#i'm gonna reread soon hopefully

[devilsskettle]

i think i'm finally gonna read house of leaves wish me luck

[an-inky-fingered-lass]

be the stillness of the moon

An alternate version of my fic, whistling static when the young learn to fly. Rated T.

Read on ao3.

He found her out on the porch, back against one of the cabin walls and one knee tugged to her chest.

Hunch proving true, Coulson snagged a familiar, heavy woolen blanket on his way out and eased the door open, letting it squeak just the slightest bit.

“Hey.”

May was staring off into the distance, the slope of her shoulders letting him know she’d heard and acknowledged his presence. She was still in pajamas, the soft, worn fabric not nearly warm enough for this kind of chill.

Phil made his way over carefully and settled down onto the wooden bench, noisy steps and his shoulders soft and easy. “May.”

“Wanted to see the sky.”

Her voice came out just below a murmur, but Coulson exhaled quietly -- relief and surprise both.

“One of those nights, huh.”

It took a long second, but she nodded. Coulson slouched comfortably, wedged his shoulder against the wooden slats of the cabin. Their cabin.

“How long’ve you been out here?” It was light, but the edge of concern appeared without his permission. It was alright.

May just shook her head.

She’d been off the last few days, snappish or a different sort of silent than usual. He’d kept an eye out but let her be, knowing she would bring whatever it was up if she needed to, and also that sometimes all he could do for her was give her the time and space she needed to deal in her own time, her own ways.

It had been months now, settling into this little cabin and building the kind of peacefulness he’d barely ever dared to imagine; enough time for him to recover his strength somewhat, for that barely perceptible air of tightly wound exhaustion that had surrounded May for years to begin to dissipate. They’d been able to start settling in, building the routines that they both, May especially, needed.

So much of it still felt new. They had thirty years between them, plenty of those spent living in close quarters and through the kind of hard years that taught you the most about a person, but it was still…different, when it was just their four walls; a smaller space, none of the responsibilities that had been a distraction and a stressor and a sanctuary all at once.

He’d gotten to hear May laugh, really laugh, for the first time in so long. He felt more like himself now than he had in years, settled and steady in his own mind and skin. They were still bound to have bad days. Always had, even back when they’d been barely more than kids, only beginning to learn what it would mean to live the life they’d chosen. May was still so used to shouldering everything on her own, and despite contrived appearances to the contrary, Phil actually sucked rather magnificently at the whole talking about it thing. They were working on it, like they were on everything else. It was still hard, sometimes.

“Wanna tell me what’s up?”

“You don’t have to stay,” May said quietly. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

Okay, not an answer, but not a no, go away either. The fact that she wasn’t claiming to be fine now said…a lot.

“I’d like to, though.”

May blinked at him, genuinely surprised.

“If that’s okay?”

It took another moment, but she nodded. Phil tapped the blanket in his lap, drawing her attention to it, before he lifted it up, gave it a flap and wrapped it carefully around her shoulders. She had too many old injuries to be out in this kind of cold, and the weight would help. “You in pain?”

He saw her hesitate, falter. They’d had the be honest talk a few weeks ago, both of them equally as bad about powering through pain when they no longer needed to. It had taken May literally collapsing on her bad leg after pushing it for weeks for that to happen.

“Some,” May said finally, and Phil breathed out another little bit of worry. “Just stiff. I’ll take care of it later.”

Phil gave the blanket another pointed flick until she bundled herself up more securely, a little of the tension bleeding off her shoulders as she did. They had a few hot water bottles bundled up in one of the kitchen cupboards. He doubted she’d be up for a massage any time soon, but he could go dig those out in a bit, boil some water. As much as he wanted to, he knew better than to suggest going inside just yet.

The stars were bright, this far away from any light pollution. May loved it out here, despite the cold, the endless depth of the sky stretching on and on and on. Phil squinted habitually at his watch (he wasn’t wearing one) and then up at the moon, digging up rusty memories and figuring about three a.m., the angle of the waning crescent.

Pine was sweet in the air. It was still so easy to remember a world cracked apart. Phil swallowed against swelling relief, not for the first time, the reminder of more than he could have ever wished for.

May exhaled softly, letting something go. Phil took the cue and broke the silence, taking a leap.

“You went to see Robin and Polly today?”

May shook her head. “Didn’t go. Drove halfway there and turned around. I called Polly to apologize, made up some excuse, I don’t know.”

Oh. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Couldn’t.”

Phil took a slow breath, making sure he would sound the way he wanted to. “Daisy’s not upset with you, you know.”

There was a long, trembling pause. May’s voice was quiet, when she finally spoke. “She has every right to be. It was stupid of me to yell.”

Their pseudo-daughter (when had it gotten so easy to think of her like that?) was sound asleep in the little room off the hall (officially declared hers whenever she wanted it), here to stay with them the two weeks until Mack called her in to report for her new team’s first official mission. May had come home struggling, hiding it well enough that even he’d missed it at first, and it had been over…nothing, really. Daisy had stared after May’s retreating back with nothing but concern, reading the real reasons for her old mentor’s sudden lashing out in her rigid stride, the harsh lines of her back and shoulders. She knew May so much better than Phil thought either of them realized, these days.

He took another breath, still tempering his tone. “Stupid is the idea that you don’t deserve to be loved.”

May actually startled, turning around to stare at him with a look that tried its hardest to be a glare but fell quite a ways short. “I…what?”

Phil shrugged, keeping the movement gentle and easy despite the ache pulling tight in his chest. “C’mon, May. It’s not like I don’t have some idea of what’s going through your head. But it’s stupid. And I’ll keep saying so ‘til you believe me.”

“This isn’t about…” May closed her eyes with a growl, letting her head thud back against the paneled walls. “I don’t know how to do this, Phil.”

“Do what?”

“Live. Like this. Just be, I don’t know, a person. ”

“May…”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” May turned to stare at him, implacable. “I’m not the person I want to be, not… I’m working on it, but it’s not worth it if I’m hurting you— if I’m hurting everyone along the way.”

Phil shook his head, bewildered. “Where is this coming from?”

May just shook her head.

“Is this about--”

“It’s not about anything,” May snapped. He just blinked at her. There’d been no real heat in it.

May shook her head and looked away, propping an elbow on her good knee and letting her shoulders slump, palm bracing her forehead. Phil could feel her retreating, slipping farther and farther away.

He sighed and scooted closer before he could think for too long about it, rubbing a hand softly up and down the length of her spine. May wasn’t tense, didn’t flinch. Phil exhaled softly.

“Hey.”

May leaned slowly against him, her head still bowed, and he shifted to better settle her weight against his shoulder, breathing gentle and steady.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He shook his head, knowing she could feel it. “What’s eating at you?”

It’d been so long that the unspoken things just kind of spoke for themselves. May’s snappishness over the past few days hadn’t been the kind of snappish she got when she was pissed about something -- this sort of scattered lapse in control was the exact opposite of shutting down, of keeping everything contained the way she was wont to do. She was doing her best to let him in now because she was in a place to accept support without depending on it, because grounded and self-reliant when it came to emotional stability had always been May at her happiest.

The kind of trust in the trying had carried them through more hells than he could count. It’d been a constant in his life for so long. He’d never taken it for granted. It still meant the world.

She was on the side of the hand he could feel, and the blanket was soft under his palm as he rubbed careful circles over her back.

“I walked the perimeter,” May muttered at last, muffled. Phil just nodded. He’d noticed the mud earlier, caking her boots.

“Checked all the weapons, the locks, the go-bags. Just sat there taking the gun apart, putting it back together. I haven’t gotten like this since that stupid detail in the Alps, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Too stressed,” Phil offered softly. The frustration in May’s scoff came through loud and clear.

“With what. ”

They were opposites, in this respect. He needed time to unwind if he didn’t want to start losing his mind, always had been that way. That was why field command hadn’t bothered him, why Director would have always been a little bit miserable. The weight of it all, he’d learned a long time ago how to carry.

May could handle anything while she was in the middle of it, would take the weight of anything and somehow still manage to stay centered, steady. It was once things slowed down that she’d get wound tighter and tighter, frustration usually the first thing to break the dam. She’d never really thought that was a valid reason to struggle, either. May knew all of it, and still thought she ought to be better than all things that made her human.

“Too much, too soon?”

May scoffed harder.

“What happened today?”

“Nothing. That’s the point.”

Phil just waited.

May straightened a little, after a while, pulling away and scrubbing her hands over her face. She looked away for another long moment.

“Nothing happened. It's just me.” The anger there was a clear mask, now, something heavier underneath. Bitterness?

He stayed quiet long enough to be sure she wasn’t planning to say anything else just yet. “Kiddo loves you, Mel.”

May looked more tired than ever, looking back at him.

“She misses you, wants to spend time with you. There’s no version of that where it’s a bad thing.”

There was another long silence. Phil kept quiet until he felt the air start to unravel, the weight slowly dissipating. May grappled silently with herself, motionless at his side.

He could feel the moment she decided to speak. May didn’t look at him, the words just barely there.

“I see myself hurting her.” Pause. “You. Daisy.”

Phil made a soft sound before he could stop himself. May shook her head in response without looking up.

“I know. I know it’s just… there’s no meaning to it. It’s not… but I…

“There’s nothing to fight here,” May said softly, as close to helpless as she ever let herself sound. “Just…”

“Yourself,” Phil said softly.

May nodded. “And that’s what I wanted. I need that, need to deal with… but I’m no good to be around like this.”

“What if we want to, though?”

May just looked at him, frustrated and desolate. After a split second the look vanished; she was unreadable to him, for a moment, blank.

“May. There’s nothing you could do that would make us-- make me want you far away,” he said quietly, steady, and watched the mask begin to crack. “If you need some air, some time to yourself-- that’s different. But, May, nothing is going to make me want to give up on this. I don’t want anything more than to see you happy.”

He watched her swallow, struggle a second to speak and then decide against it.

“We need you,” he said gently, because he was trying to say, do you understand how much you are loved? and sometimes that was the version of it May understood best. “Me, Daisy. We all do. You are so loved, Melinda, you know that?”

May pressed the heels of her hands hard into her eyes for a second, dropping her hands back into her lap as she lifted her head to stare out at the night.

“I love you,” Phil said, and watched the tears well up, the way May closed her eyes tight. “Melinda, hey. Look at me?”

She did, finally, and he reached out to cup her cheek with the hand he could feel, wiping away the tears trickling down her face. May had been fighting this for so long, but now she just looked at him, unblinking and vulnerable, her hands folded together in her lap.

“You’re gonna be able to hear it without crying,” Phil said quietly. “Even on bad days. It’ll take time, probably, but we have time, okay?”

It hadn’t been a hard thing for her to say, the first time. She’d just waited for the right moment. None of that was a surprise, once he’d gotten his wits back enough to stop gaping in the hall like an idiot. He needed words, sometimes, to understand, so that was what she’d given him.

It was still different when it came to herself. It wasn’t hatred May carried for herself any more, hadn’t been for a while; there’d been a quiet morning and a good hike and in far fewer words she’d told him that much herself. It wasn’t quite peace yet, either, but in so many ways it was forgiveness. He’d watched her fight for it for years, these hard-won inches of kindness, had realized a while ago that that was something he still needed to learn for himself.

May’s strength had never begun or ended at her ability to beat people to a pulp. That had never been the part he was in awe of.

Thing is, strength has never been known to make anything any easier -- not unless you’re moving house with a grand piano. It’s just a promise you’ll make it through.

“It’s okay,” Phil said, steady. It wasn’t so gentle, this time. Melinda needed certainty almost always more than she ever needed gentleness; he’d never entirely gotten over the surprise of realizing that was something he could give her. “You’re not alone, alright? We’re here. We have time.”

They’d lived so many lives, so many years spent choosing the world over theirs. Years of sacrifice, years sacrificed. They were never getting any of that back, but this was still a gift. Nothing had ever felt so much like hope to him as it did to be able to say that so easily -- we have time.

May didn’t say a word, but she leaned forwards to press her forehead into his shoulder, one arm reaching out to hold on tight.

He held her until she stopped shaking, until her breathing settled back to steady.

After a long time, May pulled away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Eyes red, she managed to look disgruntled enough that Phil had to bite back a laugh.

“Lighter?” he suggested gently.

May grumbled. “Headache.”

She’d hated to cry since he’d known her. Claimed she had since she was a kid, that it always just left her feeling worse than before, wrung out. He’d said lighter because he could hear it, though, the edge of strain gone from the way she breathed whether or not she’d admit it. He would never manage to explain to her the relief it was, May allowing herself to unravel this far without so much of the old pain behind her eyes, him being able to just hold her without any terror gripping at his chest, so he didn’t try.

They sat there in silence for a few long, slow moments. Once the sense of ease had settled, Phil got to his feet, holding out a hand.

“Stars’ll be there tomorrow,” he said with a little grin, as May blinked up at him. “We need to sleep, Mel.”

May hesitated, but grabbed his hand. She didn’t wobble, as she stood up, but she didn’t quite succeed at hiding a wince, either. They wrapped arms around each other, familiar movements (except now they were just old, not recently injured), and made their way a little creakingly towards the door.

And paused, just inside the threshold.

A lamp was alight. Daisy’s dim outline was at the stove, but they could see her grin as she turned round at them, visibly chewing over potential remarks and discarding most of them.

“Morning,” she landed on, cheekily, and he heard May groan, struggling to extricate herself from her blanket and his steadying arm without the considerable indignity of toppling over.

“Why are you awake.”

“Were we too quiet?” Phil asked, grinning back at their girl.

“Mm-hm.”

May limped over towards the little counter and Daisy moved to meet her, holding out a mug and a hot water bottle. May accepted both.

