#but i can at least remind them that they are in fact not benefiting anyone by repeating talking points from a fucking bari weiss publicatn

[unopenablebox]

apparently yelling at your parents for posting a bunch of reactionary shit on facebook about how the student protestors are all pathetic snowflakes because they eat gluten-free food and have blue hair and pronouns actually works sometimes? which is good. but oh my god

[genshin-impacted]

so close (yet so far)

[Alhaitham x Reader]

You ask Alhaitham to be friends with benefits with you. (The both of you overestimate your ability to not get your feelings involved.)

word count: 11k* (one-shot)

notes: heavily nsfw**, female reader; "you", inexperienced!reader, friends to fwb to lovers, unrequited to mutual pining, modern au (reader and alhaitham went to hs together), some profanity, brief body insecurity on reader's side

*split into three main parts: one part is Alhaitham's POV btw a speed demon possessed me to write this much (im kidding; my friend put brain worms in me)

**oral sex, brief descriptions of face fucking, 69, car sex, dirty talk, face sitting, thigh fucking

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Dating apps vary in tone and quality, you find out firsthand. Certain ones call for one-night stands and hook ups and others are prone to less of them (but they will always be there). You don't feel like you can make genuine relationships with people without meeting them first, but you figure you should give it a chance at least before giving up.

You are close to doing so when you show up for a date, and he cancels last minute.

"Ugh, man..." You sigh, putting your phone away after seeing the apologetic text. You won't blame your date: it may as well be a real emergency, but if not, he is not beholden to you to show up, though it would have been nice on his end to let you know earlier.

Still, you are here, and you are hungry, so you step into the cafe in hopes of grabbing fresh pastries when a familiar face catches your eye. You almost don't believe it, considering how many years have passed since you've last seen him. But there is no mistaking the silvery hair and the nose still buried in a book; even the green headphones remain the same, a detail that makes you laugh a little when you approach him and hope he isn't too upset at the sudden reunion.

"Alhaitham," you say cheerily, waving at him in case his noise-canceling is on. "It's been a while!"

Alhaitham takes his eyes off his book to look at you, hands raised to take off his headphones. You grin when it seems that he is just as surprised to see you as you are. "It has," he agrees. "More than a few years." He takes a look at you. "You haven't changed a bit."

"How rude!" You say teasingly, "I've changed a little bit in the past few years. Maybe not in appearance, but still. Mind if I sit?"

Alhaitham moves over when you take a chair over to sit in front of him, and it feels like the two of you never left high school-- if not for the stark fact that Alhaitham has changed physically since then. His jaw is more defined, shoulders broader, probably even taller than he was back then. He's handsome, you think, though then again, he always has been.

Wistfully, you think about the years you've lost connection with him and wonder what he has been up to. You've always enjoyed his company, much to some of your other friends' chagrin, and that sentiment has not changed now when the two of you converse easily.

"So," Alhaitham says, "were you on a date with someone?"

You don't even bother asking how he knew, only sighing and waving a hand. "I was going to be. He canceled last minute so I was going to grab something and go." Alhaitham hums noncommittally, and you snort in laughter, reminded of his apathy towards relationships then and, you guess, now.

You remember the times Alhaitham turned down people in high school at a ridiculous rate. "Another one?" You remember someone saying jokingly, seeing Alhaitham simply toss a letter slipped into his locker.

"You won't respond at least?" You asked, sympathetic over the courage it took to confess.

"I don't know them," you recall him saying. "Why should I consider being in a relationship with them when we haven't even spoken to gauge our compatibility?"

Alhaitham ended up not accepting anyone's confessions. You don't remember him dating in high school or during university either in the times you've messaged him just to catch up. Not that you have a stellar record either, having dated only one person your whole life without it going very far. You can't say you haven't tried though.

"So you're not dating anyone?" You ask, taking a sip of your drink.

Alhaitham looks at you briefly; you can never tell what he's thinking. He eventually looks away and says, "No. I'm not interested in dating."

"At all?" You ask again, voice high in genuine disbelief. 'Still?' is the unspoken question. (What a shame, you can't help but think.) When Alhaitham gives a nonchalant shrug, you let yourself sit back, astonished. You think about your (lack of) experience, the fatigue from dating apps, and then look at Alhaitham.

You've always found him attractive; you can't deny this. You trust him as a friend and as a confidant, because in his own words-- what is the use of telling secrets? Alhaitham is as intelligent and rational as ever, something you have always admired in him, which is why you trust him with this question.

"Would you be down for a friends with benefits relationship then?"

Alhaitham raises his brow in question and pauses in thought before responding. "...In general?" He asks, "Or with you?"

You love the way Alhaitham needs no explanation.

"Both," you reply. "Serious inquiry."

Worst case scenario Alhaitham rejects the offer and the two of you move on from this conversation (hopefully). Best case scenario is him saying yes. Last thing you expect is to have Alhaitham look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on him: unadulterated shock. You laugh at his reaction despite the tension that could have been held between the two of you, and you start to wave off the entire ordeal when Alhaitham tells you "sure."

.

It's only Alhaitham, but you show up at his apartment with a nervous flutter in your heart. He opens the door soon after you knock, donned in a regular shirt and sweatpants. You feel your shoulders relax at the casualness of it all and thank him for his hospitality as you enter his home. It does not take much to strike a normal conversation with him, words between the two of you flowing like usual. You are given a tour of the apartment per request, briefly admiring the tiles of the bathroom floor before ending the route in his room. It is minimalistic aside from the usual amenities, and it feels so much like Alhaitham that you smile as he types something on his laptop before turning back to you.

"Is my room that amusing to you?" Alhaitham scoffs, closing his laptop.

"Yeah, it kind of is," you agree easily. "It's better than a man cave, I'll give you that. But the walls are as empty as the day you got this place probably."

"I'll be sure to let you know when inspiration hits for me to decorate," he says sardonically, making you giggle to yourself. "Did you want music?"

The sudden change in topic makes you tilt your head in confusion. "Music?" You echo. "Music for what?"

Without skipping a beat, a song starts playing on low volume, bass steady and clear in his speakers. Alhaitham stands tall then, his headphones off, you note vaguely. He seems a lot taller than you remember, but perhaps it is because he is usually conscious of the difference in height to stand at a distance, so you don't have to crane your neck. This time, when Alhaitham stands right in front of you, close enough to bump chests, you look up and realize it is the first time you've really looked into Alhaitham's eyes.

There are more colors than you thought.

You instinctively want to take a step back, but his hand holding your arm-- firmly, just enough to stop you, but not strong enough to keep you there if you wanted to leave-- keeps you underneath his gaze. You are normally so good at defusing the tension with a few well-placed words of humor, but you aren't quite sure this is a tension that you want to cut through.

Just like that, your heart is at your throat. Alhaitham truly is very handsome, you think, eyes looking at his long lashes, the curve of his nose, and his lips. You can't help but jump when Alhaitham leans down, face closest to yours as it has ever been. You feel ridiculous, being strung taut as a caught fishing line just from being close to Alhaitham. Your cheeks prickle with the speed in which it warms, and just when you begin to wonder what Alhaitham could possibly be waiting for before he kisses you, his lips are on yours.

Your eyes close almost immediately, arms reaching up to hold onto him and finding purchase around his neck as he pulls you close until the two of you are flushed against each other. How long has it been since you've been kissed, let alone been kissed like this? Lips separating from yours only enough to find new ways to kiss you again. You gasp when Alhaitham gently bites and pulls at your lower lips. Feeling emboldened by your reception, Alhaitham swoops in and meets his tongue with yours, and you melt in his embrace.

You are surprised to see that you could probably go on kissing Alhaitham forever if that was all you could do. You only vaguely realize how efficiently you've been breathing through your nose through it all when you separate from him, dazed, and hear him mutter "fuck" under his breath.

A rush of adrenaline. You were already aware that Alhaitham is a willing participant in this newly established situationship, but to hear him being as affected as you do numbers to your rapidly increasing arousal. It's only fun when the both of you are enjoying it, after all.

"Not bad from someone who hasn't smooched anyone in years, huh?" You begin to tease, rightfully earning yourself a dirty look from Alhaitham. His lips are still wet, you think, and heat curls up from your lower abdomen up. The room suddenly feels hot.

"Are we trying to rate every encounter now?" Alhaitham remarks dryly, only to make you laugh at the thought of it.

"Not if it's not at least a 7/10," you say breathlessly. You shake in laughter again when you see him roll his eyes before holding onto his hand and tugging him to the couch. "Here, sit. My neck is starting to get tired. Being shorter is a struggle, you know."

Alhaitham sighs but sits obediently where you take him. "What do you-" He snaps his mouth shut when you swing your legs over his lap and sit yourself on top of him. You quirk a smile at the rare sight of Alhaitham being stunned once again and wonder how easily it seems to have gotten to make him react like that.

His hand easily finds its place at your waist as you curl your hands into the hair at the nape. "Trying to make myself comfortable," you say slyly. "This is much better."

You close the distance and kiss him again. You're a quick learner, so you do what has been done to you: nipping at his lips, tugging and pulling, and licking into his mouth until it makes him as breathless as you are. Is this what it's like to have chemistry? You wonder, feeling Alhaitham's hands dip underneath your top to slide his hand across the expanse of your naked skin. You want him to touch you more.

Alhaitham must have the same ideas because he murmurs at you to take it off, and you raise your arms easily to let him do exactly that. His fingers waste no time in pressing into the softness of your breast, over the white cloth of your bra. He is quick to grow tired of the thin barrier though, pulling it down just so your breasts can pop out into full view. Your cheeks prick in embarrassment at how exposed you feel-- this is the first man to see you like this, after all-- and having Alhaitham look at you with intense focus does not help with it.

Alhaitham's hands are warm when they cup your breasts, gently squeezing them until your nipples perk against his long fingers. You gasp in pleasure when he pinches them and tugs. Your arms reach out and hold onto his shoulders for support. As though on cue, Alhaitham swoops down to capture one of your nubs in his mouth while his hand plays idly with the other. He swirls it with his tongue, leaving a trail of spit when he detaches himself from it to move onto the other one. You hum as your hands card through his hair.

Alhaitham's free hand unhooks your bra, leaving it to hang down your shoulders. You immediately tug it completely off, casting it carelessly elsewhere. He is quick to be on you again, encouraging you to wrap your arms around him as he sucks onto your tits. It feels rather uneven, the way you're half-dressed but he's still fully clothed. You can feel the way his muscles contract underneath your hands, fingers tracing along the exposed skin of his neck that is far from being enough for you.

Just as you decide to ask Alhaitham to return the favor and take his clothes off, your hands spasms in his hair when Alhaitham takes a nipple between his teeth and tugs, hard.

Oh fuck, you think, letting out a long, shaky breath just before Alhaitham does it again, his hands on your back as it arches at his touch. "Fuck," you say aloud this time, and you can feel the way Alhaitham's lips curve up in amusement, the bastard. "Hey, you take your clothes off too," you tell him, tugging up the hem of his shirt.

Alhaitham looks at you steadily. "Why?"

You stare back at him and sputter. "What do you mean 'why?'" You-" You scowl, feeling your cheeks warm as Alhaitham continues to look at you with a smirk. "You just want me to say it, don't you?"

"I'm not a mind reader," he says, lips curving up. "How would I know what you want if you don't tell me?"

"I want to see you," you say, cheeks prickling with an embarrassment that you push through. "I want to touch you too, you know." When Alhaitham smirks at you before sitting up from the couch to take his shirt off, you huff. "Ugh, this is why everyone keeps giving you side eyes," you say, your hands sliding over his open chest with a mild sense of reverence despite your words. You knew Alhaitham was toned to hell, and this is the first time you've been granted the chance to view it in all its glory, your hands brushing over his built abdomen, thumb brushing over his nipples.

Alhaitham jumps slightly when you do so, and you giggle, ignoring the narrowed look you get from him and the way he grips onto your hips just the slightest. You shift in your seat, only to feel Alhaitham's hold you still, face flushed despite the impartial expression on his face. "What, what's up-" You feel it then, the hardness underneath your thighs, and you know Alhaitham sees the realization dawn on you because his blush travels down his neck.

He's embarrassed, you think gleefully. After initiating the hottest make out session you've ever had and easily pulling taut your strings, Alhaitham is embarrassed that he's hard? If anything, he should be-- better be! And you're a little flattered, you tell him just as much teasingly, and you can't help but hug him when he scowls at you.

Ah, you feel your heart flutter, knowing the effect you have on the immovable Alhaitham. But he is far from it now, chest heaving under your palm, cock hard as you press down onto it despite his modest resistance. You won't say it to him out loud, knowing he wouldn't like it, but you think Alhaitham is adorable as he is now. (You imagine people would say you're the only one who would think that.)

You rock your hips, eyes not straying from Alhaitham's as he stubbornly meets your gaze. His thighs are tense underneath you as you line yourself up to press your pussy lips against his clothed cock. A skirt was a good choice, you think dreamily; it lets you grind on him with aching accuracy and lets Alhaitham slide his hands across your legs and reach behind to squeeze your ass. You hum again in appreciation, kissing Alhaitham again as he generously cups your behind, making you moan, which he easily swallows up.

"Take your pants off too," you say, sitting back onto his legs. Before he can ask, you press your palm down on his bulge and quip a smile at him. "I want to try sucking you off."

.

You tie your hair up before kneeling down between Alhaitham's knees. His cock sits erect on his stomach, head flush with arousal. It should feel intimidating the way Alhaitham watches you, but you know Alhaitham, and you figure if there is anyone that you can be comfortable doing this with, it would be him.

"Tell me what to do," you say, hands softly trailing up and down his thighs. "I've never done this before."

"You've watched porn, haven't you?" Alhaitham replies dryly, making you roll your eyes good naturedly.

"It's not the same thing as doing, and you know it." You look over at the nearby table he has kindly set up for you in advance and take the bottle of lotion to pour some onto your hand. Alhaitham jolts slightly at the coldness of the lotion, hissing in a breath, though with the way you are steadily pumping his cock, you aren't quite certain the sound wasn't at least partially from pleasure. "Alhaitham," you begin, a whining lilt to your voice. "Come on. Teach me?"

"Alright, alright, fine," Alhaitham says, his hand covering his face. "Just- just stop for a second."

You let go of his cock, beaming up at him as he shifts so that he's sitting more comfortably. "Here," he says, almost boredly. He gestures for you to take him in hand again, and your heart skips when you feel his hand over yours, squeezing it as he guides it up and down again in a steady rhythm. "Tighten your grip like this. A little harder is fine. There are more nerve endings at the tip, but there's nothing wrong with covering the base as well." You can only nod in acknowledgement, a lump in the back of your throat as you emulate exactly what Alhaitham has shown you.

Is this how he normally gets himself off? The same strength, the same motion-- maybe a little extra attention at the tip where it is more sensitive? You feel your face warm and hope it does not show as you watch Alhaitham's face for approval or for any signs of pleasure.

Alhaitham has always been intense despite his neutral face. But you know him well enough to recognize the minute changes that occur. The tense jaw, partially open mouth, half-lidded gaze is enough to light a fire in your stomach. But you wonder how he would look if he were completely drowned in pleasure, if you could be the one that makes him look like that.

You speak before you can lose the courage to. "Can I use my mouth?" You say, "I want to use my mouth."

Alhaitham's cock twitches in your hand.

"Then put it in your mouth then," Alhaitham says, "and avoid teeth. It hurts."

Obediently, you nod and sit up on your knees, puppy licking the tip to test the waters before opening your mouth to put it in. You had thought this when your hand could not completely wrap around his cock, but Alhaitham is big, enough to make your jaw ache when you try to fit more of his member in. You make a sound of discontent when the cock head hits the back of your throat and you aren't even halfway down. You let your tongue rest on the bottom of his cock, saliva pooling underneath with a mouth so full.

It doesn't fit, you think somewhat dejectedly. You swallow around his cock, making a discontented noise when you feel Alhaitham's thigh clench as he bucks up into your mouth. "Sorry," he says, and you tell him an incomprehensible 'it's okay' around his cock. His thigh tenses up again.

You tentatively raise your head, lips wrapped around his member for a moment before pulling yourself off, ready to ask for guidance when Alhaitham offers it to you. "You can use your hand to cover the rest of it," he says. "A wringing motion like this. It'll feel better if you suck while you're doing it too. Use lotion or spit if it's too dry."

You nod and follow his words step by step, swallowing his cock again and hollowing your cheeks. The other hand pumps his cock as you slowly bob your head up and down. You lift yourself up with a breath and let saliva spill from your lips to ease the motion, your eyes glancing up to meet Alhaitham's eyes.

You don't think he has taken his eyes off of you for even a second.

It's a little addicting to know that his attention is all yours. What does he like best about this whole situation, you muse. The fact that he's your first? The eager way in which you are trying to please him? Or is it the look of you drooling over his cock, getting off just from sucking it?

You hum in pleasure around his cock and he throws his head back, hips jilting up only slightly.

You pop yourself off of him again, hand pumping the entire expanse of his cock as you tilt your head to lick at his balls. "Fuck," Alhaitham mutters, hands clenched into the couch. You watch as his eyes flutter open before looking at you again, chest rising and falling. Not one to give neither you nor him reprieve, you are sucking him off again, and then off, and then on. It's a little fun watching him writhe, and you slowly begin to realize the power you seem to have over him.

You are so grateful to Alhaitham for saying 'yes.' The feeling of being wanted, of being desired, of being empowered is intoxicating. Watching Alhaitham fall apart before your eyes because of you is even more so.

He says your name, strained, "I'm close."

Alhaitham lets out an involuntary groan when you pop off again. "Does cum taste bad?" You ask. "It's a lot neater if I swallow, unless you want it somewhere else?" The thought of Alhaitham finishing on your chest or face is somewhat appealing, though you worry about the mess.

It doesn't seem like Alhaitham particularly cares, because he grits out, "Your choice." He muffles a grunt of pleasure that you wish you could hear at full volume. "Just-"

The key to success is consistency, you think. You bob your head up and down in tandem with your hand, licking the head and swirling your tongue around his shaft until Alhaitham lets out a strained, "I'm coming-"

Despite the warning, the warmth that spurts in your mouth is still surprising. You slow your pace as Alhaitham cums, all pretty gasps and grunts that makes your head spin as you take all he is giving and swallowing. It's a lot more than you think too, your hand daintily at your mouth as you swallow as though it were the last bite of a meal. You look at Alhaitham, skin glistening with sweat, breathing hard after his climax, eyes slightly wide as he watches you lick your lips.

