#freakin error

[spitelyrics]

Food House - Mos Thoser

Hey Spencer, this is Lieutenant [OINK OINK OINK OINK] with Berklee College police Ah, yeah I need to speak with you, either on the phone or in person Um, the school monitored a disturbing, um Tweet between you and Frack

(This is (???))

I feel like I'm a hot pink bitch named Breakfast (yeah) 'Boutta make a Girls Gone Wild spinoff called Twink Gone Reckless They wanna (bing-bing-bong) Take pics 'cause I made this fit and necklace They all swarm around me, I hold double ping pong ambidextrous

Kids distracted Listen to me while in class, I feel like Tetris Themboification, poison your mind and body, I'm asbestos If you see somebody with dyed hair Who smells like weed and does not care And they listen to snare That's how you know that they infected with that

New world order No more gods, only SOPHIE Y'all know God is trans So let's pray to her and stream Trophy Tonight let's do shit that gets us in cringe comps Make some new behaviors that straight people will infringe on

Tonight let's do shit that gets us in cringe comps Make some new behaviors that straight people will infringe on

I just want you to see I just want you to see The way we drag a bunch of people into lunacy Tonight no freakin' out Don't check my bank account Don't check my grades right now Just go insane right now

And Micah just told me I'm poggers I thought someone else was sellin' tabs and poppers Now I'm running through the streets like I am Frogger Everything I do, attention from these bloggers, I go home

POV (POV) You're an icon 'cause you're me Think about how many people know they're gay because of me Got that F R umlaut H, my whole crew gettin' guzzly Grab your man, he's trying to roleplay on me all snuggly

Restrain Before he piss me off too much and I complain You'll never get that fucking tarnish off your name You fuck with me, you'll have to find a different space Stay in your place Get out my face

I just want you to see I just want you to see The way we drag a bunch of people into lunacy Tonight no freakin' out Don't check my bank account Don't check my grades right now Just go insane right now

25, 25 minutes 'til I go on stage Warm the crowd up, tell 'em play nightcore Beyoncé Smoke in a dark green room like a séance, ayyyy Almost okay

But someone here gives me a rude vibe Vineyard Vines on, I bet you listen to Maroon 5 You wanna have a conversation 'bout my whole life I could talk but I gotta go They bark and pantin' for me, that's that Dog Show

I just want you to see I just want you to see The way we drag a bunch of people into lunacy Tonight no freakin' out Don't check my bank account Don't check my grades right now Just go insane right now

Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now Sane right now, sane right now

Can Gupi turn the-

Give a fuck what my schedule says I won't give a fuck 'til I'm fucking dead Give a fuck what my schedule says Fuck Notch, fuck Musk, and I'll piss on Zedd Give a fuck what my schedule says I won't give a fuck 'til I'm fucking dead Give a fuck what my schedule sa-

Um, it's best you call me, uh, so we can stop this, okay?

#food house #mos thoser #gupi #fraxiom #just in case i guess #this one didnt have that many errors but there were def a few like.... one of the no freakin outs was no freakin now?? #its.. the same lyric.... its said the same every time #also they had frax spelled right. that police mf CLEARLY MISPRONOUNCES it as frack #bolded as usual a couple parts i dunno about the correctness of #the bit before maroon 5 mention is pulled from the lyrics when u google them i just feel like it makes no SENSE and it doesnt quite #*sound like thats what they're SAYING there but i also do not know #also 'whole crew gettin nuzzly' on the other one... THERES A G. theyre drinking something. anyways.

[scoobydoomistakes]

...all these years later, and we're still discovering new things.

Look, on this blog? We're no strangers to accidentally-identical backgrounds.

Or to love, but that's another story.

Forgetting to adjust your framing between cuts? Keeping background the same?

Sure! It happens.

...but... then there's this.

Which is waiting... until you've panned to the exact part of background you're gonna use next?

Before starting that "new" shot?