“I’m sorry,” Phil heard her say, quietly, as he made his way over to sprawl over the couch. Daisy’s answering tone was soft, genuinely warm.

“S’all good, May. I know… but I think I know what you were trying to get at, maybe. We can talk about it later?”

May nodded. Phil smiled a little at the relief bleeding off her shoulders. She couldn’t exactly reciprocate, with both hands full of recently boiled liquid in various forms, but she leaned into it, when Daisy wrapped her in a brief hug. The look that passed between them said more than words ever could. Daisy’s smile was soft, as she pulled away, and that was that.

“AC?”

He grinned up at her as she came over, delivering another mug. Over at the counter, May braced herself against the scrubbed wood and took a sip from her own, looking up with one eyebrow raised.

“Bitter.”

From May, that was the highest compliment a mug (or a maker) of hot cocoa could receive. Daisy grinned over at her.

Phil took a sip in his turn, and wow. “Bitter,” he agreed. He figured he sounded only a little bit dismayed. He caught the pointed look May sent him. Not a little, then.

“Good.”

Daisy edged very obviously away, gathering up a mug of her own. “Uh. Don’t taste mine.”

May eyed her for a second. And lunged.

Daisy yelped, evading; May feinted neatly (Phil recognized the move and grinned) and wound up with two mugs in her hands, Daisy flailing. “May-- ”

They’d figured before that Daisy still couldn’t outclass May when it came down to raw speed, not in this case without quaking either her or the cocoa -- how that was still true given the amount of pain May’s stance said she was in, he didn’t know, but neither of them had spilled a drop. Phil just sighed. May took a sip.

“Daisy --”

“It’s just a little sugar-- ”

“This is not a little --”

“I’m young, my metabolism can handle it--”

“It’s the middle of the night--” May stopped. Glared. “Are you calling me old.”

“Nope!” Daisy said, as brightly as humanly possible. “Never! C’mon, it’s almost morning, mom, it’s like a once a year thing, we’re already up, you need to get warm, c’mon drink yours and gimmie!”

Mom. No one so much as blinked. May might have maybe handed over the mug with less grumbling than she otherwise would have. Maybe. Phil grinned to himself when he saw her scrub at her eyes behind Daisy’s back, just out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re coming on a run with me tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Daisy bundled towards her, herding towards the sofa. “First you need to get off your feet, sit, please, you’re freezing.”

They wound up all bundled up on the sofa together, sipping mugs of cocoa and tangled up in all the blankets in the house. Phil started telling stories, because there was cocoa and why not, dredging up some Daisy had never heard before and that May would have grumbled at, at length, on almost any other day.

Daisy’s ringing laughter filled every corner. The world closed in around them, just for a little while, a little circle of warmth, safety. Family.

May just listened, leaning against him again with Daisy’s head on her shoulder, eyes soft and content.

She was the only one of them who hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, but it was Daisy who dozed off first, her cheek still on May’s shoulder and no tension at all between her brows. May lifted her mug into the coffee table and slipped a pillow beneath her cheek but otherwise wouldn’t move, hands feather-light as they brushed a strand of Daisy’s hair gently out of her eyes. Her eyes were wet again, but she just looked at him, aching and steadfast in the darkness, the gentle light of a waxing moon.

They didn’t say a word. They didn’t have to.

They would all wake up the next morning groaning, lower backs yelling obscenities and Daisy’s neck stiff from being bent at a near-right angle for far too long. For the few hours of darkness remaining, they all slept peacefully.

May awoke with the first rays of sunlight, blinking her eyes open to find her family huddled comfortably around her, upturned faces washed in gold.

They were at peace, safe and warm. All of them bore ghosts in their shadows, stubborn and lingering; some things would still hurt, come morning. Light tumbled shyly through the window, growing in strength until it sprawled, defiant, into every corner of the room.

The day was going to be beautiful. May exhaled, soft and slow.

[highwaydiamonds]

As someone who hates the sisyphean task of cleaning, how dare my mental health prefer a clean room.

[soaps-mohawk]

Bitch (lovingly).

People who can’t use proper grammar can’t be harassing you about not writing another chapter this weekend. You’re only human. You’re not being compensated for your work, it’s all volunteered. You’re not obligated to write for us. You can drop the shit now and never write another word again.

Your time is your own, and your mental health is your own. You should use your time to care for yourself when you need to. Don’t worry at all about the chapters. We can wait. There’s rereads, there’s lore, there’s so many other things we can do while we wait. And trust me, we can wait (most of us, at least).

Please don’t sacrifice your own mental health for us. We love you (/p). Do your best to ignore shit anons like that. Drink water, eat good food. If you need to, turn off anon requests. We’ll understand. I promise. 💚💚

Thank you, love. I love all of you wonderful readers who have been so supportive and understanding when I've needed breaks. I don't plan on this being a long one (hopefully) so idk why they're so pressed. If I was gonna take a month off, I'd say I was taking a month off. Unless something happens I'm gonna post again next weekend, and you can bet your ass I'd be giving y'all updates as soon as I could.

Imagine getting that pressed about fanfiction 🙄insanity.

[coffeebanana]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

OOOH FUN TY FOR THE ASK SUNNY. i'm gonna be honest i do not really have a top five. i typically have a top 2 or 3, and it usually varies to include stuff i've either posted recently or stuff i'm currently working on--so stuff that is fresh in my mind so my mind. buuuuuuut i'll see what i can dig up here. in no particular order...

Maybe This Life -- mtl fic is my self-indulgent (read: angsty) long fic of the moment. i can't remember for sure but i think last time i answered this ask i listed this fic even though it was as of yet unpublished? i might be misremembering though. ANYWAYS it's been flowing well lately so i'm very pleased with it. hopefully there will be an update soon(ish) 😊

Say Something -- i'm always surprised every time i find myself myself rereading this one to realize how well it holds up. because i started this over 2 years ago, and a lot of fics i wrote that long ago would have me nitpicking things when i reread. and to be fair i've edited parts of this since they were originally posted, but STILL it always makes me FEEEEL THINGS. and even though i haven't updated in over a year i promise i haven't forgotten about it kasfbdskjb i just need to...finish a couple things before i can return my focus to it

Entangled -- this one is angsty and sciency! what's not to love?

How to Crack a Few Jokes -- this was soooo self-indulgent. and it's still fresh in my mind ergo it makes the list

Villains That Live In My Head OR Pull Me From the Embers -- YES I CHEATED AND PICKED TWO BUT I'M BAD AT DECISIONS. also, these are both short, angsty oneshots that i go back to reread somewhat often. so they occupy a similar go-to comfort read in my mind

[dreaming-medium]

Hey Sunny! I really, really love Animal without directions! Like I've reread it like 5 times om ao3 by now^^' I don't know anyone else who was able to enthrall me with their writing, like you did with your stories!♡ Keep being amazing at what you do, I hope you're taking care of yourself and I'm eagerly waiting for the next chapters of AwD

Have a very nice morning/day/evening/night (not sure when you're gonna see that and what your time zone is, so I'm just gonna include everything xD)

(I was going through my inbox and this just came in I swear I’m not usually on my phone and answer this lightening fast!! This is like when you accidentally view someone’s insta story 3 seconds after they post lmfao)

Thank you SO SO SO MUCH! God, every time I see/hear about someone reading it, it just fills me with so much joy!

I want to update soon, but I just got a promotion at work so that’s been taking up 99.8% of my time and the other .2% I just like.. stare at a wall and try to recoop LOL

I’m in Eastern Standard time! I’m from New Jersey :) so I just got to the gym from work 🥰🫡 I will exercise for our god, Seo Changbin, so I can hopefully one day flex in front of him.

Love you so so so much! 💖💖💖 I hope you have a great morning/afternoon/evening/night too!

[deejadabbles]

Echo and Comms (Echo x Reader) Chapter Two

Summary: Who could know that a simple night out with your friend would lead to this? A life of danger and the man of your dreams. Echo x Communications Officer Reader (gender neutral). Friends to lovers/star-crossed lovers.

A.N. Woo part two out in a pretty timely fashion! I'm actually really proud of this one, but I hope you guys like long content because this is a big boy! Some of this is pure fluff, but, I will warn you, there's other parts that are pure heartache.

Please comment your thoughts in the replies or reblogs <3

Warnings: Explicit acts mentioned but not in detail, mentions of war and death, soldier death, grief, (assumed) main character death.

Part One /// Part Two /// Part Three /// [Part Four coming soon]

Three days. Three days of going to work, having lunch with Mavis, and eating alone in your apartment. You didn’t really mind, per se. You had had way too many experiences with boys not calling for it to truly affect your normal life.

But you were a little…disappointed. Maybe Echo wasn’t as interested in you as you had thought. Maybe he had just wanted someone to talk to while his brother had fun. Maybe he had forgotten about you the next day.

Ugh! Why was the shower always the place where annoying thoughts like that popped up? You groaned as you rinsed product out of your hair, trying to chase away the thoughts. Why did this even bother you so much? It wasn't like you felt an almost instant connection to the trooper or anything, right? Definitely not, and you certainly didn't think he was the cutest man who'd ever bought you drinks.

Just as you reached for your body wash, you heard a noise: the sound you had set for notifications on your data pad. It was likely Mavis, asking you what time you wanted to go see that vid she had mentioned. You knew you had plenty of time to answer her, so you made sure to take advantage of the hot water and soothing quiet. You stepped out a while later, patting yourself down with your robe as you strode over to your table where the pad sat.

Oh!

It wasn’t Mavis after all and you tried to ignore the giddy smile as you read the message over.

>Hey there! This is Echo, from the bar the other night? I know you’re probably busy but I figured I’d send this. Hopefully none of my brother’s have bothered you at the bar since I’ve been gone?<

You snorted in laughter. He was certainly an awkward one, you wondered if the message was missing a section in the middle, or if he just wasn’t used to sending out things that weren’t military reports.

Of course, you had no idea of the turmoil that had happened on the other side of the screen.

Echo was a nervous wreck. Even with the timeless vacuum of space, he knew that it had been several rotations for you back on Coruscant, several rotations of Echo not knowing what to send you. He had written and deleted maybe thirty versions of that message, always backing out and thinking he could craft something better- until Fives had had enough, snatched his data pad from him, and pressed ‘send’ on whatever drivel he had typed out in the moment.

Now Echo was staring at the “sent” message, rereading it over and over as if it was his death sentence. It might as well have been, for how long it had passed with no reply from you.

“So hottie hasn’t written back yet?” Jesse smirked.

“I’m gonna kill Fives,” Echo muttered, ignoring the crude nickname that Echo had scolded Jesse for using for you before.

Fives heard, even on the other side of the room and looked back at him with incredulity, “Me? What’d I do? You’re the one who kept chickening out of doing anything, I just sent it for you.”

“I sound like an idiot, Fives!”

“You are an idiot, Echo!”

Jesse cut in again with a laugh, “Oh yeah, and you’re mister smooth talker. That's why you got sent home from the bar alone last time?”

“Hey!” Fives waggled a finger at him, “My angel sent me home because she was- what’d you call it, Kix?

“Respecting your inebriated state.”

“Exactly,” Fives confirmed with a nod, “she was being respectful.”

None of Echo’s brothers seemed to care that he was spiraling deeper into despair the longer he sat there, they just went on arguing among themselves. It had been way too long without a reply, and he just knew that you were laughing at him on the other end. Maybe you had even hoped he wouldn’t message you, maybe you were just being nice when you gave him your comm code, maybe-

His heart stopped when the screen flashed from a new message. Eyes wide in disbelief, Echo could feel said heart in his throat as he read over your reply.

>Hey, Echo! I’m glad you didn’t lose my code. I heard the 501st shipped out the next day, hope you and your brothers are staying safe out there. And speaking of, don’t worry, I know how to take care of myself ;) <

It was a better reply than he could have hoped for. You even responded to his dumb little attempt at starting a conversation and was that a smiley face at the end there? No, it was winking! Echo didn’t even know people could send those in personal messages. He’d have to try it out, once he got the hang of talking to you in the first place, that is.

Kix was weighing in on some argument that had broken out between Fives and Jesse, but it was all background noise to Echo as he leaned back, smiling at the screen as he typed back to you. 

Maybe Echo wasn’t too terrible at holding a conversation over a screen. For the past couple of weeks, Echo looked forward to the time he would have a quiet moment at night to check his data pad, to see your latest message sitting in his inbox. Both of you had decided on that first night that, given both his and yours busy schedules, you wouldn’t hold each other to replying on the spot, rather, just answering whatever was last said when there was time.

He appreciated the understanding, knowing that the life of a soldier rarely granted him enough leisure to shoot messages back and forth for any decent length of time. Sometimes, when the stars (or, specifically, your time zones) aligned, both of you could talk for at least a few short text blocks. One night, after he and his brothers made camp on some remote planet, he found he was lucky enough to have one of those fortuitous alignments.

>Can I ask a weird question? <

He had sent it with the intention of setting his pad down and working on checking his blaster, only hoping that he might get an answer sometime in the next day, but felt his heart race when there was an almost immediate ding in reply.

>Sure. You can ask anything, but my reply depends on what the question is. <

Echo swallowed hard, realizing that it was now or never.

>Would it be weird if I asked for a picture of you? <

He sweated the whole two minutes it took for the text to go through the thousands of comm buoys between there and Coruscant.

>A picture? Aw, you miss me that much, I’m flattered, mr soldier boy. <

You ended it with a cheeky heart and Echo knew his face was hot with a blush.

>Well everyone else in my contact board has a picture, everyone but you so I just thought I’d ask <

There, that response neither confirmed nor denied that he may or may not want the picture for other reasons. Like missing you, and wanting a reminder of how cute your face was.