Before you can ask for it, Alhaitham shifts just enough to reach for a towel-- he really is prepared for everything-- for you to wipe your hand with. You hear him let out a long breath before you return the towel to him for his own uses. You stand up, wincing at the marks on your knees from kneeling for so long before grinning at him.

"So, what's the verdict?" You ask jokingly, making him scoff and roll his eyes as you had predicted.

"I'm not answering that," he says. He stands up and picks his sweatpants from the ground to make himself more modest. "You can extrapolate for that type of answer yourself."

You expected as much, but you still pout and sigh. You sit on the couch next to him. "Aw, boo, well I guess I'll just give myself an 8/10 then." You stop when you feel Alhaitham's gaze on you, calculating. "What, what is it? Am I lowballing it or what-"

"I think it's your turn," Alhaitham says simply.

"Oh, uh..." You honestly didn't come to his house expecting anything, so this comes as a surprise to you. That and a few certain parts of you makes that bit of insecurity flare up the moment Alhaitham mentions reciprocation. "It's fine," you say, "we don't have to-" You snap your mouth shut when Alhaitham parts your legs to put his knees between, his hand lifting your chin so he can kiss you. You vaguely think about the fact that he can probably taste himself on your tongue.

"I insist," Alhaitham murmurs against your lips.

"What do you suggest then?" You stammer, and Alhaitham pushes himself off just enough to look at you directly.

"We could try fingering. See if that's to your taste and then move on." He gauges you carefully. "We could stop if you truly wanted to, but don't make that decision on my behalf."

"Well, we could try," you say, lowering your gaze, feeling your heart pick up in anticipation.

"Alright," Alhaitham replies softly. "You can stop me at any time."

This is why you trust Alhaitham. This is why you asked Alhaitham to do this with you, to-- for a lack of better, less dramatic phrases-- be your first. It was made as a casual request but Alhaitham knew to take it seriously for you anyways. You aren't sure how much he knows how his words make you feel at ease.

The sense of ease is immediately replaced with nervous anticipation when Alhaitham parts your legs, pooling your skirt at your stomach, and slips his hand underneath your panties. You hear him let out a sharp breath, and before you can ask what's wrong, he says, almost in awe, "You're so wet."

You understand Alhaitham's feelings earlier now when you had felt his bulge; your arousal on full blast is nothing short of mortifying even though the situation calls for it. You hadn't even noticed, so focused on the task at hand, but when Alhaitham pulls back with glistening lines of slick between his fingers, you don't doubt his observation.

"W-Well, you know," you mumble, your hand grasping onto his supporting arm. Your eyes flutter when Alhaitham cups your sex, fingers sliding a line down the middle. Your hand spasms when his thumb hits your clit on the way down, and Alhaitham does not miss it. "Wait, Alhaitham-" You squeal when he presses onto your clit, swirling around it with persistent pressure that makes it hard to say anything coherent. You wouldn't have wanted to tell him to stop anyways, but you have a feeling he just wanted to tease you.

"Sensitive?" He says almost smugly.

"Not usually no," you choke out, breathing out a sigh of relief when Alhaitham lets off.

"Interesting," he says, and it's only now you realize how quiet Alhaitham was before when you were on your knees. Now with him at the upper hand, he can speak all he wants, and you're the one left catching your breath. It really is different when it's someone else doing it. "I'm putting one in to start, okay?"

You nod, but when you feel the first intrusion prod in, you reach out to seek out Alhaitham for support. "Relax," he tells you. "Your muscles are too tense for anything."

"Sorry," you say, taking a deep breath. He pulls you closer, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. You hot breath hits his neck when you turn to him. "Make sure you really lube that up, Haitham." You breathe again when his finger enters, and when it curls up onto the spongey part of your cunt, you feel it. It's nothing of import yet, but Alhaitham seems patient enough to build up to it.

One finger barely fits, but even with time, the second finger enters too. "You're tight," Alhaitham grunts, and you feel yourself redden as your only response. "I think you're stretched out. Any pain?" When you shake your head on his shoulders, you feel his fingers slowly pump in and out of you.

It picks up in pace and intensity, and then when he curves up this time- oh, you aren't sure you've ever felt this sensation before. Alhaitham's fingers are so much longer than yours, so it makes sense he can reach the places you can't, knuckles deep in you. Your breathing quickens and with it, Alhaitham's speed, his fingers pounding at that same spot over and over. You're at a daze, not any closer to a climax but not bored without pleasure. You aren't sure how long Alhaitham goes at it until he slows down, and the fog clears up.

"You okay?"

You hum, turning your head to face Alhaitham when he peers over to you. "Yeah," you mumble, "I feel good, just can't come from this."

"Hm."

You miss Alhaitham's warmth when he pulls away, fingers grasping at him. The haze that you feel quickly blows away when Alhaitham gets on his knees and pries your legs apart. "Whoa, um-"

"Most cannot finish with vaginal stimulation alone," Alhaitham says factually. "Hence, I'll be focusing my efforts on other areas."

"Yeah, I get that," you say, blinking with embarrassment. "It's just, um..."

Without your understanding, Alhaitham gives you a deeply unimpressed look. "Hair is a natural phenomenon. It doesn't matter to me in the slightest."

You would find it hard to believe, an insecure part of you convinced that it must be polite niceties. But this is Alhaitham, and he is never one for false platitudes and social norms with strangers or friends or you. When he says he does not care, you believe him.

"If you're sure," you tell him, and you let out a small squeak when he tugs your panties down, not even bothering to take it off completely before you feel his fingers pry your leaking lips apart. A lick up your clit has your legs closing on his head, but Alhaitham's hands easily pry you apart and keep you that way, your pussy open to be eaten.

You want to look away when Alhaitham's meets your eyes, and then his lips press to your folds and he begins to gorge himself on you.

It's impossible to keep your eyes open then when you're too distracted by how Alhaitham's tongue swirls around your clit, the muscle pressing into the bud of nerves with a dogged persistence. Even the noises you have kept to a minimum spill from your lips involuntarily. You can only breathe in hiccups, Alhaitham relentless in his pursuit of your climax as he sucks on your clit and begins to press his fingers against the zone of pleasure inside you as well.

'It feels good' sounds like an understatement at this point. You climb the precipice at an alarming speed, and you cannot help but grasp onto the hand keeping your thighs apart to ground yourself. It's almost overwhelming, but then you feel Alhaitham unfurl his grip onto your leg to grasp onto your hand.

It must be the endorphins, but you feel a warm ooze of affection for Alhaitham pool in your chest.

Logical, calm, and reasonable Alhaitham. Arrogant, antisocial, abrasive Alhaitham. Observant, considerate, and kind Alhaitham. You've known this man for so many years, and you are reminded in this instance that in all the times you have trusted him, he has never failed you once.

"Alhaitham-" You cry out. Your head feels hot as you curl your toes, your heels at his shoulders. When he hums in response, you feel the build up towards the beginning of the end. "I'm- I'm coming-"

You throw your head back, gasping in pleasure as your body jerks with waves of pleasure. Hazily, you feel Alhaitham lap at your hole at a slow but steady pace, his mouth never leaving you even as you buck against him.

Alhaitham only lets you go when your body slackens, legs limp in his arm as he gently sets it down in a comfortable position for you. You watch him, dazed, as he quietly grabs the towel to wipe his face and hands. He must see you look because he turns to you and offers you the towel too, though the mess between your legs is one of the last things you care about at the moment.

"C'mere," you say, arms reaching out for him. When he doesn't immediately come to you, you wave your hands insistently. "Plea-a-ase come here? I wanna cuddle."

A flicker of emotion comes and goes on Alhaitham's face before he replaces it with exasperation. "I didn't realize the benefits portion of friends with benefits included cuddles," he says, but he walks to you anyways, huffing in laughter at the small 'yay!' from you. Alhaitham settles in the space you moved over for him on the couch, and you immediately latch yourself onto him, head fitting easily at the crook of his neck. As his arms wrap around you, you heave a content sigh.

"You should have read the fine print, Alhaitham," you drawl, cheek pressed against his naked skin. "It was right there on page 562, 9th clause, addendum number four." You close your eyes, smiling at the sound of Alhaitham's little huff.

"Out of the two of us, I'm the one more likely to read a written agreement in full," he says. His voice reverberates in your ears, low and comforting.

You always thought he had a nice voice, reading out texts in class and reciting lines without effort. The two of you are a long way off from high school, but thinking back at the Alhaitham back then brings you good memories. It's even more so when you compare it to the Alhaitham now of whom reconnecting with was happenstance.

Alhaitham has changed a little in the years you have not seen him, with what you know now includes a fallout with Kaveh and an early college graduation. He's a little softer, you think, edges more blunt but still just as deadly when wielded with a sharp wit. It is to your comfort that most parts of him remain the same. A little smug, a little snark.

You're glad; you've always liked him just the way he is.

You feel his hand absently rub circles into your shoulders and feel as though that sentiment has only grown stronger.

"...You're hard again?" You ask after a moment, muffling your laughter into his skin when he clicks his tongue and shifts his legs so the offending body part in question is no longer touching you.

"A normal physical reaction," Alhaitham says, miffed.

You pause. "You want me to do it again?" You ask.

Alhaitham shifts so he can look down at you as you give him a grin, reaching down to grasp at his shaft and watching that moment when you catch him off guard, eyes fluttering in pleasure. Oh, yes, you think, heat pooling into your abdomen, you can certainly go for another round.

.

.

.

You tell him that you are tired of dating around with men you have no connection with, afraid to build intimacy when you are still inexperienced, and trust him enough to put up the offer to be friends with benefits. Alhaitham knows he is in love with you, but he says yes anyways. He does not make miscalculations often, but he acknowledges that he is only human, so he is prone to them occasionally. He thinks this decision to be friends with benefits with you may be one of them.

He has always had a hard time featuring his own feelings in the equation, surprisingly volatile in its unchanging affection for you even after all these years. (How long has it been since high school?) Anyone with a brain not controlled by their libido knows entering a purely sexual relationship with someone you’ve never quite stopped having feelings for is a recipe for disaster. But just maybe, being aware of that much will let Alhaitham avoid ruin.

It doesn't stop the way something in his chest twists painfully at the thought of holding you close even though you could not be more further away. After all, in initiating this relationship with him, you must have seen him as only a friend. You seem excited at the prospect of starting this type of relationship with him, and he is not one to deny you something if he believes it is something in his power to give.

On that note, he is surprised when he hears you have no experience being in a physical relationship with a man. Alhaitham does admit the idea of being your 'first' appeals to him, and because of that he thinks maybe he isn't so infallible to the whims of desire.

He's liked you for ages. He isn't sure even the best of men can refuse when the object of his affection asks him to treat them gently. (Or so he thinks. You may be more of his weak spot than he ever anticipated.)

You show up on his doorstep a week later, beaming at him when he lets you into his apartment. In the days leading up to this meeting, Alhaitham has prepped the environment with necessary amenities. You didn't specify what was to happen today, so he prepares everything to the lube to the condoms to the towels. Music, too, is something he did extensive research in, having learned that it can often set the mood.

Alhaitham isn't necessarily the most experienced person, but for the sake of knowing, he has slept with people and learned about his own preferences. He is more curious than he admits to finding out more about your preferences.

Still, when you look up at him doe-eyed and cheeks warm in anticipation, he is taken aback by the idea that he'll be the one to guide you today. He remembers when you were the one to direct him to class when he was lost as a transfer sophomore in high school. You were so assure of yourself, confident-- he never would have anticipated that you would have a shy side to you.

Perhaps that is what makes it all the more endearing, you all the more desirable, his chest searing with want as he closes the gap to finally feel your lips on his.

He really likes you, he's reminded, heart beating hard in his chest he thinks you might be able to hear it. And though you do not kiss him with the same feelings he holds for you, when you look up at him like that, he can almost imagine that you do.

Lips are one of the erogenous zones outside of sexual organs, filled with sensitive nerves that can sense even the slightest difference in temperature. The auditory sense is powerful too when it comes to stimulating the libido. It's why Alhaitham wants to devour you when he hears your small gasps as he pulls at your lips.

"Come sit," you murmur to him, and he can only acquiesce without a word. Good thing, because he would have been made speechless the way you boldly swing your legs over to sit on his lap. Alhaitham is acutely aware that his cock has begun to fill, straining against sweatpants that shows no effort to hide his arousal.

Your kisses sear his lips, your hands welcoming his to explore your body which he does with little hesitation. Alhaitham wants to see you in full, your breasts spilling out and nipples hard being irresistible that he cannot do anything but put his mouth to use again.

Your skin is smooth against his palm, your sounds of pleasure almost like music to his ears he almost wishes it weren't buffeted by the sensual base notes of a playlist he searched up last night. "I want to touch you too," you tell him breathlessly, and who is he to deny you that?

When you take a moment to admire his body, he takes this moment to look at you-- an overview, one might say. You are breathtaking in his perspective, lips slightly swollen, breasts bouncing when you adjust yourself. Alhaitham feels his cheeks warm when you innocuously grind yourself onto him (that damned skirt), and he only grows hotter when you do it again with purpose.

He should have known you would be able to flip the tables on him like that, inexperience be damned. You've always had a way to do that.

And then you are on your knees, hair up and ready to pleasure him, and he almost doesn't know what to do. Except he must-- you want him to guide you, to teach you how to make him feel good, and the way you easily do that forces him to do his best not to buck up into your touch. He must be more sensitive because it's you, or maybe you really are that fast of a learner, even when it comes to sucking cock.

Would you like dirty talk? He wonders, praise or degradation? You seem to like it a little rough, though you seem receptive to his gentleness too. Not that he can think it thoroughly with the way you are hallowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around his cock. Seeing you swallow his cum-- all of it-- is almost enough to revive his softening member, the way you look at him coyly an attractive look on your face.

He thinks the way your face contorts in pleasure is also an attractive look for him too. Alhaitham looks up from his position between your legs and watches you with hazy desire as you close your eyes, hand at your mouth to muffle your gasps. Alhaitham thinks of telling you to stop covering yourself, but he thinks that just this one time, his mouth has better things to do.

His name on your lips as you reach your high makes him close his eyes and hum in pleasure, tongue delving into you again as your slick gushes from your hole. Alhaitham is a man of pride, and watching your body slacken, spent on pleasure that he wrought from you makes his chest burn with satisfaction.

He wipes himself and sees you look up at him almost sleepily, and the satisfaction quickly morphs into gentle affection. He wants to kiss your forehead, clean you up himself and hold you. But is that too revealing? Too much emotion for a relationship like this? And Alhaitham is brought back to the reality that you are only his friends with benefits. (He is well aware of the concept of 'post-nut clarity' but finds it loathsome at the moment.)

Just as he begins to formulate words to wrap this scene in a pretty bow, you wave him over with an endearingly whining croon, and he comes to you without thinking otherwise. He is yours to hold-- always has been.

Alhaitham cannot control how you feel (would never want to), but he can control the way he will not fall apart even as you lay down with him, tracing shapes into his hand in a way he's never allowed himself to dream of. So close yet so far, he thinks, trying not to smile when you whinge at him at pushing you off the couch until you go to the bathroom. He'll take care of you as long as you'll have him.

.

.

.

You go over to Alhaitham's when you can. You try not to treat him like a booty call--though, as he has told you before, that is simply the nature of the relationship. But you are his friend before it comes with the benefits, so you try not to treat him any less. After all, you like spending time with Alhaitham, sex or not, though for some reason he seems almost bewildered when you come over his house and want to take him out for a taco truck you've been craving to eat.

"Isn't this what friends with benefits do?" You point out, biting into your taco. "Being friends with some extra stuff attached?"

Alhaitham looks at you for a moment. You take this time to squeeze some lemon onto his uneaten tacos for him.

"I suppose so," Alhaitham says noncommitally. "I was under the slightest impression you also wanted to use me for experimentation, considering your lack of experience. So you would want to take every opportunity we get to do something."

You scrunch your nose. "I don't like the word 'use.' It’s not like I talked to you and asked you this just for that reason." You frown, and the thought settles in you uncomfortably. "Please don't say that I'm using you. I'm not. I care about you," you say firmly. "I don't want you to feel that type of way, so if you do, we can stop being friends with benefits and just go back to-"

Alhaitham raises his hands in surrender. "No need," he says." I apologize. I wasn't being careful with my choice of words."

The discontent dissipates almost immediately with his words. You can't help but feel pleased. "And aren't you the one with a linguistics degree?" You tease, making him roll his eyes as he takes a bite of his food.

You imagine his eyes are rolled back again if he were to open them now on the ride back to his place as you give him a hand job. Only on the red lights, you vow; you wouldn't want to cause an accident on the road if he were to close his eyes while driving, though the unamused look he gives you has you biting the inside of your cheek to stop smiling.

The two of you end up parked at a neighborhood street when you unclip your seatbelt to finish him off with your mouth. You think his cum tastes a little better than before, and you tell him just as much when Alhaitham tucks himself back in. He only shrugs nonchalantly, but when you look into his fridge later after another session for refreshments you find freshly cut pineapple wrapped in a plate.

You wonder if you would taste better if you started eating them too.

And a month passes with the same routine: you ask if you can come over, the two of you go out to eat or go for an outing before inevitably ending up back at his place for some stress relief. You don't mean to do it every time you go to his place, but it ends up happening anyways. You ask if he wants to try something and then he says yes.

69-ing ends up being a lot more difficult than you anticipated, mainly because you keep getting distracted by things other than the pleasure itself. No matter how many times Alhaitham insists you're not too heavy, and no, you cannot break his neck (his confidence extends in all spheres), you can never get yourself comfortable.

And then there's the alignment issues. You may as well just take turns; it makes it easier for the both of you.

Some things he suggests too, such as face sitting. Alhaitham seems adamant on proving you wrong when he settles underneath you, your thighs on either side of his head as he serves as your seat until your legs are shaking in pleasure.

Alhaitham, you find out, is as good at dirty talk as you imagined. It's the linguistics degree in him, you always joke, but then you're always put in your place when he makes you beg for him to continue eating you out. He is smug as always after these sessions and you can only jab at him to no effect when you see it.

Leaving your jaw slack as he fucks your face, groaning about how good you're taking him, how good you look taking in his cock like you'd like nothing but to take his load down your throat- well. If it was possible for you to finish with just his words, you gladly would have. You are certainly close enough afterwards that Alhaitham only needs his hand on you for a minute before you're creaming onto his fingers, words murmured into your ears like soft feathers.

You voice does end up a little hoarse afterwards, throat sore, but Alhaitham is quick to bring you warm ginger tea to soothe it.

