love this…. you do this ev’ry night.”

“Is he ok?” You ask Jerry, who is now walking you around to the front of the stage. Jerry looks at you, a soft smile.

“Yeah, this is good, every once an a while we have a hard time getting him out of the dressing room. Crazy, huh? Think he’d have gotten over stage fright by now…”

Jerry pats your back, leaving you at center stage, thirty or so feet closer than where you had been last night. Tonight’s performance was similar, though it was rougher being in the eye of the storm. The music was louder, and the blare of the horns hit you in the face the moment they began. You watched Elvis propel himself on stage, where he was instantly transformed from nervous school boy to a charismatic rock star strutting and dancing and karate kicking himself across the platform. Exuding a cheerful, roguish vitality, he playfully bantered with the women who ran up to kiss him, joked with the audience, or stopped the music to ask a little girl about the drawing she brought up for him to sign. The restrictive, tightness of your dress and your unsteady heels all faded away as you were taken captive by Elvis’ showmanship. He stopped to wink down at you throughout the night. You were paralyzed when he strode over to center stage and bent his left leg back in a karate stance, then proceeded to thrust above you several times, grinning like a teenager and laughing as he sang. It brought a swarm of butterflies to your tummy, and they flew up your stomach to take permanent residence at the top of your rib cage for the rest of the show, fluttering around while you quivered. You felt yourself blush, and you knew Elvis had noticed it when he walked downstage and paused to fan himself with his own hand.

“Wheweee, this June weather is heating us up, ain’t it lil girl,” and he looked over at you. You didn't think your cheeks could get any redder, but you were wrong. Elvis grinned, then looked back out at the thousands of people behind you. “But that’s alright, that’s just the kind of show ya do on a Monday evening. We came here to be with y’all and to sweat and to hand out scarves.”

He winked again, and you swore he was about to bend down and kiss you when he stopped just short of your position and kissed the blonde next to you, looking over at you with a smirk and an eyebrow waggle after wrapping a white scarf around her.

—— ----------

Thirty minutes after the show, and you were still sitting next to Lamar in the dressing room, waiting for Elvis to finish signing autographs by the stage. Lamar offered you a Pepsi and M & Ms from a bowl, and you crunched them angrily.

“Five more minutes, and I’m fixin’ to just take myself home,” you whine, leaning your head back.

Lamar chuckled. “Don’t let him hear that, EP’ll intentionally make us wait another hour just to show you what happens when you’re impatient… “

“I’ll be long gone before I spend two hours twiddling my fingers back here…”

Lamar looked at you, and shrugged, you guessed he’d seen worse. You stood up to go out to the stage. Lamar looked up from his newspaper.

“You’ll wanna fix your lipstick.”

You raised your eyebrows in disdain. “I wasn’t wearing any make-up when I met him last night?”

Lamar hit his knee, ”Well, I’m not gonna say it never happens… but its rare… I’ve been with him for almost twenty years, off an on, and I’ve seen Elvis go out with women of all shapes an sizes, older, younger, married, divorced, single moms, business women, sisters - one right after the other … but they’ve been … they’ve pretty much always … attentive to their appearance… let’s just say he’s never been shy to tell a girl, or any of us, I s’pose, what to wear, how to do our hair, how to look. He knows what he likes, and he almost always gets it, sonabitch… I mean, look at you now ….”

You looked at your self in the full length mirror. Lamar was right, you looked like a different person. An almost pretty one, like those old money debs who you were making fun of last night. You pulled at your neckline, vainly attempting to cover your breasts more.

“Do you think he told Jerry to buy my dress a size down?”

