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infinitegalahad · 9 months

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AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Identifying! Reader Summary: In the fall of 1939, You are an incoming freshman at Berkeley. Despite your love for literature and the pressure of your parents, you begrudgingly enroll in a Physics course. There you meet J. Robert Oppenheimer; your professor turned into your best friend and most importantly, your lover. Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Nothing major, minus the huge age gap. The reader is 18, and Oppenheimer is at least thirty. Everything is legal and consensual. If this bothers you, please do not read it; thank you! Notes: gonna be a long note, so strap in folks. so i have this tendency to get hyperfocused on a piece of media, get my little gremlin hands on any piece of media about it, devour said piece of media, and then poop out 5k+ words in under 24 hours due to my obsession. this happened two years ago with safin from no time to die, and let me just say that it goes to show that history is a sick cycle. not sick, I'm just literally insane. lol, anyways! here's some lore. last Sunday i saw oppenheimer and thought it was a masterpiece! i also love cillain murphy too, so that's a massive bonus. the next day, i bought american prometheus. i started reading it on tuesday, and finished it on Friday. if you haven't read it, please go read it. the book is impossible to put down, and a lot of characterization of robert and other characters come from the movie, but mainly the novel. this fic is heavily researched. this fic is also very dark too, and the content is...yeah. the age gap is very massive and while legal, very taboo, so please keep this in mind. there will be dark content in this story so be warned. trigger warnings will be in the beginning of every chapter. this is on my tumblr and ao3 as well. here is a playlist i made while writing this , if that does anything. my masterlist is also at work too; the new and updated version will be out next chapter. <a href="url">add yourself to the taglist if you are interested</a>. thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy.

There are people talking, and while they are close, their voices are nothing but mindless mutters.

Despite how much they had to drink, the buzz managed to slow their thoughts yet made them somewhat aware of their surroundings. If you tried, not like they really wanted to, you could point out every little detail around them–all small things, meaningless and unimportant, in the vast growing universe.

The uneven vintage ski portrait on Hatomi’s side of the room, the dim light covered by the French literature nights on the window sill, the light of the moon in boxy shapes across the aged wooden door, your feet sticking out underneath the blanket and the cool air bringing goosebump to your toes, the heat of your flashlight against your cheek; it’s all so small.

You’ve known Hatomi, your roommate at Berkeley, for the last week. A Japanese American from Davis, she’s a lover of literature like you, albeit you’re more into Russian and American literature than French. Both of you have concluded that you are different but are different enough to put those said differences aside to be friends. Hatomi, unlike you, is smiley and bright, the type to make a conversation not as awkward. She’s made many friends, some of whom are yours, and you’re thankful for her. In your orientation week at Berkeley, she’s helped you break out of your shell, and you’ve gone around campus and to parties to get out and meet people.

As thankful as you are for Haotmi, you are not very thankful about her bringing in some guy into the room without making it clear and having full-blow sex. Hatomi tries to keep her moans contained, but the slapping and grunts from the man beneath are not in any way contained or quiet. He’s as loud as possible, and you can identify him from one of the many parties you’ve been to, but all of them in your state become a gradual blur.

There’s a visible outline of the two through your quilt. Hatomi’s on top, and said the man is on the bottom with messy hair. He’s got a hand on her hip, and she nudges forward, her body moving forward. It makes you feel even lonelier than you already feel, but it's not intentional, but it’s certainly a jab. Hatomi cries his name, an emphasis on the end of his name.

You haphazardly try to catch his name, but end up forgetting it, the alcohol from earlier helping sing you to sleep.

–

It soon became a cycle—the whole lot of it.

You’d wake up at seven for your eight in the morning English class. Then you’d head to your philosophy class from nine-thirty to ten-thirty before heading to lunch at eleven. After that break, then comes your Greek class from twelve to one. Then it’s physics.

It’s not that you don’t like physics. Actually, you love it—the concept is fascinating. The movement, gravity, and being a small thing in the grand scheme of the infinite universe is a topic you could dive into for hours on end. And not to mention, you have a burning hatred for the mathematics of it. You know you can do introductory algebra, but that’s where you draw the line. Calculus and all of that is too advanced. You can do it; at the bare minimum.

Your class is not that big. It’s your smallest class with ten students, all intrigued by a fascinating professor.

The first time you met him, he stood by the chalkboard with a huff of smoke following behind him. He wore a dark gray tweed suit and had thick, coarse hair which was wild, maintained with gel. He was tall but not towering and rather slender. With the bluest eyes you had ever seen, you knew that this man was a character; not to mention, he also looked intelligent.

And that he was.

Dr.Oppenheimer was the reason you started actually to love physics. Not like, love. He was not an easy teacher; he was complex but rewarding. He took the concept of physics and made it more interesting than it already was, adding another dimension to it that you didn’t think was possible.

Instead of the class being a lecture, Oppenheimer discussed the fundamental forces and philosophy. He, like you, enjoyed how physics interacted with the classical world. With a cigarette in one hand and a piece of chalk in another, and in his velvety voice, Oppenheimer taught something along the lines of the cosmic universe or the quantum tunnel and would look to his students for their input, arguments, questions, or their voice to the topic.

You know, or thought he knew, that you weren’t the best at physics, but could always add a philosophical or insight on how physics affects both in the modern and classical world. Sometimes in class, the two of you would dive into a conversation. Oppenheimer would give you a serious loo, staring directly at you with his bright blue eyes. You could have sworn they were the bluest eyes you had ever seen, in which you were. As you challenge you, Oppenehiemr would stare, blowing the occasional puff of smoke. You could see him smile, but maybe that was a part of your imagination.

Physics was complicated, but not only did you enjoy the class for Oppenheimer, but you also look at Oppenheimer. You would not have said it initially, but he did come and was attractive to you. He looked serious, older, and cold; which all remained true, but he was also intelligent, and that was the most attractive thing to you. His intelligence made him overall even more handsome than he already was. With this new found elevation, you soon began to find everything he did attractive. It became a slight distraction, but it was enough to make you leave class with pink cheeks and smile to yourself all giddy. The fantastical thoughts of “what if” played in your mind, making going to sleep a little easier than it usually it.

–

On Monday, Oppenheimer deemed that your class was heading into the “most brutal” and “nightmare-causing” fundamental force of Physics; Quantum Mechanics.

He also declared it was one of his favorite micro topics in Physics and, in his mind, “not too difficult if you truly look into it.”

Everyone got a horrible gut feeling in their stomachs.

Oppenheimer was blunt and did not sugarcoat, which was a fair warning to his class. Quantum Mechanics took everything that was horrible about Physics and made it increasingly worse. Wavefunctions, Eigenstates, Quantum Measurement, and all the new equations hit you like a frictional force. And it began to show on your assignments.

Your normal average in the class was an A- (with Oppenheimer giving you an E for “exceptional effort”) hanging off the side of a cliff, but this new topic dragged your average down with massive magnetic force. Soon, your average became a B-. Homework assignments and reading responses leaned towards a B, while your test and quizzes averaged at failing or border failing. You felt relieved that one of your quizzes on Bra-Ket Notation came back as a C+.

Oppenheimer was writing on the board, finishing a Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle equation on the board. He looked at the clock, knowing that class was going to end soon. Putting his chalk down and burning the small amount of his cigarette on the ashtray, he reached for a large stack of his papers. Most had red handwriting with circles, arrows, and question marks. A heavy wave of anxiety hit the class as a perpetual sigh raised.

You could have sworn Oppenheimer stared directly at you. The vast blue eye started to haunt you, but you convinced yourself it was your mind playing tricks. You turned to one of your neighborhoods and sighed, shaking your head.

“I understand you are all eager to receive back the recent test on the basic equations of Quantum Mechanics. I have taken my time grading each one and you will see why it looks like a long time,” Oppenheimer noted, with a tinge of dark comedy and sarcasm in his voice. He didn’t look up at the class as he walked around, gently putting each paper on the desk. Each paper he put down made a student who was having a good day a very not good day.

Between the heavy sighs and whispers between the students, you gulped as Oppenheimer passed your desk. He looked down for a split second and put your paper down. He pointed to the red writing right where you had written your name before moving on. Gathering yourself, you grabbed the test, and not your shock, was disappointed.

Out of forty-five points, you had only gotten nine. It was a new low you had hit in the class. It seemed like it would keep getting lower. Everything was far from right, and he gave those points only because you tried by writing a passage by each equation explaining what you had tried to replicate, knowing it was very wrong.

You skimmed the front, noticing the red writing on top. He wrote your name in cursive, and you would hear him say it, asking you to “please” meet him.

And then the bell rang. People talked amongst themselves and gathered their things as they headed out of the classroom. You sat there and sighed, visibly upset. You weren’t going to cry, but you felt like it. You tried not to show it as you began to gather your books, covering the physics test, preparing to get up.

“Y/n.”

You freeze and look up. Oppenheimer has been leaning on his desk, looking at you like a dashing Spectre. He puts his hands in his pockets and slowly begins to walk towards you.

“Is this a good time to talk?”

Hearing the word talk made your stomach turn. You look up at him and clasp your hands together, nodding. You feel your left leg begin to shake.

“Yes, Dr.Oppenheimer.”

Oppenheimer made his way over and stood beside you, leaning on the side of a desk, looking down at you. He took a quick glance at your shaking leg before looking back at you.

“You’re not in trouble.”

You didn’t verbally acknowledge him, but you took a contained sigh and stopped shaking your thigh, paying full attention to the attractive older man.

“I want to preface this conversation that you, Y/n, are one of this class’s most active and enjoyable students. Your participation and observation add onto the lesson, helping others around you, and even myself, learn more about Physics,” Oppenheimer said with high praise. He had a regalness to his soft voice. You felt your cheeks burn, containing your smile as you quietly thanked him. You watched his hands fidget inside of his pants pocket.

“As talented and educated as you are in Academia, especially Physics, I notice you don’t do well on tests and exams. Everything else is excellent, and your effort is always there. However, with tests,” Oppenheimer moved his hand downwards, “It’s all negative. When I got your first test, I found it hard to believe it was your work. But then it all made sense.”

“Now understand, Y/n, I am not mad or upset. I am worried. I can see there is an act of force, which is your anxiety. I do believe this is something we can work on–” Oppenheimer clearly explained. He saw your shoulders lower, relieve your tension had disappeared, “--Together, outside of the academic setting.”

“Like one-on-one?” You questioned.

Oppenheimer nodded, “Yes, just the two of us. It would be an hour and a half to an hour, nothing more and nothing less.”

Hearing “just the two of us” made your mind go to wild places. You bit your tongue and squeezed your clasped hands together. You smiled, “Yes, of course. I think this would help a lot.”

“Now tell me, what is your availability? I understand you are busy.”

You shrugged your shoulders. You were busy but also could make time for a lot of spare time.

“I can do any time work, preferably if you are okay with Friday afternoons,” You brainstormed, thinking about your schedule, “I know you teach a graduate class in the morning, and I have Greek at the same time.”

Oppenheimer furrowed his eyebrows, intensely studying your appearance.

“Friday afternoons?” He questioned, “Don’t you want to be with your friends and not have to worry about work? I understand your drive, Y/n, but I don’t want it to mix with your limited downtime. I hear you are an excellent student, and this is a very fixable grade. I rather you create a balance than an offset.

While an average first-year would rather skip meeting with a Professor on Friday Afternoons, it didn’t bother you. Getting your grade up in Physis was very important. Education in your family was everything and meant a lot to you. Seeing a C with A’s and A-’s made you feel incomplete. You needed to feel complete.

“Dr.Oppenheimer, thank you for your concern. I insist that Fridays work as well. Mondays through Tuesdays, I’m either studying or leading other study groups for my other classes. If you are worried about my social life, I can assure you that I do get out of the dorm and library with my friends,” You reassured the older man, “Besides, the whole party scene is really not my scene. I’ve seen enough parties at Berkeley to be okay with missing them. If Fridays don’t work, I will work with your time.”

“Fridays work well for me as they work well for you,” Dr.Oppenheimer concluded. He looked at the clock above his desk before looking at you, “How do Fridays at 5 pm sound?”

“Perfect timing, Dr.Oppenheimer. Shall we meet here?”

Oppenheimer rubbed his index and middle finger on the temple of his head, “Well if you are comfortable, I’d rather congregate at my house rather than the classroom since we will be out of the Academic Day.”

Taken aback by the bold move, your lips made a subtle “o” shape. You squeezed your hands together, contemplating. His house, where he slept, ate, and did other things that were not fit for the academic setting? This made your imagination run wild—the idea of being in his house, just you and him, fed into your fantasy.

“My house is on Shasta Road. It’s right off the campus. It’s a short walk. However, if you are not comfortable, especially late at night walking home alone, then I can–”

“Dr.Oppenheimer,” You insisted. He stopped speaking and looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

You stuttered, feeling the heat up your throat to your face, “It is okay. Friday at 5 pm at your house is perfect. The walk will help me clear my mind before tackling the equations.”

Oppenheimer studied your features for a second before coughing and putting his hands together, “So, it’s settled. We will meet tomorrow then. Thank you for your time, y/n.”

As Oppenheimer began to head back to his desk, you stood and gathered your books, ready to head to your Greek class. You could feel how hot your face was, but you couldn’t imagine how red and embarrassing you looked.

“Thank you, Dr.Oppenheimer.

Scurrying to leave the classroom in a flustered state, one of your books falls over. It makes a loud slamming noise into the ground. You’ve got a solid amount of books in your hand, varying in topic and weight. Turning around, you are about to awkwardly bend down to pick up the book, but Oppenheimer has beaten you to it. His presence scared you at first. He’s holding the ivory, aged book, examining the cover and back. You stand two inches away from him as you cradle your books, not wanting to say something to disrupt him.

“Sentimental Education. Is this for class or pleasure?” Oppenheimer inquired. He looked back at you as he placed it on top of your books. He saw the one below, your Greek textbook, was sticking out and about to fall. He made sure to push it in to balance the books and make sure you didn't fall over.

Not that you were complaining about falling over since he would have to catch you. You cursed at your wild imagination.

You let out a long uhm before declaring it was for class. More specifically, your English class of The French Adventure: Word, Sound, and Image taught by Mr.Chevalier. But it was unimportant. It was a good book, albeit obscure. Oppenheimer probably thought you were some idiot for both failing a test and reading some silly book. He probably wondered why you were even in a physics class to begin with.

“Do you like it?” He questioned.

“Yes, a lot,” You expressed, “It’s the second book we’ve read, but so far my favorite. It was ahead of its time,” You go red, “And even for this time. I don’t know what I’m saying even, my parents made me read it in high school.”

Oppenheimer made a noise of approval, placing his hands on his hips, “Well, it shows that your parents wanted you to be well-rounded, and here you stand at one of the best public universities in the world. So I would say you do know what you are saying since I fully agree.”

The compliment made you want to make some happy noise, but you bite your lip. You nodded your head and naked it, knowing it came out as a mumble. Everything you said felt super embarrassing.

“Y/n, I understand you have class,” Oppenheimer cut to the point, “But if you ever want a book recommendation, come to me. I’ve been looking for someone who understands.”

“Understand?” You asked, dumbfounded.

“Someone who both understands and enjoys art.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. You smile and hold your books closer, “Well, I should-”

“You should-” Oppenheimer highlighted, hands on his hips, “I shouldn’t keep you.”

You wanted to protest that he should, but you didn’t. As you made your way to the door, you looked back. There he stood in his slender and regal form, hands on his hips. For a cold man who never looked happy, he did. You could have sworn his eyes had a spark to them that made them brighter. You felt brighter too.

On your way out, he froze and looked at you again, and gave a small smile.

You smiled back.

–

It’s 4:50pm.

Your mother always said it was better to be very early than to be very late. Those words guided you through life, following you from home to high school to Berkeley.

After class, you spent the hour getting ready. Taking a shower, you made sure to look your best with low effort. You didn’t want it to appear that you were trying to look good, even though you wore it. Putting on something very casual, you made sure to wear yourself nicely and even added a sweet touch of Chanel Coco perfume that your father had gotten for you in France for your high school Graduation.

You walk up the hill and spot the house, recognizing the numbers on the mall box. The house is well sized and has the architecture of a craftsman. It’s hidden by numerous large plants and bushes, which you take a second to admire as you walk to the door. Eventually, you reach the door and hesitate to knock. Check your watch, it’s 5:52pm. If he’s busy, you can wait.

There’s no point in knocking since you can hear the lock on the door unlock. As you put your hands behind your back, the door opens and it reveals Oppenheimer. He looks weirdly normal and this comforts you. He swaps his flannel suit jacket for a white oxford button up with dark slacks. The top button of the shirt is unbuttoned, and in one hand he has a cigarette, in which he is trying to successfully hide.

“Dr.Oppenheimer,” You greeted with a small smile, squeezing your hands behind your back.

You could swear you saw a small quirk at the side of Oppenheimer’s mouth. He stands to the side.

“Y/n, welcome,” He greets. You quietly thank in as you walk in, standing to the side as you clutch onto your brown leather alligator bag with your textbook and notebook.

“How was the walk?”

“Not bad. It’s nice outside. I’m sorry if I’m early, it’s a bad habit-”

“No need to apologize. It is a good habit. It will serve you well,” Oppenheimer praised once again as he led you into the kitchen. You hadn't been alone with him, let alone in his own house, but he was different. Around others, he was cold and calculated to a tee. But around you, something felt warm and strangely comforting.

When walking to the kitchen, you catch a glimpse of his house. It feels rather empty, and in a way, very melancholic.

The kitchen is simple and small. For a California one story however, the kitchen can fit more than two, maybe three.

“Sit,” Oppenheimer subtly commands. It’s not an intentional command, but upon hearing this, you immediately sit down on the nearest chair. As you pull out your textbook and notebook with some pens and pencils, you can see Oppenheimer rummaging through the fridge and grabbing two glasses.

“Do you drink?”

You're in the middle of opening your notebook. You look down and lick your lips.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t respond and proceeds to make whatever drink he is making. You sit there and swing your legs back and forth, waiting in silence minus the shaking and pouring.

“Speak to me,” Oppenheimer announces. You look at his back as he makes the drink. Once again, he’s slender, but yet strong and vibrant in his appearance, “Go to the first page of your test. Read the equation.”

You feel lucky Oppenheimer’s turned since your cheeks, like yesterday, have gone to a light pink.

Obeying his words that feel like a command that you are more than happy to accept, you grab your test and open to the first page to read the first question.