...when... literally any other moment wouldn't make it look like the shelves teleport in?

Just go a half-second longer and cut back to the barrels, and it'd all be fine.

But no.

They actively chose the only possible frame where this would happen, and I'm freakin' fascinated.

We've officially achieved speedrunning in animation errors, folks. This is a frame-perfect technique.

#scooby doo mistakes #follow me for more #comedy #humor #cartoon #animation #lol #humorous #funny pictures #funny content #humor blog #cartoons #funny #scooby-doo #scooby doo #gif #gifs

[betweenlands]

It takes exactly two seconds between Impulse looking up at the top of the Secret Keeper and him realizing what he's actually seeing up there to decide he is officially sick and tired of seeing ghosts.

There are seven entire ghosts around the thing today -- a couple appear to be tinkering with the secret delivery mechanisms. Impulse squints at them.

"What are you doing?" he says.

"Trying to figure out how to load more tasks into this thing," one of them replies, kicking one of the blocks with buttons on them. He's got a full beard and some weird green glowing mushrooms poking out of cracks in his face. It's definitely... a look, Impulse will give him that. Very Mycelium Resistance. "But whoever designed it used freakin' command blocks, and you can't even see the randomizer run."

"How many times did your randomizer break again?" one of the other ghosts calls from up on top of the Secret Keeper.

"Never!" the mushroom ghost protests, causing at least two other ghosts to crack up laughing. "It worked completely flawlessly except for user error."

One of the ghosts, someone who appears to have a floating cactus block for a head, snorts. "And programmer error."

"You shut it," the mushroom ghost responds.

"He's not wrong," the more normal-looking brown-haired ghost over by the command blocks says absently, purple eyes clearly focused on trying to trace the wiring back to the actual command blocks.

Impulse just stands there, bewildered -- both because the ghosts are actually talking to him, and also because these are extremely weird ghosts to be talking to who look nothing like anyone he's even vaguely heard of.

"Fine," he says, "you know what, I'll bite. Why are you guys here?"

"Checking in," a ghost sitting on one of the lower rocks says. He's wearing blue and yellow, looks to be a little more transparent than the others. "Y'know, new season and all that?"

Impulse squints at him. "No, I meant, why are you following me?"

"Ohhhh!" The ghost laughs. "Hadn't looked into what you were doing yet, and these guys wanted to see if they could get some of their tasks into the machine, so I just brought everyone along."

"That's not really a good answer," a ghost leaning inside the alcove under the Secret Keeper says. He's got a mask pulled up over his face, though his voice doesn't really sound muffled at all.

"What," the blue and yellow ghost says, "am I supposed to say something like it's because you're one of the people with no hard-and-fast thematic associations to stick to and therefore easier to facilitate a meeting with and freak him out more?"

Impulse squints harder. "Are you guys Watchers?"

The blue-and-yellow ghost snorts. "Hah! That's Martyn's lore, bud, not yours. Nope, nothing to do with the Watchers."

"Aren't you technically--" the ghost in the alcove starts.

"Tsssssshhhhhh," the other ghost replies by way of shushing him aggressively, "spoilers!"

"Alright," the alcove ghost says, spreading his hands in mock defeat, "fine, have it your way. He's right though. Not Watchers."

"Lowercase-w maybe," the brown-haired ghost still inspecting the redstone with the mushroom ghost says, "but otherwise, no."

Impulse is starting to feel like he's wandered into something way above his pay grade.

The alcove ghost snaps his fingers. Impulse notes somewhat absent-mindedly that he has, like, a lot of piercings on one ear. "Hey," he says, "come to think of it, we might be able to help you out with some stuff."

"I swear to God," another ghost says from on top of the Secret Keeper, "if you try to sell another person on your weird coffee god thing again-"

"I wasn't going to!" he responds. "Honest! I was just gonna say, it looks like there's a plains biome here, that means oxeye daisies, that means suspicious stew with regen if you can get a good source of mushrooms."