Lamar chortled. “Ha, at least! If not two… partly because he knows he likes the way it shows off your figure, no disrespect meant. But also partly to fuck with you. He likes to turn the screw a bit… it's subconscious, like, sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

“Yeah, well, he definitely knew what he was doing when he made Joe get out of the car on the other side of town…”

“Oh, “ Lamar popped some candy in his mouth, “that’s nothin’, he once fired Joe and left him in the middle of the Mojave dessert…”

You gasped and shook your head, wondering if you should just go home. Fixing some stray hairs, you wiped your mouth, realizing you didn’t have lipstick with you, or anything, so if you did decide to leave you wouldn’t be able to get a cab. Maybe Lamar would take pity on you and drive you home? Or you could find a phone and beg someone to come get you. Maybe you should, the allure of the concert was starting to dissipate, the fatigue was coming back, it was 10:30 and seeing Elvis through Lamar’s perspective was making you question your decision to come out tonight…. For the thousandth time. Your pulled at your neckline once again, and gave Lamar a salute as you hobbled out to the stage to take another look at your date before deciding whether to sneak off, determined not to let these heels take you down.

Elvis’ face lit up with boyish glee when he saw you meander out. Just that quick exchange made you giddy and your desire to leave evaporated. You ambled over to lean against the stage from the grassy field, looking up and watching him where he stood ten feet away, surrounded by people waiting for him to sign their photos, stuffed animals, panties, or take a picture. Elvis bathed in their admiration, laughing and joking and pulling faces with them, while Jerry and five tired men moved them through the line. About every fifteen minutes, Elvis would turn to where you now sat on the tip of the stage, swinging your feet, and holler.

“Hang loose darlin’, just be another five minutes.”

It was 11:37 when you observed Elvis kiss the last pair of women goodbye and stomp over to you with an effected, stilted gait. A damp towel around his neck, his eyes still twinkling from the unfiltered love he’d been basking in over the last few hours. From where you sat, head leaning on your arms over the stage floor, he seemed fifteen feet tall. You gasped when Elvis suddenly plopped down on his knees about an inch from your face and poked your nose, his voice sweet and light.

“So how you doin?”

You smiled, to tired the fight his charm. Any lingering impatience or resentment you felt from waiting the last two hours melted like a popsicle in the glow of his radiance. Head still laying to the side, you responded in a breathy, dreamy voice.

“Hmmmm… just fine and dandy…”

“Good… still wanna come have dinner with me?”

You nodded, and Elvis took your hand to help you up.

“C’mon Becky Butt, let’s go get something in that sweet mouth ‘o yours …”

“You’re worse than a teenage boy, you know that?” You scowl, but nevertheless, can’t help your visceral need to seek out the warmth of his body and plunge into his side.

——-----------

You did find something to stick in your mouth. Potato chips, cheese and crackers, grapes, fried chicken, roasted potatoes, little bites of key lime pie. Sipping your second beer, you walk over to the couch and settle down. Looking around the room, you consider that, while there are certainly less people here tonight, this is hardly what you would consider a small gathering. The suite is filled with the men of Elvis’ entourage, a handful of band members, a handful of women, maybe wives, girlfriends, lovers? Your dress, thankfully, had given in to the roundness of your body and stretched out a bit, so you can at least breathe, although your breasts were still mounting their rebellion. You pulled up the neck line again, and shifted toward Charlie, who was tuning a guitar on the other side of the couch.

“Hey, I heard Elvis during the show, he said you’re from Alabama?’

Charlie looked up at you, his fingers playing a few unorganized chords, and he nodded, then looked over towards the kitchen. You followed his eyes to Elvis, who’s back was turned. You noticed Elvis’ hand seemed very cozily wrapped around the waist of one of his backup singers, what was her name, Kathy? You watch his fingers rub her back. You sighed, he was a handsy guy and you were not into jealous drama, so you turn back to Charlie, who seemed to relax.

“Mhmm, where are you from … Becky is it?”

“Birmingham…. but I’ve lived here in Jackson, gosh for 10 years…. So,” you looked back over at the kitchen, and whisper. “Charlie, why are there 1000 enema kits in the bathroom?”

Charlie belted out a surprised guffaw, and shook his head.

“I’m not even gonna start with that….”

“Ok,” you grinned. “So, how many women you reckon big man over there has slept with?”

Charlie chuckled into his guitar again, and just shook his head.