“Consider a particle in a one-dimensional potential well of width of L and infinite potential barriers at its edges. The potential inside the well is given by V(x)=0 for 0<x<L0<x<L and V(x)=∞V(x)=∞ for x < 0 x<0 and x>Lx>L,” You read out, “The Hamiltonian operator for this system is H; where x is the mass of the particle. Find the allowed energy eigenvalues and corresponding eigenfunctions for this system.”

“A fundamental. Now, tell me your answer.”

You get your pen and calculator out, placing it at your side. “I started with the Time-Independent Schrödinger Equation and substituted v(x) for the kinetic energy term. Then I tried to solve and it, uhm-”

Not only were the calculations for your test both difficult to answer and hard to process, but having Oppenheimer stand right behind you further proved to be a brain block. He was only an inch away from you as he had leaned to look at your paper, a hand on the back of your sheet which scraped your warm back. You had been so caught on the equation that you hadn't noticed he was an inch behind you, breathing down your neck. Thank god there had been a table since your legs began to shake; a combination of raw anxiety and pure adrenaline.

You started to write the equation into your calculator, pressing down on each button. Scribbling away at your notebook, you felt his warm breath down your throat. Just as you wrote the solution, you felt him smell behind your ear and into your hair. You had sprayed some perfume there, which was a habit of yours. He leaned into, gentle and careful not to touch you, taking in the airy and smooth feminine scent. Not protesting, you finished your solution and let him bask, all while basking his cold yet comforting presence.

“The corresponding eigenfunctions are: ∣ψn⟩= Asin⁡(nπxL)∣ψ n ⟩ =Asin( Lnπx ),” You gulped. You felt his warm presence move back, yet his hand remained on the chair. You pushed a piece of hair back, “I guess it’s not too different from my old answer. It’s right, it’s just-”

“The math piece of it,” Oppie pointed out, “Well, there was no issue here. With your calculator of course.”

“Yes,” You chuckled to yourself and looked at the big device. It really did help.

“Use it more,” Oppenheimer said, “Don’t be scared too. Math is not everyone’s strong suit; including mine.”

You smiled at him as he sat in the chair next to you.

“I don’t know if you drank from our conversation earlier, but I made you a martini,” Oppenheimer said. You looked at it and picked up the drinking, examining the liquid.

“Oh, thank you. I do, just the…better stuff,” You thanked with a small confession. You took a sip and let the strong liquid ooze down your throat. It was excellent, in which you proceeded to drink more.

Oppenheimer leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself. He wanted to make sure you didn’t see that, but you did.

For the next hour, the two of you talked about your test. Each question you read out, and he helped you with the math, but overall you were able to solve most of it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. He seemed pleased, and you were as well.

Once you had finished going over the test, you sighed and leaned back leisurely from both Oppenheimer's presence Martini.

“Well, thank you, Dr.Oppenheimer. This has been short, yet helpful.”

He crossed his arms as he also leaned back, “Of course, I’m pleased to hear.”

There was a silence before you looked at your watch and grabbed your books.

“It’s 6pm. I’m sure you’ve got things to do, I should go-”

“I’ve only got dinner to make. Chicken, peas, and potatoes,” Oppenheimer said. He smoked another cigarette, which made you wonder how many he smoked a day. You focused on his chapped lips and the way they lightly held the cigarette, sucking in and dragging out ashen smoke.

“Say, would you like to stay for dinner? There's plenty for two.”

The task made you blink a few times to make sure this wasn’t one of your fantastical thoughts late at night as a way to soothe you to bed. You opened your lips in an attempt to create a coherent response.

“I can make you another Martini, even show you.”

You knew you were red, but it clearly to him did not matter.

“Yes, I’d love-would be happy to stay for dinner, Dr.Oppenheimer.” You said, very flattered.

A slow exhale released a veil of smoky allure, as if the very air itself surrendered to Oppenheimer’s fiery elegance.

“If you are staying over for dinner from now on, please, call me Robert.”

#carrie writes #cillain murphy #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #robert j oppenheimer #robert j oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction

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oreharuuu · 1 year

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éta ritual (6)

Summary: Your apartment's finally cleaned, thanks to Yunho and Mingi. But the stress of university, work, Jieun, and being away from your family took a bit of a toll on you.

Warnings: a lil bit of angst, description of being burnt out, woo and san being a perv, watching without consent

A/N: I lied :) I felt bad ignoring this series so i made a new chapter lol, it's more of a filler with fluff and angst. A lil bit of plot here and there. Anyways, happy reading! P.S. chat me if you'd like to be put in my PERMANENT tag list for every work I've done!

Taglist: @starillusion13

You sighed as you stepped out of the shower, drying your hair as you walked towards the fridge to grab one of the manh drinks Yunho decided to buy for you.

After cleaning everything up, you all decided to order in food since you're all tired. You're surprised when Yunho, who went to kitchen to grab water, stormed in with a clap before smiling. "Let's go grocery shopping!"

"Why, hyung?"

"She has nothing but bottled water, butter, and an opened can of cola inside her fridge," Yunho deadpanned, eyes moving to you as you looked away sheepishly.

"(Name)! How did you even survive?" Mingi asked astonished, which made you glare at him. "Hey! I'm a university student, does it ring a bell that I might have to not spend my money too much?"

Their gaze turned into pity, Mingi dragging you outside of your apartment as you squeaked in surprise. "Hey! What are you—"

"We're gonna buy you food, duh."

"What?! No way, I'm not letting you—"

"Hey," Yunho said as he closed the door, gently grabbing your shoulders. "Think of it as a treat, yeah? Me and Mingi also need a few stuff, maybe we'll buy food and eat."

You continued to glare at the tall man, swatting Mingi as he quietly chuckles at how you have to crane your head to meet his gaze.

"I just feel bad spending your money—"

"Don't worry," Mingi answered. "He's like, rich rich rich, old money basically. So it's not gonna put a dent in his wallet."

"It's about the morality—"

"Oh shush," Yunho cups his hand on your mouth. "Mingi's right. It's my treat, it's rude to decline a helpful offer, no?"

You pursed your lips, crossing your arms before nodding. "Fine, but! I usually have a budget for shopping, so it's still being used."

Yunho shrugged, "Fine by me."

In the end, you did go over budget, no thanks to Mingi and Yunho sneakily adding more items to your cart. Then while paying, Mingi discreetly asked you to help him pick out a new shirt that fits him, making Yunho paid for everything.

You sighed, popping open a new cola before turning on your laptop for background noise. You took a sip, laid down on your bed, and just stared blankly at the wall for you don't know how long.

Work was normal, Mark was also acting normal since you've last met him. University was still shit, Hyein was also busy but she's an angel of course; texting you every now and then with new gossip or just ranting about her project.

San, Mingi and Yunho were all great friends. Mingi and Yunho chatted you everyday to ask for updates or to talk about random things. San, although busy with work, still made time for you to eat dinner together or just binge watch shitty movies.

But with all of that...you still felt alone.

Maybe it's your mind playing tricks, but you felt only emptiness after Mingi and Yunho came by to help you. Going to university only filled the emptiness for a while, you realized that it's only because it took your mind away to actually think about assignments and group projects.

You sighed, glancing at your phone before grabbing it. Scrolling through contact numbers before stopping at one. You grabbed your blanket, quickly covering yourself from head to toe, the sounds from your laptop a bit muffled as you pressed call.

You bit your lips hard enough as the call ring, holding your breath as the person answers after a few seconds of silence.

"Hello? (Name)?"

"Hi, mom."

"Oh, my baby! How are you doing?" Your mom cooed happily at you, realizing that you called her whilst she's washing the dishes.

"It's...fine," You lied. "Just realized I haven't called you in a long time."

"Aww, well I know you're working very hard so I'm fine with you not calling if it means you can graduate with good scores."

You laugh, wiping away some of the tears building up in your eyes as you sighed. "How are you, mom? Anything new there?"

"Same old, same old," She answers. "Your dad met a new friend he could talk about golf, which is making me so happy because I don't understand any if it."

You hum, drawing invisible shapes on your sheets as you continued. "How's Taemin? And Jongin?"

Your mom groaned, making you giggle slightly. "Those boys will be the death of me. They've joined a new dance class since the last class they caused such a ruckus that they got kicked out."

Your eyes widen at the new information. "Wow, what did they do?"

"Let's just say they ruined a teacher's hair with dye because said teacher was being an asshole," Your mother hums.

"Sound about like them," You smiled.

You and your mom talked more, her updating you on the newest gossips around the neighborhood, making you miss your home more than ever. You sniffed a bit too loudly, making your mom pause.

"Honey? Are you crying?"

Seems like those words were your final straw before a loud sob came out of you. "Mom. I'm tired."

"Oh, (name)," Your mom sighed. "Is that why you called? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you. I just miss home and I feel burnt out."

"Because of everything?"

You hum, wiping away the tears on your sheets as you didn't notice the shadow looming over you.

"Aish, it happens to everyone. Why are you worried?"

"I don't know," You answered. "I feel tired. I feel empty and alone when I met some of the most wonderful people here. It's eating me up at how little I think about them, I feel bad because it sounds like I'm being selfish here."

Your mom hums, the sound of water stopping from her end. "You know, you're a bit like your dad."

"Ugh, mom. Don't say that," You groaned, making your mom giggle. She always say that you're like your dad, but there's nothing that made you feel like your dad. From looks, personality, or even attitude.

"I'm not lying. You both are such worry warts about a lot of things. And it's okay to feel like that, honey."

"What do you mean?"

"Gosh, he's gonna hate me for spilling this. But you need to know that your dad really is always worried about you being away from home. Sure, he may only send you stupid pictures of our cat—"

You can't help but snort at her words.

"—but he's alway telling me about how worried he is for your wellbeing. I thought my ears are about to be blown away at how much he talks about you. But he realize that you're a strong girl. His strong daughter."

"Mom!" You wailed loudly. "You're making me cry more!"

"Well, you need to hear this, young lady. It will pass," Your mother chided you. "I know how you're always working so hard for your future, but it's not wrong to put yourself first in certain situations. In this one, maybe you need to spare some time to have some alone time. Or maybe with your friends."

"Don't worry about the problems going on right now, you have loads of time to do that. Right now, you need to calm down, take some time off, and do whatever you want. The feelings you have right now will be gone when you have the right people besides you. Or maybe you like to be alone, just like back then in high school when—"

"Mom!" You whined. "Don't remind me of the dark days."

You can't stand your high school days, although it's not necessarily bad, there's a few things you could list from the top of your head on why senior year of high school was chaotic.

"Well, I can't help it," She laughs. "You were such an emotional human for how—"

"Mom!"

"Alright, alright. Please take care of yourself, honey?"

"I will."

"Are you? Because you usually—"

"Mom, I will do it."

She sighs loudly, a whine in her tone as she teases you. "Look at what you've done to me! Now I'm the worry wart worrying about you, that's supposed to be your dad's job."

"Sure, mom," You rolled your eyes with a smile. "I don't know when I can visit you guys, but I'll tell you when I have time."

"Oh, please come home when you can. Being the only girl here is turning my hair faster to white then before."

You laugh, coughing when feel your throat a bit dry from crying. "I will, I will."

"Say hello to Hyein and Jieun for me, will you?"

You tensed up, hearing something shift inside your room but hummed in acknowledgment and ignored the sound. "Yeah, sure. They're...a bit busy though."

"Sounds like them," Your mom commented. "Anyway, I need to pick up the boys from dance class. They'll be all pouty if I'm late for more than two minutes."

"Okay. Have a safe trip, mom."

"Bye, love you."

"Love you too, mom," You whispered, ending the call with a big sigh as you closed your eyes. The weight inside your heart was lifted, feeling like you could breath fully now after talking with your mom. She's always have been able to do that, while your dad tried a lot of times but it never fully worked. You still appreciated his efforts though.

Sitting up with the blanket still covering you, you blindly grabbed at the tissue box on your table, grabbing it before moving the blanket away when you felt something warm.

"Holy fu—"

"Hi, babe," The demon who licked you smirked, standing besides your bed as you groaned, flopping back to the bed as you looked away from him.

"Go away, I don't need you to lick me again."

"Aww, where's the fun in that?" He whined before spooning you from behind, his nose touching the back of your neck. You felt annoyed when his touch was easily welcomed by you, his presence actually soothes you as you realized how tired you are.

"I never formally introduced myself," The demon smiled against your neck, which made you huff in amusement. "Yeah, no thanks. Don't need to know that information."

"Rude. But if you must know, my name is Wooyoung. You can call me anything you want though."

"Bitch? Loser? Piece of shit?"

"I was hoping for something romantic," He huffs, sitting up as he flicked your forehead, yelping in pain as you pushed him out of your bed.

"No way! I'd rather eat with Jieun than call you pet names," You outright shivered, noting how Wooyoung's eyes seemed to darken at the mere mention of Jieun.

"Speaking of Jieun...were you crying because of her?"

"Huh?"

"Your eyes are swollen and red. Were you crying because of her?"

You rolled your eyes, checking in the mirror to see your eyes swollen, making you huff at how messy you looked. "Yeah, sure. You could say that."

"Don't worry, (name), I'm sure karma will get her back."

"Ugh, I don't even want to know how you know my name," You glared at him, making Wooyoung giggle lightly.

"Let's just say I've been told many things about you through an informant."

"Informant my ass," You mumbled, grabbing through tissues before blowing your nose away, looking away from Wooyoung to save yourself from the embarrassment. He huffs loudly, whining as he slumps to your back as you protest and trying to move away from him. "Yah! What are you doing?"

"You weren't paying attention to me," He pouted, nuzzling his face to your neck making you yell loudly. In a matter of seconds, numerous banging sounds could be heard from your front door.

"(Name)?! Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh, for fuck sake. Can't this day get any worse," You whine, balling up the tissue before throwing it away, groaning when it missed the trash can.

"Party pooper," Wooyoung grumbles, before pecking your cheek as he moved to stand. "Well, I guess that's it for today! See you later, (name). Oh! And don't forget—"

You hold your breath as Wooyoung leaned closer to you, eyes shutting in reflex as he chuckles lowly. "—We're always with you. We're not gonna let anyone hurt our dearest."

"What do you even mean—"

"Shush!" He playfully covers your mouth, proceeding to kiss his hand like he's kissing you. You slapped the back of his head, making him wince and whine loudly. "Meanie!"

"Go away!"

"Later, babe," He smirks before disappearing instantly, making you breath a sigh of relief.

"Hey! I heard someone inside! You better open the door or so help me I'll—"

"San! Shut up!" You yelled, making your way to the front door before opening it, San already rushing in to check every corner of the apartment. "What is going on with you?"

"I heard you yell, I got worried," He frowns before his eyes widen and quickly dashing to your bedroom, you following silently as he looks around the room with annoyance. He looks like a rabid dog just by looking everywhere around the room, nostrils flaring as he growls under his breath.

"It smells like him."

"Huh? What did you say?"

"I said it—" He paused, eyes squinting at your direction before slowly walking towards you, cornering you against the door.

"What? Is something wrong?"

You screech in surprise when San sniffs your neck like a rabid dog, pinching his ear hard enough to make him yell in pain. "What the fuck, San! Why are you sniffing me?"

"You smell like—Wait, why is your eyes red? It looks swollen! Have you been crying?!" He growls, cupping your face between his hands as you gently brushed his fingers against your eyes.

"It's fine, I just called my mom and my emotions just came out," You whined.

San looks at you with disbelief before he nods, glancing to his left before bringing you into a hug as he basically smothers you with his face like a cat. "I told you if you're having problems, you should come to me!"

"Sannie, I thought you were working. What am I supposed to do?"

He seemingly froze, moving his head as he hugs you tighter. "What did you call me?"

You blushed when you realized the nickname you just gave him, shaking your head rapidly. "Wait! Sorry, I didn't realize—"

"Call me that every time, please?"

"Huh?"

He purrs and moved his head back to your neck, before slowly walking backwards to your bed, lying down with him on top of you. Your jaw dropped drastically when you realize the position was far from friendly, stuttering away as you tried to comprehend what's happening right now.

"Woah, woah! What are you doing?"

"Cuddling," San smiles against your skin, humming happily to himself as you slowly relaxed, albeit your hands are stiff when you placed them against his back. "Uh huh, and why are we cuddling?"

"Because I felt like it."

You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly to a more comfortable position before settling. From the corner of your eyes you saw his eyes open slightly, a blank gaze in his eyes before he sighs loudly. "(Name), you know I care for you, right?"

"Of course, you're always helping me."

"Not just me, Yunho and Mingi are also worried for you."

You frown, subconsciously playing with San's hair as you gaze at the blank white wall of the apartment, not realizing how San seemingly tensed before relaxing with a happy sigh, slowly hugging you tighter. "What do you mean?"

"Is there something you're not telling us about Jieun?"

You stopped breathing for a moment, biting your lips as you tried to think about what to say. You haven't told him the reason for Jieun's bizarre behavior. And when you went to file a police report, you declined San's offer on accompanying you, not wanting to tell him the reason why.

"I don't want to seem pushy or anything," He starts. "I just want to help you, that's all."

"I know, Sannie," You whispered. "I'm sorry for not telling you anything. I just—the reason for all of this happening is so weird and unbelievable that I thought you might think of me as crazy."

"I'll never do that to you," San looks up, a crease forming between his eyebrows, making you smooth them with your fingers. He then proceeds to grab your hand, holding it tightly before kissing it, making you involuntarily gasp. "Please, tell me. I want to help you. I don't want you to deal with your problems alone anymore."

You laugh slightly, nodding as you agreed. After the call with your mom, you felt a little better asking someone for help. Maybe it was a bad idea to hide it and try to solve it yourself.

"Alright, I guess I'll tell you everything from the start." And you told San everything without missing any details, letting him comment here and there when he needed too.

"I saw Jieun here and there in university, but she never really stayed long enough for me to confront her. Maybe it's for the best," You tried to shrug, seeing as San made himself comfortable in your neck. "I don't really feel like acknowledging her presence after what she did.

"True," San sniffs. "But...thank you for telling me all of this."

"I needed a little push from you but I actually feel a lot better."

San smiles up to you, hugging you tighter. "Really?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Sannie."

San hums happily, nodding his head before sighing. "Your welcome."

A comfortable silence wrapped you and San, your eyes blinking slowly, trying to stay awake before gasping loudly. "Shit!"

"What? What?!"

"I forgot today's garbage day!" You hissed, standing up before running to the kitchen to grab your trash bag before slipping on some slippers. "Sorry, San! I'm going to be back in a minute!"

"You scared me," San whined loud enough for you to hear, but you only giggle at him before slipping outside, not noticing a figure exiting San's apartment, following you with slow steps before observing you from a distance.

San's smile turned from soft to an annoyed one as he threw a pillow to one of the corner in the rooms, making a yelp rang out throughout the room. "You're such a perv for watching, Woo."