"Go to the bathroom," he tells you sternly. "I won't be responsible for any UTIs."

And when you come back from the bathroom, stark naked (you've instigated round two with this before by accident), your clothes are always ready and folded at the coach with Alhaitham in the kitchen getting you refreshments. It's times like these that make you forced to acknowledge the pink elephant in the room: the more you try not to think about it, the more you feel like Alhaitham would be a really great boyfriend.

Clearly, you overestimated your ability to not catch feelings for a long-time friend whom you trust and has told you straight up he is not interested in dating. You've put yourself in a bit of a sticky situation because you find yourself wanting to abide by the boundaries set by being friends with benefits, but also barely holding back from kissing Alhaitham on the cheek goodbye or asking if you can stay the night. Or taking him on real dates. Or holding his hand when you go out.

You think Alhaitham might not like the hassles that come along with being in a relationship. It's definitely got obligations that he may not be interested in fulfilling-- at least until he finds the right person. The fact he has not said a word to you about it only tells you that you are not that person. (Your heart hopes and yearns though, and you think it needs to shut up.)

Luckily or not, you end up being busy with work and family matters, so you don't get to see Alhaitham for a while. You still message him often, if only to talk about random things or complain about so-and-so. You think you should be more disciplined; perhaps the distance will keep your feelings at bay, but then the moment you find a reprieve in work you're immediately texting Alhaitham to meet up for coffee.

The feelings aren't going away, you think with mild exasperation when you find yourself nodding and hanging onto his every word as he talks about something stupid his coworker has done (and always does). All things come to an end, but you think you like to hang onto Alhaitham like this just a little while longer. Eventually you'll have to broach the dreaded but much needed subject of 'what are we?' but until then, you are more than content being with Alhaitham like this even if you wish you were officially together.

But you can't blame the way things have turned out. After all, if this never happened, would you ever have gotten close to Alhaitham like this?

You check the time on your watch and sigh. "Ugh, I promised I'd run errands for my mom so I gotta go," you say, standing up from the coffee table. You grab your empty cup and toss it in the trash. When you look at Alhaitham, he seems unsure. "Uh, what's up?"

"...I assumed we were going back to my place afterwards," he says carefully. "I thought that was why you called me."

"Oh, no," you say, mouth open with words at the tip of your tongue. You feel your heart rise to your throat as your cheeks grow hot at the honesty of your next words. "I just wanted to see you. Sorry. I should have said something."

"No, it's fine." Alhaitham pushes his seat back to stand too. "You did say we were friends first before the benefits."

You did say that, you remember, but now you can't help but wish the two of you were more than friends. You bite your tongue from blurting those words, but you end up staring at him for a moment too long to not be awkward. "Yeah," you end up saying, "I think I'll be able to see you again next week? I'm less busy, if that's okay?"

"Sure," he says, and you can't help but feel he is so far from you even though he is in arm's reach. "See you then."

It is settled in your heart and head (both in agreement this time) that your friends with benefits relationship with Alhaitham has an expiration date that is coming soon. You like Alhaitham too much to keep pretending that you don't, so it is only a matter of time you end up being just his friend again or begin something anew as a couple. The probability of Alhaitham also catching feelings for you the same time as you is basically zero, you think miserably, so you can only bite the bullet when the time comes.

"I think next time," you say after another session, "I want to have you fuck me."

You hear Alhaitham stop rummaging into his fridge to look at you. His face betrays no emotion and for a frustrating moment, you wish it did just so you can see if he is affected as you are. But this is Alhaitham, and you know better than to expect as much.

"Alright," Alhaitham says. "I can bring the lube and the condoms-"

"No condom," you find yourself saying, "I can take birth control." You look at him, gauging his reaction. "Is that okay with you?"

Alhaitham meets your gaze steadily. "If you are."

"You'll take responsibility, won't you?" You say with a light lilt to your voice, though you trust Alhaitham to take your words seriously. "I'll see you next week?"

He nods. "Next week."

.

The expiration date comes more quickly than you hoped. You shake your head and the negative thoughts away at his front door before you knock. You care for Alhaitham and you like him as more than a friend: these truths are unchanging for you now, so there is no point in despairing about what is not to be. Besides, you don't want your first time-- with someone, with Alhaitham-- to be marred with angst. You want to enjoy it with him to the last minute.

You ring his doorbell and hear his footsteps approach the front door, your heart beating fast in nervous anticipation.

Alhaitham looks normal, which is to say, as calm as ever when he lets you into his apartment. You put your bag down in your usual spot and amble to the kitchen take a sip of water. Alhaitham walks to his room first to wait for you, and with a deep breath in, you follow after him.

You are reminded of the first time you came over to his house, standing there as you wait for Alhaitham to make the first move. Alhaitham does the usual routine: putting the music on, setting out the equipment, and laying down the towel. He turns to you as you quietly watch him and bends down enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

You feel the tension melt away.

You raise your hand to brush his hair from his eyes before cupping his cheeks to bring him closer to kiss. They are gentle ones though still full of feeling, heat thrumming behind every touch and warm breath shared. "Alhaitham," you murmur, his hands sliding your shirt over your head and guiding you toward the couch.

It is almost rehearsed the way Alhaitham's fingers nimbly remove your bra, his knees between your legs as he helps you out of your bottoms. You sit waiting and watching as Alhaitham removes his own clothes--a personal show-- before he is back on top of you, leaving a trail of kisses along the same spots he knows can make you tremble.

And Alhaitham knows you quite well now, you think, beyond the bedroom. He knows how you take your coffee (not black), how you like to order your food (spicy), the way you can get carsick so he drives smoother, the nasty habit of staying up late so he messages you at 11 pm to tell you to sleep. You trust him so terribly much, and he knows you terribly well-- it is no wonder that you fall apart under his touch in no time at all.

"Alhaitham," you breathe out, holding onto his wrist before he overstimulates your clit. "I want you inside of me. Please?"

You let out a surprised gasp when Alhaitham turns you, so he is facing your front. Your heart is beating so loudly underneath your hands where you've rested them on your chest. You think maybe you would have cold feet but instead you are surer than ever that Alhaitham is someone you want to be your first. You gasp in pleasure when Alhaitham's cock clips onto your clit as he glides it forward and back along your sex. You don't think you've ever wanted someone as you wanted Alhaitham.

But you like to think you know Alhaitham well, now better than ever. So when you look up at him as a flicker of emotion flashes across his face, you can identify it. Alhaitham stays in that position between your legs, conflicted, and that is enough to ebb away the waves of desire to ask him if he's okay.

His expression freezes then, his grip on your legs tightening just a little before releasing them again. "What do you mean?" He asks, and you have half a mind to not laugh at the fact he thinks he can fool you.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," you say. "Not right now and maybe not ever if that's not something you want-"

"I-" Alhaitham snaps his mouth shut, lips twisting as he tries to say words that, for once, do not come easily to him. "That's not entirely true."

"What's not true?" You prompt.

"That this isn't something I want." Alhaitham looks steadily at you then. "Nothing could be more true."

"...Then how about you fuck something else?" You say, closing your legs and letting the plush of your thighs envelop his cock instead. Alhaitham swallows thickly, though his face is as impartial as ever (but you know better). "Pretend it's the real thing. For practice," you say coyly.

Alhaitham curses under his breath, closing his eyes at the sensation of his cock locked between your thighs.

You breathe out slowly, eyes mesmerized by the slant of his brows from concentration, mouths parted, and eyes closed in pleasure. You find that you don't mind this type of view at all, especially not for the finale. You watch every minute detail of Alhaitham chasing his bliss and ingrain it into your memory to keep.

You breathe out through your nose roughly when Alhaitham's cock hits your clit, his pace quickening as he slickens your thighs with a mix of your arousal and his. You moan at the thought of it, the sounds emanating from it a joint effort between your two bodies.

Alhaitham says your name then, making your heart skip a beat as your focus is back onto him. His eyes don't leave yours as he brings himself close to the climax. "Come for me, Haitham," you say, "come for me, baby."

Almost obediently, Alhaitham does as you say, cum staining your chest as though someone made your body a canvas. You watch him come back from his high, taking a finger to swipe some of it from your chest to taste. You smile at his coyly when you see Alhaitham watch you.

It's been fun, you think, as Alhaitham stands up to grab a towel to clean up. You sit up, combing a hand through your hair, working up the courage to say what needs to be said. You're jolted from your thoughts when you feel Alhaitham wipe a towel across your chest, cleaning up the mess the two of you made.

"Oh, thanks!" You say, laughing, "I almost forgot that was there."

"Your mind works in strange ways," Alhaitham says, and you think you are more compromised than you think when you hear the way his voice seems to dip lower, softer when he speaks to you. He pauses in his movement. "Sorry about earlier," he tells you. "Did you have another idea in mind?"

"It's fine, Haitham." You wave his concerns away. "And, um, sorta? It's nothing sexual actually, I just think I need to talk to you about something."

To his credit, Alhaitham only takes a moment to process your words. "Alright," he says. He takes a towel to wrap around your shoulders before putting his pants back on just for modesty. You watch him fondly as he sits next to you.

"I wanted to say thanks," you begin, "for doing this with me. I trust you to treat me right and you've never proven me wrong."

"No thanks needed," Alhaitham trails off, "is what I normally say but I don't mind a word of gratitude when it comes from you." He lets out a huff of laughter when you knock shoulders with him; yours is the only one that ends up a little sore.

"And I know we started this out as friends with benefits, but, um..." You breathe out. "I think... I've started to catch feelings for you." Not honest enough, you think, and add on, wincing, "A lot, actually. I like you as more than a friend." You turn away from him then, focusing on your hands as they fidget in your lap. "I don't think I can keep on doing this and pretend like I don't, so I think we should stop being friends with benefits."

You stammer, heart fluttering with anxiety, "A-And I know you said you didn't want to be in a relationship anyone, but I was wondering if you were interested in doing that with me...? If not, it's okay, I'm honestly really okay if we stayed as friends. I just wanted to be transparent with you because I think you deserve-"

"Why do you assume I wouldn't like you back?" Alhaitham cuts through. You turn to stare at him, and he meets your eyes and keeps them there. "I never said I didn't want to be in a relationship with anyone."

You stare. "What are you talking about? You're literally the one who told me you were never interested in dating."

"I'm not," Alhaitham says slowly. "I'm not interested in dating, but that doesn't mean I'm not open to being in a relationship with someone."

"Huh?" You blurt out. "But how are you supposed to be in a relationship with someone if you don't meet someone to date them first?"

Alhaitham is patient with you despite your growing frustration. It is so obvious he has connected the dots and is waiting for you to catch up. "I don't need to date," he says, "because I already met someone I'm interested in being with. I don't need to meet new people."

"Wait, what?" You gape. "Who?"

The face that Alhaitham gives you is by far the most unimpressed he has ever looked. You feel like punching it a little. You cross your arms, huffing.

"Give me hints or something," you say, clicking your tongue in annoyance. "Do I know them?"

"Very well," Alhaitham replies, sidling close to you that your arm can feel his body heat.

"Are they from our high school?"

"Yes."

"Really?" You gasp. "Well, we have your friends-"

"They are also your friends."

"-and my friends, which are yours..." You trail off, feeling your face warm and your heart rise to your throat. You can't be hopeful, you think. It is such a dangerous thing when you assume, but you think about who Alhaitham has befriended, who he is still friends with, and who he is closest to. The best answer you keep arriving to is yourself.

Is it too arrogant of you to think that it's you that Alhaitham wants to be with?

"No, it's not prideful to think it's you if it's true," Alhaitham says, and you wonder if you said it aloud. That thought is quickly discarded in favor of thinking over Alhaitham's words. Your heart feels fit to burst, lips wobbly without your permission. His eyes soften when he looks at you then, hand raising to cup your cheek.

"I like you," Alhaitham tells you. "I want to be more than friends."

"More than friends with benefits?" You can't help but ask, and you laugh through the sudden tears when Alhaitham scoffs before pressing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah, way more than that," he says quietly. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. "I've always wanted more with you."

You sniffle, grinning. "Good thing I asked you then, huh?" You let put a shriek of laughter when Alhaitham pins you down, arms caging you in and making you feel nothing but safe. He looks at you then, eyes full of affection that you wonder how you could have ever missed that before.

"You want to retry from earlier?" Alhaitham asks, pulling your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"I won't lie," you say, laughing when Alhaitham nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. "That talk took a chunk of my energy. I kind of want to nap and cuddle. With you! Besides," you say, shifting so that Alhaitham can join you on the coach, the two of you as close as you can be, "we have all the time in the world to do new things together." You turn to look him in the eyes and hopes he sees how much you adore him in equal amounts.

"I can wait," you say, and Alhaitham leans to kiss you.

It is not the last time he does so.

[mxtxfanatic]

Hm, I know I said at least in my first reading of mdzs that I felt like Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were actually friends as kids, I would like to remind folks that the catastrophic breakdown of their friendship was not because of some misplaced care but because Jiang Cheng is a stagnant character whose whole role in the story is to be the one who never learns, changes, and grows past his insecurities and resentments. They were always going to fall out with each other, even if the Sunshot Campaign never happened, even if the Wen Clan didn’t exist as a subjugating force terrorizing the other clans, because no matter how much Jiang Cheng cares about anyone, he will always place his personal resentments first.

I’m so serious: reread the pre-fall of Lotus Pier parts of the novel (flashback extras included), and tell me how many times Jiang Cheng says something genuinely nice about or to the benefit of Wei Wuxian without prompting. Point to me places where Jiang Cheng puts himself on the line for Wei Wuxian that is not him distracting the Wen. Compare the number of unambiguously positive interactions they have to the number of interactions they have in total, and I bet you’ll see that the positives are laughingly scant. Most every interaction they have together, Jiang Cheng is being a negative nancy. He’s the type of friend who, if you said “Today is a good day!” would snidely respond back, “What’s so good about?” before loudly complaining about what a nuisance your happiness is. Jiang Cheng is the type of friend that tells you that everyone else hates you because you’re so annoying, and you need to do something about that because he also finds you annoying so you should be lucky he “puts up with” you. And all of this negativity can be directly traced back to the resentment Jiang Cheng feels caused by his own mother projecting her insecurities onto him. Jiang Cheng, who cannot grow, learn, or change, is unable to extract his own self from his mother’s insecurities, ending up inheriting them as his own, instead.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like teen!Jiang Cheng is some irredeemable monster (that is reserved for his adult self), but Wei Wuxian already shows signs of being tired of his attitude as kids. He snaps at Jiang Cheng rudeness in the lotus pod seeds extra. He constantly admonishes Jiang Cheng about his blatant disregard for the lives and safety of other people. Most of the time, Wei Wuxian won’t even engage in the petty little remarks that Jiang Cheng makes, just treating it like nobody had spoken at all. The only times Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian move as a unit is when they have a common enemy—like Jin Zixuan—but without that, they are only held together by the fact that…they’ve been friends for a long time.

And this kinda leads me back to the point about the yunmeng friendship not being able to withstand the test of time even without an outside conflict: I would place the point of no return for their relationship at Wei Wuxian killing the xuanwu of slaughter, not at the fall of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian is one of two individuals that killed a mythological bloodthirsty creature responsible for hundreds of deaths, spent a week in a coma from his injuries and lack of immediate care, and what does he get for it? Jiang Cheng shows up with soup gifted to Wei Wuxian by Jiang Yanli, except he’s eaten all the meat out of it. Jiang Fengmian gives the most lukewarm praise to Wei Wuxian for his achievements—which Wei Wuxian neither complained about nor called him out for—because they were both trying to be mindful of Jing Cheng’s insecurities, and Jiang Cheng still made it about himself. When Madam Yu storms in to yell about how Wei Wuxian is a “bastard child” and he’s just trying to show off, Jiang Cheng consciously and unambiguously sides with his mother. Wei Wuxian had to drag his feverish body out of bed—after just awakening from a week-long coma—to placate pity-party Jiang Cheng, and the only thing that makes him feel better is not promises of continued friendship but of servitude. Even if at this point Wei Wuxian was still viewing Jiang Cheng as a—admittedly caustic—friend, Jiang Cheng’s view had fully transitioned from “annoying friend my mother hates” to “the servant I need to keep in line lest he overshadows me.” If anything, the fall of Lotus Pier, the debt placed on Wei Wuxian by the Jiang leaders, and the subsequent war probably allowed their friendship to last longer than it naturally would have (remember, they are only united against outside forces).

All this to say that while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian may have started out as genuine friends in their childhood, their transition to enemies has absolutely nothing to do with that care. Sometimes we fall out with people because we just do not like them as people. Jiang Cheng’s resentment prevented him from appreciating Wei Wuxian as a person, leading to the end of their friendship and their descent into eventual enemies. Not misplaced or warped care, just pure, undeniable resentment.

[heauxvibez]

Kissing On My Tattoos

warning: eehh, naur warning. Maybe just a sprinkle of a moan in there, but nothing harmful :)

Roman texting you while you're on a date has never been out of the ordinary. Especially if you had no interest in the guy.

A smile lit up Roman's face every time his phone buzzed, knowing it was a message from you, signaling that you weren't enjoying yourself.

Baby Girl💕: Can you come pick me up when he drops me off?

Biting his bottom lip, Roman typed the following words,

Sure thing baby girl. Just let me know when you get home.

His brown eyes brightened, he couldn't wait to see you. Just the thought of you made his heart race which he hated but loved at the same time. He just wanted to have fun. But you, oh, you yearned for something deeper, something more profound, especially with him.

When he confessed his attraction for you but made it clear he wasn't ready for anything serious, it broke you, leaving a bittersweet ache in your heart. Yet, you understood. Some people couldn't fathom the idea of commitment. And Roman, he was one of them.

He did put an offer on the table though, he put forth the idea of ya'll becoming friends with benefits. No strings attached whatsoever.

You were very hesitant and you thought about the offer for at least 2 weeks. You were putting your feelings on the line and knew it wasn't worth it but you really wanted to be with him. And if that was the only way you could have him, then so be it.

It's been 3 months since you've agreed and to be honest, you have enjoyed it. Besides the fact that Roman always.. and I mean always flirted with other girls in front of you. But hey, that's what you signed up for.

Before you knew it, you were dipping your toes into the waters of other men's attention. After all, if Roman was playing the field, why shouldn't you? The plan was simple: keep him around until someone else came along who truly made you feel the way he did.

Roman had picked up on it. Your absence hadn't gone unnoticed, not with you off on dates with other guys. And weirdly enough, he was feeling... jealous? Roman had never really been the green-eyed type, but lately, something was stirring inside him. He knew he shouldn't be, given he'd been messing around with other girls while fooling around with you. But still, that twinge of envy lingered.