“Too many… but I’ll tell ya what…I’ve been hanging out with that man these last 17 our 18 years or so, and I’ve eaten meatloaf and fried chicken so often I cain’t barely stand ‘em.” Charlie fooled around strumming the guitar a bit more. “Sometimes he just wants meatloaf, every night, like for six months at a time…. Sometimes he wants all his favorite dishes buffet style, all at the same time, see? He might go for somethin’ new, but even then, usually, it’s cuz its similar, like… shepard’s pie, that’s a lot like meatloaf, jus with mashed potatoes on top… then that becomes his favorite dish for a while, and he has to have it ev’ry night til it's not new any more… see, EP, man ….he takes comfort in the familiar…”

You nodded, smiling, getting what Charlie was trying to say. I guess I’m the shepard’s pie of Jackson…

“So, where y’all headed next on this tour?” You smooth you dress as you bend your knees up behind you on the couch, and giggle as a nipple pops up and you push it back into your dress.

“Oh, well, we’re goin’ back ta Memphis tomarra, for—" all of a sudden one of the other guys was in front of Charlie, bending in his ear.

“Crazy over there wants to talk to ya,” you heard him whisper.

“Sure, Dick,” Charlie nodded back, and looked over you, handing you his guitar. “Hold this for me, won’t ya?”

You lean across him to put your drink on the side table, and you feel Charlie tense as your breasts graze his lap, you’ve never seen anyone hop up so fast as he alights and hands you his instrument. Taking his guitar, you flip your legs back on the ground, and eyes following the two men as they walk over to Elvis, who is now very much turned toward you, a grimace clouding his face. Kathy has been replaced by another man who’s talking to him. You wonder what upset him? But you are distracted by the guitar in your lap, and start to strum a few notes, smiling up at Elvis as you start to sing an old folk song from one of your Joan Baez records that popped into your head, you don’t know why. You’re not in love with Elvis, you’ve only known him 24 hours, but he does have black hair…

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair

His face so soft and wondrous fair

The purest eyes

And the strongest hands

I love the ground on where he stands

Closing your eyes, you let the buzz from the drinks and the show and the energy of the party creep over you and you give yourself to the song, singing softly. You open your eyes to see Elvis strolling over to you while you sing, and he takes a seat next to you where Charlie had been, leaning back into the armrest. There is wonder and affection in his eyes, and you push your leg into him as he rubs you knee while you warble out the last verse of the song.

“Where’d you learn to sing these sad sack songs, mhmm?” He scoots you closer to him, his hands snaking around your waist. You lean your head onto his chest, appreciating the way your head fits under his chin, strumming the strings casually.

“Summer camp… as a teenager …. it’s actually not far from here... just outside of Jackson.”

The warmth of his fingers trace up the side of your body, and you absentmindedly lift one hand to stroke his right sideburn, pulling on the curly, rough hair. His breath is hot on your ear when Elvis murmurs.

“Not bad, for an amateur I guess…”

“Ha…. most stubborn audience in Jackson, guys, right here.” You call out, your voice is playful and loud, and Elvis pulls you on to his lap.

“Hmmm… you’re funny, ya know that?” He kisses your lips, and you dangle the guitar down by its neck, your other hand on Elvis’ shoulder to return his kiss, and then nuzzle back into him. “Go on now, play me a ‘nother one…” he cooed.

You turn your face up to his, and nod.

“K, here’s another from camp.” And you start to strum the chords to the folk version of an old Hebrew prayer, your head against his while his arm wraps around you. Your feet now dangle over the edge of his lap and his other hand rests over you, thumb rubbing your thigh as you sing.

Hashkiveinu Adonai

Eloheinu l’shalom

V’ha’amideinu Malkeinu

l’cha--yim

Spread the shelter of your peace over us

Guide us in wisdom, compassion, and trust

Hashkiveinu Adonai

Eloheinu l’shalom

V’ha’amideinu Malkeinu

l’cha--yim

Save us for the sake of your name

Shield us from hatred sorrow and pain

Elvis lips kiss your neck.

“That’s beautiful honey, what’s it mean?”

You look down, still cradling the guitar. “I guess its a call out to God to lay us down with peace when we go to sleep at night, and give us peace when we wake in the morning… a call for protection.”