"At least I didn't growl when I smelt someone else's scent in here," Wooyoung grumbled as he shows himself, walking to your closet as he hums to himself.

"And what are you doing?"

"Getting a small gift for myself," He replied. "I missed her so much, you know? Can't believe Jjong and Hwa made me go away and flirt with Jieun," Wooyoung shivered as he huffs in disgust.

"That's what you get for breaking our agreement," San smirks as he teased him. Wooyoung only rolled his eyes. "Like you all weren't foaming at the mouth to meet her alone."

He makes a triumphant sound, holding a pair of white silk panties before clutching them close. "Well, hello there."

"Don't get that one, she likes to wear them," San reminded him as he makes himself comfortable on your bed, rubbing his face and groaning at your smell.

"And you call me a perv," Wooyoung teased back before throwing the panties back, searching again before holding up a black lace panties. "How about this one?"

"It's new. I heard her calling her friend saying how uncomfortable it was after wearing it two times, so take it."

"Hmm, I'll tell Jjong about it. Maybe he'll buy new ones for her."

"Buy a cute pair of lingerie for her too," San added. "I don't think she has one. She'll look really good in any color."

"I'll tell Ssangie," Wooyoung hums happily as he stuffs them into his pockets. "Him and Jongho are annoyed that they couldn't participate as much as we can."

"Patience is key. We'll soon move to our next step of the plan anyways," San smirks as he grabbed one of your hair clips from the night stand. "How's it going with that Mark guy?"

"Not a threat so far from what Hwa said," Wooyoung replied. "Just a bit of a pussy to actually tell her how he feels. So he's not really a priority to us."

"He looks weak anyway," San chuckles at the thought of Mark protecting you from any of them, one snap of a finger from them he's dead in a second anyways.

At the sound of the front door opening, Wooyoung playfully salutes him before disappearing, San not feeling his presence in the room so he must be back to the temporary house they call home.

"Hey," You smile brightly at San, making his heart squeeze at hoe beautiful and radiant you looked. "What did I miss?"

"Oh, nothing that you need to know," He smiles innocently.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #yandere ateez #yandere

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 8! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Mentions of sex. Nudity. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: PG-13 (ish?) (but other parts are very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 4994

A/N: Our Reader is feeling it, y'all! I am, too! Getting into the right headspace for this part was tricky for whatever reason, and it's a bit long, so thanks for your patience. I wanted to get a bit more backstory in there, so hopefully the flashback scene works well. And a little Young!Elvis doesn't hurt anyone, right? I also couldn't help myself and HAD to include the detail about his stutter because I just keep finding all these deliciously real and human parts of him that make him such a rich, full person/character, so forgive me my indulgence!

To all the babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments mean the absolute WORLD to me. Finding out that some of y'all are liking it enough to be reading it MULTIPLE times blows my freakin' mind. Like whaat?! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

1957

“So, I hear you’re gonna make an honest man out of our Jacky Boy.”

You look up from your seated spot on the cool grass, Elvis’ tall frame lording over you in the dark of this humid midsummer night and you smile.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you blush happily, playing with the small, simple diamond that now adorns the ring finger of your left hand. It’s not much, but it’s yours. You can barely stop staring at it, you are so excited.

Elvis folds himself down next to you on the lawn, his long limbs a little less lanky than they used to be. A couple of years of being well-fed after a lifetime of poverty has done him well. He looks good, albeit tired. Hollywood and fame have certainly made him more beautiful, his resting face now always looking like it’s ready for a close-up, but the lightness that used to surround him is a little heavier, a little darker now, like he has the world resting on his shoulders.

He turns his head to really look at you, taking you in. It’s a look that might’ve made you self-conscious at any other time, but it’s dark and you’re too distracted by your engagement ring to really notice. “You happy, doll?” he asks, but answers it himself, “You look happy.”

You can’t stop smiling. “Yes, I’m most certainly happy,” you reassure him.

“Good,” he nods as if this has satisfied him in some way. Then he leans back, laying down in the grass, and stares up at the stars. That look comes over him again, the heavy one. It worries you a little. He’s been gone so much lately, and things have been moving so quickly for him, you’ve barely had a moment to talk in what feels like forever.

“How ‘bout you, E, are you happy?” you ask quietly, looking down at him.

He is silent at first, and you almost don’t catch the sigh he lets out before speaking, “I ain’t got nothing to be unhappy about, baby. All my dreams are coming true.” He says it almost as though he’s trying to convince himself of it. He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing all his attention on the sky.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” you say gently.

He finally looks over at you, those big blue eyes of his exhausted, rimmed with dark circles. “It’s all been moving so fast, I barely got time to catch my breath. I’m constantly around people, but sometimes I feel so lonely, y/n…and Hollywood ain’t all it’s cracked up to b-be,” he says quickly, but in a whisper, as though he’s terrified to be overheard.

You open your mouth to speak, but he rushes to continue: “And I don’t w-w-wanna seem ungrateful or nothin’ b-b-b-because I-I-I am gettin’ to do what I love to do and I’m supportin’ my family and it makes lots of folks happy, and God’s b-b-blessed me with that…b-b-but so many people hate me, makin’ it their mission to misunderstand me and they don’t even know me.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, frustrated and trying to get the words out.

You know he’s emotional and tired because his stutter keeps getting in his way as he tries to speak. Most people don’t even know he has one because it doesn’t happen when he sings, and he sure as hell doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wants to do, but you’ve heard it pop up now and again in conversation over the years, usually with nerves or when he’s “excited,” as he calls it. He told you how he thought he’d blown his initial screen test in Hollywood because of it, because he was so nervous that he couldn’t get the words to come out like he needed them to. Luckily, he said the director liked it and even said it made his acting seem more genuine. You find it endearing because it’s a very real part of him and his humanity, which you think is something much needed when the world is striving to make him a commodity. It still makes him a little self-conscious, though, so you don’t rush him or react, you just wait for him to continue.

“Sometimes I-I feel like I’m b-b-being pulled in a dozen different directions, all at o-once. I-I-I constantly feel like I’m tryin’ to prove myself. Sometimes it just gets to me, is all. So, to answer your question, yes, I am happy, but it sure comes with a price,” he pauses. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t’ve unloaded on you like that, today of all days,” he says, eyes now downcast and concerned.

“Don’t you feel sorry. I asked, and I’m glad you answered me truthfully. Seems like you needed to get that off your chest,” you say kindly, with a small smile. You hate to see him so weighed down. But you are pleased and surprised by him being so vulnerable with you. It makes you feel like you’ve got your friend back.

“You won’t go tellin’ no one, will ‘ya? Not even Jack,” he pleads, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Of course not, Elvis. I swear it,” you say seriously. You wouldn’t dream of betraying his trust.

He nods, relieved, and looks back up at the stars.

“I’m real proud of you, E, all of us are. It takes a special person to do what you do with the grace you do it with. God knows I couldn’t do it,” you say, suddenly feeling a little shy.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. “Thanks, y/n, that means a lot comin’ from you,” he says and the way his pretty eyes search your face sends a strange feeling through your body.

You don’t know what to say to that, so silence sits heavy, but not uncomfortably, between you.

Playing with your engagement ring, knees pulled into your chest, you look into the night sky.

“How’d ya know? That Jack’s the one?” he suddenly asks, out of nowhere.

The question both surprises and delights you. “Hmmm, well, let’s see,” you ponder. “He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be,” you rattle off. “That may seem silly and saccharine and hopelessly romantic, but it’s true. So, I suppose that’s how I know I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him,” you say, a giddy excitement running through you.

Elvis is quiet, his face unreadable. You’re not sure why, but you feel like you’ve said something to upset him.

“Why? You got a special girl or three, Mr. Presley?” you ask, in a faux-reporter voice, holding a pretend mic to his mouth to try and lighten the mood.

“Ha!” he scoffs with a laugh and a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, it must be so hard for you, to have thousands of beautiful girls to choose from, all clamoring for a piece of you,” you tease. You know he is dating quite a bit because he brings some of them home, whether from Hollywood or somewhere on the road. He always seems to be falling hard and fast for a new girl, but they never seem to last.

“No, there’s no one special I’m datin’,” he says, sitting up, intently playing with a blade of grass. “I mean, I’m seein’ lots of nice girls, great girls, even. It’s just…none of them’s the one.”

You are a little taken aback by his honest answer. “Well, you can’t force it, E. You’ll know when it’s right,” you say, patting his hand.

Elvis looks down sharply at your hand on his, almost like it’s burned him. “Yeah, I reckon I will,” he says, looking back up at you, his face unreadable once more. He’s gotten too good at that in Hollywood, you think, shutting the vulnerable parts of himself off from an untrustworthy world.

For the second time this night, silence hangs over you. This time it feels charged, but by what you do not know. You can’t figure out what’s going on with him.

“You gettin’ enough sleep, E?” His moodiness has always been worse when he’s tired.

“Oh, you know me, doll. I was barely sleeping before all this and now I sleep even less,” he replies. “There’s too much to do and I got all this-this crazy energy, ya know?” He wiggles his limbs, exaggerating. You can’t help but laugh.

But your laughter dies out quickly. “Seriously, Elvis, promise me you’ll at least try to get some rest while you’re home. It worries me to think you’re running yourself ragged.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, as if he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. Instead, he abruptly changes the subject.

“C-c-congratulations, y/n. Jack’s a lucky guy and I-I’m glad you’re happy. You—you both—deserve all the happiness,” Elvis says, his gaze kind but guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long. Your breath catches and you can feel heat blossom through your body and into your cheeks in a way that surprises you.

Then, just like that, he pulls away, getting up and brushing himself off, like nothing happened. He holds his hand out to you to help you up off the ground. “We should get back,” he says.

You blink rapidly, trying to process the last few moments. You are glad the darkness hides the red on your cheeks. Elvis seems unaffected, so you take his hand and let him help you up. You chalk whatever strangeness that has happened up to Elvis being exhausted, pushing whatever silly, fleeting thoughts you have far, far away.

The long-buried memory hits you hard as you stand at the door to Elvis’ bedroom, poised to knock. You’ve spent all night in anticipation of this moment, excited and nervous about whatever comes next, but this memory shakes you, knocking something loose in your brain. Something you had forgotten until just now.

You are trying to grasp it, the thing that is niggling at the corners of your mind, but before you can lock on to whatever it is, the door swings open, startling you. You didn’t remember knocking—it’s like Elvis just knew you were there.

And immediately everything else is forgotten because the tantalizing smell of him wafts over you, and your heart starts to pitter patter in your chest because he’s just so beautiful, and the brilliance of his light blue, dark-rimmed eyes nearly knocks you over.

Elvis pulls you in to the room quickly, trying to avoid any possible prying eyes, shutting the door quietly. The light is much dimmer in here and it’s silent, save for the sound of your breathing. He is so, so close, his eyes travelling over your body approvingly. His eyes ignite flames within you wherever they linger.

“I knew you’d be a showstopper in this, baby. And the tan is a nice touch,” he says, smiling coyly, running a finger down your bare arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Words get lost in your throat because all you know is that you need him. So instead of words, you grasp his face and kiss him as if your life depends on it. You sense his surprise at your boldness in the way he tenses at first, but it takes only a second before his arms wrap around you, and those soft, pliant lips open to yours.

But the butterflies happening in your stomach now are different than the heat you’ve experienced when kissing him before and that surprises you. Scares you, even, because the heat and the sex make a certain kind of sense. It’s biological, you think, natural to be drawn to him. Everyone is drawn to him. What you’ve already shared physically, what he is teaching you about pleasure, is addicting—you want more. Of course, you do. But what’s happening to you now is more than that, as much as you want to push it away and deny it.

You pull back from him slowly, his lips chasing yours with another gentle kiss. Your eyes raise, meeting the endless blue of his, and you are caught there, drowning, as you try to understand the man he is now. You can’t help but think that these are the same eyes that looked upon you on the lawn of Graceland so many years ago. Reconciling that Elvis with this Elvis feels so utterly strange. So much life has happened between then and now, yet under it all, you can still see that sensitive young man, striving and eager for everything life has to offer.

“Well, hello to you, too, honey,” he says softly, searching your face, trying to gauge what is going on with you.

“Hi,” you breathe out, “I missed you.” It just falls out of your mouth, a truth you aren’t sure you should reveal, but it’s too late now. It feels silly—you saw him less than 24 hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

This pleases him, his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I missed you, too,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss.

This invokes your own smile, a shy one. Your stomach continues to flutter like a schoolgirl’s.

He pulls you into the room, your hand small in his, the Vegas skyline bright outside the huge windows. To think, just a few nights ago, you stood in this very spot, furious and ripping him a new one for ruining your life. Feels like a million years ago now.

Elvis is barefoot, wearing a set of satiny deep blue pajamas, which somehow, even though they are sleepwear, still flatter him. You suddenly feel quite overdressed. You’re not sure what he has in store for you because his countenance doesn’t quite match the sexual fire from when he dominated you on the couch and sent you to the stars last night, but he is somehow no less intense.

His fingers brush through the pink fringe of your top, feathering over the bare skin of your back as he moves around you to a box on top of the piano. Curious, you move with him, stopping as he lifts out a slip of a nightgown that matches his pajamas exactly. Your eyebrow quirks.

Setting it back down, he glides towards you, wrapping his arms around your back. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, unzipping your top slowly, removing it, throwing it to the side. You shiver under his gaze, exposed in the lacy petal pink bra he bought you. He looks delighted that you are wearing it, though his gaze is still light and controlled, even though he is undressing you.

“Shoes,” he tuts, and you slip out of your heels, kicking them to the side. Your eagerness builds, the fluttering in your stomach wild and catching fire, but you let him guide you, as he seems wont to do.

He reaches around and unzips your skirt, pulling it gently over your hips and it falls in a heap at your feet. He hums and looks over you approvingly in your matching underwear, and the look alone has you weak in the knees. It’s criminal how handsome he is and what it does to you. Based on your previous encounters, you half expect him to take you right there, but he makes no move to do so. Your breath is shallow, your body on alert, waiting on pins and needles.

Next, moves in close, his fingers brushing up your spine. A shudder courses through you. He unhooks your bra, sliding it off you and placing it on top of the piano. You think for sure he will now devour you, but he waits.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Elvis whispers, taking in your figure and you suddenly feel shy under his adoring gaze. You resist the urge to cover yourself, your nipples standing at attention in the cool air. He doesn’t touch you (you desperately want him to), though you can see by the smoldering in his eyes he wants to, too. Instead, he hands you the nightie. “Put it on,” he requests, and while you are confused, you do as he asks. The expensive, silky softness drapes over you, hanging perfectly off your frame.

Nodding as though some requirement that is unknown to you has been fulfilled, he pulls you into him, kissing your forehead. His embrace is warm and comforting against the cold of the air conditioning and you wind your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into his fine hair. While there is heat growing in your belly for him, it is like glowing embers rather than an engulfing flame.

This feels different. And then you realize, it all feels so domestic.

The thought is jarring, yet not unwanted. You had assumed (rightly so) that he wanted you here so you could fuck all night long. But this, this is a decidedly different vibe to your uninterrupted night together. And while you are a bit confused and surprised by it, you are curious.

“Elvis,” you say quietly, without expectation, “what is this?”

A boyish grin spreads across his face, reminding you of the memory that blindsided you before, the one you still need to dissect. “I want all of you, not just a part of you,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his. It sends tingles down your arms. You’re not quite sure exactly what it means, but you get the gist that he wants more than sex from you and that is surprising.

Is it, though?

He pulls you up and onto the huge bed with him. You lean back against the pillows, the ornate headboard, and he turns to you, brushing flyaway hairs off your face. His crystalline eyes have an openness you haven’t seen in a long time, as though all the glitz and glamour of “Elvis�� is stripped away and it’s truly just the man here in front of you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

It’s such a simple question, yet the fact that he asks it of you almost has you in tears. Perhaps it’s because until this moment you haven’t realized that it feels like no one has asked you that, or truly cared to, in a very long time. And the fact that it is coming from him, of all people, makes your heart simultaneously break and leap at the same time.

You clear your throat, pushing the emotion away. “I…uh, well, I went to the pool with Sandy. Hence the tan. She happened to be in the room when your gift arrived, though, so that was interesting to try and explain,” you say.

“And what did you tell her?” he asks, resting his head on his hand, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. You are distracted by them and almost forget what he asked.

“Um, I basically told her I couldn’t tell her anything. How could I? I mean, we haven’t really talked about…” you motion between you two, “us, this. I couldn’t very well talk to her about it before I talked to you.”

He smiles that crooked smile of his, the one that melts your heart. “And how did she take that?”

“Oh, she was disappointed but didn’t pry. As soon as she saw the underwear, though, she’s made it her mission to figure out who the mystery man is. She’s been my shadow all night. It’s gonna be hard to keep this from her for very long,” you say dismally.

He laughs. “You can tell her, honey,” he says.

This floors you. “What? But aren’t you afraid…I mean...?” you worry.

Elvis puts his hand on your cheek. “Baby, I wanna keep seein’ you, and I think you wanna keep seein’ me.” The way he says it sends warmth radiating through your chest. But that warmth is quickly chased by cold, pragmatic fear.

He continues, “And I know she’s your best friend and y’need someone y’can talk to. Jerry knows already, anyway. I’ll make sure she knows to be discreet.”

Your mouth opens then closes. To say you are flabbergasted by this response doesn’t quite describe what you are feeling. It’s a mixture of relief, surprise, elation, confusion, and terror, and what seems like a hundred other things, all at once.

If Sandy knows, it makes this all real. Too real. This was only supposed to be a one-time thing. A way to stick it to Jack. A way to take some power back. A way to quell the unbridled sexual tension that had grown between you and Elvis.

But now you feel wildly out of control. Mind-blowing sex with the ethereal man in front of you has morphed so quickly into a passion you didn’t expect that you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. The more you think about it and the more you remember, no matter how much you are shoving it away, you know that this was never going to be a one-time thing for Elvis. He knew it, too. The fact that you are here right now, like this, is proof. And you are not sure if that makes you elated or angry. Maybe it’s both.

This is too dangerous. Go back to Memphis and forget this ever happened.

Maybe that would have worked two nights ago, but the thought of leaving him now fills you with more despair than the anxiety of staying.

What happens if this all blows up in our faces? Because you think it will. You can feel the pressure building even now, though you aren’t sure to what end.

Elvis seems so utterly calm, so sure. You don’t know if this is because he lives in a world so above everyone that everything seems possible, like a strange naivety, or if he is just an optimist, but either way, you don’t know how to respond. You know you have to say something, though, because of the way he is looking at you, his eyes expectant and watchful.