He wanted you all to himself, plain and simple. Yeah, he knew it was selfish and unfair, but that's just how he felt, and nothing could shake that.

Lately, he'd been keeping his distance from the other girls he'd been seeing. It was like he was slowly cutting ties with them, realizing that his heart belonged to you and you alone.

Slipping into a black tee and his favorite Nike sandals, Roman checked his phone after getting a text from you.

Your date didn't go as planned, and now all you wanted was for Roman to bring back that smile to your face.

___

"Thanks for picking me up Ro, tonight was horrible.."

You collapsed onto his bed, sprawling out on your stomach. His scent enveloped you, his cologne mingling with the familiar smell of his sheets. You melted into the mattress, feeling completely at ease. Your muscles relaxed, and so did your mind. It was pure bliss.

He settled on the edge of the bed near your feet, releasing a heavy sigh.

"No problem, baby."

Internally, you melted. When he called you baby, it sent shivers down your spine, but you quickly reminded yourself that you probably weren't the only one he called that.

Before long, he was stretched out beside you, shirtless now. He propped his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. His mind seemed to be wandering, lost in a swirl of thoughts.

He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else having you, touching you, holding you, kissing you...None of it. The idea alone made him want to scream in frustration.

You noticed the look on his face.

"What's wrong?"

You hopped onto his lap, settling with your legs on either side, facing him.

"Nothing..."

"Don't lie to me."

He grinned and his hands found their way to your thighs. Instantly, your skin prickled with goosebumps, a familiar sensation whenever he touched you. Your body responded in ways that defied explanation or words.

He licked his lips, nearly making you squeal with anticipation.

"It's...just that I don't like seeing you with other men. It drives me absolutely in-fucking-sane," he expressed sternly. You could tell by the look of his face, he was serious. In fact, it almost felt like you were in trouble just from the way he looked at you.

Holding back a smirk you said,

"Well, I don't like seeing you with other women, but you're the one who came up with this Friend With Benefits crap,"

"I know, I know.." he sighed, running a hand over his bearded face.

"So, what are we going to do?" you asked. You honestly enjoyed this. He was finally giving in to his feelings.

His hands lazily trailed up and down your silky skin, relishing in the way you responded to his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

"We're going to be together because the thought of you being with someone else is eating me up on the inside,"

You awed him, grasping his hands in your own and placing them above his head. Leaning forward, you captured his lips with yours. The kiss was laced with a passion you've never felt before. You both took your time exploring each other's mouths, tongues fighting for dominance before he finally won.

As Roman's tongue teased a sensitive spot in your mouth, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, feeling a warmth pooling between your thighs.

Planting kisses along his shoulder, you traced the inked patterns on his skin, marveling at the details they whispered about his culture, his life.

When you found that sweet spot, he groaned, his grip on your hand tightening as you continued to hold them above his head.

"Baby.." he whispered breathlessly as you sucked on his sweet spot. You showed no mercy, nibbling and sucking until he was putty in your hands. Every stroke of your tongue against his inked skin sent shivers coursing through his body.

"Now, we aren't going to be together just because you say so. I really want you to drop those women, all of them. Prove to me that you want me and only me.." you murmured against his neck before sitting up, meeting his gaze head-on.

Roman pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes squinting slightly.

"Okay...I will."

Lightly slapping his chest, you glared.

"I'm serious, Roman. You're playing games and I'm not down with that anymore. I'm through being fuck buddies. Either you give me all of you or nothing at all."

Roman sat up, encircling his arms around your waist, pulling you close. He rested his forehead against yours, his desire burning beyond the physical; he wanted to claim you as his own. You were the only one who stirred these feelings within him, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you just to play the field.

He was a fool for your pretty eyes and that smile. How'd he expect himself not to fall?

"I'm not lying, baby. I promise, I will drop them all for you."

He brushed his fingertips along the curve of your cheek, his minty breath teasing your lips as he inched closer.

"I don't have to worry about another woman's lips on your body?" you questioned, a hint of uncertainty in your eyes.

He tenderly kissed your lips, catching you off guard for a fleeting moment.

"Nope. I don't want nobody but you kissin' on my tattoos, baby girl.." he whispered, then leaned in to place a kiss on your temple.

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

Hope y'all enjoyed this small little one shot!

And please go read my last two one-shots if you haven't already. I enjoyed writing them and want you to enjoy reading them! Love ya'll, Muah!

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi @msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @mzv11 @wrestlingprincess80 @saintmagx

[nohoperadio]

I want there to be a website similar to Genius, for annotating song lyrics (and poems and public domain texts and whatever else you want to do with that tech), but instead of each song having one page that just shows the "consensus" annotations, each user would have their own personal page for each song they annotate. So I would have my page with my annotations about Source Decay by the Mountain Goats and you would have your page for yours, and there'd be no such thing as the page for Source Decay by the Mountain Goats that just houses the top-voted contributions (or however it works on Genius, I think it's slightly more complicated but w/e). (Actually there would be a version of "the page" for each song but it wouldn't work like Genius, more on this in a sec.)

Genius is often very good at providing the kind of basic factual information that can't possibly be controversial (the song mentions a town, the annotation mentions that the songwriter lived in that town briefly during 2008, whatever), and it's often very good as a place to collect quotes from interviews of what the band has to say about each song, but on the whole Genius is not as fun to browse as it should be, and I think that's largely because the wiki-like structure prevents it from channeling more than a small portion of the passion and interpretive creativity of, say, songmeanings.com, a once-active site that Genius largely killed and replaced, but it still exists and if you check out old comment sections you can find a lot more rambling and theorycrafting (and crucially, a lot more bad ideas, which are vitally important to any kind of interesting conversation about art).

You will find some of that more speculative stuff on Genius, it's not just for factual background, but the fact that space is inherently limited and everyone's annotation is in competition with everyone else's does not make this impulse thrive. The least weird contributions tend to win out. If you want to add your idea about a particular line, but someone else has already annotated it, your options are: a) "propose an edit" to their annotation that incorporates your own ideas (awkward!), b) try to write your own annotation and have it displace theirs entirely as the thing that comes up when you click the line (you'll feel like a dick even if you're successful at this), or c) leave your thoughts as a "comment" on their annotation (Genius hides the comments by default and doesn't make the button to open them at all conspicuous, but even if that weren't the case your "comment" would still be lower in the hierarchy than their "annotation", and implicitly framed as a reply to the latter).

In my vision nobody's annotation would compete with anyone else's, the annotations are (what they mostly are when made in physical books remember!) more for the writer's benefit than for any other reader, and unconstrained by the responsibility implied in the wiki-ish project of contributing to a public resource you would be free to pursue whatever interpretive rabbit holes strike your fancy, fill each page dissecting evidence for how this record that definitely wasn't intended as a concept album is actually a concept album, fill them with entirely personal connections like how this line reminds you of a weird thing you saw in your Grandma's attic when you were ten, do whatever you want. Other people can come and leave comments on your stuff appreciating your brilliance/sending you death threats if you choose to enable that option, the way I'm imagining it this would actually be a big part of the life of the site and if all went to plan it would actually feel something akin to a social media site some of the time, but that side of it would be secondary to the main goal of each user having a place to house their own thoughts about songs in an organized, presentable, public way.

The site should make it easy to discover the annotation pages of other users writing about stuff you're interested in, the "main page" for each band and then each song would be a sort of hub for accessing other people's pages who have made annotations for that. If it had any substantial userbase this might benefit from some mechanism whereby the community identifies people who are writing particularly interesting stuff and makes those people a bit more visible, although I'd want this to be more subtle than a list ordered by likes/upvotes/whatever, and I'd want there to be some way to show off the range of different ways of using the site, with some people being more diaristic/personal on there, some people doing something like real scholarship (perhaps sometimes on a more ambitious scale than actually-existing Genuis allows for), some people might be doing something more spiritually akin to fanfiction.

I know that this site would be fascinating for (at least) me to browse if it existed and was active; I'm unsure whether there'd be enough interest to make it active. I think it's possible. There's a bunch of you guys I'd like to follow on there if it existed and if you were doing it.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Hello! First I want to say I really like your fae story! The world building in it is insane and I'm so glad Buddie is finally together. Second, you don't have to answer but why have you been posting stuff with tommy? I don't understand why any Buddie shipper would like him, he's such a pos in the begins episodes...why write him with Buck? You don't have to answer, but there are lots of Buddie shippers switching sides and I don't see why.

Hiiiii.

So, first off thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying Come Away, and I hope the ending coming up satisfies :) Second, ngl, I did consider not answering that question cause I really don't like wading into fandom drama...but that was a super respectful ask and I DO quite like the character so...fuck it, we ball.

This is probably gonna be long and rambly but the TL;DR is I think the fact that Tommy Kinard IS introduced as a piece of shit makes for really interesting nuance to the character and also I'm a multishipper...just cause bacon and pineapple is my favorite pizza flavor doesn't mean I DON'T like pepperoni or have decided never to eat it again (also, I have less than 10k words of BuckTommy on AO3 and, like, almost 300k of Buddie, so I don't think I've switched sides, lol)

As for why I can like Tommy and specifically Tommy and Buck together despite the aforementioned POS'ness, sure I'll cop to part of it being I am just so damn excited for bi!Buck, I'd have been happy with just about anyone awakening that in him. But also because Tommy, to me, is a fucking interesting character and DOES make a lot of sense as someone that Hen and Chim could forgive and be friends with, and that could be good for Buck.

First off there are some things I think we have to acknowledge about Tommy that are factual or can be inferred as factual from the show. 1. For his timeline to make ANY sense, he can generously be in his late thirties to early forties. For it to make sense without him being some kind of prodigy in a couple areas, he has to be in his mid-to-late forties. 2. He was at LEAST partially raised by someone who reminds him uncomfortably of Gerrard, a CARTOONISHLY boorish, evil, bigot. 3. He was closeted for a very long time.

All of those factors together make for someone who honestly, it would have been nearly IMPOSSIBLE for them NOT to be a piece of shit, and a textbook example of how patriarchal systems, toxic masculinity, and white supremacy are also harmful to the people who benefit from them.

Let me preface this by saying I don't think the harm Tommy suffered was anywhere near as great as what Hen and Chim (or any person of color) go through. And, of course, Hen and Chim don't owe him shit. Forgiving him or not is entirely up to them and the right choice whatever they choose.

My point is, Tommy almost certainly grew up in an environment where his worst flaws and character traits were just...normal. I think a lot of people don't understand how much LARGER the world has gotten with the modern day internet, how much easier it is to be exposed to things outside your own bubble. I'm either right around Tommy's age or a little younger, depending on the estimate you use and guys...I just don't have words for how INSULAR my worldview was growing up compared to now. How much everyone around you, even in larger cities, tended to be Just Like You. You had to live in true sprawling metropolises to be exposed to the kind of diversity that we take for granted now. It is a terrible thing, but when everyone around you, everyone you look up to, everyone you love and care about, and who is supposed to love and care about you thinks the same thing, you don't tend to question it. You don't even notice it. My own loving, wonderful, give-you-the-shirt-off-her-back grandmother, who was educated af in a time women really weren't as a rule, and spent her life as a teacher was racist as FUCK. And the really insidious kind...the "I don't hate them, but why can't they just stay on their side of town?" kind, the passive-aggressive comments that only sting the people they're aimed at so no one thinks to defend the victim kind. It's the weirdest cognitive dissonance to know someone as kind, loving, and moral and ALSO realize that the kindness, love, and morality only included certain people. If my parents had not moved around so much, exposing me to different environments (or if they'd been a little less lenient with my internet access when it started exploding) I honestly can't say whether or not I would have ended up just like my grandma. I like to think I wouldn't have, but that's the point...it's a frog in slowly boiling water situation. I think we can all safely say a parent like Gerrard was not creating an environment in which it was safe or even possible to question the hate.

And from that homelife Tommy had to have gone straight into the military during the heights of DADT, wherein hiding your true self from everyone around you was the acceptable compromise to just straight up having your life ruined (if not completely ended).

Now. Does any of this EXCUSE Tommy being a pretty racist, sexist piece of shit in the begins episodes? No. But it is an EXPLANATION and a true-to-life example of how those systems that everyone has to operate in are harmful no matter what. At the time, given what was almost certainly his background, Tommy would almost certainly have to have been INCREDIBLY self-aware and self-actualized (and honestly, really, REALLY fucking brave) not to have been molded into...precisely what he is. A pretty racist, pretty sexist piece of shit who is throwing anyone and everyone he has to under the bus (consciously or not) to divert attention from his own deviation from the "norm".

Okay, HocusPocus, you might say, so this still begs the question why the hell you think Tommy deserves to even breathe the same air as your favorite blorbo.

And let me again preface by saying I acknowledge the show leaves a lot to inference here. As 911 is wont to do, extremely important character moments are handled "off-screen."

That being said, we do get to see Tommy acknowledging he was wrong about Hen and Chim and getting to a place of mutual respect, if not friendship (personally, I think the going away party when Tommy leaves the 118 shows they've made it to friendship...I don't care how much you respect someone, cake, balloons, and a surprise party are strictly friend things). When Chim calls Tommy to take them out to the cruise ship like...Tommy's risking his life AND his career there, if not outright jail time. Just on Chim and Hen's say-so. Again...that's FRIEND level actions, not just "I respect you as a colleague". We see, either right there on screen or through deleted scenes, that everyone around Buck trusts Tommy with him. When have we ever seen the 118 be shy about expressing their displeasure over one of Buck's LI's? If Hen and Chim still harbored resentment towards Tommy, and didn't truly believe he'd changed and was good enough for Buck, do we REALLY think that wouldn't have been expressed?

Are there valid criticisms of the character? Sure. I think a lot of it can be explained by the rushed nature of season 7 with such a large ensemble cast, but yeah, Tommy's not super developed and a LOT of the issues between him, Hen , and Chim are left to inference. That's fair.

But I think the show MEANS us to make those inferences, that Hen and Chim's actions and interactions with him show that Tommy has done the work to change, and they accept that he's changed and it also says a lot about them that they can forgive him and be friends with him (which, again, he is NOT owed and they would have been perfectly valid in denying him).

So, yeah. I like him. I think he's interesting and while Buddie remains my OTP, I am very interested to see where Tevan goes this coming season.

Also, Lou is fucking pretty ;)

[wolfjackle-creates]

For the ask game, I feel like #1 and #13 go really well together. Cuddle curse plus drugged/cuddle drunk confession. Maybe with just a dash of #3 Misunderstandings if the recipient thinks it's just the cuddle curse talking.

Perhaps in the flavor of platonic Dead Serious (Danny/Damian)?

Since you specifically said Platonic Dead Serious, I hope you're okay with a Twin AU. Because I've had one on the backburner for almost a year now that's never been written. This wouldn't technically fit that fic, but it's still a trope I adore that I haven't written.

This will be about a month or two after Danny ends up at the manor. No secrets have been revealed yet. The Waynes only know that Danny wasn't safe where he was and came to Bruce for shelter. Danny only knows that they know about the League of Assassins but nothing about their nightlife.

Okay, wow, this got long. It has no right to be as long as it is. Anyway, enjoy the 2.8k of shenanigans I wrote! (It's way less angsty than I expected, tbh.)

-----

Danny walked into the library only to see Damian and freeze.

Damian stared back at him, neither moving a muscle.

Danny was the one to break the silence. "Damian."

"Danyal," was the curt reply.

Danny glared at his twin who ignored it and turned back to what he was working on.

"That's it!" shouted Dick.

Danny jumped. He hadn't seen the man standing off to the side; he'd been too focused on Damian.

"You two have been dancing around each other ever since Danny got here. Now, I don't know what history you have since neither of you will talk about it, but you have to at least be civil to each other. So you're going to have a bonding day tomorrow."

"Richard!"

At the same time, Danny said, "No!"

Then the twins were back to glaring at each other.

"He won't even call me by my name," protested Danny. "I hate Daniel and Danyal. I'm Danny."

"You are a Wayne and grandson to the Demon Head. It is beneath you to go by such a ridiculous diminutive."

"Oh yeah, because I want to be reminded of Ra's every time someone talks to me."

Dick physically moved between them. "Enough. This is what I'm talking about. Come on, there has to be something you both enjoy and can do together."

Danny shrugged. "I enjoy lots of things. Just not weapons and fighting because I spent too much time doing that when I was little. Now I just want to be a regular American teen."

"And the interests of 'regular American teens' are banal and insipid. I will not waste my time partaking in them."

Dick looked between them with his eyes narrowed. "You know what, there's a carnival in town right now. You will both be going there tomorrow for the morning. You can compete at the games if you need to compare skills, Damian. And there's junk food and sweets for you, Danny. Then after, I'll take you to the animal shelter to do an extra volunteering shift. That way you spend some time alone together to figure out your differences, you'll be in public the entire time so I don't have to worry about anyone being stabbed, and it caters to both your interests."

"I do believe that is an excellent idea, Master Dick."

Danny jumped again at the unexpected voice of Alfred behind him.

"In fact, I will drive you to the carnival myself. I expect both of you to be downstairs and ready to leave by nine thirty tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Pennyworth," said Damian. But based on his frown, he was not happy with the discussion.

Danny looked between Alfred and Dick, but couldn't think of a way to back out. "Fine."

---

Not even half an hour after they'd arrived at the carnival, Danny was ready to tear his hair out. And had sent several messages to Dick stating as much.

Damian was sneering at the people, at the food, at the very mud on the ground.

"It's mud, Damian. It won't hurt you."

"It will require me to do more work to clean my shoes before we can enter our home. For no benefit, either. This place is horrendous."

Danny sighed. "Can't you just relax, Dami? You're safe. No one is going to beat you if you let go a little bit."

"No. I can't." Damian moved faster, forcing Danny to half-run to catch up.

"Look, the game booths are up ahead. Let's see if we can't win some prizes. I'm sure Dick would love it if you gave him something you won."

"Everything is cheap and ugly."

"Exactly the sort of things Dick likes!"

"Very well."

With Damian next to him, Danny didn't dare cheat. For his first prize, Damian selected a large, stuffed elephant. Though after he'd received it, he stared at it with no idea what to do next.

"You carry it around with you! We want to have so many prizes between us we can barely walk."

"That seems idiotic."

Danny nudged him. "Look, they're stuffed animals. I'm sure the shelter will take any you don't want to keep."

Damian hummed just like Bruce and made his way to the next booth. Danny won that round and the competition was on.

The next half hour passed much more pleasantly than the first. Until the ground started moving under them. Danny and Damian were two of the few who kept their feet as vines shot up from the soil and wrapped around the rides and huts and trailers.