"Unfortunately," the mushroom ghost says, looking up from where he and the other ghost appear to now be trying to cram books into the ground, "the space for the hearts seems like it just kinda vanishes when people get hit. At least, if I'm not misunderstanding the programming."

"If you're misunderstanding the programming then we're both reading this code wrong," the brown-haired ghost says. "And I'm pretty sure I used something similar here for Dark Path stuff, so probably not?"

"Dang," the alcove ghost says, then tilts his head back towards Impulse. "Maybe make splash poison potions, then? That'll take out a good chunk of someone's health if they can't regen."

"He is green," the cactus-headed ghost says. "Why's he gotta make poison potions right now?"

A shrug in response. "Never hurts to prep early."

The blue-and-yellow ghost leans forward, squinting at him. "Alright," he says, "one of my wisps give you that idea or what?"

Another shrug. "I mean, what if they did?"

"Last time you started listening to his wisps," the brown-haired ghost says, "they told you to try and kill everyone just because I beefed it before the dragon fight."

"It would've worked if you hadn't warned them," the ghost in the alcove replies. "I can't believe you tried to sabotage my attempt at avenging you."

"I can't believe you listened to them in the first place," the blue-and-yellow ghost says. "They're bloodthirsty, they don't really give good advice."

"And I," Impulse says, having inched his way over towards the new task button, "am going to take my task and leave, because you guys are weird."

He hits the button and flips through the taskbook.

"End every sentence said to another player in a question?" he says, squinting down at it.

"You're already doing better than some of us were!" one of the ghosts on top of the Secret Keeper yells down.

"Oh my god, shut up!" the mushroom ghost yells back, and then turns to Impulse. "Hey, by the way, have you considered getting a pet parrot?"

"That's still a bad loophole and you know it," the blue-and-yellow ghost cuts in.

"I heard him just fine," the brown-haired ghost says. "Hey, hang on -- that's one of ours! It worked!"

Impulse decides he's not even going to bother trying to be polite about leaving. He has had entirely enough of these ghosts in particular.

#secret life #secret life smp #impulsesv #gilded hardcore #vikingpilot #this minific brought to you by: gilded is good go watch it #unlike last impulse fic i will not bother with a pretense of it being symbolism. this one is fully because it is funny to me #there's SOME stuff in there if you squint but it doesn't actually have anything to do with impulse #anyway sorting tags time: #yt #txt #solar scraps #solar scrawls #slsmp #gilded #you may have noticed i tagged the blue and yellow ghost. this is because i fear no man. or pronoun stealer for that matter #oh dunk wait i should also tag the others #devonsdesk #thefoolnse #avidmc #and then whimzee and trog are in the background (sorry guys i didn't have the voices down yet) #oh and fun fact about this one. the identity of one of these ghosts is Really Questionable #like just a little bit... it could be him acting weird or it could be something else entirely yknow? something more aware of certain things #but ehhhhhhhhhhhnnnn that's spoilers so who am i to blow up its spot #update josh got a new username so #codeneon

[sev-on-kamino]

Could you do something for f!reader x tech for prompt 14 or 12? No pressure though. LOVE YOUR WRITING 🩷✨

I can, and I will, friend! Thank you so freakin’ much 🥹🥰 I apologize this took so long 😩, but I hope you love it🥰

Blossoming Romance #14: Looking at their lips as they talk (prompt list here)

Tech x afab!Reader

warnings: prepare yourself for fluff, a lil misunderstanding, followed by more fluff🥰

word count: 772

Tech liked to talk, and you liked to listen. The topic didn’t matter. Linguistics, flora and fauna, the finer points of hyperspace travel. You absorbed it all like a sponge. He would get so excited, yet serious. His eyes lighting up, his hands gesturing about. His voice holding your focus captive.

You loved it all, but lately you were distracted. You’d ask a question, he’d launch into the answer, but instead of focusing on the answer, and adding to your increasing compendium of knowledge, your mind would wander. Your eyes hopelessly drawn to his lips.