“How? How are we gonna keep seeing each other, E? I go home tomorrow. And what about Jack?” you say in a whisper, all your emotions caving in on you at once. Tears spring to your eyes, which is not at all what you want or expect, and you are mad at yourself for ruining the mood.

“Hey, hey now, darlin’,” Elvis says with concern, sitting up and taking your face in his hands. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry. I got it all figured out. I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reassures you. He kisses your tears as they fall down your cheeks, his lips soft and warm.

Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long.

The memory flashes back to you, startling you as the past and present meld together.

He kissed you then much like he’s kissing you now. You pull back and look at him with wide eyes.

“Baby, y’look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asks, eyes searching your face.

So many seeds have taken root, blossoming in your mind. (Or maybe they’ve always been fully bloomed, and I just never saw them.) You shake your head. Your heart is beating too fast. This isn’t the time to dive into this.

But when? you wonder.

How long has he…?

No, absolutely not. You won’t let yourself go there, you can’t, not now, not when he’s looking at you like this.

“I’m sorry, E, I just got caught off guard and got overwhelmed,” you finally respond, wiping your cheeks. “You—you said you have it all figured out?”

Throwing it back to him is the right call because now he’s excited. “You’re stayin’ in Vegas, honey.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you want to believe him, but you don’t understand.

Your heart drops into your stomach, as if you are plummeting down a roller coaster, the feeling where fear and excitement meet. “Elvis, you’re not making any sense. If I stay in Vegas, Jack is gonna want to know why, and I certainly can’t say I’m here for you. And I’m pretty sure Jack doesn’t particularly want me here, anyways,” you say with distain.

“Jack’s got his fuckin’ head wedged so far up his ass, he can’t see straight,” Elvis says, blatantly annoyed. “Don’t you worry ‘bout him.”

Don’t worry about him? He’s my husband! You almost say it, then think better of it, not wanting to get into that right now. Plus, you are curious as to this solution Elvis has miraculously come up with.

“Baby, remember the other night when you’s was tellin’ me you’re unhappy, that you don’t know where you belong, what your purpose is?” he says, practically bouncing.

You nod. How could you forget? That’s what started this all in the first place.

“Well, I figured it out. You belong here, with me, with us,” he says, beaming, taking your hand in both of his. You can feel him vibrating with energy.

“Wait, what…? Us? Who’s us?” you say, utterly confused.

“Us, the show. We’ve been talkin’ about needin’ someone to sing the high voice parts, along with the Sweet Inspirations. And it just came to me, after you were singin’ in the shower. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. Now you have a reason to stay. We get to be together, and the show will have a new member. It’s perfect.” His excitement is palpable, he’s nearly glowing with it.

Oh, this man is outta his goddamned mind. You shake your head, shock and fear like ice in your veins. “Elvis, do you not remember me telling you how terrified I am of singing in front of people? I could barely sing in front of you without having a meltdown!” you practically shriek, dousing his elation.

“Hey, there’ll be none of that!” Elvis raises his voice at you, eyes darkening. It’s not a yell, but it’s stern as hell, and you realize that Elvis probably doesn’t like having his “good idea” shot down before it’s barely out of his mouth. His change in demeanor shakes you enough to calm down a little. You know him well enough to know his mood can change on a dime, and you don’t think you can handle that on top of your own panic right now. You force yourself to take a long, deep breath.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re gettin’ up on stage with me tomorrow, honey, but I am sayin’ that maybe you need a little trainin’ to prepare you for the possibility that it could happen. And that trainin’ needs to happen here, in Vegas, with a vocal coach I already got comin’ in,” he explains more gently.

You are starting to understand what he’s getting at, and your fear abates a little. He’s not saying you’re joining the band (yet), but if you are training for it, whether it happens or not, you have a reason to stay.

“Now, I know you love music, baby, I know it in my bones cuz I see it in you, always have, plain as day. Maybe this is that purpose you’ve been lookin’ for. It’s kismet, I’m tellin’ you, honey, all this happenin’, here at once. You and me. Us needin’ another singer. Even Jack bein’ a dipshit. Can’t you see, baby? It’s meant to be,” he says fervently, holding onto your shoulders, his eyes wild with passion. He’s so enthusiastic, it’s hard to not be swept up with him.

It's meant to be…

You nod, letting him pull you along down this road. You do love music. You have been searching for something, a purpose. And you’d get to be here with him, not thousands of miles away, being sad and lonely in Memphis. What do you have to lose?

A lot, a voice counters. This is a bad idea.

You quash that voice, wanting to believe in this as much as Elvis does. As scared as you are of how out of control he makes you feel, how your feelings for him (and his for you) terrify you, you know that the stifling sadness of your old routine is slowly draining the life out of you.

If nothing else, Elvis makes you feel alive.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Elvis beams. “Really? Okay?” he asks.

“Okay, I’ll try it. I’ll work with your coach. But I can’t promise I’ll be any good or even be able to get up there,” you add pointedly.

You have to give him credit, though, because the more you think about it, the more genius the idea becomes. It could actually work in terms of your relationship, whatever it may be. But more importantly, the thought of doing something with music, something outside yourself, is enticing.

“That’s okay, we’ll just take it one step atta time,” he says, ecstatic. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

God, he says it with such fervor, such sincerity, that you can’t help but be enveloped in it with him. The fact that anyone out there has your happiness at the forefront of their mind is amazing to you, much less it being Elvis Presley. And he seems to believe in you in a way you haven’t even believed in yourself in a very long time.

And that does make you happy.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

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 @rainydayz101

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

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #Pink Scarf #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #austin butler #elvis presley smut #elvis presley imagine #elvis smut #elvis imagine #austin!elvis smut #elvis fic #elvis presley fic

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chayscribbles · 2 months

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chayscribbles’ monthly writing update ☆ february 2024

yes, i know, february has an extra day this year, but i'm posting this today bc i won't have time tomorrow lol

☆ STATISTICS.

projects worked on: The Gemini Heist

proudest accomplishment: i... wrote?... i guess??? *can't remember a single thing i did this month for some reason*

books read: Witch King by Martha Wells. i'm ngl, i was lost like 80% of the time, but that might just be a skill issue on my part (it's the kind of book that throws you into the thick of it without holding your hand and listening to the audiobook with the attention span that i have was... probably not the wisest idea lol)

(alhough funnily enough, it's while having this audiobook on in the background that i came up with a lot of my plot thoughts for gemini heist LMAO. either that or while playing zelda.)

☆ GENERAL COMMENTS.

although i did get writing done this month, this update's gonna be short. i don't really have much to say lol

more specific wip-related comments + featured excerpt below.

☆ COMMENTS: THE GEMINI HEIST (draft 0.5)

it's very weird to not be using word count to track my progress anymore. freeing, but weird. i have no concept of how much i've actually done for this wip this month.

i do know i've figured out a bit more stuff about the heist and the lore. i had a big plot brainstorming session and untangled a few scenes. while i know what direction i want the story to head, i still don't know how any of this gets resolved, tho.

and i wrote out a few important scenes. that's progress, right?

☆ FEATURED EXCERPT.

i've been writing so chaotically out of order based on whatever scene i feel most inspired for in the moment that i,,, honestly can't remember what i've written this month vs what i had already written before 🥲 here's a scene that i THINK i wrote in february. Leo and Illiana might be my new favourite dynamic. (for context, Illiana is posing as her identical twin at a party, and Leo is posing as a guest. they came in separately.)

With the bodyguards tailing her the entire way, Illiana slowly made her way towards [Leo]. She tolerated a few brief exchanges with other guests she crossed paths with to appear natural, then, once she was close enough, she slipped the extra comm out of the pocket concealed in her skirt. She made a show of bending down to pick up something, then strode towards Leo. “Excuse me,” she said as she approached. “I believe you dropped your earring.” Leo turned to her, smile strained underneath her veil. “Oh, thank you,” she said, holding out her hand. Illiana placed the comm into her palm, taking care to hide it from the guards. As Leo angled her head away to slip it into her ear, she added, “I must say, your Holiness, this is quite a lovely party.” “Why, thank you, Miss…” She faltered, realizing she didn’t know Leo’s alias. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’m familiar with you.” “I’m a business leader from Tharekkan,” Leo said, pressing her palms together and giving Illiana a slight bow with her head. “It’s an honour to be here.” Illiana was surprised that Leo, with all her meticulous planning, didn’t have a fake name ready, and now she was curious. “How may I address you?” Leo’s already tense smile tightened even more. “‘Miss’ is fine,” she replied, practically through clenched teeth. “No, I meant, your na—” “I’ve been told much about how lovely Fiolsby is, right before the winter,” Leo cut off, an unnatural segue back to the script they had practiced. “But I haven’t had the time to properly see the city.” Now Illiana just had to pry Leo's fake name out of her. “Really? That’s a shame. You know, the gardens offer a wonderful view of the city. Would you like to see, Miss…?” She let her sentence trail off, watching Leo expectantly. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would love that,” Leo replied, to Illiana’s annoyance.

☆ TAGLISTS. let me know if you want to be added/removed to any of them.

general taglist:

@dgwriteblr @the-orangeauthor @onomatopiya @quilloftheclouds @ashen-crest @writeblrfantasy @celestepens @stardustspiral @pepperdee @extra-magichours @avi-why @lefttigerobservation @chazzawrites @bardolatrycore @innocentlymacabre @subtlefires

gemini heist taglist:

@florraisons @akindofmagictoo @cream-and-tea @memento-morri-writes @antique-symbolism @rose-bookblood @afoolandathief @pepperdee @avi-why @zonnemaagd @chazzawrites @analogued @enchanted-lightning-aes @innocentlymacabre @kahvilahuhut @celestepens @cilly-the-writer @extra-magichours @onomatopiya @outpost51 @planets-and-prose

#chayscribbles writing update #wip gemini heist

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andromedaexists · 3 months

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WUPDATE: Incorrect Eyes

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚊𝚗. 𝟹𝟷𝚜𝚝 || 𝙸'𝚖 𝚂𝚘 𝚃𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍

This week has been harder than expected on the healing front, so I'm quite a bit behind in... well... everything. But that's okay! I still have so much time before I absolutely have to have this project done. I plan on publishing in July, so I want to give a few months minimum to betas and my editor. That means I'm gonna be absolutely pushing to have the final draft done this coming month.

As it stands right now, we're 3,699 words into draft one with a goal of 10k! The final draft I would like to have at 20k, but this draft doesn't need to quite hit that lol

I've also realized that I have to update the content warnings for Incorrect Eyes, but I have no idea what this new content warning would be. I already have a warning about general eye stuff including disembodied eyes and removal of eyes, but idk. squelching and squishy eyes needs something. i'll just have to figure out what

ANYWAYS i know y'all are here for the snippet, so here yous go ↓

The texts swim in my vision, the words separating themselves from the scans of the papyri, twisting and turning around each other to form incomprehensible strings of Greco-Latinate text. My breath catches in my throat as those strings start to form eyes, blinking at me as they mock my inability to focus. Fuck, I need a break. I don’t bother putting the texts away as I stand up and stumble away from the desk. The cold brick to my back grounds me, but the eyes are still there. I can’t get any air in, my breath stuck as the eyes drift ever closer to me. I need to look away, I need to blink, I need to do something but I can’t. I can’t and they’re getting closer and I need to leave but I Can’t. Look. Away. The room starts heating up, the previously cold brick behind me is burning hot. It’s searing my skin, the room is cooking me alive and the eyes are getting closer. The shadows in the corners of my vision start creeping forward, sending tendrils to meet the eyes of text as I watch. It’s a battle over what will happen first, will I lose my vision or will the eyes reach me? In the end, my vision blacks out as I collapse onto the ground. My knee hits the linoleum floor hard, a sickening crack resonates in my mind as I finally take a breath in. My throat hurts, my lungs constrict. The breaths I take are shallow, but it’s still air in. I shift myself to sit criss-cross on the floor, my back pressed against the once-again-cool brick wall. My vision is begins returning to me as I lean my head back against the wall. Everything’s blurry, but at least there are no signs of the eyes. I’m alone again. Thank God.

TAGLIST

@winterandwords @crypticcodexcreations @inkspellangel @smol-feralgremlin @joswriting

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

#Novella: Incorrect Eyes #wip update #writing #writeblr #wip excerpt #wupdate #adult fantasy #religious fantasy #andi writes #religious horror #horror novella #horror #psychological horror

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junggunz · 10 months

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𝖎𝖓𝖇𝖔𝖝/𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

fuck it we ball. i'm making my inbox guidelines a separate post to clean up my pinned lol. it's a long, long post but you can find important info like how i deal with my inbox, what i don't write, trigger warning tags, and my anon list.

HONESTLY it's the most important thing to read on my blog

you're getting blocked if... if you're racist, homophobic, transphobic, fatphobic, a terf, a partypooper, can't seperate fiction from reality or if you're gonna send anon hate. i'll tolerate blank blogs but if you don't have at least title/description/profile picture, i'm gonna ignore you like you're a bot lol.

if you wanna be mutuals, just ask since this is my sideblog!!!

˚◞♡ i take requests for smut drabbles and oneshots for character x fem bodied reader. i am also open to requests for gn! reader. just specify (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

˚◞♡ all 'requests' sent to my inbox are currently being treated as suggestions because my to do list is long af and i write soooo slow. buttt active members of the first church of junggunz get priority when it comes to requests! plz plz plz don't rush me since i write during my free time. if you want to commission me to write something, that's different.

˚◞♡ i try to be as inclusive as possible so i'm usually vague with the reader's appearance and don't use too much gendered language. y/n in my writing's only set physical trait (if mentioned) is that they're shorter than the character.

˚◞♡ i'm really good at keeping my masterlist updated so ALWAYS check my masterlist first before sending in requests for things like prompt games.

=͟͟͞♡ I DO NOT WRITE: incest, lolicon/shotacon, ddlg dynamics (daddy as a title is fine), age regression, pegging, character x character, male!reader smut, cbt, anything involving bodily excrements that aren't cum or saliva etc...

=͟͟͞♡ sidenote: if you're unsure about whether i'll write something, just ask! i'm really nice unless you're rude first. once again if i've decided to write your request, it'll be in my updates section! i'm running on one brain cell, so please don't rush me or spam me with the same request over and over.

also please keep in mind, if you request anything from me, i have the right to not fulfill it. not only do i write for free, your request may be out of my comfort zone or i just straight up don't know how to write it. once again, i'm writing everything with one brain cell and she gets tired.

✧˖° tw tags are... tw: noncon, tw: dubcon, tw: drugz, tw: yandere, tw: stepcest, etc. (if i need to add more things, i will.)

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

hehehe if you'd like to be one of my anons, just send me an ask with your preferred emoji, name, charanon or whatever. ex. "hi, can i be 🤰anon?" or "i love the pregnant emoji - 🤰anon"

₊˚⊹♡ emoji anons

🐻 | 🍷 | 🦢

₊˚⊹♡ named anons

none yet!

₊˚⊹♡ charanons

dg anon 💕 | gun anon ☁️ | jake simp anon ❤ | vinny anon ✨

i might start a taglist but...too many of y'all don't have your age in your blog so we'll hold off for now.

#inbox stuff.txt

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

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AITA WIP Tag Game

Stealing the open tag by @winterandwords

Describe your WIP as if it were a post on r/AmITheAsshole

This one contains heavy spoilers for the Fancy Boots arc of Glass Shards. Transcript of the images is below the cut. There's also links to the images at the end, because I think tumblr compresses them.

Aaaand I'm gonna very lowkey tag: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @antisocialxconstruct and everyone who wants to :D

I don't know if you wanna do something like this. Obviously doesn't have to be image format, I just took the idea and ran with it because I'm so very normal. It's a rather high effort tag game, so feel absolutely free to ignore it <3

I'm gonna tag some people from the Glass Shards/Fancy Boots taglist as well, just for looking at it, because I put too much fucking effort into this: @teamwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @kixngiggles

Lol guys I found a thread on reddit, it's hilarious, check it out.

Poor guy got torn to shreds in the comments.

Seems there were some updates as well. I'm having my doubts about this story, but five months is a nice commitment to the bit.

All screenshots look like posts on the subreddit r/AmITheAsshole, with several thousand upvotes and comments.

User u/ThrowRAFancyBoots posted seven months ago and has been voted the asshole:

AITA? I just wanted to make sure he's not a threat, but his wife is giving me the death glare

So I (25M) recently ran across an old acquaintance (35M). Last time we met… ok, there's no way around it, I was in law enforcement, and I arrested him for attempted murder. It wasn't pretty. Some things happened, and he was seriously injured. Wasn't my fault, but I admit I could have been a bigger help. I was informed he broke out of prison before his trial, but I moved away a short time later, and it kinda ended up in the back of my mind.

Now my new employer is in negotiations to move to this town, and while he's stuck in meetings all day, I got some time on my hands. And guess who I saw wandering around at the beach? I couldn't believe my eyes, but it was definitely him, he reacted to that stupid nickname they gave him.

Well, I did what any upstanding citizen would do, I tried to arrest him, but his wife (25F) — he has a wife now! — begged me to let him go. Ok, perhaps she didn't so much beg me as threaten me, but anyway, I just… I couldn't do it.

But I had to make sure he's not a threat anymore, I mean, what if I let him go and he kills someone?? So I told them I'd be over again to talk, and he invited me to dinner. It was an amazing dinner, this guy's a wonderful cook. We kept talking and I lost track of time, and then it was late and I realized I hadn't even asked my questions, so I told them I’d come back the next afternoon.

It's been 4 days now, and I've visited them daily, and I don't believe he's anywhere near the monster people said he is. Really, his wife seems to be more dangerous than he is. I think she's about to stab me. If looks could kill, I would be dead already. It’s making me wonder.

I just want to make absolutely sure, you know? Is that too much to ask? I didn't even come for dinner each day, so he wouldn't have to cook for me, though he still offered me something every time (it was absolutely delicious). I came along as he went shopping, and he was nice to everyone, and everyone seemed to like him. When someone asked, he introduced me as his friend of all things. If he’s an actor, he’s the best fucking actor I’ve ever seen.

So I'm asking, am I the asshole for bothering them for a few days while making absolutely sure he's not a threat anymore?

Several people have replied to this post:

First reply thread:

BurntSalad: INFO: What do you want to ask him?

ThrowRAFancyBoots: I want to ask him why he did it.

BurntSalad: YTA. It's been 4 days. Just check the police records or something, if you're too much of a coward lol

ThrowRAFancyBoots: I would have to ask. There wasn't a motive, it was straight up an assassination attempt. It doesn't make sense. Not when you get to know him. That's why I've been coming back.

