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sunnynwanda · 11 days

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Something Blue

Warnings: I assume none, but if you notice something, let me know! Light angst romance, basically. Heavily based on/ inspired by VOILÀ - Something blue.

The wind is harsh against Villain’s face, prickling his skin with each cold blow. The crisp air bites into his lungs, filling them alongside the deep-settled tightness. When Villain reaches the central square, the sun is high in the sky, but the air lacks the warmth expected from a spring day. She hates it when the noons are this chilly.

The square is already full to the brim, a good half of the city there to witness Hero’s wedding. She’s always been a crowd favourite, and the groom being the mayor’s son only brought more publicity to the event. And Villain… Villain would never be good enough. He hisses at the annoying voice in the back of his head to quiet. The same voice that prompted him to leave before she could, to let her go before he got hurt. He takes in the grandeur of the cathedral, its enormous oak doors decorated with flower arrangements. It looks magnificent. She hates big weddings and magnolias.

It doesn’t take much time to round the square and sneak into the cathedral through a back door. The reality of it all seems to hit Villain much harder once he steps inside. Coming here today was a bad idea. Villain’s fingers curl into fists, his breathing coming out in frantic huffs as he climbs the stairs. A part of him considers turning around right this instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to. Not today. He won’t be a coward again.

He walks past several ajar doors before coming to a halt in front of the only closed one. With a deep breath, Villain pushes it open. Hero is standing in front of a full-length mirror, and she looks stunning. His breath hitches in his throat, every single thought leaving his mind the second his eyes lock onto her form. She doesn’t seem to notice him yet, so he shuts the door behind his back, careful not to make any noise as he steps closer. She keeps fidgeting with the hair framing her face in soft brown waves. She hates having her hair up.

Villain stops behind her, his mind racing. He rakes a hand through his hair, brushing the dark strands back from his forehead, and before his brain can comprehend what he’s doing, his arm wraps around her middle, pulling her back against his chest.

“You look beautiful,” his voice murmurs against her ear. Hero shudders, her eyes flying up to meet his gaze through the mirror. Her lips press into a thin line. Don’t do this to me. Villain’s arm tightens around her. “Absolutely ravishing.”

“Don’t lie,” Hero leans back into him, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder. “White was never my colour. Good thing I don’t own this dress.” She shrugs, her tone a tad too impassive for his liking.

Villain lets out a light chuckle, yet his sharp eyes remain pained. He wouldn’t give a damn what she wore if only it was him with her. “It’s something borrowed then?”

“What?” Hero tilts her head to look at him, still wrapped in his arms. Her eyebrow raises quizzically, when he doesn’t loosen his hold. She hates the way his body fits against hers so well.

“You know how that thing goes? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” Villain lists, not registering when his thumb starts rubbing soothing circles into her forearm.

She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her hazy brown eyes. Villain’s chest tightens as he watches her expression. He loved how her eyes would shine, and her nose would scrunch when she laughed with her full heart. How she laughed with him.

“I'm the old, and he's the new,” he explains, pausing to swallow the lump of emotions in his throat. “And since he gave you the borrowed dress, I figured it should be me that gives you something blue.”

Hero’s heart slams against her ribcage with a savage force. She wants to push him away, to yell at him, to demand for him to leave and never show his face again after how he abandoned her for idiotic reasons. Instead, her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek. “Oh?”

“Remember the time when I bought you a locket in the flea market?” Villain recalls, watching her breathing pattern go from frenzied to still. Hero goes rigid in his arms, her irises blown wide, not daring to take a breath in for fear of losing it entirely. “Where did it go?”

“I- I must have lost it,” her voice is small, words tumbling off her lips almost unconsciously.

“Feels symbolic, don’t you think?” Villain’s hands leave her body as he pulls the locket with a blue stone embedded in its ornaments out of his pocket. He moves her hair to the side and fastens the clasp, his fingers brushing against the side of her neck in a tender touch. He gulps, his darkened eyes locking onto the reflection of her watering ones. “Like losing your love and having to watch it.”

He can’t stop himself as his head dips into the crook of her neck, eyebrows furrowing when his lips leave a lingering kiss against her bare shoulder, sending a chill of goosebumps along her spine.

Hero lets out a shaky exhale, averting her eyes from the mirror. She hates that he is here. She hates that he’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt. She hates that he looks dashing, too. She hates how perfect they look together. She hates how he could… “It’s cold for a wedding, isn’t it?”