Every so often his tongue would dart past his teeth to wet his lips, and it would really take everything you had to pretend you’d heard whatever he’d just said. It was growing more and more difficult not to interrupt him with kisses. You wanted to tug his helmet off, press up against him, and indulge in those lips of his. Unfortunately your split focus had not gone unnoticed.

Tech had been thrilled to finally meet someone who could not only handle his tendency to dig into almost any subject in great detail, but who seemed to genuinely enjoy every moment. Lately though it seemed like your mind was anywhere else. The friendship turned relationship was still new, but according to Tech’s research you shouldn’t have been bored of him already. There was still so much for the two of you to learn about each other.

You still sought him out, still asked him to teach you things. It didn’t make any sense to him when you would inevitably get distracted and he’d lose you for several moments.

“Tech,” you called, as you entered the cockpit holding your holopad. “It’s giving me that error message again. What issue did you say corresponds to code 221B4?”

“Leave it there, and I’ll fix it,” He replied not looking up from the piece of equipment he was working on.

“You don’t have to. I wanted to try myself,” you took the seat next to him, and watched him. “What are you working on?”

“The alluvial dampers,” Tech answered. You waited for him to continue like he always did, but he just kept on working. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Those go in the coupling motivator with the artesiatic dampeners, right?” You pushed.

Tech looked up, his lips pursing into a thin line, as he regarded you. Normally recalling information would earn you a smile, and if you were really lucky, he’d press his forehead to yours.

“Yes, that is correct,” he said after several seconds that felt like hours.

“Alright, Tech, what’s going on? Are you upset with me?” You asked utterly confused by his icy behavior.

“I’m merely surprised you remembered given that you no longer bother to pay attention during our conversations.”

Your face warmed up instantly, and you tugged nervously at your earlobe.

“Tech,” you ventured quietly.

“It’s quite alright. Even my brothers don’t listen as attentively as I would like at all times.”

“It’s not that,” you said with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been wanting to pay attention, I’m just a little distracted is all.”

“Distracted by what?” he asked confused. You cleared your throat and took a breath.

“Distracted by you, Tech,” you said staring down at the floor.

“I’m not following, cyare.”

“It’s…it’s your lips,” You stammered out. He brushed his fingers over his lips, frowning in confusion.

“What about them? Is there something wrong with them?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite,” you giggled. “I just keep thinking about kissing you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but he was rendered speechless by the realization you had simply wished to connect with him physically. It made sense given what he knew of your affectionate nature, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized sooner.

“Well, I apologize for my assumption and subsequent accusations,” He said placing the piece of equipment down, and reaching for you. You took his hand, giggling once more as he tugged you into his lap. You cupped his face with your hands, as you brought your lips to his, satisfaction spreading warmth and comfort through your body.

Tech wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close. Imparting knowledge to you would always be something he enjoyed, but he decided he would make time for this far more often. The contented hums this simple action elicited were far too enjoyable to miss out on.

You broke the kiss with a sigh, and pressed your forehead to his with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Apology accepted, darling,” You said before leaning in to steal his lips once more

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x you #tech fluff #the bad batch #tech x reader #tech x you #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #seven writes for shades #seven writes #these blossoming romance prompts really warm my heart #reader insert

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (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: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. 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: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)

A/N: Y'ALL, I'M SO SORRY, it's a monstrosity. I couldn't help it. There was just so much to be said while still in E's POV, so that's how we ended up here, over 16k. But we finally learn Elvis' BIG SECRET and experience the mighty fallout from that in his eyes, so hopefully it's worth it. This is my Thanksgiving gift to all of you, but you may want to pace yourselves. I feel like I had to rip my heart out a little bit to really get in E's headspace. Prepare yourselves emotionally. That's all I will say.