Poison Ivy rose above them all and began screaming about how this meadow had been home to an endangered flower before the fair destroyed the habitat.

Danny and Damian both moved towards the woman rather than away like everyone else.

But Poison Ivy wasn't done with her monologue. Buds swelled on the vines. "Now, to distract you while I destroy this corporate evil."

"Come on, Damian!" called Danny. A bud burst open into a flower in front of him and Danny tried to duck, but it released a puff of pollen.

Both he and Damian got a face-full. Instantly, Danny could feel a tingling spreading out from his lungs and he reached back to grab Damian's hand.

"Any idea what that was?"

Damian gripped his hand just as tightly and the two continued to fight their way forward, now close enough to bump shoulders.

"Dr. Isley has many pollens with different effects. What symptoms are you experiencing?"

Danny shivered and pulled Damian closer. "Cold which is weird. Cold hasn't bothered me for years now. And I feel itchy. Are you feverish? Your hand feels warm."

Damian moved in closer until their arms were pressed together and Danny felt some of the cold recede. "No, but I know what we have been attacked with. It is a pollen to promote physical closeness."

"Cuddle pollen? Seriously? Sounds like something I would've had to deal with back... Just before. Isn't Gotham known for things like fear toxin or whatever? Cuddle pollen seems out of character."

"Dr. Isley is more concerned with her plants. If she can keep the humans preoccupied and stop them from interfering, she doesn't much care how it's done. And it is hard to fight her when you are desperate to hold onto each other."

Danny slipped on the moving ground and ended up pulling Damian down on top of him.

Oh. He understood now. With Damian pressed up against him more fully, the stuffed elephant squished between them, nothing could have enticed him to let go. He wrapped his arms more securely around Damian.

Danny sighed and dug his fingers into Damian's shirt. "We should call the others. Let them know to stay away for a bit." And then he remembered how much his brother hated him. "Or, I suppose, come sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you don't like having me around. I can't imagine being forced to cuddle me is pleasant for you. If the others get here, you could go to Bruce or Dick."

"I do not like touch regardless of who it is. Dr. Isley's pollen is one of my least favorite toxins to be affected by, though it causes the least amount of damage. But you... are not the worst to be here with."

Danny watched as vines destroyed more and more of the carnival around them. After a while, he said, "High praise from the Demon Heir. Then why do you leave whenever I walk in a room?"

"I killed you. I did not think you would wish me around."

Danny's mouth fell open but it was only a moment before he was laughing so hard he had to stop breathing. He clutched Damian tighter and buried his face in his brother's neck as laughter shook his shoulders. His lungs would be screaming if he were still alive.

Damian tensed in his arms and pulled an arm away from Danny to fumble for something in his pocket. The cold rushed in which allowed Danny to finally draw in some air as he pushed closer to Damian.

"Richard! Yes, we're caught in the attack. Dr. Isley is using her ridiculous pollen. But, I think there might be something else in it, Danny is laughing as if he's been hit by Joker Venom. I feel no such affects as of now and we were dosed at the same time."

"No, no," Danny gasped out. "Not venom. You just— You think I'd be mad over a little murder?" Danny couldn't help but fall back into his laughter.

"You're... not?"

Danny shook his head into Damian's neck. "No, 'course not. What's a little murder between family? 'Sides, you didn't have a choice. I'm dating my second murderer, you know. She didn't have a choice either and the nightmares still keep her up some nights. And if you hadn't killed me that first time, resulting in Talia reviving me with the pits, I never would've survived my second and third deaths. Though... technically due to reasons, the second death never really happened which is why Sam had to kill me the third time. She knew I'd come back."

Dick's voice came through over the phone speaker, clear enough for Danny to hear it with how close he was. "What do you mean you've died three times!"

"I wish to know as well."

Danny shrugged. "Damian killed me when we were eight. I died in an accident at fourteen. That death was undone by a genie a few months later and my girlfriend had to recreate the accident to keep the town from being destroyed. It is what it is."

Dick's voice was horrified. "You can't just 'it is what it is' your own death!"

Danny chuckled. "I grew up in an assassin cult and now I have cool ghost powers. I think I'm more than justified in having a unique view on death. Mine just... doesn't bother me anymore. Though I don't really care for electricity. I can be around it, don't get me wrong, but I don't like it."

"Ghost powers?" asked Damian.

"Yeah. Wanna see? I can get us out of here. Where can you meet us, Dick?"

"Why have you not revealed these powers before now."

Danny shrugged again. "I had to keep them a secret from my adoptive parents because they were ghost hunters. Just got in the habit. Then you were acting so stand-offish I didn't know if you'd want me to open up. But if it was just misplaced guilt? Showing off might help you get over that."

"I have a secret I've been keeping from you as well. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to share it, but I shall once we get home, whatever Father thinks."

Dick broke in then, "Baby Bat, are you sure about this?"

"I am."

"Okay, well then, Alfred and I are about a half mile south of the south parking lot. Are you sure you can get here?"

Danny scoffed. "Easy." He reached over and hung up Damian's phone for him. "Ready for the ride of you life, Dami?"

"You do not know a fraction of what I have done over the last eight years. That is a high bar."

"And you don't know a fraction of what I've done, either. I bet I can cross that bar."

Damian hesitated. "What do you bet?"

That response brought Danny up short and then he was laughing again. "Okay, I like this version of you. I bet my share of dessert for the next three nights."

"I find those terms acceptable."

"Great." Danny moved his head from Damian's neck to look around. Poison Ivy was facing away from them and most of the people around them were similarly cuddled together and keeping their heads down. No one was around to see them.

Danny let invisibility wash over them both before raising into the air. He kept them tangible, however. He didn't think the pollen would've let him turn intangible if he'd tried.

"We are flying."

Danny grinned. "Yep. This is my favorite thing about being dead. Flight. Now, let's go find your other brother." From the air, he could see the batmobile pull up to the scene and Batman, Red Robin, and Signal rushed out. They were wearing modified costumes that covered all skin and came with respirators.

"Looks like the cavalry's here," Danny commented as he flew in the opposite direction.

"Indeed. Let us hurry to Richard and Pennyworth." After a moment, he added, "How does your flight work? It is like I cannot feel the pull of gravity at all."

"That's exactly it. I'm part ghost. That means that I'm part interdimensional being. Which means the physics to either dimension I belong to only affect me when I want them to. So for flight, I just decide that gravity doesn't affect me. I can go intangible and pass through objects as well because static and the repulsion of electrons doesn't have to affect me either, if I don't want it to." He couldn't help but show off with a few loops and barrel rolls.

"Hmm. Intriguing. May I request your assistance with some tasks I've been working on in the near future?"

"Course, brother-mine. Anything."

"How fast can you fly?"

"Fastest we've measured was over two hundred miles per hour, but it's been a while since we've checked. I only fly that fast when I'm intangible, though. Otherwise the air itself hurts. And don't get me started on what it's like to fly into a bug. Gross."

Below them, the jungle that had been the fairgrounds passed away, then the parking lot. Damian asked question after question about Danny's powers.

But Danny had barely started answering before he spotted Alfred and Dick and the car. He covered Damian's mouth with his hand, effectively silencing him.

"Wanna see if we can get one over on both of them?"

"Nothing phases Pennyworth."

"Which is why we have to try!"

"Very well, what do you have in mind?"

And so, Danny flew them down silently and invisibly until they were right in front of both Dick and Alfred.

Serendipitously, Dick was even asking, "How long do you think it'll take them to get here?"

So Danny dropped their invisibility. "About this long!"

Dick screamed and even Alfred's eyes widened slightly.

"I see, Master Danny," he said, "that does appear to be a useful skill."

"Holy sh—" Dick glanced over to Alfred and cut himself off. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"I told you," said Danny. "Since I died when I was fourteen. Been about two years now." He and Damian were still wrapped around each other with the stuffed elephant squished between them. "Damian has something for you, by the way. He won it and not even a rogue attack could make him drop it."

Damian reached between them and pulled out the elephant, shoving it in Dick's direction. "Here."

Dick was staring at them open mouthed but shook himself and took the toy. "Thanks, Baby Bat. I love it."

As soon as his hand was empty, Damian wrapped his arm back around Danny. "Now, let us get home. I despise dealing with this particular pollen of Dr. Isley's and wish to suffer the rest of the duration in private private."

"How long do the effects usually last anyway?" asked Danny.

"A few hours, I'm afraid," said Dick. "Why don't the two of you take the back seat. We'll get you both home as soon as possible."

"Great! Dami and I have a ton to catch up on now that he knows my secret."

"And I must inform you of my own secrets."

Dick opened the door to the back seat and Danny floated them both inside the car so they were lying down on the back seat.

Alfred eyed them, "Will the effects of the pollen allow you both to sit up and buckle in?"

"Nope!" Danny grinned at him. "But I should be able to keep us in place if needed."

"I see. Very well then, I shall trust you Master Danny. But if it turns out you've lied to me, I shall be most displeased."

Dick shook his head and sighed. "Lets just get you both home and wrapped up with something hot to drink and good snacks."

"Richard," said Damian before Dick could shut the door.

"Yeah, Damian?"

"I do believe... Danny and I shall have no trouble getting along going forward."

Dick gave them a blinding smile. "Glad to hear it, Baby Bat."

"If that is all, let us be on our way," said Alfred.

Danny smiled into his brother's neck. "Love you, Dami. I've missed you."

"I am also relieved at the lack of distance between us."

Something inside Danny relaxed at the open acceptance of his brother. Maybe he could build a new home here more long term. Gotham wasn't so bad at the end of the day.

-----

Okay... So not quite drugged confessions, but kinda? They wouldn't have had these conversations if it weren't for the pollen! But I feel like it's more misunderstandings and secrets reveal than anything else. And got way longer than I planned on. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

[atierrorian]

Helloo there~! It's my first time requesting on your blog so I hope I don't mess this up. Can I have headcanons of Leona, Deuce, Malleus and Jamil with a female s/o who loves to cook their daily meals for them?

Part 2

Sure I can! And thank you for Requesting on my Blog!

-Legit Ruggie is so glad you exist.

-Besides that Leona may not look like it or even show it, but he loves your cooking.

-He is thankful that you cook for him on a daily basis and that it shows that you do care for him! (Because back at home it was different).

-Now Leona does get something for you for your generosity and that's by cuddling you and sleeping on you! (Which he does this 24/7 btw)

-Of course, besides that he lets Ruggie bring you something maybe food or something, on rare occasions tho, he will do it himself if his feeling nice that is.

-Forgot to mention but he gobles of all of the food you make and pretends that he didn't and yet asks for seconds.

-For you, you love to make him meals that Grim might even start complaining about why you aren't doing the same thing to him.

-Which btw you do It's just that he thinks you do it more often to Leona than to him.

-Overall safe to say he really is just a big cat.

-Oh and also he thinks you make better food than the Chefs at home.

-Deuce is flustered.

-Now listen he loves his mom and his mom loves you and the fact that you cook for him on a daily basis just reminds him of his mom.

-Now don't worry he isn't comparing you to his Mother because he knows you are your own person and he respects that.

-But now onto the flustered part.

-When you said you wanted to make him a meal on a daily basis, he almost passed out, like legit he did almost passed out.

-Now he loves your cooking! Like really he does! He loves loves loves it! And gets so flustered It's adorable!

-He ranks your Cooking probably at the same rank as his Mother because he can't decide and because he loves you both equally. (And because he will feel guilty his entire life if he ranks you or his mom below rank 1)

He will also beat anyone who dares to insult your cooking and you are the one that's gotta stop him from sending that person to the Infirmary. (Which btw is already too late.)

-On how he repays you is basically just showing affection and is thankful and actually DOES show it and does not ruin his pride or Ego. *̶C̶o̶u̶g̶h̶s̶*̶ ̶*̶C̶o̶u̶g̶h̶s̶*̶ ̶L̶e̶o̶n̶a̶ ̶*̶C̶o̶u̶g̶h̶s̶*̶

-Overall safe to say he is an adorable chick fan. (Please do not serve him an omelet or any egg-related foods or else he will actually pass out.)

-Yay!! No more Lilia's cooking!!

-*Clears throat* Uh alright besides that um Malleus is thankful and glad that you cook for him on a daily basis! (At least now he won't be able to taste the cooking of Lilia's)

-And Diasomnia is glad that you are here as their savior from saving them from the horrid of Lilia's cooking which Lilia thinks nothing is wrong with his cooking! (Btw Lilia maybe you should look at your right and see that a person legit got poisoned because of your cooking.)

-But besides that Malleus adores your cooking so much! He will eat nothing other than your cooking which is fine by you btw because you don't mind and because fact you love cooking for the Fae so It's a win-win for both of you! (Aka called Mutualism were both benefits from one another and Malleus needs your cooking and he loves it while you love cooking for him, but why are we doing science and why am I setting an example here.)

-Malleus's heart will beat faster whenever he sees you cooking and waits for you to finish cooking, and while he does wait he admires you, while you cook.

-He also asks for more meals from you if he feels like it and wants to which is almost 24/7 and the fact that you need to buy more ingredients but Malleus already got you covered and sends out Silver or Lilia to buy the Ingredients. (No Sebek you know how he is.)

-You basically live in Diasomnia now (That is if you haven't yet) and you couldn't be more happier!

-The Aroma of your meals always sends him cloud nine and thanks you for the meals and holds your hand and kisses you on the cheek.

-Which you melt from it and your more determined than ever to make him the best meals!

-Overall he is thankful and grateful for you and he loves you and your cooking!

-Grateful and is glad you know how to cook.

-Now his whole entire life was basically him serving someone else, so someone else serving him? (Man sign him the fuck up.)

-Now Jamil is thankful that you cook for him on a daily basis for a meal and even asks you if you wanted to cook together as a way of bonding with each other! (Which you obviously say yes duh)

-Now cooking for him on a daily basis he is grateful and sometimes even helps you and teaches you some of his secret recipes (Which he will only be showing to you and no one else)

-And Kalim also loves your cooking, the boy literally squealed when he first tasted your cooking and Jamil had to keep him quiet.

-Jamil also loves your cooking as well!

-Of course he isn't really used to it yet because like I said his whole entire life was basically him serving someone else and not the other way around.

-Now after he does get used to it you will treat him like a King and he will treat you like a Queen! And he doesn't mind it and you also don't mind it!

-The dates are certainly mostly you guys cooking together because your good at cooking and his good at cooking, you guys make a great Duo! And Kalim agrees and he loves both of your Cooking and Jamil's cooking.

-Overall He loves you as much as he loves your cooking!

This is been on my Drafts for as long as I can remember now.

[be-my-ally]

Crash Landing

(aka Big Bunny 4)

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

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

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

Early 1977  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?”  

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

“Oh well that’s very kind but -”  

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose that would be fitting.” 

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

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

“Do I book ‘em?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shh.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————— 

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

“I’ll bear that in mind.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha-” He repeats the question, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you like it?”  

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

——————————— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——————————— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’that right?” 

“That’s right.”  

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

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

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

“Yep, Elvis, I hear,”  

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

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

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

——————————— 

TAGLIST:

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

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

[thefinalwitness]

it hit me this morning why i like the uniformity of the ancients so much and why i generally disagree with the idea they should be more visually weird. not that i think anyone is BAD for thinking this, i totally get it, especially in the context of azem and wanting to make yours FEEL like your own. (tangentially, i also think azem is one of the best ancient characters TO deviate from the uniformity, given what we know about them and the people born of their soul.)

but what i find so compelling about a society of people whose Whole Thing is creation magic, the ability to Make Anything, having a lot of stigma against deviation in the form of self expression with one's own body is how SAD it is. how DYSTOPIAN it is. you can invent the most creative, stunning objects and creatures known to man, but you can't even show your face.

i think it's a really powerful, subtle piece of the puzzle that ties the whole concept of the world unsundered together—in particular, how miserable it really was, how unsustainable their society really was, how prone to characters like hermes and venat it really was. it reminds me of some of the worst elements of real life; how creators and inventors are lost and forgotten behind their works (instead accredited to companies, or a single person), how artistic and creative careers are typically treated as unsustainable and simultaneously exploited, how unyielding and suffocating the concept of "normal people" is (to the detriment of anyone who deviates, be it by gender, sexuality, race, abledness, religion...). i think it's genuinely meant to be a commentary on things like that, or at least i think regardless of intention it IS an incredible commentary on that.

i think the ancients are SUPPOSED to be boring and uninspired—wearing the same clothes, concealing their faces, never using their transformations—and i think it reflects such an important element of why the world unsundered was awful: ancients were amounted to their creations and duties, not their own selves. you can even see this in the convocation seats, how you're given a new name that EVERYONE, even your closest friends, almost exclusively refers to you by; the implication that you must not only uphold your duties, but blend in seamlessly with your predecessors and successors, that you must be indistinguishable.

this is HOW characters like hermes and venat developed their respective discontentments with their lives; you were not your own person, but a cog in the star. you did not get to have your own passions, styles, ideas—and even when your role was complete, you couldn't be yourself. you were expected to remove yourself from society. you were expected to cease to exist beyond your function. even despite the fact that the ancients WERE individuals with personalities and dreams. their actual bodies vary widely, their eyes glow vibrantly; almost as if they're MEANT to burst with uniqueness. and it's all buried in black robes and masks.

and i think all this is why i LIKE the uniformity so much, because narratively speaking, it's such a fascinating concept. there's a lot of room to explore how it works, why the people of the unsundered world got to that point, how it might disproportionately benefit some people and hinder others. emet-selch calls it perfect and a paradise, but i always got the impression he was meant to be an INCREDIBLY unreliable narrator; i think he was among the people that benefitted from the uniformity and the "this is just how life is, don't resist it" of it all, and i think you can see him recreating it even worse in allag and garlemald. i think it explains the DEPTHS of his hatred for the sundered too, beyond obvious things like "they're not the people he lost".

because the sundered world, conversely, is FULL of individuality. people look, act, talk and live countless different ways; every city and region has a completely different way of life, so much so that you can tell where someone's from just by how they talk or dress. i think venat understood, especially after meeting the wol, that people needed to be free; that a world like hydaelyn would be someplace people like hermes could thrive. and that this plethora of individuality would be the world's salvation—in all things, not just the song of oblivion. i think this is what "hear, feel, think" MEANS.

and so, to me, so much of the picture is lost if the ancients had utilized their creativity inwardly. that's not to say i'm telling anyone NOT to do it—again, i think azem is a great character TO push against this ideology, and i even have an ancient oc (non-azem) who does the same! i think these people absolutely existed, and were simply drowned out and ostracized by the rest of society. mostly i'm just excited to finally be able to articulate this, and i've seen people also question why the ancients are so boring, and wanted to share my thoughts in case it helps! i really like the ancients because i think they're startlingly human (to say nothing of their actual human resemblance), and i think that's so much more interesting than if they'd been super diverse and alien BECAUSE of how much it harms them as a society. super flawed characters fascinate me and make me reflect on my own choices and ideologies, and i think that's both a lot of fun and super useful just in general!

edited to add: i think there's also the mechanical element of game design, and signaling things to players. while a fictional world can be endlessly different from our own, as creators, we still need to communicate the ideas in a way people who live in our world understand. this is, for example, why i think the ancients appear human; being FROM a world where everybody's human, we immediately associate their resemblance to us as benign and unremarkable. and that's what the ancients, i think, are SUPPOSED to be, or rather, what their society has imposed as "correct". the developers using appearances that we'd see in everyday life makes us think, "oh, that's not very fantastical," which is exactly what the ancients' society wanted people TO think of each other. obviously this is a much more technical reason than the rest of this post, but i think it helps explain why they specifically are uniformly human, and not, like, uniformly purple mantis people (which would be cool and different and fantastical, hence muddying the message!).