Villain withdraws despite his reluctance, his fingers twitching to take hold of her again until he wraps his arm around her waist. “Are your feet getting cold?” He attempts to sound lighthearted, but the quiver of his voice gives it all away.

Hero shakes her head, her dejected expression wrenching Villain’s heart in a way he didn’t think possible before. “They were never warm in the first place.”

He doesn’t know how to take that. He doesn’t know how to take any of this anymore. It feels like the sky is shattering over his head, burying him alive.

“There's something I must confess,” Hero whispers as if saying it louder would mar the sanctity of the cathedral walls. She disentangles from Villain’s arms, stepping towards the door as Canon in D begins playing. “I wish it was you instead.”

She offers him one last glance before stepping out the door, a trembling hand clasped over her mouth to keep the sobs raking through her body from escaping.

Her words echo in Villain’s mind like a tocsin as he rushes through the doors, only to catch a glimpse of her as she begins walking down the aisle. He walks in, remaining at the doors as she reaches the altar. He knows he should wait on the priest to give him the time to speak, but his stomach is in knots, adrenaline rushing through his blood like a fire ready to burn the damn church down.

Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today…

“To watch a big mistake,” Villain’s voice booms through the nave of the cathedral, reflecting off of the vault and spilling down onto the guests’ heads, which snap to stare at him as he steps forward.

“I'm not gonna hold my peace,” Villain meets Hero’s tormented gaze, her throat closing in as she sees his face contorted in a mixture of pain and desperation. “I’m not gonna…” He pauses, his breath hitching when the flames reach his chest, burning a hole through his lungs. “What I mean to say is, my feelings haven't changed.”

Hero’s blood runs cold. She’s frozen in place, watching him approach her with an unreadable expression while her groom growls something in her ear with a displeased expression. For better or for worse, Villain can’t hear what he’s saying to her.

He knows coming here today was a bad idea. Watching Hero today was supposed to desecrate whatever was left of his heart, to wreck the shrine of her in his chest, to utterly and wholly rip him apart.

But...

But then she takes his hand, meeting his pleading gaze as tears brim her eyes. Villain brings her hand up, pressing it to his lips before pulling her towards him as they sprint down the aisle. He leads her out through the same back door he came through and along narrow sidestreets away from the crowded square. By the time her groom stops throwing a fit, Hero is in Villain’s car as he drives them out of the city, his hand still clutching hers tightly. He brings it up to his lips again, turning to look at Hero, cast in the afternoon sun. She looks otherworldly with her hair down, playing in the wind.

“White is absolutely your colour,” he mutters softly, his eyes darting down to his shirt on her, her dress left somewhere along the road.

Hero snorts, shaking her head as she shifts closer, leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand in his tight hold. He still can’t wrap his head around the events of the day, but he can lace his fingers through hers. He can kiss the tip of her nose and make her scrunch it as she giggles. He can kiss her smiling lips over and over again. He can pull her into his chest and hold her close to his heart.

Villain will be damned if he lets go again.

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amazzyblaze · 2 months

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Coloring page of Buffy and Spike in "Something Blue"

#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy summers #spike btvs #coloring pages #something blue

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raisedbythetv89 · 10 months

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No, but like…FAMOUSLY not just in Buffy, but every universe that has spells and magic, real love CANNOT be manufactured or duplicated by magic. Only twisted obsession/infatuation like what we see in Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.

But in “Something Blue” Buffy literally says once the spell is over and she’s talking to Willow “I loved him, we were betrothed” in a spell whose specifications had only to do with marriage which would only change them from being enemies to allies, which then allowed all their suppressed and ignored feelings to come to the surface that they could NOT act on before when the other person was supposed to bring about their death.