Far far away from that backwater planet, back in the beating heart of the republic, you were sitting in your tiny one room apartment, biting your lip. So, the cutie wanted a picture did he? Currently you were sitting on your couch, work clothes tossed across the bed and the news playing in the background while you ordered take-out as a treat.

You weren’t the most put together, you admitted, but, after a quick scroll through all your pictures, you didn’t think any of them suited your needs either. After looking yourself over on the camera screen of your pad, you decided you looked good enough. Hair wasn’t bad, and, well, your oversized lounge top dropped off your shoulder in a way that, if you posed just right, looked very good. Just enough for Echo’s imagination to play with, if it wanted to play at all, that is.

After you were satisfied with the pic, you sent it before you could change your mind. The question was fair game, though, and the second the picture got through, you added a note to it.

>Your turn <

Was all it said, but it was enough.

Or, maybe not.

>My turn? <

He asked, which made you roll your eyes. Surely he wasn’t that dense. Your reply was quick.

>Uh yeah? I want a picture of you too, silly. <

While you waited on him, your dinner just so happened to arrive in a glorious knock at the door. Despite your eagerness to see what Echo did next, he would have to wait- you were starving after the day you had. You took your time getting your dishware, finding something other than the news to put on, and dishing out your food.

You had just settled back down on the couch when your pad went off again.

>I’m just not sure why, I have the same face every clone does it’s not special. <

You nearly choked on your dinner. What the kriff? Did Echo really just say that to you? You didn’t pretend to be an expert on clones, but even you knew that sharing those basic genetics didn’t mean all that. 

Another short message dinged through then and it only made your jaw drop more.

>What I mean is you can just get any picture of a clone off the net and it would work. < 

You thought your next words over long and hard. Afraid to say the wrong thing or go overboard with your reaction. In the end, you settled for something simple, and hoped he understood the full meaning behind it.

>But it wouldn’t be you, Echo. <

Back on his cot in that makeshift camp, Echo swallowed hard. He had never expected you to want a picture in return, and he definitely hadn’t expected you to say that when he expressed his confusion. His chest was all warm now, he didn’t know his insides could feel…what even was this? It felt almost prickly, but soft, it felt hazy, or fuzzy, maybe. He shifted around on his cot as he turned on the camera feature- then had to figure out how to take a picture of himself, which he’d never done before. Of his brothers? Sure, he had plenty of times, with his brother too, also plenty of times. But not him taking one of himself.

In the end it wasn’t a terrible attempt, his smile looked a little goofy, but the second time he tried it just looked like he had a bad toothache, so he went with goofy. Unfortunately his little photo shoot did not go unnoticed.

“Why’d you send that one?” Fives said as he read the messages over Echo’s shoulder.

“It was the best I could do,” Echo shrugged, it was too late anyway, it was already sent.

Fives snatched the data pad out of his hands again- why did his brother not understand personal belongings?! “Ah no no, we can do better! Come on, grab that rifle, we’re gonna make you look like a badass.”

It didn’t take long for the other troops of the 501st to get involved, and soon Echo was posing this way and that. But what really mortified him, was when General Skywalker himself chimed in, having them move to a spot just beyond the camp where an expanse of rugged desert stretched behind him.

“Okay, now tuck your helmet under your arm,” Anakin encouraged with an amused grin, just as Rex stepped back from adjusting the kama around his waist. 

“Now that is a pose worthy of an ARC trooper!” Kix grinned as he held up the camera.

And that’s what they took, a shot of Echo standing in the desert, one foot propped up on a boulder, rifle held like a staff in one hand, and helmet tucked under the other. The moment Kix took the photo, Fives once again snatched the pad up and began typing.

“Have this pic instead, baby,” he said out loud as he typed, making Echo’s blood go cold, “it’s much more me, winky face and-”

“Fives dont se-!”

“-send!” Only then did Fives hand the data pad back to him, grin smug and full of himself, “You can thank me later, Echo.”

Echo’s brain had stopped working as he looked over the horror his brother had sent you. He had called you ‘baby’! Not once, as much as Echo had wanted to, had he ever used a pet name when talking to you! And the picture, it was worse than he thought. Sure it made him look heroic, but also like an egotistical ass who was trying to grandstand in your private chats.

“I think it looks great,” Tup said as Echo started to smack his face with the pad.

Thankfully he didn’t see your reaction on the other end, the way you rolled around on your couch in laughter at the portrait that definitely was not ‘him’. You much preferred the adorkable grin in the first picture to whatever that second picture was.

>Your brothers made you take that, didn’t they? <

Was all you sent in answer, deciding to spare him the string of laughing faces you wanted to add.

>Yes. And Fives typed the message with it, sorry. <

>Not to worry, but, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick with the first pic. <

>I’d prefer that, thanks. <

.

Thankfully those weren’t the only pictures sent over the next few weeks. Chances for cheeky moments came up, like when you two bonded over how loud Mavis and his brothers were as the Professional Pod Racing Finals were aired. 

The boys were mostly just excited that they got to see the broadcast live for once, but Echo still thought it was amusing and sent you a picture of the boys yelling at the holo screen in their barracks. In turn you sent him a shot of you, sipping on some fizzy drink with eyebrows raised as Mavis stood on your couch in the background, making a choking motion at your own holo screen. “I know your pain” was the text across the picture, which made Echo laugh.

Another time you expressed interest in seeing his full armored ‘get up’ since you hadn’t when you met at the bar that night. Echo was happy to oblige, even goading you into sending your own ‘work selfie’ and getting a very nice picture in return. He wasn’t sure how you managed to make those gray officer uniforms look good, but you did, staring down at the camera from under that hat in a way that looked commanding and mysterious and-

Echo had to stow the picture away when his armor started to feel too tight.

But of course, photos weren't the only things you shared. You surprised Echo again and again with all the ways you showed him that you valued the time you two talked together. Like when you asked him if he liked games, then immediately found a version of Word-Path that you two could play together across the net. Much like your messages to each other, the game could be played during any free moment available, the board waiting patiently for the next move no matter how long it took one of you to make it.

Before he knew it, you were filling every free thought Echo had, and he was glad for it. He could pack away his feelings and fantasies when needed, he was still a damn good ARC trooper, but when there was a free moment to breathe? You. All you. Smiles over something funny you had said. Daydreams of seeing you in person again. Mulling over what to send you next in order to sound charming and witty and cute-

Cute, that’s right, you had called him cute the other day and he still felt giddy over something so small.

Kriff, Echo never knew someone could be as amazing as you. Never knew someone could make him feel the way you made him feel.

So, when the General gave them today’s good news, Echo knew he had to tell you ASAP.

>We’re coming back to Coruscant soon <

>That’s great! When? <

>We’ll be heading into hyperspace at 16:00 standard time, and with how long we’ll be in hyperspace, probably two rotations? <

Echo halted his typing, his mind seeming to stall. How was he going to ask you if you wanted to see him again? How could he come off as cool and calm without sounding like a jerk? Giving you the wrong idea was the last thing he wanted but-

>So, have any plans already? Maybe you could squeeze lil ol me into your schedule? <

Once again you proved that you could stop his heart without even trying. He held his breath as he read the text over again, like it was a dream come true. It was his dream come true, in a way.

As he typed out his reply Fives came up behind him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “Guess who’s getting another shot with his angel,” he sang as he shook Echo. “Just told her we were heading back, and she invited me over for dinner at her place!”

“That’s great,” Echo said with a genuine smile. Though that first night had ended for the better, Echo knew that he had liked Mavis quite a bit, and, knowing she was taking an interest too, made him happy for his brother.

“So you know what that means,” Fives continued to beam.

Echo faltered, “Uh, that you’re gonna…not get drunk and get lucky this time?”

“No- well, yeah, actually, but no! I was talking about you and your own little hottie,” he winked, “this leaves you two open to have a night all to yourselves.”

A cough found its way into Echo’s throat then. Mostly just in surprise of course, because, the moment he thought about it, the more he liked that idea. He took a breath, and was able to type out his next words to you with little to no hesitation.

>Fives just told me that he and Mavis are planning a night together. Are you okay with it just being the two of us? <

>Sounds great. Is 79’s your usual hang out? <

>It is, but if you have a better idea I’m all ears. <

>If you’re up for it, I know a great spot. Has a stunning view and great food. Aaaand considering you bought my drinks last time, dinner can be on me this time.<

Well, how could he say no to that?

Two days later, Echo was certain he could have never properly prepared himself for this date. He had never thought about what a perfect date would be for him, but somehow, you had nailed it. 

As if you could get any cooler, you had picked him up from the garrison riding a custom speeder bike, telling him to hang on tight as you shot into the air. He had never seen half the buildings and markers you pointed out to him as you drove, giving him a list of places you might visit later if he wanted. Of course, he was only half listening, mostly he was preoccupied with the way you felt between his arms. He was glad he had only left on the key parts of his armor today, letting the warmth of your body creep through his blacks.

Eventually, and almost to his annoyance, the speeder came to land on the tippy top of a building that, if Echo remembered your tour right, was some sort of office tower. Someone had taken up the roof with a rather ingenious idea: A cargo speeder converted to make and sell food, and the rest of the roof was taken up with little tables and picnic cushions. It was also the cleanest roof he’d ever seen, with a scutter droid booping about to pick up wayward trash and hovering lights bobbing about to cast it all in a romantic glow. Apparently, given the setting sun, you told him it was the perfect time to visit.

As soon as the pair of bothans handed you two your order, you were grabbing his hand again- which was not helping how sweaty and tight his skin was feeling at the moment. He didn’t want you to let go, though, and was glad you didn’t until you led him to the very edge of the roof, where one of those picnic-like futons lay.

He was chuckling while you pulled him down eagerly, crossing your legs and waving your hand at the open sky before you, “And here’s the view I promised you!”

Echo knew his face might hurt later from smiling so much, but he couldn't help it, there was definitely a view, he just didn��t have to look at the sky for it. 

But, he did, because you asked him to, and though he’d rather look at your face, the city did look spectacular up here. Smaller buildings and lanes of racing speeders spread out before you both like a spider web, but the best part was that it was high up enough to see the sun dipping lower in the sky, a rare sight in this place of such tall skyscrapers.

“So…?” you drew out an expectant tone.

“It’s,” he laughed a little, eyes already back on you, “totally wizard.”

The proud smile that lifted your lips made his heart jump and he had to distract himself by unwrapping his food and shoving the first bite into his mouth.

Just like your communications, conversation seemed to spark easily enough. It truly amazed Echo how you two were always able to talk as if you had known each other for years. Anything and everything was on the table, though the lighthearted tone called for silly stories the two of you had yet to share with each other. You particularly liked his story involving Hardcase and Fives mimicking Jedi as they played around with broom handles- only to be caught in the act by General Skywalker.

The food was long devoured, the sun having set, and the food stall closed for the night. If Echo cared about anyone but the two of you, he would have noticed that you were the only ones still sitting on the rooftop. That was fine, preferable, even. He would shut out all of the world when he was with you.

In fact, the only thing that distracted him was something crackling overhead, and your face lighting up. “Ha! The forecast was actually right for once.” You nudged his shoulder and pointed at the sky, at the dark clouds collecting overhead. “I was hoping it would rain tonight, you’re gonna love this.”

Echo raised an eyebrow, looking around at the open roof exposed to the elements, and failed to see why getting rained on during your meal was something to love, but he supposed he trusted you.

“It rains a lot on Kamino, right?” your eyes shifted back to him, tone quiet, perhaps wondering how Echo felt about his homeworld, since he’d never mentioned it before.

He nodded, “Almost constantly. It was a bit weird, realizing how little rain some planets get.”

“Yeah, Coruscant doesn’t get much, but when it does, you wanna be in a place like this,” you nudged his shoulder again, turning back to the clouds just as another rumble of thunder groaned. “Ah! Here it comes.”

Echo looked up too, automatically squinting his eyes to prepare for the raindrops- but they never hit his skin. Those eyes went wide at the sight above you both. The rain was coming down in a torrent, but each drop was caught some meters above, dancing in midair before rolling off to the side of some invisible bubble. It was like watching thousands of tiny glass tears collecting to make a canopy above you.

“They have an antigrav device to keep stuff from falling on the roof,” you explained, and the intimacy of your tone caused Echo to tear his gaze away from the sight and back to you.

Though your eyes were still entranced by the dancing water above, Echo was enraptured by the soft look of utter awe and appreciation on your face. 

“What do you think? Beautiful, right?”

If Echo was familiar with cheesy holo videos, he’d realize that saying “Yes,” in a dreamy tone while his eyes were wholly on you was one of the oldest tropes in the book. But, even if he did know that, it wouldn’t matter, he knew in that moment that his eyes would always be for you.

Swallowing hard, Echo took a chance, braving his impulse before he could back out. He leaned in closer to you, and brushed the very tips of his fingers across your cheek. That got your attention away from the sky above, and you turned your face to find him just a breath away.

That’s when his lips brushed yours.

It was feather light and sweet, a gentle press, he wanted to give you every opening to pull away if you wanted. Instead, your hand reached up to grip his bicep as you pulled him in closer. The fingers that had grazed your cheek were now cupping your face, drawing you in as the rain pattered overhead.

Despite the overwhelming feelings brewing in his chest, Echo managed to keep the affection from getting too wild. He liked this, liked how delicate the act was, careful, unrushed, enjoying the tenderness like hints of sugar on the tongue. You let out a little noise as you took your other hand and splayed it over his chest and he was about to wrap his arm around you.

But then, his commlink went off.

Only then did you two break apart. After blinking away the sugary haze of the kiss, you both looked down at his wrist. When Echo saw the comm code, his heart wanted to start a descent into his stomach. It was Captain Rex.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, starting to scramble to his feet, “let me take this?”