UpperDogPants: then ask. put on your big boy pants and stop ruining their lives

ThrowRAFancyBoots: I will. Tomorrow.

Second reply thread:

CheeseAndPasta79: INFO: What was for dinner?

ThrowRAFancyBoots: Bean roast, mashed potatoes, glazed vegetables and freshly baked bread, why?

CheeseAndPasta79: YTA

ThrowRAFancyBoots: :(

Third reply thread:

SecretlyJealous2342: YTA you just want to fuck his wife

ThrowRAFancyBoots: No I do not want to fuck his wife, wtf.

Next comes a screenshot of the lower part of the OP, which now shows several edits and update. The thread has been locked:

Edit: Since people have repeatedly asked about the incident when he was arrested: his gun exploded, and he blew up his hand. We had to cut it off to save his life, and it… it was pretty gruesome, and I'm not proud of anything we did, all right? I didn't want to mention it, because I figured it might lead to prejudices before you've even read the whole story.

Edit 2: I don't think he's a killer. He really, really doesn't behave like one. But people wanted to know what I could possibly want to ask him after 4 days, and it's complicated. I want to know why he did it. For some reason, I can't seem to ask him that. But if I don’t know what made him do it, how can I be sure he won’t do it again?

Edit 3: Ok, after the latest edit, people seem to agree that I'm the asshole. Perhaps you’re right but can’t you see the predicament I’m in? And no, for those who were asking if his motives weren’t clear, they were not. It wasn’t a case of jealousy or revenge or anything, it was an assassination attempt, plain and simple. Perhaps he was blackmailed into it, or… fuck, I don’t know. This one day. I’ll go back one more time, ask my question, and leave them alone afterwards.

Update: I think I fucke

Update 2: Sorry, I dropped my phone and hit send too early. My hands are shaking. I fucked up. I went back today (yeah, yeah, I know) and I saw something I shouldn’t have seen. He’s… it’s not my secret to share, and I won’t do that to him in case he or anyone he knows will ever find this, but safe to say, he was treated so much worse than I had assumed. I didn’t… It wasn’t me, but I let this happen to him.

You were right, I’m gonna leave him alone, but I have to go back one last time to tell them I will keep his secret. Fingers crossed I won’t end up with a knife between my eyes. Just kidding. Hopefully.

Update 3: So, uh, things took a turn, and I don’t know what to make of it, but… I think it’s a good thing? When I went to apologize, I brought something of his, something I had kept since the day I handed him over. I told him how I quit my job afterwards, because of what we did, because I couldn’t look those people in the eye anymore. And how I had kept this object to remind me.

I wouldn’t have asked him anymore, but it was him who brought up the question, and I decided to be honest, so I finally asked him why he had done it. I was right, he had been forced by someone. Not only the attempted murder, but also the rest, which I didn’t… I didn’t mention it because it would have made his identity too obvious and might put him at risk, but it doesn’t matter anymore, because there’s no fucking chance he’ll ever do it again.

I’m sorry, my thoughts are all over the place. When I left, he actually ran after me and invited me to dinner. I went, and before you call me an asshole again, this time… it was different. They were actually at ease around me.

I’m now back in my room, and I can’t stop wondering where to go from here. If he really wants to be friends. We’ll see. I’m gonna leave it fully up to him, that’s the least I can do.

I guess the question of whether I am the asshole has been answered (yes I was, big time). It doesn’t really matter anymore, but since people seem to be strangely invested (you should try reading a book instead), I can let you all know in a few weeks how things are going.

The last screenshot is of a new reddit post by u/ThrowRAFancyBoots, with even more upvotes and awards, two months ago.

Update: I just wanted to make sure he's not a threat, but his wife is giving me the death glare

I promised an update, but things have been kinda crazy. At first, everything was going well, I was visiting more often, and while his wife still didn’t like me (I can’t blame her) she was courteous enough. I would say he and I became friends, which is… fuck, I don’t really have many close friends.

It really took her flipping out at me to realize that I was holding the threat to his life over his head. That if I were to hand him over to the authorities, they were going to kill him. That I’ve been coming into his home, basically telling him “if you can’t convince me you’re nice enough, I’ll have you killed”.

Yeah, you were right. I’m a fucking idiot.

And just when things started to settle, shit hit the fan. Turns out, he hadn’t told his brother about me (for which I also can’t blame him). Said brother wasn’t very amused to see me leaving the house and lost his temper. Not to go into details, but if my friend’s wife had taken a few moments longer to come out and check on the noise, I wouldn’t be writing this now.

I was out of commission for several weeks, which I spent at their house. His wife’s behavior took a 180 degree turn, and she’s been fussing over me ever since. Which is kinda endearing, but I hate to see her worry like that. Those two are some of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and it hurts my heart to think what they’ve been through.

Lost my job in the meantime, because my employer got sick of waiting for my return (I can’t… well perhaps I do blame him. A tiny bit. He could have gotten a temporary replacement, but fuck me, I guess). Not sure where to go next, I’m not quite fit to return to work yet, but there’s a chance the local headquarters will employ me directly, which would be fantastic. If not… I’ll figure something out. I could always return home to my family, but I’d really like to find a way to stay here.

Now I know my friend’s brother was just worried about him (for which I absolutely can’t blame him), so I decided to forgive him for attacking me. There’s nothing more important than family, and to think I almost destroyed theirs… I’m incredibly lucky to still be around, and to have them in my life, and for everything to turn out rather well, all things considered.

Probably not the update you expected, but that’s life. I won’t be posting again, I already put too much of their business onto the internet. Take care, and give your friends and families a hug today, if you haven’t.

#salad-tag #Fancy Boots #Riordan has fancy boots #Do you understand how much work that was

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ashes-writing · 2 years

Text

burnin for you pt three | stranger things ; g.emerson

A/N ; I told you guys I love this idiot and I have officially kinda adopted his grumpy ass as one of my own damn it, but anyway... and I wanted to write this for him and all that jazz. Welp, here we kinda have me getting a late night idea about 'stupidest' nicknames that reader and Gareth could call each other -and of course, how to give reader at least one friend that's not hellfire / corroded coffin and a girl so she can do her girly shit and not seem so flat or tragic for me while also exploring reader's home issues and such and inserting ANGST, so here we freakin go.

I shit you not, when the idea for their nicknames came I died laughing. If you guys don't like them, oops? I guess just sub in your own chosen nickname? Look, I'm still working on making the switch from writing OC characters to doing x reader so uh.. I'm trying, lol. [ BTW, i'm gonna attempt to revisit or update the ones for Tommy and Billy, I just.. haven't thought of a way to do it yet. ]

Huuuge huge thanks for all the feedback, oh my god, y'all have been making my days so bright with the comments and the tags and the reblogs and the likes bc I dead ass did not think anybody would read anything I put out bc I am gremlin.. You have no idea how much it truly means to me and I thank you so so so so so much, mwah!

- Ashes

Pairing ; Gareth Emerson x sweet!girly!rich reader [ we're officially calling them pastels and plaid. ]

Timeline / Other Stuff to Note ; pt I | pt II pt III part IIII can be found here those can and should be read first, then this one.. first of all. Gareth has been aged up to 18 before anybody says a word. I'm putting that out there now. So there's no question about it. This is set in 86 BUT BUT.. the upside down, vecna and all the other stuff that goes along with is not a part of this, it's more of a slice of life thing. So if you're into that... NO DEATHS EITHER BTW.

Tag List ; @allelitesmut @aries-arcade @hcloangcls @heyaitsklaudia @krys-orion @musichealsscars and @scoobiessnacks are the only ones currently on my taglist. If you’d like to be on my taglist for anything I write, including Stranger Things [ here ] add yourself there.

Warnings ; Chrissy -and readers, not so great home lives and her relationship with jason are discussed here so there are some not so nice things (ie, her ED is hinted at here but not really discussed, Jason is an asshole, her mother is verbally abusive and readers parents are just plain neglectful killjoy types who alternate between never being around and purposely taking away things that make reader happy if she's not 'good enough' at them) so before I go any further, that's mentioned heavily in the beginning. It's not that graphic but it is there. Mentions of the devils lettuce + the boys doing a smoking circle after jamming in Jeff's garage, lots of internal pining and the angst that goes with it, use of nicknames/petnames (bunny and meatball, my mind at 2 am, babes i s2g) and that's it.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || my rules - fandoms and some characters I write for || - send me things.

I do not consent to my work being reposted elsewhere or copied/reworked/rewritten and reposted here or elsewhere. You don't own this, I do. So like... don't steal my shit.

You couldn’t sleep. The house was too quiet and your mind was way too noisy. There’s a park just down the street that you’ve been going out to the swingsets to sit on nights like this. It’s normally empty because this is the gated neighborhood and most of the people in it are usually asleep, so as you make your way down dimly lit streets towards the park, you’re surprised to learn that’s not the case tonight.

Chrissy Cunningham is sitting on the jungle gym, Leaned back with all her weight on her palms, her head tilted back as she gazes at the sky. Remembering she’s one of them, you’re about to turn and make your way back up the street but she spots you and jogs over.

“Wait. Don’t go… Please?”

You eye her warily, a hand on your hip. You start to turn and just walk away anyway because looking at her only brings back the way Brook, the queen bee at your old school confronted you in front of everyone at your old school to tear you down and humiliate you and ruin everything, but you happen to see the red in Chrissy’s eyes.

You try to tell yourself she’s probably high, everybody in your old clique at the boarding school you were in before life -and shitty, neglectful parents, landed you in Hawkins in the big lonely house on the end of the street. But something about that thought doesn’t fit. Then you remember hearing her mother shouting earlier, halfway up the block.

What’s more is you heard her over your father’s true pride and joy, a top dollar home theater system. That wasn’t on low volume by any means because you were trying to drive out the tomb-like silence.

You rub the bridge of your nose and it’s what she says next that sways you into sticking around. “Please don’t go. I…I won’t annoy you and this isn’t a trick, okay? I just... I want someone to talk to right now. Please?”

You take a deep breath. “Fine.” you finally respond. The two of you make your way back over to the jungle gym she’d previously been sitting on and for about ten minutes, you’re both just sitting in complete silence.

“The freaks..” Chrissy starts and you cut her off. “They’re not freaks.” you assert calmly, giving her a warning look. “They’re my friends. I think they are, I dunno...” you go quiet and your words trail off as you look down at the manicure you’d given yourself that afternoon while watching General Hospital and babysitting the two youngest Sinclair girls. You’d done the two girls nails to match, of course.

“Sorry, it’s just…” Chrissy swallows hard, swinging bare feet around, her feet making a soft thud when the heels of them met the wood plank behind them. “That’s what everyone around here calls them. It’s a bad habit and I hate it.”

“Then don’t do it. Y’know, you do have the power to change things.” you say it with a quiet laugh and you immediately apologize. “Don’t take my advice. Trust me.” you add a few seconds later. “Because I tried to change things at the boarding school I was at before… Only ended with me getting fucked over.”

Chrissy cringes and looks at you in concern, but closer up, you’re thinking to yourself that if anyone needs a concerned look right now, it’s her. You start to ask her if she’s eaten because everything about the way her face just looks so damn tired makes you think about Elaine from your old school. Before you can stop yourself and remind yourself that Chrissy is one of them and they’re not to be trusted under any circumstance, you’ve asked the question. “Are you okay?”

“The whole neighborhood heard it.” Chrissy mumbles softly. “I thought just this once she’d be proud of me,y’know?” she’s wiping at her eyes and you tense a little because all you wanted to do when you left your house was come down and sit in silence to look up at the stars.

Try to quiet your own noisy mind and all the doubts and fears in it for just a little while. Try to stop yourself from calling Gareth at fuck all o’clock because he’s the only one you sort of trust and you just needed to hear his voice because you’re determined not to give anybody - a friend, your parents, a boy, that much of a hold on you again.

Instead of admitting that you heard it because that feels like the wrong thing to do somehow, you shrug. “I was watching some stupid show.” you mumble quietly. It’s not a complete lie, you were watching tv when it happened. You just omit the fact that you heard her mother lashing out at both her and her father over the volume level of said television show.

She looks a little relieved that maybe one person didn’t hear her mother lashing out. You manage a weak smile and repeat your earlier question because to an extent, she hasn’t fully answered it. She looks down at her bare feet and shakes her head. “I hate being me.”

And you feel that in your bones. But you don’t say anything. She laughs and it’s a quiet and almost bitter sound. “I mean, perfect boyfriend, perfect grades, perfect body… You’d think I’d be happy…Right?” she shakes her head and mutters a quiet, “Forget it.”

“No,no.” you reach out for her wrist when she goes to leave. “Finish what you were going to say. It’s not like I’m gonna sleep tonight anyway.” with a mild shrug.

“Your parents too?” she asks and the question is almost hopefully phrased as she searches your eyes. You bite your lip and shrug. “Lack thereof, actually. They won’t be back from their little business trip until December, if they even come back. According to my father, they’re in talks to merge with some other entertainment business and go in together to open some nightclub or something. They could be gone a year or something, I really don't know..” you laugh quietly.

“Wasn’t your father talking to the mayor about re-visiting the whole idea to buy out the mall?”

“Yeah, he was. Then he got this offer and decided to go with it. Mayor Kline didn’t want to negotiate, something about the current owners of the mall had a better idea.” you shrug, rolling your eyes.

“So you’re there alone?”

“There’s a cleaning lady that comes in twice a week. It’s not like it’s a big deal.” you shrug it off. It is a big deal but you’re so used to the endless parade of service people in and out and the absence of your actual parents that now you just get numb because there’s no hope left.

“We weren’t talking about me, Chrissy.” you mumble after the silence gets just a little too thick. She sighs. “I hate him. I hate him and I hate my mother. But I still love her and I want her to be proud of me just once so I do everything I can…”

You gaze at her and nod. “Listen, this is your life. Fuck them.”

She manages a nervous smile. Twists a strand of strawberry blonde around her finger. “I wish it were that easy.”

“This is gonna sound selfish but trust me.. Or don’t, whatever.” you’re swinging your feet as you look up at the moon and stars overhead. After a second or two to pause and think about how best to word it, you decide to just say it. “Has that idiot Jason Carver ever done anything good or helpful for you?” you gaze at her.

“Well, no but–”

You shake your head. “No buts. Him ‘making you popular’ or whatever bullshit you were about to say is not important, it doesn’t count.” you laugh quietly. The more you sit and talk to her on the jungle gym in the middle of the night, the more you’re confronted with just how much alike you both are.

You don’t like that, it doesn’t sit well.

This in turn, leads you to sort of think that maybe it’s time you follow the advice you’re giving her. Or try harder to.

“Okay, what about your mother? When’s the last time she actually gave a shit?”

Chrissy’s mouth opens and closes and she’s in deep thought. You shrug mildly. “Do what makes you happy. To hell with your mother definitely, Hawkins High student body and especially that piece of shit Jason Carver.”

“Why are you telling me this? I..” she trails off, laughing softly. “I thought you hated us.”

No sense in deluding the poor girl, you respond quietly, “Most of you, yeah. I wouldn’t spare a drop of pee if most of you were on fire..” you gaze at her thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re different. Maybe it’s not too late for you.” and as you say this, you focus all your energy into it because if it’s not too late for her this means it’s not too late for you.

She manages a weak smile. “Maybe.”

“What does make you happy, hm?”

Chrissy giggles quietly. “There’s this boy.” she starts and instantly, you get the feeling you might possibly not want to hear the rest because if it all centers around a boy -because right now, god that sounds just way too close to home and you’re definitely not in the state of mind to deal with that just yet, it’s probably gonna be an awful disaster for her.

“No, I meant like.. Hobbies?” you clarify what you meant.

“Cheerleading. That really does make me happy. It’s the only thing that keeps me hanging on.”

Like your ballet. That your parents took you out of to put you in boarding school so they could jet around god knows where and do anything but be parents. Your mother claims to this day that she was doing it for your own good because you weren’t good enough and she was saving you from pain later, but you honestly didn’t care if you were any good or not, you just loved to dance. You loved the structure and the discipline because it was something nobody gave a shit about you enough to give to you at home.

Besides the one nanny you had when you were 10, the only one who acted like a goddamn parent and didn’t treat you like you were just some kind of little prop when needed. But they took her too because your father said attachments were something that would make you weak.

You nod and you smile a little. Before you stop yourself with the reminder that again, she is one of them and therefore, not to be trusted even a little, you mumble quietly, “Ballet.” and you give a shrug. “I was in classes but my mother decided I wasn’t doing well enough at it to warrant going anymore.”

Chrissy swallows hard and she doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. You mumble an apology because there you go again, making it awkward. “Sorry, I… That should’ve stayed in my head.”

“No, no.. It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

And she doesn’t.

Something she’s thinking about makes her smile just a little and you bite your lip, looking at her. “Okay, out with it. What’s his name?” you decide that maybe it's safer to stick to boys or whatever else you can both think of because this conversation is getting just a shade too heavy right now for you but you want to talk to her, you need to talk to someone.

“Eddie Munson.” Chrissy answers in an almost dreamy and shy tone as she laughs softly. "It feels so good to just say it."

You gape for a second and then you laugh quietly. “Wow. I..” you shake your head, dragging your hand through damp hair, “I was not expecting that.”

“You can’t say anything, alright? Please?” she begs.

You’d never say a word, one, because you dunno if she’s trustworthy or not just yet and two, you know how that feels. To trust somebody with something and then they take it and use it against you somehow, make a total mess of everything.

You rub your forehead.

This entire conversation has been one eye-opener after another.

Some necessary and some, like Chrissy’s confession about having a crush on Eddie Munson, totally shocking. But you feel a little lighter somehow. You come away with the desire to stop letting life run over you repeatedly. To stand up for yourself more. With everyone. To stop giving a shit about anyone who doesn’t give a shit about you.

“I won’t.” you manage a smile and hold up your pinkie despite it being the height of childish. She links her pinkie through and you both laugh quietly.

“Y’know..” you’re not even sure why you’re suggesting it, maybe it’s to save her from Jason Carver turning into a worse man later in life and her being trapped, maybe it’s just for shits and giggles because you cannot, for the life of you picture Eddie, an actual golden retriever idiot, - the thought comes with all the friendly affection you can muster, of course, with her.

“Yeah?”

“Eddie’s a way better person than Jason. Jason’s only going to get worse.”

Chrissy nods. The look in her eyes tells you that this isn’t something she hasn’t thought about a thousand times already. You shrug and lean back against the metal pull bar beside the top of the slide behind you so that you’re actually facing her completely. You laugh a little. “I need to take some of my own advice.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.. that whole fuck them speech? It was aimed at me too.” you admit, going quiet to stare down at the cracks in the wood beneath you. Chrissy laughs softly. “So do it.”