Elvis stroked your thigh, then moved his hands over yours on the guitar. “Go head, teach me the chords… I wanna learn this.”

You feel a firm rod hardening underneath you as you show him how the song goes, fingers over fingers, his lips on your neck, repeating the words. You laugh at his Hebrew pronunciations and he slaps your hip, laughing with you.

“How can you sing this music honey, and then say you don’t believe in God?”

You thought of your conversation earlier, and looked up to see if anyone heard what you and Elvis were saying. The crowd had gotten smaller, but those remaining seemed to be paying very little attention to the two of you.

“Of course you believe in God, Elvis, cuz your life is a fairy tale… handsome, talented, successful… but it’s really just random chance… why would God make some people beautiful and others ugly? Why would he make some poor and others rich? There’s no rhyme or reason to our lives…”

Elvis’ knuckles trailed across your cheek.

“Ya don’t really think life is pointless?”

You hesitate. “Not pointless… but any meaning it has is meaning we give it, while we deal with all the bullshit we get dealt…”

“This…” Elvis murmured into your ear. “This is why he brought you to me. We’re meant to help each other… I’m going to help you seek him out…”

“Elvis…” you whisper, “what if I’m meant to help show you that there is no God?”

“Oh baby, I know there’s a God… I’ve seen ‘im….”

You roll your eyes, and Elvis pulls you tighter, chuckling.

“Hmmm. So you’re bringing me to the light, how am I helping you?”

“Thought we already covered that… you’re using those snake charmin’ skills to remind me how God works in mysterious ways.” You feel him thrust his hips up into you a few times. His erection is undeniable, and you cough out a guffaw as he smirks, then lifts you up, one hand under your knees, the other around your arm. You shriek and drop the guitar.

“Oh no!”

“Don’t worry, baby, jus Charlie’s guitar, don’t matter one bit.” He smiled deviously over in Charlie’s direction and kicked the instrument out of his way, before bellowing out over your lifted frame. “Alright y’all, quitting time, s’been a long day, time to hit the hay.” You giggle, blushing again, its obvious that he is about to carry you to the bed room and you burrow into his chest to hide.

——-----------

Emerging from the master bathroom, face clean, hair brushed back, you’re wearing a slinky, pink silk nightie Jerry must have bought and put out for you on the bed. You shiver, seeing Elvis in his own blue pajamas already in the bed. He pats the space beside him, and you scurry over, launching onto the bed with a jump.

“Slow down, lil' girl, this ain’t the Grand Prix…”

You nod, breath shallow and nervous as you get under the covers and lay down next to Elvis. He turns, fingers slowly stroking your tummy, his face hovering an inch above yours. You shiver, breathing in more deeply, taking in his distinct musk of sweat, tobacco and spice. His lips softly skim over yours.

“Have a good time tonight?”

“Mhmmm,” your hands move up his chest and around his neck.

His fingers trail down your belly, you feel the flames crackling at your core burst into a fire, and you bite your lip. Elvis grins, his cheeks expanding. His fingers are under your nightie, and he grins wider as he notices you aren’t wearing underwear, growling as he pushes your nightie up. You gasp as those fingers work their way down, running through your pubic hair. He raises his eyebrows, you feel his cock twitch against you, and you nod your chin, a slight moan escaping you as you lean up into his mouth and move your hands from his neck to pull down his pajama bottoms. He chuckles into your kiss.

“OK, woman, ok…. Now let a man take his own drawers off….”

You sit up against the pillows and Elvis rolls over on his back to pull his pajamas off and throw them to the floor first, pants then shirt. Why did we even get changed? You think as you turn to him, hand on his chest, mouth on his neck, his moans joining yours as you move to straddle his thighs. Looking up at you with awe, he pulls your night gown off and you slowly grind against him. Elvis’ hands move to your waist, grasping your soft, cushy handles, and you arch your head back when he lifts his thumb to his mouth and sucks over it, then lowers it to your clit. Each stroke is deliberate, soft, slow, and you buck forward with a tremor, moaning out. His stiff length rubs between your ass cheeks, and you thrust against it. You halt your movements forward and rise up, using your hands to guide him inside you, then grunting out as you bear down on him, the friction and the stretch a welcome thrill as you slowly plunged further. Elvis grunts and sits up, responding to the magnetic electricity that had been building between you all night. Neither of you can get close enough, you pull each other as tight as possible, surging your hips down into him while he grips your handles. Your arms wind around his neck and his forehead is damp against your chin and his voice speaks into your neck high and breathy.