And I’m not saying full deep romantic season 7 and beyond love but they clearly CARE about each other and are extremely attracted to each other, in lust if you will…and must have been for a while. Giving SO MUCH credence to neither of them ever succeeding at killing each other because deep down they genuinely never wanted to. (yeah yeah plot armor but so much of the time when one of them got away it was really WAY too easy like they could have at least made it so both of them were always just BARELY getting away by the skin of their teeth instead of how many times one of them really just lets the other go after exchanging a few punches like 😹 they weren’t even TRYING after a while and to me “Something Blue” proves it’s because they do not want to kill each other because they are crushing SO HARD. Because also in season 2 when they make the truce literally FIVE MINUTES LATER Buffy leaves Spike alone with her mother while she’s on the phone. The amount of trust that demonstrates is actually insane especially when you combine it with the fact that Buffy doesn’t do a disinvite spell after he leaves town OR comes back in season 3 & 4. And plot armor or not, them never killing each other becomes part of the lore and informs the motivation of the characters because that’s just how fiction works! 🤷🏼‍♀️)

I mean just look at these two love sick idiots

I MEAN….Buffy’s face when her immortal and extremely durable vampire just gets tossed across the room?? She goes into slayer overdrive, swiftly taking care of the two demons she was fighting to run over and check on him exactly like she does so many times in season 7 because that’s her vampire!!!

We see them so happy and in love - literally the happiest we’ve ever seen Buffy and then the show tries to tell us “it wasn’t even nice” because what? They bickered?? You mean they actually SAID what was on their minds and talked about it and then comforted the other when they were sad instead of bottling it all up or being evasive of topics that would cause fights and Buffy would tell Spike lovingly to shut up when he was being dumb??? OH NO THE HORROR!!

And what really is the cherry on top for me is the “wind beneath my wings” bit because Buffy blames the spell while her body language and face clearly says it was NOT the spell, that was all Buffy. Which opens the door for us to question just how much was what we saw because of the spell’s influence vs the real Spike and Buffy just completely uninhibited by their status of an engaged couple???

Especially when this supposed engagement to a “bad boy” who was helpful to her watcher, extremely caring and loving towards her in front of all her friends and when xander says something mean spike is SO HURT and he’s like “that’s it! You’re off the usher list!” Like oh yes THE BIG BAD INDEED 💀 but Buffy claims being engaged to a Spike “gets her over her bad boy thing because it wasn’t even nice” ….. GURL you are running for the hills to seemingly “normal” captain cardboard because you LOVED being engaged to the slayer of slayers and that scared the absolute shit out of you and you were like I need to do something to convince myself I’m normal and not the kind of girl who would be into Spike IMMEDIATELY 💀 and then avoids Spike for the next several episodes while Spike is always asking where she is for Buffy to achieve maximum avoidant/suppression of feelings possible 😹😹😹

And the way Spike NEVER teases her about it afterwards like he did with the “wind beneath my wings” bit at the end of the episode to me is so telling of the importance it held for him too that he never used everything he must have learned about her at that time or never even taunted Riley about the fact that the Slayer was all over him when her and Riley had first started dating because let’s be honest that would be SUCH a Spike thing to do. Like???? They have been so into and conflicted about each other for a LONGGG time and I honestly cannot be convinced otherwise 😹

#they’re actually madly in love your honor #spuffy #something blue #spike and buffy

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pinrut · 11 months

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#buffy the vampire slayer #Btvs #buffy x spike #buffy summers #Spike #spuffy #something blue #fanart #my art #I finally started watching btvs #My first full render art with a kiss???#I love them #Spike is a pathetic wet cat #Buffy is my favorite girl

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l0veisntbrains · 5 months

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24 years ago: ✔️ Buffy decided what their first dance would have been ✔️ Spike said no to a daytime ceremony ✔️ the whole thing made us even more excited about the possibility of these two being together

The rest is history. Happy anniversary to my ultimate comfort episode!

#spuffy #spuffyedit #spikeedit #spike #buffy #btvs #btvsedit #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy summers #spuffy manips #manips #*#something blue #s4 #4x09

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fluffyspuffy · 1 year

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Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Co—Star text post (15/?)

#mine: btvs #spuffy #buffy text post meme #btvs costar #costar shitposting #buffy and costar #something blue #btvs 4x09

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effulgent-spuffy · 1 year

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Something Blue 4x09

You want something nicer? A look at my poor neck? All bare and tender and exposed. All that blood just pumping away...

Giles, make her stop!