You nodded silently, and he thought he saw some worry etched on your face as he walked some ways away. The worry was warranted. His conversation was short, but his heart sank lower and lower the longer it went on and even after the call ended, he stood there for a moment, mind reeling against the news.

Swallowing hard, he straightened up and walked back to you, trying to keep the disappointment off his face. Even after he sat back down at your little picnic, he stayed silent for a few heartbeats.

“Anything important-”

“We’re shipping out again.” Echo didn’t mean to interrupt you, but the words came tumbling out like a toppled crate. “Got an emergency mission, shore leaves' been canceled.”

“O-oh.” Your reply was short, surprised, but Echo thought he could already hear the disappointment in your tone. That he had disappointed you. “Do you have to head back immediately?”

A breath left Echo’s chest as he finally met your gaze again. “We leave in ten standard hours, I have to make sure I’m on duty by then.” Another breath, this one harsher, pushing through his teeth like steam, “I just thought I’d have more time.” Thought I could have more time with you.

Ten hours, it wasn’t enough, hell, ten days wouldn’t be enough for him to get his fill of you.

“I wanted more time like this,” Echo admitted, and he hoped that looking into your eyes the way he was conveyed exactly what he meant by ‘this’.

He saw your throat tighten and your eyes narrow slightly in thought. “Ten hours?” you asked and he nodded. Another moment of thought passed, then his name was on your lips, a whisper as tender as the kiss you had just shared. You leaned in, your hand cupping his face. “Echo…come home with me.”

He blinked, “Wh-what?”

You were sliding closer to him now, leaving no space between your bodies. “I was just thinking, you have so little time left, maybe I could help make the most of it.” Those gorgeous, now half lidded, eyes of yours were trained on him as you dipped your face closer to his. Hot breath ghosted over his chapped lips, causing a pleasant shiver to ripple down his spine. “Echo, do you want to come home with me?”

He had wanted you since the moment you walked into that bar, so he answered, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you back into that intoxicating kiss. It was less careful this time, as he finally let some of his eager need bleed through. You didn’t seem to mind, wrapping your arm around him as you moaned against his lips.

When you finally parted again, his verbal answer was barely more than a hot breath of a word, “Please.”

You were still panting from the heat of the kiss as you obliged. Not taking your eyes off him, you took his hands as you rose, and walked him back to your speeder.

Your apartment felt like home.

Echo had grown to hate the sleeping pods on Kamino, and the only reason he still considered the planet home was because of his brothers. The barracks on the Resolute were a little better, livened up by members of his legion, his family. But you little home? The little oasis tucked away in the city? It was warmth and comfort and safety. He had only spent a few hours there, but he wanted to curl up in its inviting and personable air, wanted to lay with you in this private haven for days.

But Echo didn’t have days.

He stepped out of the refresher, armor back in perfect order, and he was glad he hadn't shut the door, as the sound of it might have woken you. The lights were dimmed, casting your gorgeous body into a romantic glow. You were laying on your stomach, arms tucked under the pillows and face buried in the sheets. The covers were barely covering you, giving him a wonderful view. He stepped closer to the bed, smiling softly at the peaceful look on your face, the way your hips shifted to a more comfortable pose, and how your hand reached out to knead at the vacant pillow beside you.

He didn’t want to leave.

You had been so perfect with him. Taking him apart piece by piece, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. Patient and sincere, you didn’t expect too much, but took everything he offered. Letting him- begging him to get lost in you, praising his hands, moaning for his lips, taking all of him. The phantom feel of your touch was still making him shiver, and the record of your voice playing back in his mind would haunt his lonely nights for years, he knew it.

Maker, you were perfect.

It was a stupid, fleeting thought, but when Echo had pulled you close afterwards, when he held you, he mused that maybe he wasn’t made for the war. Maybe he had been made for you. Fives was right. He was a stupid romantic, and all he wanted was to be your stupid romantic.

He needed to go.

The fleet would be leaving in little more than an hour, he needed to go, but he was glued to the spot, watching your form in the dim light. Maybe he had put too much of himself into this, maybe you didn’t feel the connection the same way he did, maybe he was just being clingy and hyperbolic, maybe-

You stirred, brows scrunching in a cute little frown, and it was only then that Echo realized that he had reached out to stroke your hair. You blinked up at him, the haze of sleep clinging to your smile.

“Hey,” your voice was husky, even more so than when you had called his name hours before. Then, your eyes took in his armor. “Is it really time to leave already?”

He nodded, and had to clear his throat before speaking, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no,” you lifted yourself up and the blanket fell from what little it had been covering before. “I’m glad you did, better than waking up to find you gone.”

That put some of his earlier thoughts at ease, and even more were soothed when you sat on your knees at the edge of the bed, put your arms around him and kissed him again. His hands went to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer, hoping the cold hardness of his armor wasn’t too harsh against your naked body. Your fingers found their way to his hair, just like they had when he was on his knees for you.

He had trouble opening his eyes when you broke the heated kiss, the haze of lewd memories clouding his mind. When they did flutter open, the hand that wasn’t holding you close moved up to cup your cheek. You hummed at the contact, placing a kiss on his palm.

“I…I wish you weren’t going,” you whispered suddenly, and Echo felt his heart soar. “I know you have to, though, ‘out there fighting for all of us.”

“For you,” the words tumbled out in a hushed breath, but he didn’t regret them. “C-can I see you again?” Damn, why did he have to stumble in his words now? “When I come back, I mean.” He swallowed, “I’d really like to see you again.”

You blinked up at him, smile sweet, sincere, as you repeated the same reassuring word he had before you took him home. “Please.”

 .

Work was agonizing for you now.

Before, your breaks had been a welcomed reprieve from the frequency bans and code lines, but now your those moments were just filled with thoughts of him. Worried thoughts. Echo, your sweet, gentle Echo. You weren’t sure when you started thinking of him as yours, maybe after you’d spent hours worshiping each other, but you didn’t suppress the thoughts, not now.

You had to focus on work.

But how could you when your heart sank any time a coworker mentioned the 501st? How could you when in the back of your mind you wondered if he’d had time to send you another message, time to assure you he was still alive despite being sent to the front lines again. Some part of you wondered how anyone could blame you for being distracted, but, thankfully, an even larger part of you pulled yourself together. It was hard to think straight with Echo never far from your thoughts, but you had to. Your work was too important, it could save too many lives. So you buckled down and told yourself that worry could wait for down time.

And oh, by the force did it.

You found yourself watching the news more and more often at night. Caught your fingers opening your inbox just to double check that you hadn’t missed a message. Maker, you had it bad, didn’t you? Thankfully the man who had so effortlessly stolen your heart was good at easing your worry. His messages to you hadn’t slowed, he contacted you any moment he could, played his next word in your ongoing game, sent pictures of him and his brothers with that dorky smile on his face.

How could you not fall for him?

And that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? Somewhere between the silly pics and kisses in the rain, you had fallen head over heels for the trooper. Fallen faster and harder than you ever had before. It scared you at first, how deep your feelings ran, but you didn’t have the heart to hide from them, not when you remembered the way he had held you, not when he had looked as though his heart was breaking when he left you that night.

Even still, you couldn’t tell him, could you?

Just how deep the well of your feelings for him were. It was too soon to say all that, perhaps. So you’d be content with those cute messages and online games. Well, not quite. One night you couldn’t resist the urge to see his face again. While you were making dinner, he had replied to your last text, mentioning that they would, thankfully, be in hyperspace for a while, giving them a much needed break. So, you tried something new, and asked if he had time for a holo call.

Your heart was leaping stupidly when, not five minutes later, there was a beep sounding from your home holo device. You pressed the ‘accept’ button without even checking who it was and, from the waist up, Echo’s image flickered to life. His brows were high, mouth open just slightly.

“Cyare, is something wrong? Are you okay?”

A relieved laugh came out as you leaned against your kitchen counter. “I’m fine, I just…wanted to hear your voice? Or maybe see your face.” Or maybe both, you added to yourself.

The holo crackled as he let out a breath, then, his image was smiling back at you. “In that case, I’m glad you asked me to call, because I…” he scratched the back of his neck, “I missed your voice too, and your face.” His eyes went wide. “The face part sounded weird, didn’t it?”

Another laugh, “No, it didn’t, it’s nice to know my face is missed.”

And just like that, you two settled into conversation, just like at the bar, just like on that rooftop. Everything just felt so right with Echo, even your heart wrenching worry. 

That wasn’t the only time you two spoke via holo call. Though, the second time was more heartbreaking than your constant worry, because it was a reminder of why you worried.

You had just been cleaning up before bed when the message came in.

>I know it’s late on Coruscant, but are you awake? <

Quicker than you thought possible with all the space between you two, the moment you replied “yes” a call came in. And your heart sank at the sight that flickered before you. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes apparent even in the blue hues, face unshaven, short hair ary as if he had been pulling at it.

“Hey,” his voice was too horse, too…broken.

“Echo, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He was silent for a bit, eyes averted, then, he drew in a breath, shaky, ragged. “We…we lost a lot of brothers today.” There was a sound behind him, like plastoid scraping against durasteel. The shake of the holo that followed confirmed that Echo had slid down a wall. Where was he? The background was dead silent so not the barracks, you prayed he wasn’t curled up in some random hallway alone.

“Talk to me,” you whispered, “I’m here, Echo, whatever you need, I’m here.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling another ragged breath between his teeth. “They hadn’t even been here that long,” he whispered, “they were so proud, so ready to serve in the legion. Some didn’t even have their names yet-” your name fell from his lips with a sob and it broke your heart that you couldn’t put your arms around him, pull him close so he knew he wasn’t alone. “No one’s gonna remember them, no one but me and a few others who bothered to talk to them. That’s all I kept thinking about, that no ones even gonna know what they were like, or know them well enough to miss them.”

You swallowed the tears that were building behind your eyes, Echo didn’t need that right now, he needed you. “Tell me what they were like.” The words were out before you could think them over, but you doubled down on the sentiment. “Talk about what they were like, so I can remember them. I’ll grieve for them with you, Echo.”

When his eyes darted back to yours, you saw something trail down his cheek and oh, how you longed to brush that tear away. You raised your hand to where his face would have been, hoping that he at least got the sentiment. He closed his eyes, perhaps imagining your palm on his cheek. A moment passed, and his next intake of breath was at least a little calmer.

“Okay.”

Hours passed, but you wouldn’t dream of complaining. He told you about all of them, the ones with names, the ones with numbers, the ones he’d only spoken to once. Told you all the little quirks and subtle traits they had, every notable thing they had said to him. And, he told you about their deaths.

It got harder to hold back those tears, but you managed it for him, because it was what he needed. Eventually he was spent, drained of anymore words for his fallen brothers. He still looked so tired, but you were glad when he told you they had another three days before their next mission. At least he had some time to rest. 

Though, your heart clenched when he mentioned the possibility of a covert operation of some kind.

“I should let you sleep,” he said eventually, “ ‘m sorry I kept you up this long.”

“Don’t apologize, you needed to talk.” When all he did was nod you added, “Are you sure you’re ready to hang up?” 

Something told you not to hang up, to keep him as close as the stars allowed. 

“I can stay on and-”

“No, no, I think I’m ready for bed too,” he somehow managed the smallest smile then, “thank you. Thank you for staying up with me this long.”

You smiled back at him, still longing to pull him into your embrace. “Echo, anytime you need me, I’m here, you know that, right?”

He was silent for a beat, just staring back at you with tired, almost astonished eyes.

“I love you.”

Who would have known those words sealed your fate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and before you could even fully register what he said, he whispered your name, and repeated the affection with a firmer tone.

“I love you so much. I probably should have waited til I saw you in person again, but, I couldn’t stomach waiting, not after what happened today. I…I hope it’s not too soon or…”

“I love you too, Echo.”

Some more tension left his shoulders, and his expression relaxed. “When I see you again, I’ll say it properly, with you wrapped up in my arms.”

People rarely see heartache and pain coming, and your fate was sealed.

“I’ll hold you to that, trooper. But, for now, you better get some sleep, okay?”

A fate of longing and grief.

“Okay, goodnight, cyare.”

You couldn’t have known your love wouldn’t last.

Three days later, Echo warned you that he had to go silent, that their next mission was a covert op, that it might be awhile before you got another message, but that he’d call you the moment he could.

To tell you he was okay.

The ding came when you were on your lunch break.

To tell you he was safe.

Hoping it was Echo you opened the message instantly.

To tell you he loved you again.

Your heart stopped when you saw that it was Fives, not Echo, but his brother in arms using his comm.

In the end, he was a hero.

The device clattered to the ground, rage and tears wracking your body fast and hard.

>I know he would want me to tell you, so it didn’t come from some stranger. <

Your body was soon to follow and Mavis was by your side in an instant.

>He was trying to save our shuttle <

She held you tight as the sobs tore your throat apart.

>He was a hero. <

You didn’t want him to be a hero! You wanted him here and safe and alive!

>I’m so sorry. <

[cutelittleriot]

Return to origin holiday special part 2 finale

It's been about 3 days since the holiday party and Barb had eaten the origin fruit and everything was going fine in Pop village.

Poppy was busy getting ready to help Bridget with her wedding and Branch was off helping King Gristle at the moment with preparations.

She was off to go get some recipes to use for the party when Debbie showed up and flew up to her holding a letter. "Oh it's already that time? Man it sure does pass quickly I swore it was like it was only yesterday" Poppy jokes as she pets Debbie's fur.

Debbie feeling tired from the flight rests beside Poppy for the moment and she happily beging to pet the little bat as she opens up the letter.