“Oh baby, sweet baby, where ya been all my life? Huh?”

Your chest heaves into him, and you ride him further, crying out with a twitch when his cock hits that new magic spot. Your G spot. Your E spot. Moaning, you kiss down on the top of his head, grasping him closer when his arms tighten around your waist. You feel the sweat dripping down through his chest hair as it chafes against your nipples, the sensation brings a gasp out of your mouth. You meld together with each clap of thunder as your hips meet his over and over, your skin is electrified and the sensation seems more intense than the previous night, your bodies seem more in tune with each other, so much so that they seem to fit together. You follow where he leads, and he responds to each movement you make, lips seeking out the nape of your neck, sending shivers through you until his soft kisses become aggressive and you try to consume each other before the flames rise up out of the bed to devour you both.

“Oh GOD, Elvis! Fuckkkkk….”

You call out, your whole cunt is vibrating with anticipation, you can feel electricity coiling behind your belly button.

“See honey? Its workin’ already… I’m bringing you closer to God.. ugghhhh....” he grunts as you bear down on him. You try to roll your eyes but then have to squeeze them closed when his hands work your hips up and down again and you spasm.

Another minute, and you are screaming out through the waves of pleasure emanating up your core, your rolls into each other slow, and there it is, you can’t help it, you’re sobbing again as a feverish warmth spreads over you. Elvis’ fingers are on your face, clearing away your hair, wiping your tears with his thumbs. His hips are stilled, and he kisses your chin, your lips part with a deep exhale.

“Ugh, oh, God, I don’t know——“

“Ssshhh,” he pulls you into him. “S’ok...” He murmurs into your neck, you wrap yourself further around him from above, and begin to move again. “You wanna keep goin’?

“Mhmm” you breath out, clenching around him and you feel as if he’s gone even deeper inside you, like Elvis is probing so far into you he might burst right through you. The rhythm resumes, your bottom hits his knees as you lunge up and down and you feel him gasp in a soft, weak high voice.

“Oh darlin’, let me be your baby… just take me in you and let me be your lil’ baby….?” His eyes beg you, and his mouth contorts into a pinched expression of shock and pleasure. Hands on your hips, Elvis pulled you forward onto him and you increase your pace, pushing faster into him, wet skin slapping against his chest while he holds you close, your hands smoothing over his hair and you whisper.

“There’s a good boy, ahhh! ….. course you can be my baby… my good baby... my bubbleleh…” you murmur, smoothing the top of his hair. You have never talked the way during sex, it just comes out in the moment and you go with it as you both inhabit the roles you play in all the different aspects of your life at once: mother, father, lover, child.

Elvis’ eyes look up at you from below, with his chin jutting and the innocent expression lighting up his face, he looks ten years younger. His eyes plead for release, connection, recognition, and his eyebrows are pushed up by desire while his left hand cups your neck. Jerking back, he pushes you off him and down on the bed, pulling out just before he explodes on to your abdomen with a stuttering growl. He pumps himself with his hand one, two, three more times, then exhales loudly as your bodies still. He coughs and grunts again, shaking his head, hands rubbing your sides up and down.

You look up, a dizzy smile on your face. “I’m on the pill, just so ya know…”

“Oh?” Elvis looked down at you, moving to get off the bed, presumably to get you a towel, but you pull him back, instead wiping your self off on the duvet. You push him down on his back, straddling him once more, this time to cuddle on top of him. You lean forward over him and relish the way his chest hair tickles your breasts. He fluffs a pillow as you rest your head over crossed arms and look up in delight at the goofy grin spreading across his face. His neck swells forward, and now his mouth sits above a tower of meaty jowls. His baritone voice reverberates up into your arms.