#spuffy #something blue #4x09 #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #sarah michelle gellar #james marsters #buffy x spike #season 4

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missmaywemeetagain · 11 months

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Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: Ohhh, so y'all forced this out of me, what with all the talk about the "Blue Scarf" and expanding the "Scarf Universe" thrown at me this week! 😂 (I hear you, I hear you!) Be careful what you wish for, lil' darlin's!! Honestly, though, I've known since I ended Pink Scarf that this was something that was going to happen in this particular way to our dear Reader and E, I just never knew if it was going to see the light of day. And with this week's prompt, all the inspiration and stars seemed to align at once on Sunday, so this came out rather quick and may be rough, and it's possible I might go back and tweak it later, but I'm happy with it for now. I hope this satiates you for the moment. I hope it gives you all the feels. And, yes, perhaps I may expand this little Blue Scarf into a series and include a spicy story or two later, if you all are good lil' babies for me. 😏 💙🧣💙 Let me know in the comments and reblogs...😉

Thanks always to my sister wives @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for allowing me to skirt by late with this week's prompt. 😇

Prompt: “How are we going to solve this problem?”

Rating: PG (ish?) || Word Count: 2.7k

TW: Fluff, angst (always), infidelity (sort of??), no smut (so sorry loves)

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

August 1971

It’s fitting, you think, that today of all days, you’re wearing his blue silk scarf in your hair. Elvis hasn’t worn it much since that fateful summer a couple of years ago—and only for a few more shows and a couple nights out—so you had absconded with it and made it your own, as you’d managed to do with many of his things. You loved how it smelled of him, the silk doused in his musk and cologne, and how it reminded you of the not-wearing-a-shirt-under-a-jacket/jumpsuit phase he gone through that summer and fall of ‘69. Lord, you’d loved that phase. It had been so easy to lay him bare before you.

Heat floods your cheeks at the thought of what this particular scarf has seen between the two of you, and then at the fact that this might be the worst possible time for a thought like that to pop into your head. You know it’s the shock of the bomb that just dropped on your lives that has your brain short circuiting a little. Because neither of you ever expected this.

You nervously twist the platinum and diamonds on your ring finger, the ones which pledged his love for you in front of your family, friends, and the world. Thoughts fill your mind of your lovely, small wedding, how this scarf had been there for that important moment, too, tied around your waist, cinching your white dress—being both your “something borrowed” and your “something blue.” Elvis loved that you’d included it, this piece of him, as part of your gown.

He also loved untying it at the end of the night and letting it flutter to your feet with the rest of your dress.

It’s counterpart, the pink scarf, had been tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, a little secret for you both. You’d enjoyed it, as well, later that night.

“Y/n, did y-you hear me? I-I-I-It’s me,” Elvis says, snapping you out of your memories, his hand lingering on the phone he’d just placed back on its cradle. “How are w-w-we going to solve this problem?”

The wavering fear in his voice is palpable and in any other circumstance it might scare you, but a strange sense of calm falls over you. Somehow the domino effect of both of your actions two years ago have led you to this very moment. Tragic as it is, it seems meant to be.

Just like you and Elvis.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathe deeply. Yes, there is a part of you that is still jealous and angry about what brought you here. But you knew, even back then, that it was possible he’d been with others in your month-long absence, that his fear of losing you plus old habits could have driven him into the arms of another. It wasn’t a new revelation, just one neither of you had wanted to talk about after all was said and done. And it hadn’t been an issue since, so you figured bringing it up would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pushing that hurt aside, a much bigger feeling swells within you—one you’ve been hesitant to name for fear that it would not come to fruition. But now everything has changed.

“It’s not a problem,” you state, your voice surprisingly steady.

“W-w-what?” Elvis questions, those oceanic eyes of his widening in disbelief.

“It’s a gift, Elvis. From the most unlikely and sad circumstances, yes, but a gift all the same. Isn’t it?” You’re not quite sure if you are trying to convince him or if you are just stating the obvious, but those feelings continue to rise in you and have for days. And they overshadow the fading fissure of anger and the burgeoning fear that you refuse to let consume you.

Hope. Joy.

“A gift?” he repeats, letting the words roll on his tongue, letting them sink in. He blinks slowly, gaze shifting off into the distance for a moment. Then, he looks down at the paperwork on the table. At the picture. “Oh. Oh.”

A shuddering breath shakes his shoulders, his ring clad fingers clawing at his knees. It’s when the tears pool in his eyes, finally betraying his sensitive vulnerability after so many days of keeping it in, that you slide out of your chair and rush to his side.