“You first.” you deadpan, sticking out your tongue.

“Okay, what if we both do it?”

“Do you think they’d be able to handle both of us just lighting a match and watching everything and everyone who didn't care enough and we no longer care about burn though?” you ask quietly, kicking your feet again as you admit in a quiet whisper, “Because I’ve got so much anger sometimes I can’t sleep.”

“I know what you mean. Mine isn’t… It’s more pain than anger.”

“Pain turns into anger, you know that, right? But the whole numb thing, that comes first most of the time. Or that’s how it worked for me.”

“Yeah.”

Both of you go quiet again and then she looks at you. “What’s it like?”

“Hm?” you glance up at her.

“Dating Gareth Emerson?”

You laugh softly.

“We’re..” you trail off and lean your head back against the wooden post. “He’s just my friend.”

“But you wish there was more going on… Right?”

You shrug. “A little yes, a little bit I’m too scared to even think about it. I’m a fucking mess, okay? Just like.. Trust me.”

“You don’t seem that bad.”

“Thank you.” you mumble.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Chrissy is poking the bear because she doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell him. She always sees you two around school. And everybody thinks you’re dating him, especially after the brawl that happened a week or two back between him and Mason Allen. A brawl that Mason Allen hasn’t quite gotten over just yet. The thought reminds her that she was going to warn you to warn Gareth and his friends to watch their backs, so she butts in to say so.

“Hey, you might want to warn Gareth.. And his friends. Mason’s furious because Gareth kicked his butt.”

“Oh he is, huh?” you muse, glancing at her. “Is he planning something?”

“Just says that when he catches him alone, he’s going to get him back.”

You scoff. “Yeah, like hell that’s going to happen. I won’t let it.” you assert.

But really, can you stop it? You weren’t brave enough to stand up for yourself thus creating the mess in the first place. Even as the thought hits you, you know that you’re at least going to try. Whatever it takes. Because you’re not going to let Gareth get dragged into something you should’ve been brave enough to handle on your own.

“I’ll warn him later.” you mumble to yourself. Chrissy circles back to her original question, asking again why you don’t just tell Gareth how you feel. You laugh softly. “You first, sweets. I happen to know Munson would be fuckin thrilled. He’s always watching you.” you give her a slightly warmer grin as you say it.

Chrissy nods and takes a deep breath or two. “It’s not that easy.”

“My point exactly.”

“I thought you were dating Gareth, I mean.. He calls you bunny. And you’re always with him. You’re both always kind of touching each other?” Chrissy points out quietly. You laugh again. “I have not the first clue where Gareth came up with that nickname. I just told him he could call me literally anything but my name because I hate it so much and then he started calling me bunny.” you shrug, laughing again. “Knowing him, it probably has to do with me eating vegetables and fruit. Something off the wall like that.”

“What do you call him?” Chrissy giggles as she asks the question, smiling at you all soft and serene.

“Never to his face and this doesn’t leave us, got it?” you look at her and take a deep breath before bursting into laughter. “Pretty boy. I uh.. Had a real interesting dream a few nights ago when I got a little crazy and raided my mom’s wine and I’m pretty sure I called him daddy a thousand times during that.. But seriously,” you’re staring at your pale pink toenails as you swing your feet back and forth, “I call him meatball most of the time. Because he’s stronger than he looks, meatballs are kind of a comfort food for me and like… I dunno where I was going with that. I called him tiger once and his face went so fucking red, it was the cutest thing…” you double over, laughing at your sap and stupidity.

You cringe a little. “That was way too much information.”

“No, it’s okay. This is nice. Can we?” she fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater while looking down, “Can we do this again sometime? Can I talk to you and stuff at school?”

You laugh and shrug. You don’t expect her to follow through on the talking at school thing, not even slightly, but you smile and nod. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” you mumble, wondering to yourself the whole time if you’re going to regret it in the long run.

Something tells you maybe this time you won’t.

You haven’t regretted a single second since you made the decision not to get sucked right back in with the type of people you used to be friends with and be like, to an extent.

Chrissy grins brightly at you. You manage a slightly smaller bright grin. “Hey, if you ever need somewhere to go, I’m at the end of the street. The big blue house.” you point out your house to her and she nods. “I’ll probably take you up on that a lot.”

– ( jeff’s garage )

The heavy haze hung in the air and Jeff fanned in front of his face a little as he passes the joint to Grant. Grant took a hit and passes it to Eddie.

Eddie nudges Gareth and Gareth blinks.

“Okay, meatball. Focus, idiot.” Jeff laughs out.

Gareth gives him a dirty look and flips him off. “Fuck off, Jeff.”

“What? I can’t call you that but she can? I thought she wasn’t your girl… Meatball.” Jeff scoots himself away from the circle and lays on the cement slab floor laughing his ass off.

“Of all the nicknames. She picks that one.”Gareth shakes his head, laughing even though sometimes, it is a little annoying. But to be fair, you only started calling him meatball when he started calling you bunny.

And now, it’s become a habit.

“Pretty sure she’ll say the same thing, you call her bunny.” Eddie points it out and this prompts the rest of the little circle to glance at Gareth.

Gareth’s face is on fire and he gives Eddie a death glare. “Dickhole.”

“What? I heard you earlier.” Eddie shrugs.

“Of everything you could call her, man.. Bunny? Seriously?” Jeff questions.

“Why bunny?” Grant asks quietly as he fixes his gaze on Gareth, waiting on an answer.

Gareth laughs and shakes his head, taking a hit of the joint before passing it on to Jeff. He exhales and at first, he tries to just shrug it off without answering.

“You know the rule. Spit it out.” Eddie says it so sternly and with such a shit-eating grin at the same time that they all burst out laughing. “This is the circle, Gare. No secrets.”

“Fuckers.” Gareth grumbles, irritated. “Fine. If any of you says a word, I swear to Ozzy..” he trails off and grins, kicking his sneakers together as he leans back, propping on his hands to gaze up at the ceiling. “It’s that little nose wrinkle, okay? It’s.. It’s so fucking cute and it reminds me of that rabbit my older sister Sarah had. And she’s always kicking her foot against the desk.”

Jeff is laughing harder, so hard that he takes a hit and it nearly doubles him over because he can’t stop laughing and he inhales and nearly chokes himself down on the smoke in the process. “Say what now?” he looks at Gareth.

Gareth shrugs and cringes as he adds in a quieter tone, “And she’s shorter than me, there’s that. Look, she’s small and cute… Like a rabbit. If you assholes say one word, I’m gonna kick your asses, got it?”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Scout’s dishonor.” Eddie taunts, smirking. Gareth leans out to give him a lazy shove. “Especially not you, asshole.” Gareth warns.

“Aw, he really is in love.”

“I’m not, damn it. I’m not.” Gareth insists, glaring at his friends even though he knows it’s a lie deep down. And even though it’s been weeks now and she hasn’t proven his original assumption right yet, he’s still living every single second that he knows you with the worry that eventually, the other shoe is going to drop.

Only now, he’s gone and fucked up, truly. He’s too attached now. So when -not if, because he’s convinced that this is too good to be true and any day now, he’ll wake up and it’ll have been a dream or a figment of his imagination, something, the bad thing does happen, it’s going to crush the guy.

The more he tries to fight it off, the deeper he winds up falling. It’s exciting, it’s terrifying and it’s frustrating as hell, especially lately, with the little nicknames and the way he can’t stop himself from touching you all the damn time.

“Just fucking do something, Gare. If you don’t, it’s going to drive you crazy and you will explode.” Jeff’s outburst has Grant and Eddie nodding in agreement. “The tension’s so fucking thick you’re kind of giving us all blue balls, idiot. Any second now,” Eddie wags his finger at Gareth with a smug look on his face, “You will explode.”

“I will not. It’ll be fine. Look, maybe being her friend is enough, man.”

“Bullshit.” Grant coughs but doesn’t bother covering the word as he does it.

“Yeah, he’s full of shit.” Jeff agrees, laughing as he shakes his head. “You’re full of shit.”

“That’s the biggest load of horse shit.” Eddie exclaims.

“Fuck all of you, alright? Why aren’t we talking about Munson making ga-ga eyes at a certain cheerleader, huh?” Gareth smirks when Eddie flips him off and he moves away from the circle, laughing. “Doesn’t feel so fucking great, does it?” he asks, folding his arms.

“Your situation and mine are totally different, shithead.” Eddie answers, going quiet. “Y’know I can’t tell her anything. She’s one of them.”

“And any day now, my girl could be too, idiot.” Gareth points out quietly.

Jeff shakes his head. “If you were any more stubborn you’d be a goddamn brick wall, Emerson. If she was going anywhere, she’d have done it at least the third or fourth day she was here. No… she’s always with you, with us, dumb fucker. Wake up.”

“I can’t with him, I really just can’t. Says all that and calls her his girl. Makes no sense.” Eddie mumbles, shaking his head too.

“You’re blind and an idiot, Emerson. And I mean that with all the care in the world.” Grant muses, taking a sip of a soda he only just remembers that he’d grabbed from Jeff’s kitchen earlier.

“As I said just a second ago, fuck all of you.” Gareth flips off his friends as he stands. “I’ll see you assholes tomorrow. Gotta get home.”

And as he’s leaving, his friends' opinions just won’t get out of his head. No amount of shoving them down will help, either because he’s starting to realize, even now, that they’re all right. Sooner or later -probably sooner, just being your friend isn’t going to be enough. It’s already starting, truth be told.

But the poor guy has not the first clue what to do to move things one way or another.

#gareth emerson #gareth emerson imagine #gareth emerson fanfiction #gareth emerson fanfic #gareth the great #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson x fem!reader #gareth emerson x reader fanfiction #gareth emerson x fem!reader fanfiction #/// read the warnings on the top of the post #// i still fucking cant with myself and the nicknames.#// if you're wondering writer totally was not watching a pam and tommy series tribute vid when it struck.#// no no not i never.

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 22 days

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Hi! Im new here and for the past two days I’ve kinda binge read “Just take it” , “The art of Etiquette “ and recently, i finished “Falling”.

(i love love love the stories, especially the second one)

I noticed that the first two stories I’ve mentioned are still ongoing and i don’t wanna be a bother but i wanted to ask about the other one, I checked for more updates but the last one i found was in february. All I wanted to ask is that of there are other chapters i didn’t find and if you’ll continue the story?

The plot ia honestly intriguing and i would love to read more if possible 🤗

Aww hi!

Thank you so much for the support love! Happy to have you here 🥰 I'm so glad you're enjoying them!

The masterlist for Falling is updated so I only have those four chapters out but I had another anon ask about it recently so I will for sure be getting back to that one!

It hasn't been a popular story so I kinda lost the motivation to write it but I will for sure finish it since some of you guys are still interested in finding out what happens next 😁

It's the most complex concept I've come up with and I'm really enjoying coming up with all of the different aspects when it comes to the fallen and guardian angels so thank you for asking about it.

I have part of it written already but I think I kinda hate it so we'll see if I continue with that or scrap it and start over lol

Be sure to join my taglist so you'll get the notification when I do end up updating it but the next fic I'll be updating is gonna be Just Take It 😁

Hopefully you'll look forward to that one but I'll try my best to get another chapter of Falling out soon! I said that to the last anon too and it's been a while but I will get on that one asap!

I kinda just write whatever I feel inspired to write so I'll try to push through the writer's block I'm having 😅

Feel free to send asks about the story though! You can ask me or any of the characters questions if you'd like and that goes for all of my stories 🥰

Sorry I always rambles when it comes to answering asks but thank you again for supporting me and my stories 💜

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #ask #falling ask

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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Just read the Inevitable update and I’m obsessed all over again!! Each chapter just keeps getting better 🥹 I’m glad the reader character grabbed you by the collar and said bitch nah coz I am COMPELLED and I love the character and everything 😂❤️ could I be added to that tag list as well? Lol and really any mandalorian fic you write I would love to be tagged in 😬 thanks! Love you byeee

STOP YOU'RE MAKING ME BLUSH.

Thank you so so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. (And absolutely I'll put you on the taglist).

I'm also going to use this time to publicly announce my to-do list so I can fucking get my shit together lolol. I've been so lazy the last few days and it's mostly b/c work has been so crazy that by time I get home I just crash. But good news/bad news, I'm ✨sick✨. I think I caught one of the viral bugs floating around here. Which means that I'm gonna be stuck at home with my laptop getting shit done (good news) but there is a solid chance anything I write is mildly nonsensical from cold meds (bad news). Guess we'll find out!!

Next chapter of Inevitable. This gets priority since I need to update it on Monday lol.

Work on the next chapter for AFS. This won't be as hard, and will probably be the last thing I do this weekend if I get to it b/c it's already half done. #19 was supposed to be longer but I split it in half so.

I have a comfort drabble I'm working on that I want to finish today (and ideally post today at some point). I've been slacking on my drabbles for y'all so I'm gonna try to get some out.

Maybe work on my original manuscript that I haven't touched in like a week ??????

I wanna work on the next chapter of Seven Days, just b/c I'm seriously craving cowboy!Din again. (and b/c i accidentally over complicated my plot so now I'm super excited to write it all out)

Maybe write another AFS deleted scene? I guess that counts as a drabble.

And, if time willing, I think I wanna branch out into the world of Joel Miller. I have been craving that man like an addict looking for a hit (also side note to the anon who asked for the TLOU inspired drabble surrounding Din, it absolutely will be done b/c I'm obsessed with the scene you brought up I'm just slow).

ANYHOO, I'll be on and off tumblr all day long while writing so message me things. Any of the things. ALL of the things. Let's chat!

#the mandalorian #din djarin #a fresh start #inevitable #seven days #joel miller #asks #feel free to ask me about anything!!

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cambria-writes · 2 years

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happy update day!

i literally finished this an hour ago, then i ran out for an errand, and now here i am. i've started work on ch9, and i'm already like 30% done.

i don't really know how many more chapters we've got to go; we're just finishing up on episode 5 in this one, next chapter stars in episode 6 so... math says we've got like maybe five chapters to go? i'm probably gonna write eight more lmao i don't know when to stop. i lied cause i almost accidentally posted the wrong chapter lmao but we still got several chapters to go babes!!

my ask box is always open, i love reading your comments, and the taglist is always open!!

...i'm gonna go fix the format of the other fics so everything's consistent now lol we love aesthetic evolution

pairing: eddie munson x reader rating: T-M, each chapter rated individually warnings: guns, active shooting, minor character death, mention of a corpse, lots of swearing, reader passes out, ADND should come with its own warning, DND references in general, kind of an anxiety attack, let me know if i need to tag anything else! word count: 3,365

Previous Next Masterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓: 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩

March 23rd, 1986

It takes maybe a second, but for that one second, you feel like your body’s being pulled in every single direction at once. Your stomach rises up into your throat and lights burst behind your eyelids, accompanied by the worst, searing pain. The only thing you can think of is not letting go of Eddie’s hand.

And then it stops as soon as it starts.

You’re on your knees, doubled over on the road, gasping for breath. It takes a few seconds of jamming the palms of your hands into your eyes to start seeing again. You think you hear Eddie somewhere off to your right. You struggle getting to your feet, the cold like claws digging into your muscles and your thin sweater is doing nothing to help.

When you feel for your nose, your hand comes away bloody again. Snort and spit out the blood before making your way over to Eddie. He’s at least still mostly standing, hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. He holds an arm out to keep you away while he straightens up.

“I’m good,” He croaks. “Just need a sec.”

“We don’t have a second,” you whisper harshly, moving forward to grab him by the arm. “We need to go.” You don’t listen to his complaints as you start dragging him towards the road. “Mind the vines.”

“The hell do you mean mind the vines?”

“Exactly what I said,” you reply, picking up the pace once Eddie seems to be able to move on his own. “Your lich king uses them to track movement or something, it’s some weird kinda hive mind.”

“Hive mind? You’re kidding me.”

“Wait, hey—don’t do that!” you shout, pulling him back from one of the thicker vines by the side of the road. “You wanna fucking die in this place cause that’s a good way to do it!”

Eddie turns around to look at you and his face is blank for a second. “You’re... really not kidding.”

“Look around you, Ed! Does it look like I’m kidding?” You put your arms out and take a few steps back. “Look, actually look. Does this look like home to you?” You scoff and turn back towards the road. “Come on. It wasn’t too far.”

It takes a bit before you hear Eddie jogging to catch up with you. He stays silent while he walks to your right. You flex your fingers around the handle of the gun and keep staring straight ahead.

“So you...” Eddie trails off, walking a bit closer to brush your shoulders together. “You’ve been having nightmares about this place the whole time?”

“Yep,” you emphasize the P with a pop. “November 1983.”

“Wait, isn’t that when the Byers kid went missing?”

You hum and shrug, take a second to jump over a particularly large vine crossing the road. “Yeah, well. Everything kind of all went to shit from thereon out. Clearly,” you motion vaguely around young. “It hasn’t stopped.”

“So like, how much further?” Eddie asks, and the nervous edge on his voice could probably be heard from a mile down the road.

You take a second to squint and try and look further down the road. There doesn’t seem to be anything for as far as you can see. You grab at Eddie’s arm to make him stop.

“It... it shouldn’t be farther out than this,” you say quietly, turning to look around. “Do you see anything?”

“Nah,” Eddie answers slowly. “I’m not... are you sure this is the right way?”

“I thought so...” you trail off.

When you turn back to face the way you were going down, you get the same creeping feeling at the back of your neck as you did earlier.

“Eddie, I think we need to go back.”

“Oh, now you’re agreeing that this is a terrible idea,” he scoffs.

You’re about to smack him when something snaps in the woods off to your left. You raise your gun and make sure it’s cocked.

“Hey, what the hell was that?” Eddie whispers, side stepping a few feet to get closer to you.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, keeping your gun aimed at the woods but slowly stepping back. “We should probably—”

Something rushes out of the trees and skitters to a stop in the middle of the road, about thirty or fourty feet ahead of out. You stop breathing for a second, until the thing turns its head towards you, and its entire face opens up with a flower and a a deafening screech.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, grabbing your shoulder and pulling you back. “take us back, take us back!”

You pull the trigger once and miraculously, despite shaking hands and the missing ability to breathe, you manage to hit the thing straight in whatever it has that passes for a mouth. It lets loose another screech before it starts running right at you.

“What the hell was that for?!” Eddie screams, dragging you back to start running. “We have to go!”

“Shit, shit, shit I’m trying!” you shout back, flailing to grab a hold of Eddie’s arm. “Stay still!”

“Are you fucking crazy?!”