A quick note about the pictures...the first is actually from when he bought Graceland in March 1957 and it just works PERFECTLY for the beginning. I couldn't resist the pics from Red West's wedding in 1961, even though I know the timeline and the people don't match but the VIBES, the VIBES my friends, are oh so Jack and Reader's wedding so I just had to include them. The one for 1960 was taken the night of the Rollerdome. *sob*

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY which is always evident but especially so when someone tried to steal PS last week and y'all went 'ride or die' for me instantly, without question, getting it taken down in record time. I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

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 AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

Elvis parks in front of your house, his mind whirling with noise. He’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but as soon as he’d gotten off that train, he knew he needed something that he couldn’t get from any of the guys or even his mama. So, he finds himself unexpectedly here.

Turning off the car, he seeks any sort of relief from the heartache he feels. He’s been holding it all in since the train stop in New Orleans, the one that sent the world crumbling under his feet, destroying the pretty picture he’d had for the future. But all that is gone now and here he sits, hands tapping on the steering wheel with nervous energy.

He nods to himself, finally leaping out of the car, and then he saunters down the walkway to the front door. The chime of the doorbell can be heard through the door, and he listens carefully, grateful to hear light footsteps from beyond.

When you open the door, it’s like he can breathe again for the first time since the train pulled away in New Orleans. You look surprised to see him, those big eyes of yours widening the slightest before you speak.

“Elvis, you’re home?” you ask with a hint of confusion, but overall, you seem pleased at finding him on your doorstep.

“Just got in, baby,” he says, that boyish smile curving up. He gathers you up into a big bear hug and instantly feels better as he breathes in the unique scent of your shampoo and lingering perfume. A scent that feels like home.

“And you came right here?” you ask, brow furrowing when he pulls away. He notices that you look a bit worn around the edges, darker circles rimming your eyes as if you haven’t been sleeping well.

You’re right to be confused. Of course, he hadn’t planned to see you right away. He’d planned to sweep June off her feet in New Orleans, wanting to show her Graceland immediately, the home he’d thought they’d share together for the rest of their lives. But all that had been dashed as soon as she’d blurted out that she was engaged to another man. Engaged. His June.

“I want to show ya something,” he blurts out instead of saying any of this. “It’s a surprise! Will ya come?” Oh, god, you have to come, he thinks. His heart might shatter if you don’t, though he’s not exactly sure why. You’re not his—you and Jack have been dating for nearly a year—so it’s not as though if you don’t come that it really means anything. Yet, still he hopes. He needs this. He needs to share this moment with someone he cares about.

Despite the fatigue in your eyes, you nod quickly, and then as if you can’t leave the house fast enough, you grab your purse and coat and shut the door behind you without a word.

He smiles gratefully, and relieved, he grabs your hand and practically skips to the car. Once he has you tucked in safely, he runs around the front of the Cadillac, jumps in, and peels away. It’s not too far of a drive, and he yammers on about the last few months he’s been away, the words flying out of him. You nod and ask all the right questions, but he notices that you are pensive, quieter than usual.

His verbal diarrhea halts for long enough for his brain to take into account that you don’t seem your usual self, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

You look down at your hands and then out the window, as if contemplating if and how much to share, which makes him a little nervous. Your fingers twist in your lap.

“Honestly? It’s been a hard few weeks, E,” you finally say, still unable to meet his eyes. “My nana passed last Tuesday.”

He’s mortified that he’d just been going on and on about himself and here you were dealing with such a loss. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know. I know how close you two were,” he says remorsefully, reaching his hand over to clasp one of yours.

You shake your head, sniffling back tears. “It’s okay, you’ve been away. There was no way for you to know. And I keep telling myself that she’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t really help all that much. I guess it still doesn’t seem real.”

He nods, because he can’t seem to think of anything to say that will make any of this better for you. “We can do this another time, baby, if you’re not feeling up to it,” he finally gets out.