[nanabansama]

Hi hi! why do you think Tsukasa kisses Nene ? do you think he likes her ? Do you think Nene will start to like Tsukasa after this ?

Hi! You're in luck actually, because I have been thinking very heavily about Tsukasa and Nene's relationship recently and have some #thoughts. (Err, but who hasn't been thinking about them, honestly...?)

Okay, so you're wondering if Tsukasa likes Nene, why he kissed her, and if Nene will start to like him... let's see...

First, do I think he likes her...? Well, I wouldn't say that's completely off the table yet. Look at how happy he gets after kissing her:

Cute, right?! I think saying something like... "he's in LOVE with her"... might be a bit too grandiose, but it's definitely giving off the vibes of a kiddy crush, at least. And like with any kiddy crush, he has a precocious way of showing it.

Consider: him offering her food...

...Leaning in really close to her face while her eyes are closed...

...I mean, it's not totally impossible, right? He even invites her on a PLAY DATE.

Haha, but to be real with you, I am having a bit of trouble believing he has an actual crush on her myself. It's certainly a lower priority to him than getting the Yorishiro destroyed and accomplishing his goals, anyway.

I'm also going to discount any instances of Tsukasa getting annoyed with the reverted child form of Nene as proof that he doesn't like her, because I think it's kind of ridiculous to expect any hypothetical crush he has to stay intact when she starts acting like this:

All this to say, don't let anyone tell you that Tsunene is fake or anything. I personally am undecided on it, leaning more towards Tsukasa not having a crush, but I could just as easily believe he has a small crush on her, too.

So, if Tsukasa doesn't have a crush on Nene, then why would we kiss her? Well...

Honestly, sometimes? I don't think Tsukasa really thinks much before doing things. Not always, of course...! But remember, this is the guy who just randomly decided that he was going to swim to Los Angeles:

I hope this isn't too lackluster of an answer, but I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Tsukasa only did it... just because! Maybe he saw Amane kissing her and wanted to copy him. Maybe he thought it'd be a funny prank, kissing her when he knows she likes Amane and Amane likes her. Remember, Tsukasa has never been above pulling pranks on his brother or his assistant.

Need I remind you that he tried to eat her?

He's just a bit... mysterious. The comparisons people make of him to an animal or toddler are not completely unwarranted. Still, he is a scheming 13-year-old ghost that has proven levels of intellect and cruelty on par with other members of the cast. It's best not to underestimate him too much... I just really can't see any benefit to kissing Nene other than getting a laugh out of it. Or, potentially, a little treasure for himself! ❤️

Finally, you asked if Nene would fall in love with him... this is actually my favorite part of the ask, because I considered how likely this was to happen and surprised myself with where my mind went, lmao.

The first thing we need to remember about Nene is that she is described as, and demonstrably is, a girl in love with love. She LIVES for romance. (Just keep this in mind always. It might even be the most important part of her character, idk.)

Now, not only is Tsukasa an identical clone to the boy she loves--the boy she's planning on asking to be her BOYFRIEND soon, mind you--but she sees the potential!!! She literally had an entire daydream about him showing up to be Hanako's "rival" for her love.

While she's very clearly still loyal to Hanako, take note of the fact that she made both of the twins look taller and more handsome in the daydream. This could be proof she finds him physically attractive. ...That being said, she seems more into the fact that Tsukasa is into her than anything else... but can you really blame her? She's always dreamed of being popular with boys. To have TWO boys be madly in love with her is something straight out of her wildest fantasies.

Okay, but you know what's kinda funny? This whole... "Taller Twins" fantasy... is um... kind of happening right now?!

While the height difference is obviously greater than the one between her and the Fantasy Tsukasa, it's still hilarious that this is even happening. And, while Tsukasa hasn't exactly been the best babysitter for Nene so far...

...she is having a ton of fun with him!!!

Also, I haven't brought this up yet, but during The Misaki Stairs Arc, Nene brings up having had a crush on her Kindergarten teacher. Is it so unrealistic that Nene might end up getting a crush on Tsukasa, too? Especially for a girl who falls in love so easily?

Well, if not, I'm still expecting her to be totally enchanted by Hanako if she happens to meet him when she's still a child, lol. Could you imagine how cool he would look to 5-year-old Nene, coming to save her?! She already thinks he looks cool when they're at their typical height difference!

JUST IMAGINE HOW STARSTRUCK SHE WOULD BE, NOW THAT HE'S SEVERAL FEET TALLER...!! Crazy.

Anyway. To summarize: I think Tsukasa could have a crush on Nene, I think Tsukasa either kissed her just because or because he has a kiddy crush on her, and I think Baby Nene could develop a crush on Tsukasa. Thanks for the ask!

[molsno]

this is a bit of an open ended question for fellow transfems but does anyone else find it easy to detect what's really going on in the mind of transmisogynists due to having held deep seeded internalized transmisogyny in the past?

personally, I feel that I can easily see through all of the excuses tme people make up to justify their transmisogyny for that reason. when they associate any and all expressions of transfemininity with deviant sexuality, abuse, and predation, I can see through all the bullshit and identify that the real problem is that they just think transfemininity is gross. I know this because I was taught to think the same thing by every corner of society portraying transfemininity that way. which is to say, I also once viewed transfemininity as something exotic and taboo. transfemininity itself was a form of sexual deviance in my mind, mired in abuse and predation. it was disgusting to me at one time, yet I, as is the case for many tme people, found myself harboring a voyeuristic obsession over it. I had to expose myself to it periodically to remind myself that I wasn't like those freaks and perverts. in other words, I had to reinforce my internalized biases against transfemininity, especially because the people around me encouraged me to do so by engaging in the same exercise themselves.

obviously - and I cannot emphasize this enough - this did severe damage to my self-esteem, and only further entrenched me in the closet. unpacking my internalized transmisogyny and healing from it has taken years and has not been an easy process. and while reading transfeminist theory and surrounding myself with other trans women has been vital in the process, I know that many tme people have literally no incentive to unlearn these biases because it doesn't affect them personally, and in fact they actually benefit from reinforcing them. it's become so deeply ingrained in many of them, in fact, that they don't even realize they have these biases and refuse to admit as much, which makes it all the more frustrating when I try to explain it to them.

at least, that's how I understand it. I'm interested to know if anyone has had similar thoughts.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.203 thoughts

[All Words Are Made Up]

[Contents: character development - Nico/Feng]

Oh my god, I was right about something for once! Feng really did use a technique name as his word! Whether or not the attack is stronger because of the context of this particular game, I'm not sure, but given that the whole point is to imagine the desired outcome and he was able to one-shot miniature versions of both of the Gods, I'm going to say it at least didn't hurt

I did say last week that I had no idea how Feng and Nico would interact, but in hindsight I missed something extremely obvious: of course Feng would have an opinion on letting Ichico die! His entire thing in L100 was sacrificing others for his own benefit, regardless of his personal feelings towards them. That one exchange immediately explained Tozuka's reasoning for bringing in Feng rather than the more commonly predicted Tella

The real surprise there, though, is that Nico's response wasn't "I would never do something like that," but rather "maybe the past me would have, but not anymore." I never really saw Nico as the type who would deliberately sacrifice others for his own goals, but I can definitely see him being the type to approach a situation pragmatically. Feng's logic does have a certain amount of sense to it - sacrifice one person, and the other two (plus the world) live; sacrifice no one, and everyone dies. Nico would never be happy to go along with it, but I think a previous Nico would have begrudgingly gone along with it

In fact...he DID! To himself! Back during the Negator War, Nico accidentally became charged with Unluck and had Disc threaten to fall on him and everyone else on Buroja. Rather than let anyone else get caught in it, Nico insisted that everyone else run so that he would be the only sacrifice, as that was the most practical choice. While Nico would never think of letting someone die to better himself, he would definitely make a hard choice for the sake of the greater good

But now, that's not an option. The choice isn't between "the few and the many," it's between "a victory worth having and one that's not." Just like Ichico said, Fuuko's goal is for everyone to be happy, so while even she may agree that defeating Language is a priority, it can't come at the expense of a teammate. Letting herself, Nico or anyone else die to win would make the victory itself pointless, and Nico feels the same way

Feng, of course, never would have felt that way himself previously. Victory was never about the betterment of the whole, it was about the betterment of the self; letting someone die so that the group could live was only his rationale for Nico, but it was never a factor he felt worth considering either way. If it would make him stronger, it's worthwhile, if it wouldn't, it's not, and that's as far as Feng would take it

And that's exactly why Nico needed to remind him of what he's learned up to this point. Fuuko defeated Feng because she was fighting for all of her friends. Shen defeated Feng because he was fighting for Mui. And now, Nico is standing up to Feng, someone he cannot hope to defeat and someone who he actively needs as an ally because he's fighting for Ichico

Even if Feng still doesn't agree that fighting for someone else's sake will make him stronger, he acknowledges that Nico's refusal to let Ichico die doesn't come from the cowardice to do what is necessary to win, but rather the resolve to win in the ideal way. The harder way. Even Feng has to recognize here that Nico is actively trying to be stronger, and that's something he can't help but respect

That said, I think this is the moment where it's finally sinking in that Feng can't get stronger alone. It's been about 15 years since he last saw the Union, and while he's definitely been training since then, he's been completely devoid of a real challenge since then. Without Fuuko or Shen around, there was no one to pose a credible threat to him, and certainly no one he was invested in facing. While he may never come around to the idea of protecting people, Feng must understand by now that he needs other people to push him to greater heights

I think we actually have a pretty solid piece of evidence to suggest that bit of character development as well: Feng's soul reading. The fact that Feng was able to understand the situation at hand simply by making contact with Ichico and Nico's souls not only means that he has an understanding of the soul, but also suggests that he has an understanding of people. I don't see any way that the Feng of the past could have gained the ability to literally read people without having acquired some form of desire to understand and communicate with them. If I had to guess, we should be getting a brief flashback of how Feng spent the last decade within the next few chapters so we can understand how that growth came about

It does seem like a pretty natural extension of Feng's character, though. It's a common trope for martial artists for "communicate with their fists," so a martial artist using psychometry to literally do just that makes perfect sense, but it also ties into his closing line of the chapter. "My techniques will remain in this world forever ingrained in word form." Feng is Unfade, he will never age and fade away from the world, and neither will his works so long as he is able to pass them down. Legacy was a major theme of the Untruth Arc, with all of Feng's old rivals aging out and passing on their techniques to the next generation. While those individuals eventually died, their teachings carried on; their techniques, and by extension they themselves, were remembered

So long as we remember, people never die. So long as we don't forget, people will not fade. The Feng of the past ran the very real risk of being forgotten, as he only ever taught his techniques to others with the intention of making a strong opponent that he could kill as proof of his own strength. By planting trees only to cut them down, Feng's way of life left no evidence of himself behind, and thus left no mark on the world as a whole

But now, Feng has embraced his role as a teacher. Feng isn't raising opponents, he's passing his knowledge down like he was always meant to, and this new ability is perfect for that. As UMA Soul said, the soul transcends physical boundaries to relay information; being able to communicate with others through his techniques ensures that Feng's teachings will continue to be passed on and remembered, ensuring that even if something other than age does claim him one day, he will truly never fade

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[readingandwritingandreading]

Some Hearts ~ Part 2

My Blurb: Thank you all for the positive feedback! It really reminds me how much I love writing!

Disclaimer:  Alas, I own nothing but my ideas. I do not give permission for my writing to be shared anywhere without my consent. 

Summary: Reacher never needed anyone, he was a lone wolf and preferred it that way. But when he finds his mate beaten and bruised one night, she and the rest of the 110th show Reacher the benefits of being in a pack. Fated Mates, Shifter AU

Pairing: Jack Reacher x OFC Morgan Stone

Warnings: This chapter takes place in a hospital. There are some darker things in this fic. Morgan is a rape and abuse survivor. Nothing is explicitly detailed but be advised. Your media consumption is your responsibility. This is a fated mates, wolf shifter AU and will contain claming, biting, mating and other wolf pack related things. 

Tagging: @pioched | @ashes-writing | @titty-teetee2

Add yourself to my taglist HERE

Read First: Some Hearts Masterlist

Also Check Out: Main Masterlist

Rock Hill Village Hospital, New York

“Reacher.” Roscoe’s voice pulled him out of the flashback he was having. Looking over to the door, he nodded at her before getting quietly out of the chair. Despite protests from Roscoe, the village’s head doctor, he had spent the last twelve hours keeping a silent vigil in his little mate’s hospital room. She had already seemed terrified, waking up alone in a strange place would only make it worse.

“She’s due for a vital check and a new saline drip, i’ll stay until you get back.” The head nurse, Charlie Hubble, patted his arm as she slipped in and headed to the monitor by her bed. 

He spared his mate another glance before following Roscoe into the hallway. Noticing the clipboard in her hands he nodded to it. “How bad?” 

“Dehydrated, mild hypothermia, possible pneumonia, under-nourished, several scratches, bruises, broken arm.” She sighed, flipping a page on the clipboard “All signs that she’s been on her own for awhile. That’s not the weird part though. Some of the bruising is serious. Some recent, that she probably got when she fell in the water, but some are in the final stage of healing.”

“Why would bruising be weird?” Reacher frowned, looking at the page when Roscoe handed it to him. 

“Some of the bruises are at least two weeks old. They are in the final stages of healing…by human standards.” She shook her head, “She’s a shifter, all of her blood work shows it. The fact that the mating bond was triggered proves it. But she either hasn’t or can’t shift. If she was shifting, these older ones would be gone and the ones from last night would be halfway healed.” She pointed out the pictures on the page as she spoke. “You said she was in human form when you found her?” 

Reacher nodded, studying the pictures in front of him. “Ya, I assumed she had shifted back after she got herself out of the water.” 

Roscoe shook her head. “I don’t think she’s shifted in at least two weeks. And judging from these bruises, I don’t think she was out for a nice walk through the woods and got lost. I think something happened to her.” 

“She’s on the run from something.” Reacher crumpled the paper in his fist as the realization dawned on him. “Or someone.”

“There’s one more thing.” Roscoe met his eyes with a hint of trepidation. “There’s a bite mark on her neck,” she held her hand up as fury crossed his features. “It’s not on her mating gland, it’s as close as it can get though.” 

Before he could respond, the door beside them opened and Charlie poked her head through. “She’s awake.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A soft humming and beeping were the first things I became aware of. I felt sluggish and opening my eyes felt like swimming through mud. I managed to open them a sliver, groaning when the lights forced them closed again. 

A small gasp and then shuffling was followed by a woman’s voice. “I dimmed the lights and closed the blinds, it should be better now.” 

Opening my eyes a second time was easier and the dimly lit hospital room slowly came into focus around me. The room was small but cozy, a normal hospital setup. “Where am I?” I looked towards the woman standing beside the bed.

“You’re in Rock Hill Village. I’m Charlie, head nurse here at the hospital. You’ve been unconscious for about 12 hours. I was checking your vitals while Dr. Roscoe filled Reacher in on your injuries, he didn't want you to be alone.” She nodded to the other side of the bed where a chair had a blanket tossed haphazardly on it and a few empty food containers on the table. “I need to let them know you’ve woken up.” 

The relief I felt at not being back in Georgia flowed through me as the nurse walked towards the door of the room. She opened it a little and stuck her head through. As soon as she turned back towards me a blonde woman in a doctor's coat stepped through but my gaze caught on the figure that appeared behind her. His head almost grazed the top of the door frame as he stepped into the room and closed the door. I was reasonably sure his biceps were pushing the limits of the black shirt he was wearing and more muscles kept appearing the longer I looked at him. When I reached his face, his blue eyes were staring back at me with an amused but concerned expression.

“Charlie, can you let Alpha Neagley know she’s awake.” I jumped and blushed, not realizing the blonde woman had made her way to the right side of my bed. “I’m Dr. Roscoe. How are you feeling?” 

“I…I feel…sluggish.” I shrugged, trying to keep my gaze on her and not on the giant who had approached the foot of my bed when Charlie left the room. 

She nodded, “That’s to be expected, I put you on some medicine to help you sleep. You’re pretty banged up, especially this arm.” She pointed to where my right arm was bandaged in a cast. She spends the next couple minutes having me watch a light and listening to my lungs. “Doesn’t look like you have any head damage and your lungs are sounding clearer. How much do you remember about getting to the hospital?” 

“I remember being in the woods and the storm picking up. I saw the lights of a town…” I drifted off, trying to remember after that. “I was trying to cross the river but the bank gave way.” I shivered as the memory of the freezing water came back to me. “I don’t know after that.”

“You dragged yourself onto the bank, that’s where Franz and I found you.” The giant spoke. His voice was firm but soft like he didn’t want to startle me again. 

The door to the room opened again and another woman walked in with Charlie behind her. She was slim and while not as tall as the giant, she held herself with an authority that rivaled his. She confidently stepped to the spot beside him before speaking. “Welcome to Rock Hill Village, I’m Francis Neagley, pack Alpha.” 

“You’re the Alpha here?” I whispered, cheeks heating when the giant grinned and chuckled. “I’m sorry, I…” she put her hand up and I stopped talking immediately, fear swirling in my chest.

“No harm done, it’s usually a shock when new people find out. Especially other pack Alphas.” She shrugged and I was awed by her confidence. “Speaking of, we couldn’t find any identification on you so we couldn’t let your pack know you’re here.” She smiled as the fear ratched up a notch. 