'Yo Poppy

It's Barb I decided I'm gonna write as the days progress so right now it's the day after I ate that glitter bomb of a fruit and right now I'm so ITCHY! WOW HOW DID YOU TWO DEAL WITH THAT?!

Also along with this stupid itchiness my back has been hurting nothing too bad but it's very annoying. Thanks to these 2 annoyances I can't even rock out properly. I decided I'm gonna use my rage room for now until this stupid phase ends.

Apparently next are the fangs I can't wait to get them! Well wish me luck tomorrow but for you it's the next part of this letter.'

Poppy raised a eyebrow in confusion,what did she mean her back was hurting? That never happened to her or Branch. It might be a rock troll thing hopefully,she just hopes Barb is alright.

Day 2

Yo so uhm I got my fangs they are cool and all but why did some of my other teeth also get sharp? Like all of my front teeth are now sharp,they aren't as long as my fangs but still.

I don't hate them though far from it I love them to death they make me look so cool! Bet it's a rock troll thing but I'm doing what your little loverboy said and I'm writing this down even if I hate doing this ugh

But yeah I bit into some meat and there were my old teeth I'm so keeping them btw after that my other teeth were hurting for the entire day that wasn't fun but still

Oh also back is still hurting btw I checked it out I have these 2 bumps on them I should probably be concerned but I really don't care it's not like they have prevented me from doing anything so I don't care

Anyways time to Wait for tomorrow ugh I really don't want those pads they make me look so....cutesy ugh'

Poppy is now beginning to get worried for her friend. There's bumps on her back now?! And her other teeth are sharpened?! She quickly tries to calm herself down again it is probably just a rock troll thing.

Day 3

Alright so I'm getting pawpads but the weird thing is I'm only getting them on the palm of my hands for some reason?

Well I'm not complaining that's for sure they are tolerable that's all I'm saying for now

Well that's all that's going on for now but before I go I noticed my pupils are becoming more slitted that's cool and those bumps on ky back are bigger now and for some reason i can sort of move them? Anyways later Poppy gonna go rock out for a while

Poppy reread that part again,pupils become slitted?! And what does she mean she can move those bumps now?!

She definately needs to tell Branch about this later. Debbie who is now better after resting for a bit gets up and nuzzles her before flying off and Poppy waves off the little bat.

She really hopes Barb is doing alright though.

It's been 4 days since the last letter arrived and Poppy has been anxious she knows how it went for her and Branch she could only imagine what pain Barb went through.

Her tail twitching in anxiousness she waits for the sound of Debbie's wings flapping or even her scent to ease her worries. She has been getting used to her heightened senses it has taken some getting used to though,but now she can mostly handle it.

Soon enough her ears twitch and she can hear the familiar sound and she smiles in anticipation but also in worry.

She quickly takes the letter from the bat who decides to lay in her hair to rest. She uses her claws to tear open the letter and begins to read it.

Day 4

'Alright so I know somethings up cause from that encyclopedia your boyfriend gave me I think somethings different is happening to me right now.

Cause my fingertips are bright red and they feel weird, they don't really hurt they actually feel more numb than anything and they feel more.....hard than anything else. They look like claws they are pointed but unlike yours they sure don't retract or anything like that.

I dig em tho they look cool and I bet I could perform some even more sick rifts with these things!

Well that's all oh and I checked the mirror and yeah my pupils are definately slits now and those bumps are continuing to grow ugh its starting to become hard to wear shirts anymore

Anyways that's all later

Poppy tilts her head "Hmmm?" So looks like rock troll claws are different compared to pop troll claws very good information to know. She begins to read day 5's entry

Day 5

So I now have full on claws on my hands so that's cool. Oh also it seems I don't really have paws compared to you two they are more hand like than paw like.

Anywho got those pads growing on my feet now again I don't have any on my toes just the bottom of my feet feels weird ngl

But that's all for now I have to cut holes in my shirts for those bumps tho my dad knows what they are but he won't tell me he just says I will like how they will turn out whatever that means

Laterz

Poppy is now more curious as to what Barb will look like but now she is dreading the next days entry that's when it's at its worst. Bracing herself she continues on.

Day 6

Ow

That's it

She blinks once twice and rereads it. "Ow? Just ow?" She asks outloud. THAT DOESNT GIBE ANY CONTEXT AS TO WHAT HAPPENED WHAT DOES SHE MEAN OW?!

Her ears lower as she tries to figure out just what Barb meant by 'ow'. That one word alone could mean so many things. Did she get didigrade legs like her and Branch? Did something else happen?

She is left with those thoughts as Debbie flies off back home. She takes the letter and heads back to her pod. She just hopes Barb is alright, she knew what she was signing up for when she ate that fruit but still. She goes to sleep hoping everything will be alright.

It's the next day and Poppy was still busy preparing stuff for Bridget's wedding when her ears perk up and she hears the sound of a angler bus approaching. Looking up she sees it descend and it opens up revealing....Barb and her new self and wow she looks so cool.

Branch who heard the angler bus too heads over to where Poppy is and gapes at Barb. She grins showing off her sharp teeth and jumps down from the angler bus.

"Whats up guys ya like my new look?" She grins as the two take in her appearance. Her fur wasn't as long as theirs for sure but still there. The ends of her fingers have turned into bright red claws and a dark red pawpad was on the palm of her hand.

The same thing goes for her toes as they too have been turned into claws along with her new digigrade legs. Her tail sways behind her,it was the same color as her fur with a bright red line of fur going from the base to near the end of the tip of her tail which is now shaped like a arrow. Her slit pupils look over the two as she gazes their reactions.

"Oh my gosh Barb you look so cool!"Poppy gushes as she looks her over. "If you think this is cool check these out!" She says and turns around showing off "Are those wings?!" Branch exclaims as he looks at the two wings that were folded against Barbs back. They were the same color as her fur with the inside being a bright red.

"Yep our ancestors had wings and such,don't know why we don't know cause these are so cool!" She tells them as her tail wags and the wings give a little flap.

"I honestly can't imagine having wings having a tail is weird enough but even more limbs and appendages? Yeah no" Branch says shuddering at the thought of having wings.

"Can you fly with them?" Poppy asks curiously. "Yep sure can but only for a very short time before I'm exhausted,trust me it's not as easy as you think it took me hours to try and just get off the ground" Barb complains.

"But yeah I'm liking the new look don't regret eating that thing. So you guys want to go hang and do some crazy stuff?" Barb asks with a feral grin. "Uh yeah!" Poppy agree with her tail wagging in excitement. "Uh Poppy maybe we shouldnt?" Branch says a bit apprehensive. "Alright then chicken we will leave you out of this" Barb says intentionally annoying Branch who grumbles before joining the two as they go out and have some fun in their new bodies and to help Barb get used to her new self.

For rock trolls it goes

Stage 1 fur

Stage 2 fangs and teeth

Stage 3 pawpads

Stage 4 claws

Stage 5 pawpads on feet

Stage 6 toes turn into claws and legs become digigrade

Stage 7 tail grows

And throughout this entire process wings are slowly growing out of the trolls back they allow the troll to fly but only for very short periods and then the troll will have to rest for a bit

Here she is (I tried guys I really did)

[amalgamateofficial]

Amalgamate Ch. 20 Progress Report

Hey, y'all! Sorry this chapter's been taking ten-billion years and a thousand lifetimes to complete. Honestly, the number of roadblocks that came between me and my progress on Amalgamate was absurd to the point of being almost comical (almost).

But I am very, very close to being done. I've been doing the final readings of ch. 20 the past week, but I got slowed down by the fact that there were a few scenes I wasn't happy with, so I more or less rewrote them. I'm gonna start up another reading today, and my goal is to see how far I can get without stopping to do any major editing. I'll reread the chapter over and over until it's polished enough that I can read the entire thing in a single day, and that'll be the signal to me that it's time to transfer the draft to AO3 and get the A/Ns ready.

That day should (hopefully) be any day now. I can't give a specific date yet, but soon. Definitely very soon. I'm getting sooooo close to a draft I'm happy with.

But in the meantime, would y'all like another short (and still kinda unpolished) preview of the chapter? Like a road trip snack to get us through the drive to our destination? I'll put it under the cut for those who prefer not to see previews :)

Anyway, I'll continue to keep you all updated as I finish up this chapter, and I'll definitely let you all know as soon as I think I'm about to post it.

Thank you all so much for your patience T_T

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 5 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

TW: Allusions/emotional flashbacks to previous sexual assault/abuse. AGNSTY TENSION. Affection 'rehearsals' hehehe.The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: PG-13? (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: Oh, my darlin's, I'm sorry this took so long, but the next installment is FINALLY HERE! And it's hefty! Hopefully the ridiculous amount of angsty, yearning, slow-burny tension makes up for the delay. 😏 I think (hope) you're really gonna like this one cuz things start to get a tad steamier between our little Dolores and our handsome Elvis. Teehee 🤭 I honestly can't wait to see what y'all think of this chapter!

And thank you SO MUCH for the encouraging comments and asks coming in about this work. I was really afraid no one was interested in this one because it's such a slow burn, but y'all are giving it some love and that makes my heart sing! ❤️ Thank you for continuing to reblog, like, comment, and ask!

(BTW, I'm still working on fixing my masterlists and hope to have that done soon! Until then, you might want to visit my Wattpad or AO3, to catch up or reread...)

The physical pressure of hundreds of screaming and crying fans coupled with reporters shouting garbled questions has you feeling as though your head might burst. You don’t know how anyone could ever get used to this or find any semblance of safety in what seems like a riot waiting to happen, but even in his weakened state, Elvis smiles charmingly at the crowd. He seems unfazed by the way these girls reach for him with wild eyes, with a fervor unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Even more, the way he hesitates tells you he wants to stop in the throng to speak to them and sign autographs. You have to squeeze his hand and pull him towards the waiting train to remind him it’s not possible, not today anyway.

For the first time, you are grateful for the way his long, slender fingers wrap around yours, his hand tight around you. You fear if he lets go you will be lost and trampled by the crowd, unable to get on the train that will take you away from the hell that awaits if you stay. You try not to think too hard about the looks the fans give you, ranging between abject curiosity to outright jealousy from the way their idol grips you.

Finally, you all make it up into the large coach, and you let out the breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. You assume that Elvis will release you the moment you step into the relative quiet of the passenger carriage, but instead he wraps his arm around your waist in an intimate way that almost shocks you. It’s then, when you turn to shoot him a warning look, that you realize how pale he looks, sweat beading at his temples. He is using you to stay upright, to save face in front of everyone. Concern rolls through you. Looking over at him, your heart skips with anxiety of how to get him alone to check him out. But subterfuge is not your specialty and you falter.

Somehow, even in his illness, Elvis picks up on your dilemma. “Hey, we’re both tuckered out and are gonna get some rest,” he slurs out with a chuckle, emphasizing tuckered out and rest as though implying something completely unrelated to sleep. Normally, you would be appalled at the suggestive nature of the statement, but by the way he grips your waist as if his life depends on it, you know this has nothing at all to do with sex. He’s covering, giving you both an excuse to be alone.

Lamar gives Elvis what he thinks is a knowing grin, while the Colonel and Vernon try to hide the worry in their eyes.  

Elvis clings close to you, leaning on you as he guides you towards the next train car. You suppose to anyone looking, his weakness is confused with affection for the way he places his head on yours and holds you tight. And all this might make you uncomfortable if not for the fact that you know he’s in distress of some kind. Your mind is already whirring with what you need to do, which takes away from the fact that you’ve allowed more physical contact from Elvis in the last few days than you would have liked.

But such is the job, you think. This incredibly bizarre and unbelievable job.

In the next car, you both stumble into the narrow hallway on one side as Elvis looks through the little windows and into the private compartments until he sees his things, along with yours, on the floor. You are a little surprised at the size of the room as you both lurch through the doorway, it being equipped with everything from two larger-sized beds, a sink, and what you assume is a small toilet behind another door. You’ve never seen anything like it, considering your experience of train travel is limited to the subway and the Long Island Railroad. If you weren’t so preoccupied with helping Elvis, you might stop to admire how the other half lives.

Thankfully, someone had already retrieved your luggage, along with your medical bag, from the car and hauled it onto the train. You are suddenly mortified at the assumption that you are staying in the same quarters as Elvis. And, worse, by the looks of it, it’s true. A sick feeling churns in your stomach when you realize this won’t likely be the only time people jump to that conclusion; in fact, it’s what the Colonel and Elvis want people to think. In your haste to get out of New York, you didn’t have time to think about how such things might tarnish your reputation.

What reputation? I’m already damaged goods.

You think you might vomit at that.

Elvis plops down on the edge of one of the beds, with a sigh of what you think might be relief. “You look a little green in the gills there, honey…you all right?” he gasps out.

His words yank you from your dismal thoughts. “I’m fine,” you snap, pulling the curtains closed. Covering your embarrassment with ire, you know he shouldn’t be worrying about you anyway, not in his condition. Then you rifle through your bag for your thermometer, stethoscope, and blood pressure cuff, placing them on the bed next to him.

“Sorry I asked.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

“How are you feeling?” you ask quietly, changing the subject. “How’s your breathing?”

“I feel pretty damn awful, but I ain’t breathin’ too bad,” he responds, breathless, looking up at you with glassy, innocent eyes. Going through your mental checklist, you feel his forehead and his cheeks with your wrist. He’s cold and clammy, and a little too pale for your liking.

“You’ve got to be honest with me, Elvis, or else I can’t help you. I can hear you wheezing,” you say, popping the thermometer in his mouth before he can rebut. He shrugs instead, batting those infuriatingly long lashes at you.

You place your fingers at his pulse point and watch the second hand on your watch. Doing the math in your head, you realize his pulse is faster and more thready than you’d like.