He immediately buries his head into your belly, his arms circling around your waist, clinging to you. A sob wrenches out of him, one so deep that it brings tears to your eyes.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I didn’t think...I-I-I din’t know,” he hiccups. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing to you or her or him. Maybe his apology is for all of you.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” you coo, tears trickling absently down your cheeks. You run your fingers through his soft hair before pulling back, cupping his cheeks so he is forced to look at you.

He is so wide-eyed and young-looking staring up at you, his eyes now matching the scarf in your hair with their electric blue, a dramatic contrast against the redness caused by his tears.

“It’s not a problem, honey, it’s a gift. He is a gift,” you say, wiping the tears that linger on his prominent cheekbones. “We can do this. I want to do this. If you do.”

Elvis blinks up at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of me, too. And—and,” you choke up, swallowing your past sorrows, “you know it’s something I’ve always wanted. Something I never thought we could have. This is…a chance to make something wonderful out of something tragic.”

You’re aware the reality is likely going to be much more complicated than either of you can fathom in this moment. There is a part of you that is utterly terrified it won’t live up to the miracle you want it to be and that you won’t be worthy of the task. But that is not what Elvis needs to hear, not right now. Your insecurities can wait.

Elvis looks down at the picture resting on the table of the young woman and her baby. Your gaze follows. The first time you saw it, you knew, based solely on the fact that the woman looked so much like a younger version of you, that something had happened between them in those weeks you’d escaped from Vegas to California, when you left him, trying to figure out if you could forgive him. When you were trying to recover from your life turning upside down.

Her likeness plus the look of horrified guilt on his face upon seeing the picture told you all you needed to know about that. His begging and pleading for forgiveness at your feet solidified it.

But it had been the way Vernon had blanched white as a sheet when seeing the baby that you understood the true consequence of Elvis’ dalliance.

It was a punch in the gut, at first. Of course, it was. But logically you knew that he’d been hurting in those weeks without you, unsure if you’d ever come back to him. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he’d sought out comfort from a girl who looked so much like you.

You wanted to be furious at the fact she had gotten pregnant by him so easily, but you knew that was a futile road to go down, especially after what happened to her.

According to the letter she’d given to her lawyer, who had sent it on to Elvis, the cancer within her spread like wildfire. It was too late to save her by the time her pain had sent her to the doctor. She—Theresa—had never planned to ask Elvis for a thing, she reiterated. Theresa had been content to raise her son by herself. But she had no family to take him in when she was gone, and she could not bear to think of her son alone and unloved.

“You don’t have to take him, Elvis, truly. But I beg you, please, please make sure he is placed with a nice family, that he is loved and taken care of. I cannot leave him all alone.”

His lawyers weren’t convinced, however, and didn’t want him to even entertain the thought. It could open you up for all sorts of future problems, Elvis.

But that didn’t stop him from finding out for himself because, as all of them knew, nobody tells Elvis Presley what he can and can’t do. He tracked her down, in Denver of all places, and took you and Vernon with him to the hospital to see Theresa. You didn’t know how you would feel seeing this girl Elvis had been with in a moment of weakness. Would you want to slap her face? Would you want to cry and scream? Would you want to tear her apart?

Instead, it had shocked you into silence, seeing someone that resembled you so closely withering away from disease, as if it were some sort of eerie harbinger. It made your skin prickle. But then compassion filled you, more so than you ever expected. The poor woman was on death’s door, but you’ll never forget the relief in her eyes when you all walked through the door. That look was something that couldn’t be faked. Nor was the toddler playing with the nurse in the corner, the little boy who Vernon looked at like he’d seen a ghost.

The boy was the spitting image of his father.

But that didn’t stop Theresa from encouraging a paternity test. She was well aware of what a mess this could be for Elvis, and she didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt for anyone involved. She wanted him to be sure.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she’d croaked, her emaciated frame limp and barely able to produce the tears she was trying to hold back. “I never want him to be a burden.”

The tiny blonde child chose that pivotal moment to break away from the nurse, waddling over and grabbing Elvis’ flared pant leg with chubby little fists, commanding Elvis’ attention downward. His chin tucked, gaze following the movement at his feet, and you watched him wrestle with what to do, what the protocol in this sort of situation was. It was intense, this first moment between them, and the boy’s all-too-familiar crooked smile and slow blinking blue eyes made your heart clench.