“No, no. I need something to do instead of moping around the house. I’m worn from being sad and worrying about the rest of it. No, I’m glad you showed up, E. I can’t wait to see your surprise,” you add quickly, trying for a smile.

“The rest of it? What’re you so worried about, baby?” It’s obvious you don’t expect him to pick up on that because he sees the quick look of panic that flashes over your face at the question, so he’s quick to add, “I mean, you don’t hafta talk ‘bout it if ya don’t wanna, but I can tell somethin’ else is weighin’ on ya.”

“You could say that,” you sigh, raising your eyes to the roof and back down again. The twisting fingers are back. “God knows I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s giving me these terrible headaches.” You pinch the bridge of your nose for respite. “I…well, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you, Elvis, because it’s about Jack, and I really don’t want him to think I’m running around telling everyone our business.”

A warning rush rolls over him at this because he suddenly and very desperately wants to know what has happened with Jack, and that is a dangerous game for all kinds of reasons, many of which he’s not ready to admit to himself.

“I swear and cross my heart I won’t say a word, if you wanna tell me,” he says instead, a little too eagerly, so he quickly adds, “If it’ll help ya feel better and all.”

He forces himself to watch the road and not you, but he can practically hear your mind whirring.

“Oh, fine, but not a word out of you to anyone, Elvis Presley, I mean it. I know how bad you are with secrets,” you glare at him.

“I promise, I promise!” he concedes, crossing his heart. “I swear on my mama!”

“Well, in the midst of all this with Nana, I found out that Jack was dating other women a while back while we were going together. Apparently, I thought we were exclusive, but he didn’t, and well…” you trail off bitterly.

Elvis has to bite his tongue and bite it hard because somehow this wasn’t what he expected, and oh, lord, he knows too much for comfort.

Thankfully, you take this as him listening intently, because you continue, “I know I shouldn’t be too mad at him. I suppose it’s an honest mistake, seeing as maybe we didn’t communicate clearly enough about where we stood with each other. But it was so obvious to me, and I don’t understand how it wasn’t obvious to him. It’s not like I was going around with other guys all the time! I know it was months ago, but damn if it doesn’t really sting. Part of me feels like such an idiot, you know? What else don’t I know about him and what he’s doing? It just makes it hard to trust him, even though he was truthful about it when I asked.” He can sense the conflict in you, as your voice fills and shakes with the emotion of your held-back tears.

His heart is beating fast now, and all he is seemingly able to do is nod furiously, as if agreeing vehemently with all you are saying. The problem is that Elvis is complicit in all this and you have no idea. You have no idea that he was the one who pushed the showgirls onto Jack when he came to visit him in Vegas in November. You have no idea that “dating” didn’t have much to do with it at all. And now he feels altogether shitty for being the one to put Jack in that position in the first place. He’d managed to spread his own unfaithfulness and debauchery right on over to Jack, and now you are the one paying for it.

Shit.

Although, knowing Jack, it’s also possible that there was other dating happening, too. Either way, Elvis knows he’s got to tread real careful here and needs to keep his trap shut.

But Elvis can’t stand that hurt look in your eyes when he dares to take his eyes off the road to glance at you. He hates how angry and sad you look, the blue-black circles under your eyes conveying your distress.

And his emotions feel complicated, too complicated for comfort. He suddenly wonders if he didn’t present Jack with those temptations on purpose because there is a very deep and selfish part of him that desperately wants you to kick Jack to the curb for this, and that terrible, selfish part of him wants you to finally see Elvis in the same way he sees you.

Maybe there’s a reason that things didn’t work out with June, that voice pokes at him hopefully.

Stop that shit right now.

All this is playing through his head and leaving him outwardly silent. He realizes he has to say something, anything, because you are waiting for him to do so.

“I-I’m sorry that happened, ‘specially finding out at the same time as all this with your Nana. W-What are you gonna do about Jack?” he says, trying not to gulp.

He watches your eyes narrow and then he quickly looks back at the road. He can feel you shift in your seat.