“Can you…?” you motion towards his necktie and shirt. He nods, gleaning your meaning, and shrugs out of his heavy coat and uniform jacket, throwing them off to the side. In the meantime, you remove your own winter coat. Luckily, the coach is warm enough that you feel comfortable but not stifled by the heat.

You pluck the thermometer from his mouth. “No fever, though your temperature is slightly elevated,” you tick off, shaking the mercury in the glass out of habit.

Elvis unties his tie, pulling it off unceremoniously. “That’s good, right?” he asks, while undoing the buttons on his shirt. You notice his hands are shaking slightly and his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

“Well, based on the state of you, I’m thinking you had a fever at the base,” you say with concern, “but, yes, it’s better that you don’t have one now.”

He pauses, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his white undershirt.

“All the way off, please,” you command, and he raises a perfect eyebrow at you suggestively.

“Usually, girls are a little more excited when asking me to undress,” he says coyly, his lip raising in that smirk of his.

You roll your eyes, trying not to think about that, and hold up the blood pressure cuff instead.

“Ooh, one of those kinky types, huh?” he winks with a chuckle, which quickly turns into a hacking cough.

“Is it possible for you to be serious for more than two seconds?” you scoff, annoyed at the heat that’s risen to your cheeks despite yourself.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with faux seriousness, saluting you. He bites his lips together to hide his smile as you wrap the cuff around his bicep.

You try to temper your annoyance with the fact that he’s going through a lot and managed to put on a performance of a lifetime in front of all those reporters and fans, considering how awful he must be feeling physically.

It’s actually rather remarkable, you think, that he has that kind of commitment and fortitude. The man could barely stand a day ago and has somehow managed, through sheer willpower, to get himself out of the hospital. The hospital he should still be in.

A wave of unease washes over you when you realize you are the only one managing his care for the time being. If something happens to him on my watch…The pressure of that responsibility feels almost untenable after seeing the hordes of fans outside. Your stomach rolls again.

Distracted, you are reaching for the stethoscope when you hear the sliding door begin to move. Your heart skips a beat with panic because no one is supposed to know what you are actually here for and with your medical supplies out, it will be quite obvious to anyone looking in. Frozen and wide-eyed, there is only a second to look at Elvis before he is springing into action.

A little yelp escapes you as he yanks you down sideways into his lap and wastes no time in pulling your head towards him. When you realize he fully intends to kiss you, your entire body tenses because Gianni suddenly flashes in your mind. Fear courses through you—not again, please, not again—and you cannot seem to grasp what and why this is currently happening. Gasping, you turn your head just in time for Elvis’ pillowy lips to meet your cheek.

His large hands grip your waist tight to him, not allowing you to jump away as you attempt to flee his lap. But when his soft lips travel down your cheek and continue downward, your body suddenly lights up as though he’s set you on fire, and not at all in a way you expect. Tingles alight under your skin, circumventing your fear as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, lips pressed into your sensitive skin. Your pulse throttles ahead, a welp escaping your lips, and you freeze.

“Hey, EP, do ya want me to—” Lamar says opening the door all the way. Upon seeing the scene in front of him, he exclaims, “Oh, shit, sorry, sorry!”

“Jesus, Lamar! What have I told you ‘bout knockin’ before enterin’?!” Elvis growls, ceasing his barrage on your neck and lifting his head to glare at his friend.

You are flushing with embarrassment and confusion. But it only takes a moment for your addled brain to finally catch up to what is happening, and as to why Elvis deemed it appropriate to start necking you with no warning in front of his friend.

“I’m sorry, man, it won’t happen again! Go ahead and go back to…whatever y’all are doin’,” Lamar fumbles with a chuckle, then makes a hasty exit, the door sliding shut behind him.

The moment the latch clicks, you launch yourself out of Elvis’ lap, pushing him back as you do so. You have no doubt that not even your olive skin tone can hide the furious blush blotching your cheeks.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?!” you hiss at him indignantly, straightening your dress.

His voice comes out low and rumbling in a way you’ve not heard before. “Little bird, you cannot go tensing up like that every time I gotta kiss on ya. Makes it look like I was forcin’ myself on ya, and I can’t have that,” he says firmly, chastising you, his accent thick.

“Wh-what?” you sputter in disbelief. “You—you, there was no warning! How was I supposed to know what you were thinking as you…” you wave your arm at him, as though that is enough to express your jumbled thoughts, “…did whatever that was?”

Elvis rises from the edge of the bed, his eyes darkening with what you think is frustration. Your breath catches in your throat when he crosses the small space towards you, and you desperately want to counter by stepping backwards, but you force yourself to hold steady.

“I did what was necessary to hide that you are in fact my nurse and not my girlfriend.” He holds his arm, the blood pressure cuff dangling from it. “I didn’t have many options.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, your mind putting all the pieces together. It was clever, really, how he managed to conceal the cuff and all your medical supplies by the way he’d pulled you into his lap. You’re not so sure the kissing and the necking was entirely required, though he was trying to sell the ruse in the best way he knew how. No one was likely to question Elvis Presley kissing on a girl in his lap.

“I know I surprised you but being my girl in front of others is part of the job. And if you can’t do the job you were hired to do, there’s still time to get off this train,” he says, deadly serious, pointing to the door, those seemingly endless eyes never leaving yours.

“No!” you squeak. The fear pouring through your veins reminds you of the fact that Elvis holds your fate in his hands. You clear your throat before quickly following up, “No, I can…I can do it.” You force yourself to hold his gaze, to show him you are serious, too, because you cannot go back. You’ll do anything not to go back.

Elvis’ eyes search yours for a moment, and he nods. Then he looks over you almost quizzically, eyes softening.

That is when you realize you are shaking, badly. Frantically, you clasp your hands together behind your back, hiding as much as much as you can, willing your body to stop showing such weakness. You close your eyes, mortified at your behavior in front of the man you now work for. Because, as he made perfectly clear, this is your job.

Heart still pounding against your ribcage, you know the forced encounter on Elvis’ lap triggered a cascade of terror bottled up from your sickening experience with Gianni only a few days ago. Feelings you are usually able to compartmentalize are running rampant inside you and you feel upside down with fear that Elvis will unknowingly send you back into the viper’s nest you are desperate to escape.

A gentle finger under your chin lifts it, compelling your eyes up and open. Elvis’ oceanic eyes churn with concern and lock onto yours.

“I will never hurt you, Dolores,” he says, voice calm but firm.

The intuition behind his words startles you and flays you open. Your wounds are still far too fresh for this, which can be the only reason, you think, that your usual carefully walled-off exterior begins to crack.

Men have always hurt you. This one should be no different. The man is a consummate performer, a master of manipulating the masses. You have no reason to trust him, not yet.

Other than the fact that I hold his life and reputation in my hands, a quiet inner voice whispers.

But for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, it could be true.

It’s hard to look into his soulful eyes and not believe that he is good.

He holds you there a moment longer, then releases you. Your breath shudders out and you turn away quickly, swiping away the tears welling in your eyes with your still shaking hands. You force a deep breath, then another, composing yourself before you straighten and turn back to him.

Walls back up, you nod and point to the bed. “Settle, so I can take your blood pressure,” you order.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles.

*

The more miles that are put between you and New York, the less constricted you start to feel, and that tension that Gianni or your father will magically appear and drag you back home starts to dissipate slightly. Watching the wintery landscapes race by out the window, you still can’t completely shake the feeling that danger is lurking around every corner though.

In this, you are incredibly grateful for the private coaches reserved for Elvis. It’s relieving that you don’t have to worry about Lamar or Vernon, or even the Colonel, a man you still don’t trust but you feel will not undermine you when he has nothing to gain by doing so.

Now that there is time to think, the hectic frenzy surrounding Elvis on pause for the moment, jumbled feelings about last couple of days creep up on you. After you’d quickly read and signed the Colonel’s contract, Lamar had driven you home mid-morning when you knew no one would be there to stop you from packing up your meager belongings.

You can’t help but wonder at your father’s reaction when you never came home from work, what he must have done when he found the letter you left on your dressing table, along with Gianni’s ridiculous engagement ring. The letter stated that you’d found a good job elsewhere and couldn’t in good conscience marry a man you didn’t love. There were no specifics—nothing about Elvis or even mentioning Tennessee. You figure it’s only a matter of time before someone gets wind through the press of where you’ve gone off to, but until then, you hope to put as much distance between you and your old life as possible.

Something tells you your room had probably been destroyed in a fit of rage.

You’d left notes and a little bit of money for your brothers in their rooms. There is an ache twisting in your heart that you didn’t get to tell them goodbye in person. You try not to be worried about them, as the twins are all but grown men and will protect Paul, if need be, though your father has never shown them the violence he’d aimed at you and your mother.

It’s unlikely anything will change for them anyway. After all, they’ve been groomed to serve in the famiglia since they were children. Tony is the only one who’d expressed a desire, other than you, to get out. But as much as it pains you to leave them, your little consolation is that the money might help if they wanted to go themselves. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach, but the need to survive pushes you forward regardless.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, little Lo’?” Elvis plops down next to you, throwing his arm over your shoulders to pull you close into his side. He surprises you out of your thoughts and you jump a little in your seat. You are grateful to see that he seems better now, his color returned and his breathing normal. Your immediate instinct is to shrink away from his touch, but Lamar is sitting across from you both, watching closely enough that Elvis pulls you back towards him and grips you in the way that reminds you of the façade your job entails.

You let him hold you close, forcing a tight-lipped smile in lieu of the grimace that attempts to grace your features. “Oh, just thinking about how I’ve never been this far away from New York before,” you say, thinking on your feet. “I suppose I’m a little nervous about it.” It’s not a lie, you think, and it might explain your anxious behavior to Lamar. But after “catching” you and Elvis earlier, you don’t think Lamar even considers another option for your presence.

*

As the day and a half train ride to Memphis drags on, Elvis’ restlessness is concerning. You’ve told him he needs to sleep, or at least lie down away from the others, but he brushes you off at every turn. It’s not as though you haven’t worked your share of 24-hour shifts, but you don’t feel like you can truly rest until Elvis does—and he seems to interrupt you with conversation or bursting into song any moment your eyes begin to drift closed—that and his insistence to make an appearance at every train stop and his bouncing nerves have you irritable.

You are more than a little curious at the fact that he seemed to rebound so quickly after getting on the train and somewhat concerned that perhaps there is something more at play than you are aware of. Something behavioral? Pharmaceutical? you wonder. Or maybe he’s just excited to be going home. But you don’t know Elvis well enough yet to go throwing accusations and assumptions around. It doesn’t stop your analytical mind from trying to solve the puzzle, however.

This, coupled with your worry of what you’ve gotten yourself into and the need to keep your exhaustion at bay, has you distracted, to say the least.

So, when the Colonel corners you in the hallway of the sleeper car, your guard is down and you are not quite as prepared as you might usually be.

“Young lady, you are gonna need to improve your attitude towards our boy or else no one is gonna be convinced as to why you are travelling home with him! You think we don’t notice that every time speaks to you, you roll your eyes and when he touches you, you jump away like a startled cat?” the Colonel hisses at you. Gone is the silver-tongued man sympathetic to the plight of you completely changing your life in an instant.

Your heart catches in your throat. You didn’t think you were being that obvious. “I-I’m sorry. I am working on it, sir. I’m just not used to his-his type of affections,” you say, hating that a sliver of your fear shows in your voice because you know a man like the Colonel will use your weakness to his advantage at some point or another.

“Well, I suggest you get used to it and quick, or else we’re all gonna be in a world of trouble.” The way he looks at you suggests it is you who will bear the brunt of that trouble and your eyes go wide. “Do you understand me?”

“Oh, I’m sure she understands ya just fine, Colonel,” Elvis’ drawling voice comes from behind. You both whip around to look at him. “Don’t ya worry about a thing. I’ll get her situated before Memphis.” He seems so calm and sure of himself that you almost believe it.

The Colonel looks from Elvis to you and back again before he nods. “I’m sure you will, my boy,” he says with a warm smile, his demeanor changing on a dime. Elvis just looks at him expectantly. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He shoots you a warning glance before heading back down the tiny corridor.

Once he’s gone, you close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, praying silently, Please, God, give me the patience and ability to do what needs to be done.

“Now, Little Bird, you need to come with me,” Elvis says, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the private compartment you share.

You jerk your hand out of his. “Elvis, you really need to get some rest before we reach Memphis, and so do I. You’ve been up for more than a day, and you can’t do that anymore, not in your condition. We can talk about everything else later,” you say, worn. You point to his bed as though that will be enough to mollify him while you try desperately not to think about the fact that your bed is in the same room as his.

He looks at you as though you’ve grown horns. “I ain’t sleepin’ right now, and no, this can’t wait till later cuz unfortunately, the Colonel is right. You’re as skittish as a cat and look like you want nothin’ to do with me, and everyone’s gonna get savvy to that real quick if we don’t fix it,” he says pointedly.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, your fatigue and insecurity gets the better of you. “And how exactly do you think we can fix this, Elvis? I’ve known you all of, what, three days? I’m not—I haven’t been the kind of girl who…” you trail off, stopping before you reveal too much of yourself.

He’s right, and you know it. You need to be better at this. You need to do better, for everyone’s sake. And you hate that you are the weakest link when you need to be strong. Elvis just looks at you expectantly.

Something finally snaps inside you. “I don’t know how to do this! I’m not an actress—I’m just a nurse! And I’m completely exhausted, a-and you—you! You’re like a little child who won’t go down for a nap, running yourself ragged, and you’re not making my job any easier!” you ramble into a shout, heart pounding and stomping your foot.