“I’m Morgan…um Stone.” I winced hoping they didn’t notice me stumbling over my last name. I couldn’t force myself to say Kliner, they would know who to contact and my hand drifted to the spot he had bitten me. Glancing up, I noticed the giant watching me closely and I dropped my hand immediately. 

“Where are you from?” The question came from Charlie, who had made her way back to my left side, at the same time Dr. Roscoe asked how long I had been in the woods. I froze, looking between the two of them. Neither was a question I wanted to answer. 

“I…ummm…” I sputtered, glancing around me. The four of them had me surrounded and I suddenly felt very panicked. They were going to find out who I was and they were going to send me back to him. All of the work I had put in the last two weeks was going to be for nothing. KJ was going to claim me physically and secure the bond permanently, I would never get a chance to escape him again. More questions came from the three women but I couldn’t make them out anymore, panic was overtaking me and my vision was swimming. 

“Stop” the voice rang out clearly and firmly, immediately snapping me back to the present, my eyes focusing on the giant. I trembled as he looked at me and then around the room before coming to the right side of my bed. Dr. Roscoe moved aside and took his previous spot as he gently sat on the edge of my bed. His bulk was enough to cause the mattress to dip and my body shifted slightly towards him with the movement. I should have been scared by his nearness but the panic seemed to subside now that he was closer. “You’re safe here, no one is going to hurt you.” 

He spoke his words with conviction, like he had already seen my future and knew without a doubt he was right. I waited for the inherent distrust I'd always had of male shifters to bubble up but it didn’t happen. Something flickered on the edge of my memory the longer I looked at him and as the fear inside of me fizzled out I found myself believing him. 

His eyes never wavered from my face so he saw the moment I was calm again. He nodded before continuing. “You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to. No one will make you. But I…we can’t help you unless we know what’s going on.” 

I spared the rest of the room a glance, they didn’t look angry, just a mix of curiosity and concern. Charlie gave me a comforting smile, “Why don’t I go get you something to eat and drink. Are you allergic to anything?” I shook my head and she headed out the door. 

Sending a quick prayer to the Moon Goddess that I could trust these people I gave them a quick rundown of my story. The bonding ceremony, skating over the details of the failed claiming, how I had decided to make a run for it and stayed under the radar the past couple weeks, slowly making my way towards Canada. 

When I finished Charlie had returned and set a bowl of soup and a cup of water on a tray she swung over my bed. The giant still hadn’t moved from his spot by my right knee, it was comforting in a way and I could feel the heat radiating from him.

I had told the story with my hands in my lap, fiddling with my arm band so I didn’t have to watch their faces. Now I risked a peek up. Roscoe was scribbling notes on the clipboard while Charlie looked over her shoulder, the Alpha had one hand on her hip and the other on her chin looking like she was scanning through her memories and the giant was still watching me but there seemed to be a glint of something angry in his eyes that had me immediately turning my attention to the soup. 

“There is something I’m curious about, if you don’t mind me asking.” Dr. Roscoe asked and I nodded for her to continue while I took a bite of the soup. 

“Your bruises and injuries. Judging by your story and the healing progress some of those are from the night you were…” she pauses, casting a quick glance at the giant. “From the night you escaped. Why haven’t you shifted? You would be more healed and would have been able to travel faster.” 

Although it's awkward with my left hand, I take another bite of the soup to buy myself some time. I knew when I woke up in the hospital this would come up, any halfway decent doctor would be able to tell I didn’t heal like a normal shifter. My father had paid a lot of money to find a cure for my condition but had never been able to, I was sure he had killed them afterwards. I was always going to be a payday for him and he couldn’t let it get out or my value would diminish.

“I can’t shift. I’m not even sure if I have a wolf.” I cringed, waiting for the mocking or scathing remarks but there was nothing but the sound of Roscoe making another note. 

I looked at her but she just smiled, like I hadn’t just dropped something huge on her. The Alpha looked thoughtful but not upset, “I think that’s enough questions for now. We should let you get your rest.” The three ladies seemed to take that as their cue, Charlie showed me the button I could press if I needed anything before she headed out the door, the other two following her.

I turned back to the giant who hadn’t moved and was still watching me carefully. “I…I didn’t catch your name.” My words were a whisper but I know he heard them. 

“I’m Reacher…Jack Reacher, I'm your fated mate.”  

[dira333]

Unwavering V - Ibiki x Reader

this is for @snuggleboots

Warnings: Reader is dealing with psychological aspects of her work and she's having trouble with alcoholism. Please do not read if this triggers you.

Masterlist - Part IV

Next chapter will be the finale from Ibiki's point of view!

Meet with the Hokage. Write a report.

Check in on the two low-level thugs Chouza and Inoichi brought in. 

Write a report about that interrogation.

Deliver the report to the Hokage and set up a strategy to bring in the bigger fish.

Keep perfectly calm when the Hokage decides that Ibiki should lead the extraction team.

“I could be of help as well.” You offer. 

“You’ve just come back from your last mission,” The Sandaime shoots you down, “Besides, word of you might have traveled.”

You have no real reason why Ibiki shouldn’t go on that mission. Or why you should go with him, other than the fact that you don’t want to stay back alone. 

If you could at least have a minute alone with him, look into his eyes and see that he’s still thinking the same of you even after a mission like this, it would be okay, but he hadn’t been in the office when you came in and he’s probably going to leave for this mission tonight at the latest.

When Ibiki does come around, you can tell he’s ready to leave. 

His face is set in stone as he listens to the reports. You probably know him the best of everyone in this room but even you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Does he want to leave right away? Would he prefer to push the mission back a bit to gather more information?

It’s a risky move but you’ve been after this particular drug cartel for months now and while going in with this little information might leave you with a few less Shinobi on your side, waiting could risk them slipping away yet again.

“I agree.” Ibiki’s voice sounds nothing out of the ordinary. It’s both soothing and unsettling. 

“I’d prefer it if we had one Yamanaka on our team, but their presence is a greater risk than benefit in this situation. If we could get Kurenai on our team as well as Kakashi, we could get in and out without much notice. I doubt they’re expecting Genjutsu experts to infiltrate them.”

The Sandaime nods. “That’s an excellent idea. Kakashi isn’t available for a mission, but I’ll leave you with Kurenai and Asuma as well as Shibi. You’re leaving in half an hour.”

You’re dismissed from the Sandaime’s office.

Your thoughts drown in the mumbling around you. Inoichi and Chouza are discussing going out for dinner later. One of the Hokage’s assistants mumbles as he writes down the mission assignments. Even the Hokage is whispering something to himself.

.

“Y/N.” Ibiki’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Do you have a moment? I have to ask a favor of you.”

“A favor?” Your heart beats rapidly as you stop and walk over to him. You feel Inoichi’s eyes burning into your back but you ignore him. 

“I don’t know how long this mission might take, would you be okay with looking after my cat again?”

“Again?” You huff out in mock annoyance. “You should really get someone else to look after her, I’m not your servant.”

“But Neko likes you.” He offers with his usual dry humor. “She never pukes on anyone but you.”

“Pretty sure I’m the only other human she knows besides you.”

He considers that for a moment. “True. I’m not very social, I don’t know if you’re aware of that.”

“No, it’s a real surprise.” You open your eyes wide. “I’m honestly blown away by it.”

“You know where her food is.” He reminds you, the hallway around you now empty. His voice sounds a little softer now, but you might be imagining it. “And where I keep my spare key.”

“Come back safe.” You say and he raises one eyebrow. “I don’t want to keep your cat in case you don’t make it back.” 

There’s so much that’s left unsaid. You want to say that you love him and that you worry that his job might break you one day. You want to ask if he’ll always look at you like that, like a riddle that he cannot fully figure out. You want to take his hand and kiss his lips and inhale his scent and remind yourself that while the future is uncertain, this moment is not.

But you’re out in public, the door behind you shut but who knows for how long, and this, this thing between you, is still as fragile as a freshly laid egg.

“Don’t worry,” Ibiki says, “I’ll be back in no time. I can’t let you become Chief of the Interrogation Force before me.”

-

Ibiki comes back five days later. His arm is in a bandage and his ribs are badly bruised. 

He slips under the covers and presses his cold hands against your bare back, laughing when you hiss and swat at him.

“How was it?” He asks. “You didn’t look that good when you came back from your own mission.”

“Shut up.” You growl sleepily as you try to curl around him in a way that won’t hurt his ribs. “I always look good.”

“No, you don’t.” He kisses the crown of your head. “And that’s what I like about you.”

You huff. “It was fine. I hung out with Neko until I couldn’t bear the silence much longer and then I went out with Anko. No alcohol, just mindless shopping. I bought some really nice stuff.”

“Clothes or make-up?” He asks, letting his warmed-up hand travel down your back and up again, a soothing motion that puts a weight on your eyelids.

“Both.” You mumble. “And some cooking stuff. I got this really cute apron-” Your mouth clicks shut as sleep drags you under, safe and comfortable in his arms.

.

Ibiki’s still there when you wake up, the best thing to wake up to. 

Him coming home hasn’t been a product of your imagination but reality.

You decide to let him sleep - you can be nice too - and make breakfast instead.

Neko follows you into the kitchen, mewling loudly in front of her bowl.

When she realizes that you’re preparing her food, she rubs her head against your bare leg, purring loudly.

“You so easy to bribe.” You tell her. “All you need is food and you’d love anyone.”

Neko mewls and you shake your head, pet her back when she digs into her food.

Ibiki finds you in the kitchen ten minutes later, assembling slightly burned pancakes with fresh fruit.

“I made breakfast.” You exclaim proudly. He kisses you, slow and careful, like a morning prayer.

“Move in with me?” He asks when you break apart, your knees a little wobbly and a dazed smile on your face. 

“I already live here.” You say, a little confused.

“Permanently. Put your name on the lease and everything.”

“Oh.” You swallow thickly, realizing what that means. “Oh! Ibiki, you don’t have to make this public if you’re not ready yet. We can keep going like this, we’ve done it for months now.”

You barely catch the smirk fluttering over his face before it’s gone. It’s always bad news.

“So you’ve not been squatting at my house because I’m such a good cook but because you’ve had feelings for me all this time?”

“Oh, shut up.” You raise your eyebrows in challenge. “Inoichi and Chouza figured that I must have a boyfriend because I was ‘glowing’ as Chouza put it. All they could talk about the whole mission was how heartbroken you’d be if you found out because you obviously have a crush on me.”

Ibiki’s mouth tightens. “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“Wait, what?” You still in his arms. “You did have a crush on me?”

“What did you think that was?”

“Mild annoyance? I’ve worn the skimpiest clothes around you, no reaction. But you certainly loved to get a rise out of me.”

“Sweetheart, I’m able to withstand the worst torture, you won’t get a rise out of me with cheap tricks.” His smile grows at your reaction to the pet name. “Even if it’s the sweetest torture. Also, you love the challenge.”

You roll your eyes, still a little flustered. “Why do I feel like I’ve created a monster with this?”

-

Ino’s staring at Ibiki.

Well, everyone but your sister-in-law is staring at Ibiki. Miwa has always had the best manners in the family after all.

Inoichi has been strangely silent ever since you stepped into the house, Ibiki in tow. 

You’d known that he’d invite Shikaku and Chouza the moment you mentioned you’d bring over your boyfriend.

You had even anticipated that they would all bring their children and spouses.

You had not anticipated, however, that they would all stare at Ibiki with varying degrees of dumbfounded surprise, or, in the case of the kids, worry.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, really.” You tell your brother. “You were going on and on about how he’s got a crush on me.”

“I’m not surprised.” Shikamaru declares with the same bored voice he uses to talk about everything but Shogi. “I just don’t get what everyone else is so surprised about.”

He huffs. “What a drag. Chouji, let’s go outside and watch the clouds.” 

“You wanna go with the boys?” You ask Ino. She’s wearing a bow in her hair and her favorite dress, a clear sign that she wanted to look extra pretty for meeting your new boyfriend. Even at six years old she knows what that’s all about.

Ino shakes her head, and looks up at you, her small face torn with different emotions. Her eyes flicker to Ibiki and she draws back a little.

“Come.” You hold out your hand. “Show me your room. I haven’t been in there since Monday, I’m sure there’s something new.”

When she takes your hand, you turn to Ibiki with a smile.

“Don’t eat them alive.” You whisper, relish in the smile that flickers over his face. He’s totally enjoying this.

.

Ino’s still unusually quiet when she points out the new purple flower pot on her window sill. 

“What’s your favorite flower?” You ask and she opens up a little, always eager to talk about pretty things.

You take a seat on her unmade bed and she crawls into your lap like she’s four years old again.

“Did Ibiki scare you?” You ask.

She hides her face against your chest.

“I know he’s got a scary face.” You rub a hand over her back. “But he’s one of the nicest men I know.”

“Nicer than Chouza?”

You laugh softly. “Maybe not nicer than Chouza but Chouza is already married.”

“But…” She stops as if realizing that what she wants to say isn’t really what should be said. You nudge her. “Out with it, Princess. You know you can ask me anything.”

“You’re so pretty.” She mumbles. “And he’s not. And I don’t know… I thought…”

“You know what I like most about Ibiki?” You ask Ino, well aware of the shadow hiding behind the door. “That while he sees how pretty I am, it’s not what he likes most about me?”

“But you’re so pretty!”

“I know, right?” You laugh at her exasperation. “But remember how I always tell you that you’re not just pretty but strong, and smart and kind?”

Ino nods, looks up at you now with big, questioning eyes.

“When you get older you realize that beauty isn’t the most important thing. That if people thinking you’re only one thing, it will hurt. You’re more than just one thing and if someone can’t see that, it’s their fault not yours. But when someone sees you for all the things you are, you need to hold them close.”

Ino considers that for a while, lower lip poking out as she thinks.

“What does he like most about you?”

“Ah.” You smile. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself. Don’t look at me like that, he’s not as scary as he looks. Just keep in mind that he’s got a kitten pajama and you’ll be fine.”

.

When you step out of Ino’s room, Inoichi’s pulling himself out of the shadows. His face is unreadable to anyone who doesn’t know him as well as you.

You press your flat hand against his cheek, let memories float between you and him. 

His expression softens until he grabs a hold of your hand and holds it in his.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Can we go downstairs?” Ino asks to your left, clearly annoyed that her father is taking up all your attention now. 

“Sure, honey.” Inoichi picks her up with one last look at you. “Are you hungry already?

.

“Ibiki?” You stop at the door to his office. You’d been in the bedroom, putting away the rest of your clothes, now officially a part of this household.

“Yeah?” He looks up from something on his desk. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“I can tell.” You smile. He blinks.

“Why are you standing there?” He asks. “Like you’re afraid to step in here.”

“Oh, it’s just…” You shrug. “It always felt like this was where you went to have time to yourself. And you know I’d never enter your brain without consent so it felt wrong to enter this room.” You’re keeping a smile on your face, but your voice is serious. You’ve learned to be honest around him.

“Oh.” He gets up slowly and takes the few steps to your side, pulls your hand from your side. “Come in.”

And it’s just a room, nothing special about it, but you know what he means.

You lean into him, head heavy on his shoulder as you point at different pictures.

“Tell me about that one.” 

“That’s Idate.” His voice is low, carries so much feeling. “My little brother. We took that picture two days after he was born. My dad had already died.”

“How much older are you?”

“Like you and Inoichi. Eleven years apart.”

Your hand curls into his like you curl into him at night. You can tell that the topic is painful to him. You point at a different picture hanging near the window. You’ve never seen this one before, have never stepped in far enough.

“Oh my.. is that?”

“Yeah. That’s Neko as a baby.”

“She was so… small.” Neko mewls from the doorway as if to agree with you.

“Yeah.” Ibiki rests his head on yours, looking up at a younger version of him and his beloved cat. “Found her on the way back from a mission. I told everyone I was going to take her to the shelter but I didn’t. They probably all thought I couldn’t care for an animal.”

“They’re wrong. You’re a great dad… Cat dad. Cat dad, I mean.” You’re flustered about your slip up.

Ibiki grins down at you like he knows. And you’re sure he knows.

“Are you telling me that the great Yamanaka secretly wants to be a mother? After everything you’ve said about the topic so far?”

“I’m allowed to have a secret.” You pout. “Besides, if you paint yourself like you don’t want something no one will pity you if you don’t get it, right?”

Ibiki’s fingers twitch around yours. Right. Of Course. 

Ibiki, the man who seemingly does not care, who loves deeply even though he doesn’t let on, should know this the best.

“One at a time.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “First we get you a pet so you can practice not killing them.”

taglist: @snuggleboots @missalienqueen

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Double Dessert

Trans Morty oneshot! I was thinking of my own grandad while writing this, because he was very supportive of me when I came out but also worried about me getting discriminated against.

Also there are two very subtle Red Dwarf references in this. If anyone catches them please let me know as I will be so happy you have no idea. There’s no clear timeframe for when this is set apart from the fact the Citadel still exists but it’s not really really early on in the show.

Summary: while visiting the Citadel, Morty makes friends with another Morty whose Rick seems to be unusually overprotective. ~3.9k words. Warnings for mention of sexual assault (the Mr Jellybean scene) and its aftereffects, stressful coming out, discussion of trans stuff in terms that might not be everyone’s preference (e.g. a trans guy saying he used to be a girl), some ignorance of trans stuff (nothing hateful, just a lack of understanding), eating insects (I know a centipede is not technically an insect but you get the idea). There’s also a brief joke about Mortycest, but nothing like that actually happens and I don’t think it’s anything out of the ordinary for the show.

Disclaimer before we go in that I’m a trans guy.

Despite Morty’s much shorter strides, he keeps pace with Rick easily in his excitement to be on the Citadel. True, his grandpa might hate it, and he has his own fair share of bad memories of the place, but there’s something about the hustle and bustle that appeals to him. Maybe it’s the benefits of getting to go somewhere that clearly isn’t Earth without the risks that are usually present in the places he goes with Rick. After all, everything in this place is designed for at least one of the two of them, unlike the alien planets they visit, where even the most innocuous-seeming things could be deadly.

Rick pulls him into some sort of shop and instantly makes for a particular section. It’s clear he knows what he’s looking for, and Morty can identify the look in his eye that means he’s about to spend 45 minutes deliberating between two practically identical products. Not wanting to get involved, he wanders off alone to check out what the store has to offer. The best possible description he can find for it is ‘electronics store’, but there are plenty of items that don’t fit this category. Although the bulk of the shop is clearly intended for Ricks, he notices a small section at the back that seems to be aimed at Mortys, and wanders over, curious.