“Is that cuz you already have a daddy here in Jackson?”

You shake your head. “Nooooo. Just cautious, like you.”

Elvis bows his chin forward. “Yeah, well, I already knew you didn’t have a man, I could tell… I know things,” he grinned, pointing his index finger at his head.

You lean up, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Yeah… I know…. You’re a seer…. what we just did was definitely a spiritual experience…” You giggle. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything… anything like that…” you tuck your head into his chest, your fingers tousling the damp, sweaty curls they find. Elvis runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, s’always better the more you do it together, isn’t it… bodies get used to each other… I’ve… I’ve had some good rolls in the hay, but it’s been a while… boyoboy…” He gently pulls your hair back so you are looking up at him, his profile limned by the soft bedside lamp. “Come back to Memphis with me tomorrow.”

You purse your lip. “Elvis… I…”

He shakes his head. “Uh uh, I don’t like the sound of that… woman, you just told me you had the best sex of your life. I ain’t asking you to marry me, jus come spend a few days an' have some fun… can’t tell me that store won’t get along with out you?”

You sit up, next to him, crossing your legs on the bed.

“Elvis, you just met me… this is moving tooo fast..”

“Honey, fast is the only speed I know…”

“Elvis, I can’t go to Memphis with you.”

He pauses, brow furrowed. “This cuz you thought you were going out with THE Elvis Presssley, then ended up with me?”

You grab his shoulders, leaning over him to kiss his face as he turns in a huff, pouting.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? You think I’m disappointed because I got to see you up close? The real you?” You turn his face back to look at you and the hurt in his eyes dissipates. “No baby… no…. Look, I’ve had the best time with you. Ever. I mean it. You are…. Well, ‘m not one for making a fool of myself an tellin’ a man how foxy I think he is… you know you are…” you slap his shoulder. “And you’re actually better than I thought you’d be… you’re funny… and brilliant…. and.. ugh… I stole your belt last night because I wanted to remember this forever …. When I’m with you I… I … feel like a teenager again… all my cares and responsibilities, they melt away. And that’s nice, cuz I had to grow up kinda of early … so feeling free again… its been a dream —”

“Then why don’t you wanna come with me, baby?”

“I do. I want to. But I can’t… I have people who depend on me, people who need me… I’ve been taking over the management of my uncle’s store… I live with my aunt and uncle, they’re in their 60s…” and I have a kid I don’t want to tell you about because this is just fun and I don't want to bring the baggage from my life into this one night - two night - stand …. “I have to go back to reality tomorrow… or today, depending what time it is?… I guess that doesn’t matter… I have to go back to my life and so … so do you…”

Elvis takes your hand, drawing you into the crook of his arm, his other hand caresses your shoulder, you can see the wheels in his head turning.

“Hmmm… let’s get some sleep, we’ll talk about this in the mornin’… jus promise no sneaking’ out this time without sayin’ good bye?”

You assent with a bow, and he kisses the top of your head, then sits up to take a pill bottle out of the side table drawer. You shake your head no when he offers you some, and watch as he gulps a handful down, no water, and turns off the light. Ten minutes later Elvis’ ragged snores lull you too sleep.

——----------

The room is black when you wake up in a naked embrace with Elvis, your hair matted down from the warm sweat of his chest. The windows are still covered with aluminum, but the bedside clock tells you it's 6 am. You gently lift his arm so you can get up, and as you swing your feet off the bed he sits up with a start, grabbing you from behind.

“Don’t leave me Satnin, don’t leave me in the dark… I can’t be alone in the dark…” his soft voice trembles with fear, and you push back into the pillows, taking Elvis’ head in your lap and sooth his brow, hushing him with a promise that you aren’t leaving, just going to the bathroom.