Silent, Elvis cocks his head at you, taking you in from head to toe. “Okay, then, you do this with me, and then I’ll try to sleep, no arguments.”

At this point, you’ll do almost anything to get the both of you some much needed rest. “Fine. But not just 30 minutes, Elvis. You need real sleep, and so do I, at least a couple of hours—no trying to get out of it to—to wave at fans.”  

He huffs. He knows you’ve caught him out, but finally, he relents. “Alright.”

“Good. Now what exactly do you want me to do to fix this?” you ask, trepidatious but relieved that sleep is in your near future. You cross your arms over your chest.

“Alright, so, I remembered something an experienced actor helped me with when my costar and I got real nervous about sharing our first on-screen kiss. We was all stiff and awkward cuz we didn’t really know each other and were both a little shy and had never done anything like that before, and I kinda liked her a little…anyways, it was real weird,” he bumbles out excitedly.

You have no idea where he’s going with this, but you’re already feeling heady with the exhaustion and nerves, your patience thin.

“I was thinkin’, well, this is like a brand-new acting job for you, right? You ain’t never done this before and you’re not comfortable with me yet, but we gotta get you there cuz we’re shooting the scene real soon, ya know what I mean?” His blue eyes are bright and excited, and you think that, yes, maybe what he’s saying is starting to make sense.

You nod slowly.

“See, all we need is some rehearsal. A way to get to know each other without everyone watchin’,” he says. His body does that thing you’ve noticed—the one where energy seems to pulse through him and he has to move. His leg is going a mile a minute. Part of you wonders if he, too, is nervous about whatever this plan of his is, and you’re not sure if that is comforting or not. For a man as worldly as you assume him to be, he shouldn’t be nervous with you, of all people. Not when he’s been with movie starlets and models.

“Little Lo’, you’re gonna have to trust me on this…can you do that for me?” he says, stepping in close to you.

You can’t help the way you counter his proximity by stepping back, your eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. What are we doing?”

Elvis looks at you with a raised brow, waiting.

“Fine. I-I guess I’ll try my best,” you finally relent.

“Okay, good,” he says softly, stepping into your space. “Now you’re gonna touch me, nice and slow.”

“Excuse me?” you yelp nearly falling backwards in your haste to move away from him.

“No! No, not like that! Maybe I didn’t phrase that so good,” he says a little bashfully, and the pink on his cheeks tells you he didn’t mean it quite the way you took it.

“What exactly did you mean, then?” You hold your breath waiting for his answer.

“Well, you do have to get used to me being in your space, honey, but I realize it’s always me pushing in on you. So, I want you to get used to being in my space, to get used to touching me before I try to touch you. But not like what you was thinkin’ before, just affectionate like,” he scrambles to explain.

You aren’t used to affectionate touches. Touch of any kind, unless it’s related to your work, is usually uninvited and without good intentions. But he’s right, this is your job now, and maybe thinking of it as such will help you. And he’s being kind and thoughtful enough to try and give you a modicum of control over this strange situation.

Your heart begins to race. “How—I mean, what should I do?” you ask hesitantly, not at all sure where to begin.

“Well, maybe start with my hands, since you’ve held them before?” he says, quietly, as though he doesn’t want to spook you. His eyes are open and honest, and nothing about him conveys aggressiveness.

I’m safe. He won’t hurt me, you chant in your head. This is just part of my job.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, stepping towards him.

“Okay.” It comes out of your mouth as a whisper. Reaching out for him, you start to take both of his larger hands in yours but stop abruptly.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” you blurt out self-consciously, “or even been on many dates. That’s part of the reason why I’m not used to being touched by, or—or touching, a man.” You don’t know why you say it, only that maybe it’ll be enough of an explanation of why you are just so bad at this.

Elvis’ eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Really? A pretty girl like you hasn’t had one boyfriend?”

A flash of heat blazes your face at his compliment, which you push away. You scoff instead, “No boyfriends, and I-I can count the number of dates on one hand.”

“Your family religious? Or you just have strict parents or somethin’?” he asks, nodding, as if he knows all about girls and their strict, religious parents. But you are quite sure he knows nothing about la famiglia or the kinds of fathers who make men disappear for a living.

“Or something…and I didn’t really have time to date in nursing school. But the one man I went out with a couple of times, the one my father approves of, well…he’s not a good man,” you say quietly. Wringing your hands, you look away.

It’s all the truth you are willing to provide for now, and only because you think if you are going to try and trust Elvis, he needs to have some idea of why this is hard for you.

You look back to find his azure eyes narrowed, processing through what you’ve said, maybe putting some pieces together of why you act the way you do. There’s something almost protective in them, which shocks you, and then his eyes fill with concern.

“O-okay, then. I-I-I’m glad you told me. I-It, uh, makes more sense w-why you’re not used to this kind of thing,” he stutters. “Just take it slow. Get comfortable w-with me. I-I w-w-won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He seems more nervous than you now, and somehow that makes you feel better approaching him. You reach for his hands again, and they feel warm against your perpetually cold ones. Taking a deep breath, you settle into the feeling of his skin against yours.

This is fine. I can do this. This is easier than cleaning bed pans, you encourage yourself, your heart still pounding in your ears.

But now you don’t know what to do next and you look at him with panicked eyes.

His response is to bring his hands up, gently lacing his fingers in between yours.

Oh. Oh. This is feels more intimate than it should, but your logical mind tells you this is precisely the point of this exercise, for you to get used to it now and then outwardly show that you like it later. It doesn’t stop the other part of you from wanting to bolt from the room, however.

I’m okay. He’s not going to hurt me. Every woman I know would be clamoring at this chance to touch Elvis Presley. I can do this. I will do this, your inner voice chants at you.

After a moment, in this awkward position, Elvis clears his throat. “Um, maybe up the arms now?” he suggests softly. “Almost like you’re blind, sort of, like you’re trying to map out what I look like.”

Nodding because this actually makes sense to you, you begin trailing your fingers and hands up his long arms over his shirt. As you reach his shoulders, you realize you’ve done something similar when you helped him dress at the hospital. A moment where you had control and felt it part of your job. That gives you some confidence, knowing that you’ve done this before and it was fine, so normal you’d barely even thought of it at the time.

But now, hands on his shoulders, you’re not sure where to go. Down his chest feels very intimate and up around his neck feels even worse. You are breathing too fast, and then you feel it near your wrist—a steady thrumming. His heartbeat.

You are trained to feel and listen to heartbeats, and this focuses you, ripping you from all the terrible ‘what if’s’ of the situation: what if he hurts me? what if I can’t do this? what if he sends me back? You drag your palms from his broad shoulders and down his clavicle, seeking that solid touchstone of life. Thump, thump, thump.

It’s beating slower than your own anxious heart but a little faster than you’d like it to be from a clinical perspective. But the moment you look up into his eyes, you remember, this is not for clinical purposes. And you realize it’s not likely that the blush on his cheeks and the racing of his heart is related to his illness, but more so the fact that a woman is touching him in such a way.

Blinking rapidly, you look away from his openly dreamy eyes, forcing yourself to home in on that pounding beneath your palm. You take a deep breath, then another, trying to sync your heart to his. It staves off that brewing panic, enough to keep pushing forward past your comfort zone.

You remind yourself that when you started nursing, it was similar. You had to push through the fear of potentially hurting someone, despite your good intentions, especially in the beginning when you hadn’t known what you were doing. You’d had to push yourself to clean up disgusting messes without gagging. There were so many things you’d had to get used to that at the start felt insurmountable. This was the same, you reason, you just had to push through your fears.

Really? You’re going to compare cleaning up blood and vomit to touching Elvis Presley? your inner voice chides you.

It seems awfully silly when you think of it like that.

And perhaps that is what forges you ahead and makes you bolder. You guide your hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him under your palms, the slight ridges of his ribs on his decidedly lean frame. Without looking in his eyes, you circle your arms around to his back and step in as close as you can. The embrace is tentative at first, and you feel the way his breath hitches in surprise. It is only a second of hesitation before he wraps his arms around you in turn.

It’s foreign, this feeling of being held. You suddenly realize that it has been since your mother died that anyone has hugged you, truly hugged you, for more than a moment at most. Breathing in a shaky breath, you are enveloped by Elvis’ unique scent—a masculine but subtle, warm smell that is a far cry from the heavy, suffocating colognes of the Italian men in your life.

You close your eyes, pressing your ear to his chest, that thump, thump, thump a comforting lull to your overactive nerves.

Elvis is achingly gentle, barely touching you at first, until he realizes you are not scurrying away in your usual manner. Then he holds you a little tighter, a little closer, if only to steady you in this unforeseen moment of vulnerability.

He just feels so solid and steadfast in a time when you are feeling completely unmoored. An unlikely anchor in the hurricane of the past few days. For a moment, you allow yourself this small comfort. You are not sure how long you stay like that, timing your breaths to the beat of his heart. Probably longer than what is proper. But you are quickly coming to accept that this situation is far from proper.

You finally bring yourself to pull back from the embrace, knowing there is more work to do here, more ways in which you must launch yourself into the uncomfortable.

Seems like you were quite comfortable holding him, and with him holding you, your inner voice coos.

This is part of the job. It’s not like that.

Mhmm.

Ignoring that, you’re not quite sure what to do next, only that you feel a strange mixture of relaxation weaving its way through your anxiety. Elvis’ hands rest lightly at your waist, making no moves one way or another, as if knowing it could frighten you away.

I won’t be frightened. He will not hurt me.

It feels truer now, though it doesn’t stop the flutter in your chest when you loop your hands back around and up his regally long neck. Oh, it feels too intimate, the way your trembling hands trace up his chiseled jaw, his stubble rough under your fingertips. You can’t look at him, you just can’t face those handsome bedroom eyes while touching him like this, opting for examining him blind like he’d suggested. Your fingers flit over his impossibly high cheekbones, up the perfectly straight edge of his nose, mapping him in your mind.

He's safe. He’s safe. I’m safe. The mantra repeats in your head.

Of their own accord, your fingers cart gently into his wonderfully thick, soft hair, up and through, and it’s then that you hear the sigh escape his lips, the one you now suspect was held back this whole time. It ratchets up your heart rate, not because of your fear of what he could do to you, but because the sound sends a tendril of warmth down your spine.

The instinctive part of you wants to yank your hands away, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the fear. While your fingers run through his hair, your thumbs fall down his cheeks until you are cupping his long face in your hands.

This is the moment you decide to open your eyes and look up at him. His eyes are closed, the look on his beautiful face serene. You are in awe of how gentle and trusting he is, and maybe that’s why you impulsively move a thumb up and over the soft bow of his upper lip.

His sapphire eyes flutter open in surprise at that, sending a shockwave of heat through you. As he catches you in his otherworldly gaze, your thumb snags on the fullness of his lower lip, dragging it down and opening his mouth.

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the feel of his hot breath on your fingertip has butterflies brewing in your belly in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s like a terrifying freefall and you pull back, almost ashamed, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Your first instinct is to run, but Elvis catches your wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“It’s good,” he breathes. “You’re doing great, honey.”

The praise is genuine, and a shaky wave of pride rolls through you at being able to face your fears about this.

“Now it’s my turn, darlin’. We gotta get you used to the other way around,” he says quietly, as if knowing this part will be even harder for you. As if knowing that your heart begins to race even faster than before.

All you can do is nod. Keep going forward.

“Okay. I’m a very affectionate guy, Little Bird, and I’m gonna be real clear for you what I’m gonna do here,” he says, looking into your eyes in a seriously. “I’m fixin’ to act like I would with a girlfriend, but I ain’t out to molest you.”

You’re not exactly sure what he means to do, but you forge onward, trying to relax. “A-Alright.”

He’s still holding you by the wrist. “I’m gonna kiss your hand now.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach at the drawled words, and not from fear.

Then he is pressing those soft lips in an innocent gesture, first kissing the top of your hand, then the palm, then the inside of your wrist. It’s sweet, the way he does it, the way he checks in with you with his eyes after each peck.

You forget to breathe. You expected fear, the need to escape that which feels foreign or threatening, but you did not expect any part of you to enjoy this.

Running his hands up your arms, he reminds you of the obvious. “Breathe, honey,” he whispers.

You do. In. Out. In. Out. It gives you something to focus on as your mind goes blank.

“Gonna move down now,” he narrates. His hands move one of your arms, then the other, up over his shoulders and around his neck, as if you might start dancing. As if you might lean up to kiss him. Your heart knocks against your ribcage and you just know he can feel it as his hands splay slowly down your sides, fingers around your back, tracing your curves. Thankfully, he doesn’t touch your breasts, just brushes past them on the way down, but it sends shivers down to your toes regardless.

You feel utterly exposed, that familiar panic blooming amongst the unfamiliar feeling in your belly. Elvis seems to sense your tension and steps into you, embracing you once more. You feel that anchor again as his tall frame engulfs you. It should make you more uncomfortable, pressed up against him like this, but it doesn’t. Then, his left hand brings your right over his shoulder and holds it there, directly over his heart.

Thump, thump, thump.

Somehow he knows that steady rhythm calms you. He holds you there for as long as it takes for your breathing to level off, which is a while because you feel dizzy with the scent of him, the warmth of him, with the feeling of being touched in a way that doesn’t make you want to run for the hills.

You don’t understand these feelings. You should be afraid. Your history has taught you to be afraid of men. But for some strange reason, this near stranger, this idol to the masses, makes you feel safe and that scares you on a whole different level.

“Doing so well, Little Bird,” he says, pressing his forehead against your own. The pet name you loathed a few days ago sits differently with you now since you’ve come to understand that he has nicknames for everyone in his life, some that make sense only to him. It sits differently now that he’s holding you like this.