You dig your heels in to make Eddie stop and pull him back to you. You can hear the thumping of the monster running behind you, but you close your eyes against everything anyways.

The sound of feet hitting pavement fades away with the screech and Eddie’s screaming. And for a second, again, you feel that weightlessness and gut-wrench. When the ground meets your feet again, though, you don’t have any strength in your legs left to hold you up and you crumple in the middle of the road, boneless.

“Fuck, fuck!” Eddie screams, and you can barely lift your head to look at him. When you do, your vision is too blurry to make anything out.

You do, however, see a body on the pavement, just behind him.

“Ed,” you whisper, pulling an arm out from under you. “Ed, be... behind you,” you choke out, pointing.

“Wh-what are you,” he starts, but stumbles back clean onto his ass after he turns around. “Holy shit,” he whimpers, twisting to look back at you. “He—Chrissy—”

“Ed,” you mumble, letting your cheek rest back on the road. “I’m gonna... I’m gonna pass out.”

“What? Wait, no, no, no—”

The funny thing about unconsciousness is that it’s not quite a lack of consciousness. It’s like you can feel and hear everything in bursts, but only in some kind of periphery.

You can feel yourself being carried, kind of, and you can hear someone talking, almost, but none of it ever feels close enough to properly register, and you can barely remember any of it a few seconds after you almost feel it.

When you open your eyes again, it’s still pitch black outside if the curtained window is anything to go by, but there’s light coming from down the hallway from the bedroom. Your whole body aches—you can feel scrapes on your legs against your jeans and your palms are burning. There’s a headache blooming behind your eyes again, and it nearly burns every time you breathe in through your nose.

When you groan and try to roll over, you entirely miscalculate how far the edge of the bed is, and fall clean off when you can’t get your legs around in time. The sound must clearly alert Eddie in whichever part of the house he’s in, because no sooner does your head meet the floor do you hear clattering, swearing, and furious stomping down the hall. You’ve managed to prop yourself up on your elbows by the time he reaches the doorway.

“H-hey, you,” you try to greet casually, but the migraine splitting your skull is making it hard to get anything else out.

“Don’t “hey you” me you fucking menace,” Eddie grumbles, moving over to reach under your arms to help you back up to sit on the bed. He crouches in front of you when you’re settled, elbows on his knees and head hanging with a sigh. “You mind telling me what happened and why you felt the unrestrained need—“ Eddie cuts himself off when his voice begins to rise and he sees you visibly wince at the volume. “Sorry, sorry. Just, what happened?”

You shrug and pinch your eyes shut. “I really don’t know. It’s like that second plane shift took it all out of me.” Eddie nods for a second, but seems to realize something and shakes his head furiously.

“Yeah, okay, that’s good to know and everything, but I was talking about that freaky dog thing that ran right for us with the venus fly trap face.”

You snort at the description but stay quiet for a second, trying to think through the migraine. “Henderson called them, uh… Demodogs? I think? They’re like the Demogorgon but quadrupedal instead of bipedal.”

You can hear Eddie cursing Dustin under his breath before he puts his hands on your knees. “Anything else you can tell me?”

You frown and shake your head a bit. “Any-anything else? What—”

“I dunno, like, how to kill them? What they’re susceptible to? Literally anything?”

You bring your hands up to your face and dig your fingers into your eyes. “I can’t-I can’t think. Can you get my painkillers or something? My head’s killing me.”

Eddie rushes out of the room without a word. You let yourself fall back on the bed. Try to recall the nightmares from before. There was that time two years ago when Chief Hopper was stuck in the tunnels and he managed to clear the vines with fire… so maybe your harebrained thought of making a flamethrower wasn’t too absurd after all.

“Here,” Eddie says, entering the room while shaking a pill bottle out into his hand. He caps it back up and grabs the bottle of water he had wedged under his arm and hands it to you.

You sit back up with a groan and whisper your thanks. Twist open the bottle, accept and throw back the pills, and drain half the bottle in one go. When you gasp and wipe your mouth, you take the time to properly look at Eddie.

He’s pale, clearly shaken up. And now that you’re paying attention, you can see the trembling of his hands on his knees as he crouches in front of you, and you can make out a bead of sweat going down his neck. You reach out to wipe away a smear of something from his cheekbone with your thumb.

Your nose feels itchy and your eyes are burning. “I’m sorry,” you breathe. Swallow thickly. “I-I’m so sor—”

“Hey, no,” Eddie mutters, holding onto the wrist nearest his face and bringing his other hand up behind your neck. “Hey, none of this is your fault. We’re both just caught up in some bullshit, we didn’t ask for it. You’re good.” He gives the back of your neck a squeeze and you let yourself fall into his shoulder. “You’re good. We’re fine. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Man I’m sorry for crying you much,” you choke out between sobs, grabbing at Eddie’s denim vest. “I just—I can’t—”

“None of that.” The fact that you can hear the shaking in Eddie’s voice tears a desperate wail from you. “It’s okay, just let it out. Just let it out.”

And you do.

All the fear and the frustration, the confusion; you sob it out. The consuming rage of not being listened to, of being called insane; the confusion of never knowing when you’ll end up in that-that hellscape again, and whether or not it’s going to be real; the certainty that if you talk about what happens to you again that you’ll just be sent back to another hospital. Maybe permanently this time.

Worst of all is the knowing, now, that all your nightmares were real. Maybe the details were off, here and there, but the people you saw dead died. There is another Hawkins and there are monsters there. And, for some god forsaken reason, you can go there.

“Hey,” you hear Eddie whisper your name. “Can-can you breathe with me? Can you do that?” he asks, and the fingers at the back of your neck start to scratch lightly at your nape. It takes a second, but you nod; you know you’re hyperventilating, now that the crying has stopped, and you know you need to get a grip. “Alright, okay,” Eddie continues, resting his chin on top of your head. “In seven, hold for two, out for four. Got it? In seven, hold two, out four.”

You nod again, and try inhaling when he does. When you start coughing, he whispers that it’s okay, and you try again. After a few failed attempts, and once the burning in your chest starts subsiding, you finally manage to match your breathing to the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest.

“There you go,” he sighs on the exhale, giving the back of your neck one last squeeze before moving his hands to your shoulders and pulling you away just enough to get a good look at you. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” you whisper back, doing your best to offer a watery smile. Take a deep breath. “Thanks. For helping.”

“Well, hey,” Eddie chuckles, patting your right shoulder. “Thanks for not letting me get eaten by a freaky carnivorous plant dog.” You close your eyes and let yourself laugh, even if it’s still a bit shaky.

“Yeah,” you nod, patting him on the chest. “Well. Can’t let my therapist die in a parallel universe. Who else is gonna listen to my bullshit?”

Eddie helps you to your feet once you feel like you’ve got a good enough grasp on yourself again. Mentions that he’s been poring over his books since he brought you back to the house for lack of a better thing. Has been checking in on you every other hour to make sure you were still breathing. Cleaned your face off, because it was ‘covered in blood like you’d walked straight out of Carrie or something’.

“Did you let the others know what happened?” you ask once you’re sat at the table with the rest of your bottle of water. Looking around you can see that Eddie’s covered the windows nearby with blankets, cushions and other fabric you think might be clothes. The lantern in the center of the table casts enough light to see most everything around you, including several books laid out and overlapping on the table.

“Yeah,” he grunts, letting himself down on the chair. He waves you off when you frown in concern. “They’re all a little… occupied right now, but one of the brats should come with their designated escort later.”

“You mean Harrington,” you correct, a bit absently, pulling one of the D&D books closer to you. A quick flip of the cover tells you it’s the Dungeon Master’s guide. “Did you find anything interesting while I was passed out?”

“Actually,” Eddie starts, flipping covers and going through the books on the table before he pulls one out from beneath the guide you have in front of you. It’s thin, and you never would’ve known it was there. “I felt so stupid not thinking of it first but… here.” He slaps his hand down and flattens the booklet before spinning it around to hand it over to you. “Right there,” he points to the page on your right.

“This… is this a spell list?” you ask, a little bit incredulously.

“The magic-user spell list yeah—that’s not the point. Look,” he leans over the table to tap at a column at the bottom of the right page. “The ninth level spells.”

“Gate,” you breathe, frowning and leaning down closer. “Astral Spell, Power Word: Kill…” You bring your hand up to the book and look at the other columns. “Telekenesis, Wizard Eye, Projected Image, Dimension Door—”

“Everything you’ve seen,” Eddie starts, slowly lowering himself back down in his chair. “All of it, it’s all there. Even the monster shit, it’s all there.”

You let out a quiet gasp, and turn the page. You zero in on the title at the top of the left page:

SPELLS TABLE

Clerics

“Hold up,” up say, raising your hand over the table and motioning to be handed something. “I’m not seeing plane shift in here.” You look up at Eddie, who seems to take a second before registering what you’ve said before snapping his fingers and going through a few books on the table before picking up up and passing it over.

“It’s, uh, I think it’s page fourty?”

You flip through the pages and land on the one mentioned, and there it is at the bottom. The cleric spell list.

“There is it,” you exclaim, pointing down and looking up. “Plane shift.” You look back down at the page and frown, “This is level five shit though. I don’t know that…”

“Don’t, you don’t know that what,” Eddie asks after you stay quiet for a few seconds. You flip through a few more pages, take a second to read and lean back in your chair.

“True Seeing,” you say quietly, gesturing at the book. “I mean, I definitely don’t need some kind of-of mushroom ointment for my eyes, but that sounds about right.”

“Anything else sound familiar?” Eddie asks, clasping his hands in front of him over the book on the table. You bite your lip and look down again, sigh and shrug.

“I-I mean I don’t know? Augury, maybe, I guess?” You let a hand trail down the columns. “I really don’t know, most of this shit just kind of happens to me, I don’t exactly try to do any of it.”

“But you tried with Plane Shift,” Eddie points out, taking the book back and flipping it around to take a look at it. “And you’ve basically done Astral Spell before even if you were kind of, y’know. Unconscious.”

You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at the man sitting across from you. “You’re not actually suggesting I do what I think you’re suggesting I do.”

Eddie’s grin could split his face with how wide it is.

“No. No, absolutely not,” you growl out, slamming your hands down on the table. “Are you forgetting that just the plane shifting almost got us killed? How about the part where I passed the fuck out as soon as I got us back? The bleeding? Nuh-uh,” you conclude, crossing you arms again and kicking the table. “No fucking way.”

“Come on,” Eddie pleads, putting his elbows and slapping his hands together almost supplicantly. “It can be something easy, totally inconsequential. Like,” he looks down between his elbows before looking back up. “Cure Light Wounds! You get a papercut—”

“Boy, are you stupid—”

“Or what about Silence? Speak With Animals should be—”

“Eddie!”

He flinches back a bit in his seat, but otherwise puts his hands up in surrender. You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose in irritation.

“I’m not a test subject, Ed,” you whisper, letting your hand fall down in your lap and giving him a look you hope is just shy of begging. “Right now I just. Can we just like, get high and pig out on junk food or something?”

Eddie sighs and has the decency to look apologetic. “I don’t have anything on me, princess. Kind of didn’t really have the time to grab anything when we…”

He trails off and you don’t need to hear the rest of the sentence. “Right, well at least we have beer,” you say as you get up and head over to the fridge. “You did put it in the fridge right?”

“Yeah, but I mean, shouldn’t you be drinking, like, water or something a little more—”

“I just woke up from passing the fuck out after basically teleporting us twice and dodging a hellhound in literal, actual hell,” you call from the fridge. You pick up two bottles, scoff and put them back in the case before taking the whole thing out. “I deserve a fucking break from this bullshit.”

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@anothermunsonsimp @doratheignora @storiesbyrhi

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browneyes-issac · 2 years

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Hellos everyone. 🤗💞 little life update, lol.

So.. I apologize I haven't gotten any new stories out in the past week or so... I do have ideas and such, when it comes to getting to write it I just go blank.. So I've taken a little break, I'll be back soon I promise. 💞

I was planning on starting up yesterday, but I had a crappy weekend and yesterday was a continuation of it sadly... 🤷😞

But something good happened today!!! 🤗 I had my first job interview ever... And! I got it!! 🥰 I'm gonna be a dietary aid at a nursing home, my mom and aunt work in housekeeping, so it was the best thing I could find job wise, since I don't have a driver's license yet, lol.

I believe I will be starting next Wednesday, if not some time after that. I got orientation Tuesday... Sooo I'll know after that. It'll be full time and every other weekend.

The reason I'm telling y'all so much about it is I am at home all day everyday... So when my favorite people on hereee post new stories/parts I usually read them shortly after they post.. Since I don't really do anything besides my chores, etc.

So in other words... I wanted to tell you gorgeous amazing people... I'm not loosing interest at all in your breathtaking work, I just will be delayed a bit in getting to them, lol. 😆💞 I know I have two I need to read, they will be my bedtime stories.. 😆💞 even though at least one is a pure 100% spicyyyyy! 🤭

I will still be here always and anytime for everyone, I just will be responding a lil late, lol. But will still reply 100%.😘

I love you all x infinity!! Thank you for being so amazing to me when I come gush about your work all the time.. And being a safe place when I need it, I always feel safe and at home reading everyone's work. You all truly are badass, breathtaking, sweet, everything positive when it comes to writing.. And in general, y'all are pure angels!! 💞😙

I'm gonna tag my writing taglist and my favorites that aren't mutuals, so you guys can know why I am kinda vanishing too.. 😆💞

Tags: @guess-my-next-obsession @supernaturalgirl20 @stxrrylunatic @heythere-mel @prolix-yuy @astroboots @mandoblowmybackout @icanbeyourjedi @fuckyeahdindjarin @grogusmum

Ps, you guys don't have to interact with this at all.. I just wanted to let everyone know without attacking everyone's dms/asks.. 😂💞

#me update 🥰#love you everyone 😘#i got my first jobbbb! 🙈🥰#lil life update 💞

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 10 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

TW: SEX. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5219

A/N: Oh, lordy, y'all...this one's a doozy. For whatever reason, this one did me in in all the ways and I have a feeling it might do some of y'all in a little, too. I'm both sorry and you're welcome. I promise the (eventual) payoff will be worth it!

Thank you for patience and sweet messages as I again struggled a bit to get this out due to my stupid neck/back pain. I'm really am doing better with my attempt at a more ergonomical writing setup, but am trying not to re-aggravate things, so the writing is still gonna be a bit slow going forward!

Once again, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments are definitely helping me power through some of these particularly gnarly chapters. The asks are just so much fun and I'm so happy that I can bring a little joy (and lust) into your lives! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

See this post for images of Elvis in 1955

October 1955

It’s late, well past the dinner rush and nearing midnight. The harvest moon shines large and orange outside the windows, and for once the diner is empty. Unseasonably warm for late October, you fan yourself with a menu and wish the diner was packed because at least then you wouldn’t have to think about how incredibly mortified you are by the fact that not only did Ted dump you, out of the blue, but that he’d already asked Judith Cole to marry him.

Shame burns on your cheeks when you think about how you’d so easily let him convince you to go all the way with him because he swore, swore, that he was saving for the ring and that was the only thing that stood between him and you and the rest of your lives together. You had no reason to doubt him, after all—you known each other since grade school and had been going steady for over two years.

Turned out Ted was a big, fat liar.

With a defeated sigh, you throw yourself onto one of the stools at the counter and lay your head on top of your arms, tears pricking at your eyes. Stupid Ted. You hate that you’d ever loved him, and you feel even more angry at yourself than at him for thinking he was the one, that he was a good guy. That he loved you. Seems like the only thing he wanted was your innocence and once he got that, well, he’d moved right along.

In your swirl of self-pity, you don’t hear the door to the diner open and it’s not until he’s nearly on top of you that you realize you are no longer alone.

“Y/n? Doll, you alright?” his voice drawls, concerned. You whip up your head in surprise at the familiar voice.

“Elvis?” you sniffle, frantically wiping your tear-stained cheeks, embarrassed to be caught in your humiliation. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” he chuckles, “Not quite the ‘welcome home’ I was hoping for, but I just got back into town and was starvin’, so I figured I’d go to the best diner in town.” He winks and smiles that wide, crooked smile of his, his blue eyes wandering curiously over you.

You haven’t seen him in a dog’s age, with him so busy travelling around with his band, though you certainly hear him on the radio every time you turn it on. He’s getting mighty famous in the South, his unique style of music entrancing teenagers left and right, and you hear-tell that girls are screaming and chasing after him at every turn. Word is he’ll be going national any day now. But none of that particularly matters to you. He’s your friend, after all, and while you’re glad he’s finding success, you are more happy that he’s here.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, E, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s good to see you, I just…” you blabber, now equally embarrassed that you put your friend off, at your job, no less. Seems like you can’t do anything right these days. You choke back a sob, unsuccessfully trying to keep your composure.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Whatcha cryin’ over? Come ‘ere, baby,” Elvis says, pulling you up off the stool and into his arms. You might be surprised at this familiarity coming from him, but instead you are just grateful for the comfort as his arms wrap around you. The kindness he’s showing has you fully weeping now, despite your best efforts to keep it together, and you are too upset to care anymore. Tucking into him, you feel the heat of his skin under his lacy pink shirt, which feels a bit intimate, but that’s honestly the furthest thing from your mind right now.

You shudder and cling to him, your mind occupied with how unfair life feels in this moment, how you’ve desperately tried to hold it together while it feels like the whole town is staring at you and talking behind your back. How the future you’d dreamed about slipped right through your fingers and there was nothing you could do about it. How you feel like it must somehow be all your fault—that you could’ve been a better girlfriend and maybe then Ted would have stayed.

Your love for Ted may have faded these past weeks, but it certainly has left angry scars in its wake.

Elvis just holds you and rocks you, whispering words into your ear in comforting tones as you finally let it all the sadness and anger of the last four weeks out. You’re not sure how long it takes, but eventually, your tears begin to subside and you come back into yourself. Suddenly, you are quite aware of the young man holding you, the way his scent and sweaty warmth surrounds you and how you can feel his bare chest through the lace of his shirt.

You breathe in and pull back, his beautiful crystalline eyes watchful. He lets you go, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to you, ever the gentleman.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking it and dabbing your eyes and cheeks. You must look a fright after all that crying, but you do feel a bit better.

“You ready to tell me what’s goin’ on now?” he asks, his hand at your back, leading you to one of the booths. He plops down next to you, waiting patiently for you to compose yourself.