Once he falls back to sleep, you get up and, finding your nighty, make your way to the en suite toilet. Looking over at him as you come back, you tip toe out of the bed room to call home and talk to Ruth in the living room. You had snuck off to a phone after the show last night, and had a long, apologetic conversation with Aunt Ida, who was, honestly, too enthusiastic about the fact that you wouldn’t be coming home for the second night in a row. You met someone, girlchik, I told you that you would, she had gushed. You had just been grateful that neither Danny nor Harriet had told their parents whom that someone was. Harriet had stayed over to help, as promised, and was going to open the store today, but you hadn’t had a chance to talk to Ruth. You leave the lights in the living room off, relieved that Joe or one of the other guys is not sitting in the living room to greet you this morning when you make your way to the phone near the pent house kitchen. You sit on a bar stool and have the operator call your house, then ask Ida to put your daughter on the phone.

“Hey baby, you’re not mad at me for staying out with friends?”

You can hear Ruth roll her eyes. “Mom… why would I be mad? You should do this more, Harriet lets me have as much ice cream as I want. For breakfast too.”

“What?”

“Just kidding…” Ruth giggles.

“Ok, good… hey, after today, only three more days of school left til summer?”

“Mhmm, mom, yeah. I know….”

“Ok, ok, I just called to tell you to have a good day at school, and I’ll see you tonight, ok, sweet baby?”

“Ok, love ya mom.”

Just as Ruth hangs up, you jolt at the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut and turn to see Elvis in a robe, rubbing his eyes with a befuddled expression on his face.

“Sweet baby? Thought you didn’t have a man…. “

Hanging up the phone, you throw your head back and look at the ceiling, then return to meet his gaze.

“I don’t… I wasn’t talking to a man…” you mutter.

Elvis’ brow creases, as he rubs his eyes again.

“Well then, who were you…..ohhh…” he walks over to you, and sits in the bar stool next to you “How old?”

“9.” You look down.

“You must a been a baby yer self when you had ‘em?”

You just nod, as he takes your hand.

“An that’s why you can’t come to Memphis.” He drops your hand, getting up and pacing back towards the bedroom.

You stand to follow him, but stop, you can tell he’s upset, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s mad at you for not telling him you had a kid, or mad because his psychic powers didn’t show him this information, or mad because he’s not going to get what he wants, or mad because he thinks you’re some sort of tramp horrible mother and can’t believe he was attracted to you. Your worst insecurities assume its the latter one, the energy in the room has turned bitter and you want to run out of the door. You fight this, realizing clothes would be good first.

“I should go,” you offer, and he turns, hand on the bridge of his nose as he stands in thought.

“What? No… I mean.. Yes.. honey, do what you gotta do…”

You walk up and kiss Elvis on the cheek, then move to get dressed in the bedroom, finding your old jeans and shirt and converse in the closet. Elvis follows you, and perches at the edge of the large, leather chair watching you dress. He stands to grab something out of his black dress jacket, and pads over to you as you finish tying your shoe. The belt and ring he gave you are on the bed next to where you finish getting dressed, and you aren’t sure if you should leave them. He seems to read your mind.

“Take ‘em… go ahead, I want ya to have ‘em…” Then he hands you a wad of money. “And this too, for all your troubles.”

You count it, $500. A sinking feeling starts in the pit of your stomach. Whore. You feel like a cheap whore. You crumple up the cash and throw it on top of his things, slap him in the face, and then walk out through the bedroom and leave without looking back.

Elvis rubs his stinging cheek, and turns to follow. No one has ever rejected his gifts.

“What the devil in tarnation… crazy woman…” he mumbles to himself, still drugged and half dead from the sleeping pills and lack of sleep, his mind and body are moving slow. He hears the front door slam and he jogs after you, sticking his head out of the door to call you back, only to find the hallway empty. All that remains of your presence is the faint sting from your hand still burning his cheek.

taglist:

@woundmetender @powerofelvis @butlervol6 @ab4eva @whositmcwhatsit @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @azzawrites @searchingforgravity @sharebearkk @18lkpeters @elvispresleywife @moonchild-daniella @bisexualwvtson @eliseinmemphis @avengen @father-of-2cats @lillypink @notstefaniepresley @stylespresleyhearted @godlypresley

Read Chapter Three Here

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley smut #elvis x OC #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fic #banditqueenwrites

220 notes · View notes