Oh, Madone, he is so close now. You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to remind you this is not the man who hurt you. That Elvis is nothing like Gianni.

It’s alright, I’m alright.

You do not expect this battle between fear and arousal in your body and your mind when Elvis whispers he’s going to kiss your face and then he does, carefully pressing into your forehead like you might break under his touch.

You do not expect to feel angry at the fact he’s showing you how men can be so unlike what you’ve experienced, that not every one of their gender is filled with hatred and violence.

And you certainly don’t expect the sigh that escapes your lips when he kisses your cheek, or when he then follows with light kisses down your jaw.

He freezes at that. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Y-yes. I’m fine. It’s, uh, fine,” you stammer out breathlessly, feeling the way his lips turn up slightly into a smile.

It’s an act. You are both playing a role. This is a rehearsal, you recite desperately in your head as your body flames with a nearly unbearable heat. And as his almost-too-gentle lips light little fires on your neck, you know that you shouldn’t like anything about this, and not just because it’s part of your new job. But your body bends to his will of its own accord.

Elvis pulls back slightly, his face hovering close to yours, and pauses. Your hands are fisted in his shirt and the only thing that cuts through the pregnant silence of the room is the near-panting of your collective breaths.

“I am going to kiss you now, Little Bird,” he says quietly, so close to you that you can feel the puffs of warm air from his mouth. His voice rumbles down deep into your belly, coiling there.

You can’t even begin to respond, because the way his words send shooting warmth blooming out from your chest seems to clamp off any ability to speak.

Then his warm hand cups your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek. He hardly has to move to reach your lips, and when he finally does, it is so chaste and tender you barely feel it.

You expect to freeze or flee, for your heart to be filled with icy, dark fear.

And yet…

And yet you don’t and it isn’t because it’s nothing like what you’ve experienced before. It’s not the clumsy teenage kiss on prom night. And it certainly isn’t anything like the harsh, horrible kisses Gianni subjected you to. No, this is soft and something else entirely, something you can’t piece through in this strange little moment.

You let him kiss you, giving in easily, and while you don’t know if you truly kiss him back, you don’t push him away.

Then it’s over. Elvis pulls away slowly. You look up at him, dazed, topsy-turvy from the multitude of feelings washing over you, all at once. For a second, you see what you think is a similar look stirring in his eyes.

But then it is gone, replaced with the neutral surety and confidence of a performer after the director yells cut.

“You’re a natural, baby! Didn’t even run away from me once!” he ribs you with a stunning, wide smile, then he turns more serious. “Did it help? Do you feel better, like you can do that in front of everyone else without jumpin’ out your skin?”

It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying. “I, uh, I’m not sure? I-I think so, maybe?” you finally manage to get out. You are honestly not sure about anything right now, the ghost of his lips still haunting on yours.

Elvis furrows his brow a little, unsure of your reaction. “Well, it’ll get better with practice, don’tcha worry, lil’ Lo’,” he says encouragingly.

Practice? This is going to happen again?

Of course. Because this is a rehearsal. This is part of your job. The part of your job that now involves kissing Elvis Presley and pretending to be his girlfriend.

Coming back into yourself, you try sliding your walls back into place, willing yourself to be professional and unphased. “I’m sure it will,” you nod, stepping back and smoothing your skirt. “Now, time to rest. You promised,” you say, changing the subject and gesturing to his bed, praying your hand won’t shake.

He looks like he might try to fight you on it, but then seems to think better of it. “Fine. A deal’s a deal,” he shrugs, casually throwing himself onto his bed.

With a silent sigh of relief, you slip off your shoes and climb into your bed and under the covers on the other side of the room. There is no way you are undressing into your nightgown, not with Elvis just feet away, so this will have to do.

“At least a couple of hours,” you remind him before turning your back to him.

“Yes, ma’am, I hear you,” he grumbles.

Taking a deep breath, then another, you keep yourself from looking back over at Elvis. Despite your overwhelming fatigue, your body is buzzing like you’ve had one too many cups of coffee. You force your eyes closed, but you are hyperaware of the man being so close.

You’ve never slept in the same room as a man before.

It’s a day of all kinds of firsts, now isn’t it? you think sardonically.

You try to even out your breathing, the memory of Elvis’ steady heartbeat thundering in your ears. The spicy scent of him lingers on your skin. You can feel the way his solid warmth pressed against you in a comforting embrace. And all you can see behind your closed eyes is the how he looked right before he kissed you.

You think you may have liked it, liked all of it.

But it’s not real, you silly girl.

Praying for much needed rest, you bury your head in your pillow.

A sudden, stabbing guilt then slices its way into your heart as a hideous thought threatens to drown you:

What kind of woman am I if liked that so soon after Gianni hurt me?

It’s your father’s voice that answers…

Puttana. Whore.

Tears pour down your cheeks until sleep finally takes you.

*

Reblogs, likes, comments, tips + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva 

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @elvisgf @misspresley

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

Hello, I love your SK pack story.

I legit check everyday if there are updates and reread it when I am sad. My pregnancy hormones are whack so all I want is my own pack vibe cuddles. So badly that when I first started reading I would cry on my way to work listening to ‘I am you’ and telling myself it’s okay cause they will be there when I get home. Then I came home and binged the rest of the entire series.

Just wanted to say, love your work.

🦊 Jester

Oh baby, those pregnancy hormones can be a DOOZY. I feel for you.

But thank you so much for reaching out and enjoying my work! I'm currently working on the next installment now so hopefully an update will come soon! <3

(Also gonna go listen to that song asap.)

[angelicaether]

My Year in Fics

Hey y'all! I thought it would be fun to do a fic round up of sorts and share everything I wrote this year! They're all Redacted but that's cool with me. The channel gave me the gateway to start writing again and I'm very grateful for that. Thank you to all my friends who read and reread snippets of these fics while I lamented over them and thank you to everyone who ever left kudos or commented. I feel like I've improved a lot this year and I'm really excited to keep writing fics! So here we go!

February: Pizza-Flavored Sleep Aid - This was the first fic I ever wrote publicly and it was a Guy fic no less! I'm super happy with this one and I remember being so giddy when it hit 100 kudos - https://archiveofourown.org/works/44749445 Chicken Noodle Soup for the Werewolf Soul - This was the first David fic I ever wrote and I'm honestly really proud with how I was able to keep it in character! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/44885347 March: The Unconventional Love of Telepathy - My one and only James fic. I don't think I was prepared to do a long-form fic when I started this one but I do plan on coming back to it, hopefully soon. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/45327850/chapters/114040867 April: A Pizza Guy, a Telepath's Boyfriend, and a Dreamwalker Walk into a Birthday Party - My fanon Eli/Sunshine meetcute! With the way the series is canonically connected so well I love connecting it further and this was a really fun way to do that! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/46283488 Spark and Bite: A Demon-Vamp Crossover Special - This one pushed me out of my comfort zone for sure. Still I'm proud of it and it's opened the doors for me to write more non-canon ships. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/46710772 May: New Job Posting: WFH Alpha - This was my first explicit smut fic! I was super nervous about it but I think it turned out really well. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/47501410

June: Speak Easy - A tooth rotting fluff fic that was written for myself lol. Writing fics for me and my comfort was a big thing in the second half of the year but I'm glad this one resonated with other people too. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/47660692 Playing with Fire - My first noncanon smut! Really proud of this one and it pushed my limits a bit but its great and I love it. - https://archiveofourown.org/works/48195619 August: A Blue Evening - A really fluffy fic for a friend of mine! First time writing Milo/Sweetheart as well and I'm really happy with it! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/49291093 September: Blood Spilled - My first Imperium fic! Again, pushing my limits with my writing but I cannot express how proud I am of this one. I feel like I managed to make it dark without going overboard and I think I did well with the characterization! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50070730 October: Here comes the speed round! I made my best attempt at doing Kinktober (I didn't finish it, please forgive me) and I'm really proud of how quick I was able to churn these out. I'm not gonna say much on these other than I'm proud of them lol. "Hole"some | Kinktober Day One | Guy - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50477125 Edging | Kinktober Day Two | Sam - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50503687 Cockwarming | Kinktober Day Three | Geordi - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50546536 Body Worship | Kinktober Day Four | Regulus - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50574829 Food Play | Kinktober Day Five | Kody - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50601892 Predator/Prey | Kinktober Day Six | Vega - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50629297 Begging | Kinktober Day Seven | David - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663233

Toys | Kinktober Day Eight | James - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50685097 Public Play | Kinktober Day Nine | Milo - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50716444 Petplay | Kinktober Day 10 | Imp!Vega - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50743285 Handjobs | Kinktober Day 11 | Lasko - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50769079 Knifeplay | Kinktober Day 12 | Adam - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50791891 Overstimulation | Kinktober Day 14 | Gavin - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50843248 Cucking | Kinktober Day 15 | Blake - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50870122 Masks | Kinktober Day 16 | Sam - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50923717 NonCon | Kinktober Day 17 | Blake - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50939581 Thigh Riding | Kinktober Day 19 | Aaron - https://archiveofourown.org/works/50965936 Spanking | Kinktober Day 20 | David - https://archiveofourown.org/works/51015925 Breeding | Kinktober Day 21 | Damien - https://archiveofourown.org/works/51208894 December: Last fic of the year! I wouldn't be who I am if it wasn't a David fic lets be honest lol Home Sweet Home - Short, sweet, just how I like my fic. David is my favorite (this is a well known fact) so I'm glad he's how I ended my year - https://archiveofourown.org/works/52071319 Thank you again for everyone who's supported me and my fics this year. I'm grateful for y'all and there's so much talent in this community that continues to inspire me. Happy New Year ^^ -Angel

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Excuse me for spamm liking posts while I was looking for the right one but I just wanted to express how happy I was to see Artemis Fowl on your fave book list 😭🩷

That series was such a big part of my life from ages 11-14 and I can never find anyone who enjoyed it half as much as I did ;w; The Book Thief is also one of my faves so ig I just have to conclude that you have immaculate taste 😌

Have you read Vango by Timothee De Fombelle by any chance?

OMGG

same that series was a big part of my 11-14 too 😭😭 i'm so happy to find more artemis fowl enthusiasts here you have no idea!! that book had me so hooked and it's shaped me into who i am today LOL im not even joking my love for languages, fantasy and tech stuff comes from there. this series is soo underrated i wish more ppl knew about this. i literally had the biggest crush on artemis fowl AHAHAHA

the book thief! i've reread it so many times and it never misses 😌 i love the movie a lot too im always rewatching it. seems like you have immaculate taste too 😌

i have not read vango but i'm gonna put it in my 'to read' list and hopefully i'll read it soon and tell you what i think 🩷 thanks for the rec!

[desertsfic]

hi deserts, i hope you're doing well. i just wanted to say that your fic "the run and go" is one of my favorite fics in general and in the homestuck fandom. davesprite and dirk are 2 of my favorite characters, and ive always liked the potential for bro's character. your fic does really well with all 3 of these options including the world building for the guardians and the characterization. i really enjoy the conflicts the characters feel with their alt selves and how they're resolved (all of it feels really in character). i've shared the fic with my friend and they're also really enjoying it too!! i'm prolly gonna reread it soon. i look forward to the update but no pressure with getting it out. thanks so much for writing and publishing it :o)

Hi there! Thank you so much, seriously. It means a lot to hear such kind words, and it's beyond flattering.

It really makes me happy when something I've written can bring other people enjoyment and hopefully also entertainment!

Thank you for your patience, and I'm so sorry for the impromptu hiatus, haha. They're never planned, but I'm in my senior year of college right now and I have almost no free time! Still, I've been chipping away at glacial speeds and hopefully I can bring you more in the future :)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

I’m currently up stressing about what kind of anguish you’re gonna put me through in a couple of hours. I need to go to sleep! I think I’ll reread NTTF instead, I need cozy Aegon rn

You should be stressed!!!!!

I'm going to the airport in the morning and am hoping to upload the new chapter from there, so hopefully that goes well 🥰🥰 If I am MIA it is because the airport wifi betrayed me and I am sorry

Chapter 7 is a monster, 9.6k words! It truly has everything. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...you get the idea 😉

Talk to you soon 😘

[gleasonlovesjasontodd]

GIRL, I WAS IN CLASS WHEN YOU POSTED SO I COULD ONLY REACT BUT DAMN CONGRATS!!!!! The lunar new year is coming up, so guess who's gonna go buy and eat some grapes as redemption for the New Year? HAHAHAHAHA. IDK if it's gonna work or not. Hopefully, it does. HE IS REALLY IS A IRL VERSION OF JASON TODD PHYSICALLY AND THE VIBE IM GETTING ITS ALSO PERSONALITY WISE. Does he do sports or martial arts or just gym? If yes, it's like he really is Jason. I have a feeling that maybe some siblings or a best friend/s may come in soon to the updates. (unless he wants you all to himself) HAHAHAHAHA

I love the updates. I get giddy and so excited when I read them (and reread them again). I shared it with my best friend, who said she completely agrees with me that he is Jason and is so happy for you. We called you the Jason girlie.

Also, you're a bow girlie, too? and agreed on how some athletes (not all I know decent ones as well) are just not worth dating. For context, I'm a figure skater, and some hockey players are just waiving red flags.

so he did baseball once and never again would he do because he is so mature like me he couldn’t stand being on a team with immature people so now he just does the gym which i think is very hot he does have three brothers and they each remind me of dick, tim, and damian i feel very honored to be called the jason girlie and yes i am a huge huge bow girly have been before it was cool to be a bow girl i always wearing something that has a bow on it and my room is very bow core i personally have never seen a hockey boy i’ve only read them in books because where i live we don’t have hockey as a sport but definitely only be around someone who likes you and won’t judge