You glance over, really taking a good look at Elvis for the first time. His skin still glows a warm sienna from his summer tan, golden sun-streaks lightening his coiffed dark blonde hair. His piercing blue eyes continue to watch you carefully under those impossibly long, dark lashes and you realize that Elvis Presley is no longer the gawky boy you met all those months ago, not at all. He is still thin, but you can start to see the man beginning to peak out from underneath the boy, his face filling out and his jaw stronger. It starts to dawn on you why girls have been falling over their feet for him. Your heart thuds in your chest as you realize he’s actually downright gorgeous. Maybe he always had been, you think, but you’d only had eyes for Ted before now.

You try to shake away those thoughts, as it’s not the time for it and feels absurd under the circumstances. Perhaps it is because this is the first time you’ve ever been alone with Elvis; before now, there was always Jack or others in the diner or being out together as a group, but it’s never been just you two. You aren’t quite sure how that makes you feel. You’re not sure you want to know. One thing you do know is you aren’t in your right mind tonight.

He's waiting on you to say something, anything, you realize.

The intense emotions of the past weeks and your sudden examination of the young man in front of you has you flustered. “Oh, well. Um, Ted…well, he broke up with me about a month ago,” your voice cracks, tears threatening your composure once again.

“What? I thought you two was fixin’ to get hitched,” he says, sitting up and looking at you, eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I thought, too. Said he was saving up for the ring and everything. But then, out of the blue, he just calls it all off. Says we weren’t ‘meant for each other’,” you say dismally.

Elvis waits for you to continue.

“I was shocked, everyone was shocked. Seems like the whole darned town is wondering what happened, but I couldn’t tell you. I still don’t know. Then, I come to find out he’s seeing Judith Cole, which I’m thinkin’ he must have been already doing when we were still together with how fast it all happened, that skunk. That’s humiliating enough, but then yesterday that gossip Sally Hill rolls in here saying that Ted and Judy are engaged, just like that,” you ramble on, fresh tears freely streaming down your cheeks. “Here I was thinkin’ we were gonna spend the rest of our lives together. God knows I believed him, and he took advantage of that, of me, of me thinking…enough to…so I…we…” you cry, hiccupping.

The minute you realize what words just left your mouth you are horrified. It’s enough to piece together the truth you don’t want anyone to know. You slap your hand over your mouth, your cheeks blazing with heat. That was a secret you’d intended to keep to your grave, not spill it, your deepest shame, to a boy, much less Elvis Presley.

“God, no, you must think the worst of me…I’m not that sort of girl, I swear!” you exclaim. Then, defeated, you add, “Oh, I’m ruined. No one’s ever going to want me now.” You look at him pleadingly, whispering, “Oh, please Elvis, please don’t tell anyone.”

Your hands are shaking, and you suddenly feel lightheaded. On top of everything else, you’ve gone and made things worse. You wish you could crawl into a hole and die. If you could, you’d leap right out of your seat and run right out the door to do so, but Elvis is blocking you in.

But the look on Elvis’ face isn’t at all what you expect. There is no judgement, not at you, at least. His eyes have darkened in a way you’ve never seen before, a way that’s more than a little frightening. The muscle in his jaw clenches, once, twice, as his brow furrows deeply. Confusion seeps through your tears.

“Elvis…?”

“Did he hurt you?” his voice rumbles, lower than you’ve ever heard it, as he stares forward, not looking at you.

“W-what?” You’re not exactly sure what he is asking. Of course, Ted hurt you. That’s what you’ve been saying.

“You said he...he took advantage…Y/n, I need to know if he hurt you. Because if he hurt you, Teddy’s gonna wish he ain’t never been born,” Elvis says, grabbing your hand and looking at you with determined eyes, eyes filled with a shocking, simmering fury.

Oh. Oh.

You shake your head vehemently. “No…not like that. He didn’t hurt me like that, Elvis, I swear it,” you reassure him quietly.

He searches your face with open fervor, looking for any signs that you might be hiding something from him. Eventually satisfied with your answer, he nods, taking a deep breath.

You are beyond flummoxed and overwhelmed. You were already in a strange space because of everything Ted had done. But then in came Elvis, of all people, comforting you, listening to you all concerned-like, and now he looks ready to downright murder Ted at the mere suggestion that Ted might have physically harmed you.

Your heart flutters in your chest at this, surprising you, to say the least. You look at Elvis with wide eyes, suddenly acutely aware of how close he is and how good he looks and how he is looking at you like that. And maybe it’s no different than usual, but right now it sure feels different. You swallow hard.

Elvis squeezes your hand tightly. “Now, you listen to me, doll—you ain’t ruined and I don’t think any less of you, you hear? Cross my heart, your secret’s safe with me,” he says, drawing an X over his heart.

You stare down at your hands on the table, playing anxiously with your fingers, embarrassment still coursing through your veins. You believe him when he says he won’t share what he’s learned. You have to, because despite what he says (he is a man after all), if it gets out that you were with Ted before marriage, your reputation will indeed be in question.

Then, much to your shock, Elvis reaches out, brushing an errant tear off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before running his pointer finger down your jaw, resting it under your chin. His light touch sends a rolling shiver of delight through you, a response you cannot seem to control. He lifts your chin slowly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“And don’t you dare say nobody’s gonna want you now. Baby, any man worth his salt would be lucky to have you, alright?” Elvis says definitively but gently, those azure eyes plundering your soul, as if he can banish your shame by burning it out of you with the light and care of his own. He waits solemnly for your acknowledgement, his finger still under your chin.

“Alright,” you finally breathe out, nodding. You honestly feel like you might pass out from the way he’s looking at you and from the way your heart is coming up out of your throat.

The silence that settles between you feels charged, like the feeling just before lightning strikes during a thunderstorm. You’re not sure what the heck is happening, only that something significant has shifted. You are ricocheting so quickly from emotion to emotion that you reason you must be imagining it.

Just a minute ago, you were sobbing over Ted, but now Ted feels like a long ago, far away, distant memory. Instead, you feel utterly hypnotized by the young man in front of you who has you caught in his gaze. Dangerously, you let your mind wander to the thought that Elvis sure is handsome all the sudden, with the way he leapt to your defense and is saying sweet things. Not to mention the way he’s touching you and especially how those bedroom eyes are considering you, searching your face, looking at you in what could be a more-than-friendly way…

No, Elvis couldn’t possibly be looking at you like that. It’s Elvis for god’s sake. You blink rapidly, as if this will clear these intrusive thoughts from your mind.

It doesn’t.

The flutter deep in your belly is something you should not be feeling, and yet it’s happening anyway. You feel completely unhinged. He’s just being kind. Just because a boy is kind to you doesn’t mean anything else is going on, you try to convince yourself.

You know you must be imagining the way his eyes are travelling down your face, lingering briefly at your lips. The warmth spreading across your chest and down your arms is making it clear to you that you wouldn’t be the least bit opposed if he closed the distance and pressed those deliciously pouty lips to yours.

And perhaps he’s considering it, too, and thinks better of it because then Elvis releases you, breaking the spell. You let out a shuddering breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You aren’t sure what to say or do, you only know that you feel completely vulnerable to him and whatever seems to be happening (or not happening) between you two.

His leg is now jumping like crazy under the table, his usual intense energy seemingly compounded by the stillness that just engulfed you both. The newly gained confidence that had oozed from him not moments before has dissipated as he looks down at his hands almost bashfully.

Or maybe he’s ashamed that he nearly took advantage of the situation, you think, but that would be silly because Elvis doesn’t think of you like that—he’s just a well-mannered Southern boy being nice to a friend who’s having a bad day. He’s probably uneasy because he could sense what you were thinking by the way you were mooning over him and it made him uncomfortable. Lordy, between that and what he now knows about you going all the way with Ted, you feel like a damn hussy. Your cheeks burn with that thought and you look away, but you still mark the stark difference in his behavior.

“W-w-wanna b-b-bet she’s probably pregnant?” he says, abruptly changing the subject and obviously nervous.

“What?” you say, confused, snapped out of your thoughts. “Who?”

“Judy Cole. I’m b-b-bettin’ the reason they’s got engaged so quick is cuz she’s in the family way,” he says, looking at you with eyebrows raised.

“Elvis! You shouldn’t say such things!” you smack his arm playfully, but then you really think on it for a second. The way Ted broke up with you out of nowhere and was with Judy so fast…no, you think, he’d already been with Judy, but things got out of hand and…

“Oh my god,” you say, wide-eyed, looking back at Elvis.

“Ain’t got anything to do with you, doll. Teddy went and got himself and Judy into trouble and now’s tryin’ to get them out of it,” Elvis says with a knowing shrug.

You consider this for a moment. It’s so absurd yet so obvious that it is the most likely explanation. “Oh good lord,” you say, laughing, suddenly finding the entire mess ridiculous. And then you can’t stop laughing, and then Elvis is laughing with you, and the tension breaks and for the first time in four weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

The dream-memory was locked somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, unchained by the events of the last few days. You realize in your haze of half-sleep that the interaction was likely the first time you realized, and subsequently pushed away, your attraction for Elvis.

How could I have forgotten such an important memory? How many more have I forgotten? Why? you wonder as the last of the dream wisps away from you.

Protection, another voice responds.

You are barely awake when you feel the tickle of Elvis’ lips on the back of your neck, brushing down your spine in such a way that it sends tingles straight into your belly. You have no idea how long you’ve slept, nor does it really seem to matter because Elvis’ arms are holding you close. Close enough that you can feel his growing warmth against your butt cheek, and you can’t help but smile a little that this is the effect you’ve come to have on him.

In your sleepy haze, you hum and reach behind you, first drifting your fingers through his hair and then grabbing his ass at the same time you press into him.

“Damn, baby, what ya do to me…” he purrs in your ear, voice husky with sleep, “Never in my life have I ever wanted somebody the way I wantchu.” He pulls you in closer.

“Hmm, really?” you ask sleepily. You can feel him moving behind you, in what you think is an effort to shirk of his pajamas. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

He stills, and your heart is suddenly in your throat, eyes popping open. If you had been more awake, you probably would’ve thought better of such a joke in such an intimate moment. Thing is, you know in your heart you are right. You weren’t born yesterday, and you certainly are no fawning virgin. He’s Elvis. He’s likely told many, many women something similar in the heat of the moment. You’re not upset about it, but it seems like he might be.

Cursing yourself for possibly killing the mood, you wait for him to say something, anything, that will give you an indication of his state of mind. He gives you nothing.

“E, I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise. It was a silly joke,” you finally say.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice stern. Your heart gallops in your chest, but you do as he asks, turning your body around to face his. You force yourself to look into those steely eyes, clouded with seriousness.

Elvis grabs your jaw with his hand, his now-naked body propped up on one arm and leaning over you. “I ain’t foolin’ with ya, y/n, when I tell ya I want—no—need you like I ain’t never needed anybody in my goddamn life. Don’t matter how many women came before, you hear me?” he says through a clenched jaw. He’s not mad, per say, just vehement and dominating in his need to be understood by you, as if it’s something of the greatest importance.

You nod in his hand, taken aback by both his statement and the seriousness with which it’s delivered. Your heart thuds in your chest, your breath held, from the way he’s looking at and talking to you. It’s not from fear, however, not really. It’s from the surprise and possible implications of what he’s saying to you. Sleep still addles your brain, so the dots that you’ve desperately been avoiding connecting appear only momentarily, just long enough for you to widen your eyes and catalogue what he is saying for consideration later.

Then, he kisses you fiercely, passionately, all heat and tongue, sending a ripple of heat through your veins. He’s hot and hard against your thigh.

“I need you, baby. I need what’s mine,” Elvis says, nearly desperate and his eyes beginning to blaze, putting his thumb in your mouth. You respond instinctually, rolling the tip of your tongue over it, sucking it in. You can feel the heat go straight to your core and by the way his eyes roll back, you know it went to his, too.

“There’s my girl,” he smiles. He shifts, to his knees, grabbing the silky blue nightie he gave you and pulling it up over your head, discarding it to the side and leaving you bare before him. Assuming he’s going to ravage you from above, he instead surprises you by curling you back into him, spooning you.

Now that you are both naked, with no barrier between you, his bare skin feels like flames licking against yours. One large hand gropes your breasts, cupping them, tweaking your nipples gently, while the other swipes through your folds, testing. Then he puts his cock between your legs, sliding it back and forth through your folds, hitting your clit with his swollen tip each time, leaving you writhing.

“Gonna show you what I mean, lil’ mama,” he breathes low in your ear, causing a sigh to escape your lips. “That okay with you?” he asks. You nod frantically, unable to form words because the way he is handling you, the way he is talking to you, has you feeling untethered.

When Elvis slides into you from behind, it’s insistent, yet gentle. He groans with you as he bottoms out in your wet heat, stilling as you adjust, holding you fast to him as if you might float away. Slowly, he begins rocking into you, and you are so tight around the length of him that each roll has you both breathing heavily already.

“Made just for me, baby,” he sighs into your neck, relishing the feel of your walls hugging him. His words work magic within you, filling you with warmth, causing you to lazily swivel your hips in his lap.

“Jesus, mama, you know just what to do,” he moans, taking what you have to give him.

He takes your hand in his, guiding it down your belly to that sensitive nub of nerves, using your fingers with his to rub circles for a while. A relaxed warmth pools there, eager but content with the slow rhythm you two have set. Elvis pulls your knee up, exposing where you are joined, and rubs his fingers at the place where your pussy consumes his cock. Wet with arousal, his fingers play there.

“Look at that,” he says, almost in awe, watching as he slides in and out of you, “That’s mine. You’re all mine, baby. Only you know how to take me so good.” His possessiveness and his praise send shivers through you as you watch with him, and you want it to be true. You want to be his. You love being the object of his desire, no matter how wrong it might be.

You are utterly consumed by him. As he turns you in his arms and sits you in his lap, you rock together, wrapped in each other. His lips are hot and needy and somehow still gentle on yours, on your body, as he whispers to you all the ways that you are his. You let yourself believe him, you let him prove to you with every kiss, with every thrust, that you belong to him and he belongs to you.

When he sends you into the stratosphere with him, making you look into those endless, dreamy eyes of his, you lock on as if your life depends on it. You fly together, with this man who looks as ethereal as an angel. You are as physically connected as two people can be, your bodies sliding together, sweat mingling, mouths tasting, each of your arousal coating the other. You are one.

It feels like a dream, a wonderful, glorious dream.

But after dreams, we must wake.

So then, lying there spent in Elvis’ arms, this beautiful man who has upended your life in more ways than one, fear chokes you. The icy cold of it courses through you like a flash flood, seizing your heart.

The feelings you want to avoid have been chasing you all night, no, for years, according to your newfound memories. While they were warm and comforting earlier in the midst of dreams and sex, now you feel desperate to push them away, panicked by all the implications and dangers of what they mean. You’ve become so swept up in your interpretation of your relationship with Elvis and with the allure of it all, of being desired, that you’ve lost sight of reality.

You ultimately realize, tonight wasn’t you two fucking. This wasn’t just passionate sex, at least not for you. The butterflies and the care and the domesticity…

Tonight, you made love. With Elvis-fucking-Presley.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest.

It can’t possibly be true. You can’t feel this way. It’s only been four days.

And fourteen years, that asshole voice in the back of your mind chimes in.

Shut up, I have not been in love with Elvis for fourteen years! you chide yourself.

Are you sure?

No, now you are not sure. You aren’t sure at all. And you are too busy banishing all such thoughts from your brain to take the time to really think about that very disturbing possibility.

This is not what you signed up for. You didn’t mean for this to happen. It can’t happen.

You absolutely cannot fall in love with Elvis. That road can only lead to ruin.

Part of you wants to flee, to run out of this suite as fast as your legs will carry you. But as you look over at the beautiful man wrapped around you, you realize you can’t. You won’t.

Because as much as you want to fight and buck and protest, a part of you knows it’s true. You’ve been feeling it for days. You’ll do just about anything to just be in his presence and feel like this.

The worst part is you know you are being stupid, having fallen prey to his charm, his seduction, his wiles, just like hundreds, thousands, millions of other women. You are not unique, not in the slightest. You’ve watched it happen, again and again over the years, with the revolving door of women throwing themselves at his feet.

And you let yourself become one of them.

It’s likely he doesn’t feel the same about you, not really, no matter how you want to manipulate the past and present to make yourself think that he does. You push away any possible evidence, anything at all that could make you believe he could ever really, truly love you. You don’t even let yourself begin to entertain that thought, because you know just how fickle Elvis Presley can be with his women. He desires, he covets, he possesses, he becomes infatuated, but it isn’t love. He enjoys his women and then leaves them, just like clockwork. Usually more than one at once.

You don’t think it’s intentional, what he does, he’s just Elvis and doesn’t play by anyone’s rules. Perhaps he can’t, being in his position. You know he feels lonely and needs to be wanted, needs to be loved. But monogamy and commitment and true love are not in Elvis’ vocabulary, not from what you’ve seen. And you’ve known Elvis Presley a long time.

Like you’re one to talk—you’re married, you idiot.

And there’s that.

God, you are so pissed off at yourself you could scream.

You close your eyes, feeling trapped. Every cell in your body wants him near, wants whatever he can give you, even if it’s not enough for you. Because here, lying in his arms, he’s your Elvis. He’s the boy who wanted to defend your honor in that diner so long ago, your friend, the one who listened to you and confided in you, kept your secrets and shared your joys. The boy who you watched become a man, an icon, a once-in-a-generation force of nature. A man so charismatic, so talented, a supernova so utterly unique that it is impossible not to be swept up into his orbit. Yet you know intimately that he is still just a man, flesh and blood, with as many faults as the rest of us. But you denied yourself of him for so long that the idea of being without him now feels like emptiness.

However, your mind desperately, desperately needs to protect your heart from the inevitable pain that is coming. You want to push away this absolutely aching love you feel for him, to wall it up to keep yourself safe from once again not being enough for the men in your life. Every man you’ve ever loved has hurt you. You don’t want to add Elvis to that list.

If you end it first, it will hurt like hell, but less now than in the long run. It’ll be on your terms, and you can keep it from scarring too deep. You can cherish what you’ve had without it being poisoned by the inevitable pain and heartache that will come when you realize he never really loved you. It’ll hurt less now than if—when—he ends it because he will end it. He will tire of you, of this, and realize his mistake. He will move on easily because that’s what he does, and you will be left, once again, used and in the dust.

You tell yourself this now to prepare yourself, turning over so he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. You are angry and tired of loving and being defined by men who can so easily discard you.

But as Elvis wraps his arms around you, you don’t think you’re strong enough to do what needs to be done. He’s too alluring, too addicting, too him. So maybe, you think, maybe for now you just wall up those feelings nice and tight and keep this affair as what it was intended to be all along: just sex. Mind-blowing, hot, meaningless sex with a friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

No pining, no strings, no deep feelings.

Just sex.

Easy peasy.

Good fucking luck.

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