You watched Elvis come to an unspoken decision, and he lifted the boy easily and almost too naturally tucked the boy into his hip. The room collectively held its breath, watching the scene unfold. You’d never seen a child snuggle up to an unfamiliar person like that before, the way he buried his head into Elvis’ shoulder as if drawn in, inexplicably trusting. Granted, Elvis had that preternatural way about him, his essence bringing people to him constantly. But this was different.

Heart fluttering into a gallop, you watched Elvis take this moment in before nodding solemnly, sucking in his lip. With the child tucked into his side, it was obvious to you that he was holding back his pressing emotions to stay in control. Nevertheless, he was unwavering when he told Theresa, “Even if he’s not mine, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. I promise you that.”

She’d closed her eyes then, and when they opened, you saw a gratefulness and relief so strong it nearly bowed you over.

Elvis had done the blood test right then at the hospital. Everyone was quiet on the plane ride home. Elvis, pensive and withdrawn, clutched at your hand so tightly it tingled from the loss of circulation. And when the call came the next day that Theresa was gone, your heart broke for her. Sheer willpower had kept her alive long enough to make sure her son would be safe. A mother’s love.

You’d wept for her. You’d wept for you and for Elvis. You’d wept for that little boy.

Nicholas. Nicholas Aaron.

You didn’t tell Elvis that the moment you saw the 16-month-old toddle towards you that you knew. That you loved him instantly, like something magical locked into place. It was too early, too soon. But you knew.

Elvis hadn’t wanted to talk about it much as you all waited for the results. He was antsy and on edge, everyone giving him a wide berth. His guilt was trying its best to distance him from you, that deep seeded, insecure vulnerability in him trying to simultaneously push you away while needing you close. It was evident in the way he clung to you in his sleep. But you did everything in your power to let him know you didn’t hate him for the indiscretion, that you still loved him unconditionally, no matter the paternity outcome.

Of course, your mind whirled in overdrive, circling the drain around your surprising emotions about Nicholas. You found yourself worrying your nails down to the quick about whether he was safe and who was caring for him since his mother died. Your heart felt like it was tearing in two whenever you thought about it. You knew you shouldn’t get too attached, but you couldn’t help it. It was primal and biological, this response.

So when the phone rang this morning and Jerry had so seriously handed it to Elvis, you knew what it was, your breath catching in your throat. This was the moment that would change everything. And you hoped it was for the better as you sat across from him, wringing your hands in your lap. Silence filled the room as Elvis listened to the voice on the other end, his face going Hollywood blank, giving you nothing to hold on to. Your heart threatened to explode right out of your chest and onto the table.

He thanked the voice on the other end and hung up the phone.

“E, what did they—” you started.

“I’m his father,” Elvis finally whispered in shock.

And now you are here, holding him to you, being his rock while in your own state of disbelief and wonder. A thousand emotions roll through you all at once: Hope. Joy. Sorrow for Theresa. Guilt for being happy in the face of Nicholas’ tragedy.

“Do you want this, to take him in, Elvis?” you ask, prompting him to look up at you once more. You pray you know the answer.

“Of course, I do. I’m his father. He’s my son,” he says, as if the unfamiliar words have finally landed and he believes them. Then his signature 1,000-megawatt crooked smile spreads across his face. “I have a son! We have a son!” he adds, proudly.

Elvis jumps up, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you around until the room tilts on its axis. You laugh breathlessly, arms locked around his neck, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to get here after all this time, in the most unlikely of ways.

A son.

When he sets you down, he looks at you, grinning from ear to ear with an unbridled passion like you’ve never seen from him before. It’s not sexual, and it’s different from the passion he has for his music. It’s the love of a new father, you realize, something you never thought you’d get to see. It makes your heart swell uncontrollably.

“Are you absolutely positive this is what you want, lil’ mama?” His questioning eyes search yours as he cups your face, his fingers catching in the blue scarf in your hair. The pet name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, releasing butterflies in your stomach.

Excitement has your heart racing and your breath short, but you beam, winking, “Oh, I’m one thousand percent positive, Daddy.”

Elvis kisses you deeply, as though he’s merging with you, engulfing you. It takes your breath away completely.

“We have a son,” he whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Let’s go get our son.” There’s something in the way he includes you in this, a pointed clarity that you are not an outsider because you aren’t Nicholas’ biological mother. No, he’s telling you in no uncertain terms—this is your boy as much as he is mine.

And after so many years thinking it could never be, it finally, truly hits you, without a doubt:

I’m going to be a mother.

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