He’s looking around in interest when his eyes land on another Morty with the unmistakable expression of shock that indicates he’s never been here before. The Morty looks fairly typical, with no clear modifications or mutations of any sort. Even so, there’s something about him that looks subtly different in a way Morty can’t quite place.

“Hey, man.” he greets the other Morty, who starts at his voice, as if being startled out of a trance.

“Oh! H-hey.” the other Morty responds, his voice slightly high, like he’s scared.

“I-is this your first time on the Citadel?” Morty asks, trying to make the other Morty feel better, but also genuinely interested in having an actual conversation with another version of himself. Rick’s disdain for the Citadel means that Morty has spent fairly little time in the presence of his other selves.

The other Morty nods. “Y-yeah. Rick told me about this place, but he doesn’t really like to come here. This is the first time he’s let me come with him.”

“Yeah, my Rick’s kind of the same way. He doesn’t really like the Citadel. I-I think it’s kind of cool, though!”

“Me too! Check out this thing!” 

The other Morty indicates a machine that reminds Morty of the stands at theme parks that sell photos taken on rollercoasters. On the screen are many pictures of Morty posing with various girls. Some might be real, taken in other dimensions, and some are clearly edited, but both Mortys amuse themselves by looking through the options, especially when they discover there’s a whole folder for Jessica. The machine has prices listed in a currency Morty doesn’t recognise for printed copies of the photos. 

“Why would we pay when we could just take a picture on our phone?” Morty asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a photo. When he opens it, instead of the picture he’d been expecting to see of himself with Belle Delphine, the screen shows Rick’s laughing face, flipping him off, with text reading ‘LICK LICK LICK MY BALLS’. The two Mortys spend a couple of minutes tilting their heads at the screen, trying to figure out how it works, even though they both know neither of them has a hope of understanding. 

Eventually, the two get bored and turn their attention to a selection of stim toys in various shapes and colours instead. The Mortys are joking around and laughing together when they hear heavy footsteps and a Rick calling out for his Morty, slightly frantically.

“Geez, I wouldn’t want to be that Morty, am I right?” Morty quips, before noticing his counterpart’s guilty expression.

“Aw, geez, that’s my Rick. He’s gonna be mad that I wandered off.”

Morty opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the other Rick as he spots them.

“Morty! I-I told you not to wander off like that!” 

The other Rick crouches down and takes his Morty by the shoulders in a manner that’s uncharacteristically affectionate for a Rick. His eyes shift to the side and he notices Morty. “Wh-wh-who’s this? What’ve you been doing?”

“I-I’m Morty C-137. I, uh, I actually didn’t ask your dimension, did I?”

“A-70.” replies the other Morty, at exactly the same time as his Rick snaps “None of your business.”

“Rick!” protests the other Morty. “Can you not be rude to my friend?”

“Oh, your friend? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was in the presence of your esteemed friend. How could I be so selfish as to worry about my only grandson, wh-when he’s busy hanging out with his friend?” 

Again, while the sarcasm is very Rick-like, there’s an air of over-protectiveness beneath it that Morty finds unusual for a Rick or, at least, unusual in that it’s expressed so openly.

“Rick, come on. This is the first time I get to meet other Mortys!” the other Morty whines, and something about it seems to wear the other Rick down.

“Fine.”

“H-hey, Rick, do you think Morty could come over sometime? To our dimension, I mean.” the other Morty asks excitedly.

Rick A-70 eyes Morty suspiciously. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

“Morty, remember what we talked about? Before I agreed to let you come with me here?”

Morty’s emotions shoot between indignation and confusion and concern. He really doesn’t understand whatever is going on here. However, it’s clear that the other Morty does, as he looks down and sighs. 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now, come on, we’ve gotta get home so I can stabilise these cadmium-II coils.”

“Aw, but Rick!” the other Morty protests.

“But nothing! This is very sensitive machinery, Morty! Do you know what happens if I don’t get it home where I can store it properly in the next 10 minutes? Do you? It’ll be useless, Morty, and I’ve just paid 200 blemflarcks for it, so say goodbye to your friend.”

“Aw man.” sighs Morty A-70. “I-it was really nice to meet you. I wish we could’ve hung out some more.”

“Hey, why don’t you stay here with me and my Rick for a bit? Th-that way your Rick can go back and, and sort his stuff out, and we can keep hanging out!” Morty suggests.

“Can I, Rick?” the other Morty pleads.

“No.” 

“Aw, c’mon, please, Grandpa?” 

Even Morty can see the other Rick’s face soften slightly at the word ‘Grandpa’ for the briefest of moments before he scrunches it up in annoyance. 

“Who did you say your Rick was again?” Rick A-70 asks, turning to Morty.

“C-C-C… C-137.” Morty stammers, something about this Rick’s harsh tone making him nervous. Recognition flashes across the other Rick’s face, and Morty worries that he might say no. But, to Morty’s surprise, he sighs and gives in.

“Fine. Where’s your Rick?”

“Th-this way.” Morty heads in what he hopes is the correct direction, the Rick and Morty of dimension A-70 following behind him. Finally, he rounds a corner and finds his Rick, exactly as he knew he would be, poring over two identical-looking products.

“Hey Rick, can my new friend hang out with us for a bit?”

“Sure, whatever, Morty.” Rick responds, clearly not paying attention. The other Rick taps him on the shoulder. “Morty, I’m trying to - oh.” he cuts himself off as he sees Rick A-70.

“Look, pal, I’ve gotta get back to my dimension and deal with these coils before they go critical. My Morty has decided he can’t bear to be apart from his new friend, so will you look after him while I jump back home?”

“Please, Rick?” Morty begs.

“Eh, sure, why not.” Rick responds with a shrug and turns to go back to his items but the other Rick catches his shoulder and stops him. Morty can see him squeezing hard enough to cause pain.

“You better not let anything happen to him, got it? I’m trusting you because you don’t trust other Ricks either, but if anything happens I will know and I will fuck you up.” Rick A-70 hisses, staring intently at Rick for a few moments before pulling out his portal gun and pressing a button. Rick’s own portal gun glows in his pocket and Rick A-70 portals away.

Rick rubs his shoulder irritably and turns to Morty A-70.

“Geez, kid, your grandpa’s a real bag of laughs, huh?” Rick snarks.

The other Morty chuckles nervously. “Yeah, sorry, h-he’s kinda protective.”

Talk about understatement, Morty thinks. It’s unusual to see a Rick act like that towards anyone, let alone a Morty, but part of him is almost jealous that his new friend’s grandpa actually displays affection for him. Morty snaps out of his reverie to see A-70’s nervous expression and quickly pushes away the thoughts to deal with later, smiling at his counterpart.

The two Mortys start to kid around again while Rick picks up and pays for what he wants. Once he’s done, Rick turns to his two grandsons.

“You kids wanna get some lunch?” he asks. Both Mortys agree enthusiastically and Rick portals them home to drop off his purchases before they get into the ship. Surprisingly, Rick remains on Earth, flying to a relatively local restaurant. Morty wonders if he took the other Rick’s threat to keep his Morty safe more seriously than he let on.

The restaurant is fairly quiet, so they don’t have to wait long to be seated or served. Rick is quieter than usual, content to scribble what appears to be blueprints on a napkin until the food comes and then wolfing it down, leaving the Mortys to their bonding. Morty is fascinated to learn what the two of them have in common and what they don’t, amazed that another version of him can be so different and yet so similar at the same time. 

At first, the other Morty seems to be enjoying himself too, since it’s quite a novel experience for both of them to actually interact with a kid their own age, even if it is just another Morty. As the meal goes on, however, Morty notices A-70 start to get more uncomfortable, eyes flicking around uncertainly, squirming in his seat.

“H-hey, man, you OK?” he asks his other self. A-70 starts slightly at his question.

“Y-y-yeah, I just, I, um… I need to pee.”

Morty is surprised. “Oh, well, I-I think I saw the bathrooms just over there.”

His other self shakes his head. “Yeah, I just, I, um, I, my Rick, um, my Rick normally comes with me.”

Morty feels his eyebrows raise. “Your Rick won’t even let you go to the bathroom alone?” Rick A-70 had seemed unusually overprotective, but that seems too far for any Rick.

“N-no, it’s not that, it’s, um, I… I don’t like going alone. He comes with me… to make sure nothing happens.”

Ah. That makes more sense. Morty remembers all too well what had happened to him in that tavern in the giant courthouse steps. It had taken him a while to be able to go into public bathrooms after that, too. In fact, he clearly remembers a time when he’d wet himself in Rick’s ship because he hadn’t been able to bring himself to even enter a bathroom on one of their adventures, much less use it. He knows Rick must have known the reason because, for once, Rick hadn’t snapped at him or made fun of him for it, which, in a way, had been even worse. Still, that had been a long time ago, long enough that Morty is now usually able to use public bathrooms without too much of a problem. However, it makes sense that something like this could have also happened to this Morty, and that he’s still affected by it. That would explain why his Rick seems so overprotective, too.

“H-hey, man, it’s OK, I get it. I’ll come with you.”

A-70 seems to brighten at that. “R-really?”

“Sure!”

The two Mortys head for the bathroom. When they get there, A-70 heads for the stall, which surprises Morty slightly, given his own history, but he concludes that maybe this Morty had something happen to him at a urinal instead, or that the lock makes him feel safer, or maybe he just has to take a dump. However, A-70 comes back out almost immediately after entering.

“I-it’s out of order.” He says, wringing his hands nervously.

“W-well, hey, we’re the only ones in here. If you want me to guard the door while you use the urinal-”

“I can’t.”

“I-it’s OK, I can even wait outside if you want-”

“I can’t!” the other Morty cries. His response surprises Morty, and he flinches slightly.

“W-why?”

“Because I don’t have a penis!”

“Wha-I… d-did something… happen to it?”

“No, I never had one!” A-70 is getting increasingly frustrated and Morty doesn’t understand. “I-I’m transgender.”

“You’re a girl?”

“I was a girl. Not anymore.” A-70 responds, looking at the floor, one arm wrapped across his chest, clutching his opposite arm. “I-I thought you knew.”

“N-no, I-I didn’t realise. Sorry, man.”

A-70 doesn’t respond, and Morty feels himself talking nervously to try and make the situation better. “Can’t you, like, use the women’s?”

A-70 grimaces at that, and Morty knows he’s said the wrong thing. He panics more and keeps talking.

“O-or, hey, I think my Rick has a centipede you can swallow that eats your pee! D-do you want me to ask him?”

The other Morty nods, and Morty thinks that he must really not want to use the women’s if he’d rather swallow the centipede. He doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t want to make things worse for his other self. He places a hand on A-70’s shoulder.

“C-come on, let’s go ask him.”

A-70 seems hesitant. “W-w-what are you going to tell him?”

This stuns Morty. “Uh, that you need to pee but you can’t because the bathroom is out of order?”

“You won’t tell him that I’m… trans, will you?”

Morty blinks. “Why not?”

“My Rick said I shouldn’t tell people. He says they might try and hurt me.”

“What? Come on, it’s Rick. You’re his grandson. He doesn’t care if you’re different to the other Mortys. There’s Mortys that are cowboys a-and hammers and all sorts of things.”

A-70 seems a bit more willing but still worried. “OK. B-but can we at least ask him in private?”

Morty smiles reassuringly at his other self. “Sure thing, man!” A-70 smiles back at him, weakly, and he feels a slight sense of relief.

As they walk back to the table, Morty sees A-70 holding his hands together at his solar plexus, exactly the way he does when he’s nervous. No matter how many other versions of himself he sees, he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being amazed at the similarities.

They reach the table and Rick looks up at them. 

“R-rick, can we talk to you outside?”

Rick’s eyes flick between the two Mortys, trying to work out what’s going on.

“Fine.” he gives in after a few seconds, standing up. The three of them walk outside to where the ship is parked.

“Wh-what is it, Morty? I-if you’re about to ask if you guys can go somewhere private so you can masturbate with twice as many hands, fine, but at least wait until I’ve had dessert.”

“What? No!” Morty exclaims, shocked by the suggestion. “No, Rick, I… do you have the centipede?”

This seems to throw Rick off his rhythm. “The… centipede?”

“The pee centipede. The one that you swallow it and it makes you not have to pee.”

“Oh, that. I-I mean, sure, but didn’t you just go to the bathroom? What do you need the centipede for?”

“It was out of order.”

“What? No it’s not. I used it earlier.”

“The stall is.”

Rick’s expression is a mixture of confused and exasperated. “It only eats pee, Morty. If you have to take a dump, y-you’ll just have to go in the bushes or something.” he waves vaguely in the direction of some nearby bushes.

“No, Rick, it’s not for me. It’s for A-70. He can’t use the urinals.”

Rick eyes A-70 questioningly. “Why not?”

Morty pauses, looking at A-70, not sure whether he should tell Rick or not.

“I-I don’t have the… equipment.” A-70 mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards his crotch.

Rick shrugs and tosses the centipede to A-70, who catches it and chokes it down in a way that tells Morty this isn’t the first time he’s done this. Poor guy must really not want to use the women’s if he’s voluntarily choosing this option instead.

“So, you have an accident, or you just never had one?” Rick asks, casual as ever, pulling his flask out from his lab coat and sipping from it. Despite having already swallowed the centipede, A-70 chokes again.

“Rick!” admonishes Morty. “Y-you can’t just ask that!”

He regrets his outburst immediately, worried that it makes the answer obvious. He’s never had a Morty friend before, and he doesn’t want to lose this one.

Rick shrugs. “Why? I-it’s not a big deal, Morty. You think I’ve never met a trans version of you before?”

“There’s more like me?” A-70 exclaims.

“Sure, there’s loads, in both directions. Plenty of Ricks who thought they only had granddaughters just to learn they actually had a grandson, or vice versa.”

“Why did you - why did my Rick never tell me?” A-70 seems shaken.

“I-I dunno, kiddo. Maybe he never met any. N-no offense, but your Rick, I don’t get the impression he gets out a lot.”

“Will you take me to meet them?” A-70 asks.

“Oh. I mean, I-I guess I could. I don’t exactly know their dimensions offhand.”

“Hey, yeah, y-you could like, form a club, o-or a support group, or something!” Morty suggests excitedly.

“Psh. La-ame!” Rick snorts. Morty shoots him a disapproving look, and he quickly backpedals. “What? Everything you’re into is lame, Morty. A-anyway, I want my dessert, c’mon.”

Rick ushers them back into the restaurant and Morty notices his other self seems much happier and more animated. He decides not to comment on the fact that Rick lets A-70 order first, or the fact that he lets him get both options when he can’t decide between two. The rest of the time passes pleasantly, much more so than usual, and Morty can’t help but feel a tiny prickle of jealousy at the fact that Rick is rarely so nice to him. At the same time, he’s enjoying having a good time with his grandpa, enjoying actually having a friend.

A few times, he catches Rick staring in the way he recognises to mean that Rick is doing something inside his own head. Once they finish, Rick pays, and they walk out of the restaurant before portalling back to A-70.

That dimension’s Rick is sitting on the couch, idly channel-hopping through interdimensional cable. However, his expression and the speed with which he gets up when he sees them betrays his nervousness.

“H-hey, buddy. Did you have a good time?” he asks his Morty, ruffling a hand through his hair as Morty A-70 runs into his arms for a hug. Again, Morty feels a familiar pang of envy at their easy affection. He wonders if this Rick was more affectionate with Morty when he thought he was a girl, and the habit never broke, or if they’re simply closer than he and his Rick are. He thinks again of the way his Rick treated this Morty earlier, but quickly pushes the thoughts away to deal with later.

“Rick! A-apparently there’s other trans Mortys! Can we go and see them sometime?” Morty A-70 asks, and his Rick visibly stiffens. 

“What did-” he begins, but Rick cuts him off, pressing a spot in his temple where Morty assumes an implant is hidden.

“I’ve sent a list of coordinates to your portal gun, if you want to check ‘em out. T-they’re split by gender, depending if your Morty wants to just meet other guys or not.”

The other Rick doesn’t look pleased, but his Morty grins massively.

“Thank you, Rick!” he exclaims, and his Rick’s expression softens as he sees his Morty’s happiness.

“C-come on, Morty, we’d better go.” Rick turns to him, waving off the other Morty’s gratitude.

“O-OK, Rick.” Morty turns to his other self. “I-I had a lot of fun today! We should do this again sometime! I’ve never been friends with another Morty before!”

“Yeah!” the other Morty replies enthusiastically, grinning at being called a friend. He turns to his Rick. “Can I, Rick?”

Rick A-70 looks at his Morty’s pleading eyes, then at their counterparts. “I guess so.”

“Yes!” the other Morty punches the air.

The two Mortys wave at each other as Morty steps through the portal with Rick. They emerge next to the ship and both get in.

They fly in silence for a few minutes while Morty tries to decide if it’s worth spoiling the happiness with his question.

“What is it, Morty?” Rick sighs.

“Wh-what?”

“I can tell you’re building yourself up to say something. Just spit it out.”

“W-well, I, um… you were really nice to that other Morty.”

“Weird way to thank me for paying for a meal for you and your friend.”

“I just mean… why do you never do that for me? You’d never let me get two desserts.”

“How else should a grandpa react to his grandson’s coming out?”

“C-coming out?”

“Coming out, like out of the closet? C’mon, Morty, you must’ve heard that one before.”

“I-I have, I just… would you do that, for me, if I came out?”

“If you came out, sure. Why, you got something you want to tell me? Or you just want double dessert?” Rick looks at him expectantly, and Morty isn’t sure how to respond.

“D-did you say there’s girl Mortys? Like Mortys like me who… became girls?”

“Sure, Morty. I-i-is that really such a shock to you? Ah, what am I saying, you had your mind blown by a cowboy version of yourself.”

Morty takes a moment to think. “So… it would be OK if I was one of them? If I wanted to be a girl?”

“Boy, girl, anything else you can think of, whatever you want. Y-you’ll still be the same pain in my ass either way.”

Morty feels a small smile spreading across his face. He knows what that means in Rick-speak. And though he’s never given much thought to his gender identity before, it’s nice to know that he’ll be accepted whatever happens. 

The jealousy he feels at the thought of Rick A-70 openly worrying about his Morty, hugging him casually, treating him like a grandson instead of a problem still needles at him, but it’s easier to ignore in the warm glow of acceptance. He knows it’s something that will come back to haunt him at the worst moments, usually when he’s trying to sleep or shower or when he and Rick have an argument, but he hopes that thinking about gender will occupy his mind enough to keep his thoughts from drifting too far towards the negatives for a while.