“I…well, right now, I wanna pummel his brains out, so I told him I need some space to figure out what I want to do. I just—I thought we…” you trail off dismally. “I don’t want to go through this again,” you add quietly.

Elvis knows you are talking about Ted. Stupid Teddy who stepped out and got Judy Cole knocked up and then left you brokenhearted in his wake. It still pisses him off, even though he knows he’s got no right to judge Ted, not now, not after all the foolin’ around he’s done.

But when it comes to you, he can’t help but be protective. It’s in his bones, the way he wants to take care of you. In fact, he wouldn’t mind punching Jack in the face right about now for hurting you like this. And he’s even more pissed at himself for his part in it all.

Elvis just wants you to be happy and to be with a man who deserves you, and deep down, he doesn’t know if that man is Jack, even though he loves Jack like a brother. But the real problem is he’s not sure if he thinks any man will ever be good enough for you.

But his brain is wary to dwell on the meaning of that, wanting to avoid anything else that feels uncomfortable, so instead, he lets the excitement of showing you his new home overshadow any other unwanted feelings he might be experiencing.

“Okay, baby, we’re almost there, so close your eyes,” he says excitedly, changing the subject abruptly, before pulling up the long drive.

“Alright, Elvis, this better be a big surprise with how hyped up you are,” you chuckle, letting the mood turn by doing as you are told.

“The biggest,” he breathes, sliding to a stop in front of the Colonial mansion. “Don’t open your eyes yet! I’ll come around!”

You wait until you hear the car door open and feel his hand take yours. He gently brings you out of the car to standing, an excited energy vibrating through him.

“Okay, darlin’, open!” he drawls dramatically.

You do, blinking out the early Spring sunlight. He watches your face light up as you take in the architecture.

“Oh my god, Elvis, it’s beautiful,” you say in awe. “Is it yours?”

“Yes, baby, it’ll be all mine very soon. And for Mama and Daddy, of course,” he adds hastily, as if you’d thought he’d abandon his parents.

“Of course,” you smile, looking at him with those pretty, though tired, eyes of yours. “Can we go inside?” you ask.

All he can do is nod excitedly. Elvis takes your hand, pulling you up the steps and past the huge white columns on either side. He can’t unlock the door fast enough, the keys rattling and shaking in his hands. Once inside, he pulls you through the house, mouth running a mile a minute about what he wants to do in each room, how he wants it to look.

Finally, you make it to the top level, the last room. “This is gonna be my bedroom,” he rambles on. “I’m gonna get the biggest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, made special.”

You gently pull your hand out of his, and he watches as you take a small pill bottle out of your purse and pop two of the pills before downing them dry. Aspirin, probably, for the headache you were talking about in the car.

“E, stop a minute,” you say. “This is all amazingly wonderful and beautiful, and I am so excited for you, but…well, what exactly am I doing here?” You look at him with curious and concerned eyes.

“I…uh…I…,” he stammers, unsure of what to say or how to say it, as it’s all been spinning inside for hours and hours. He looks away, unable to meet your eyes. He certainly doesn’t want to put any of his stuff onto you, not now, not after what you told him earlier. His hands fall to his sides, and he shakes them, wiggling his fingers like he does to come down after a show. It doesn’t help. There’s just too much emotion rolling through him all the sudden.

You step to him, first putting your hands on his shoulders, then you run them gently down his arms before grabbing his flailing hands, absorbing some of that wild energy. The feeling still manages to send little electric shocks through him, even after all this time. Only then does he finally still and dare to look at you.

“E, what’s wrong? You let me talk earlier, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” you ask, your eyes searching his, open and concerned. He should’ve known you’d see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re here, because he knew you’d understand, that you’d be able to tell he wasn’t okay when no one else cared to.

It takes a moment for him to gather his words as his emotions get in the way. Emotions he stoically hid from the guys the rest of the way to Memphis. Emotions he pushed down when he saw his mama because he just couldn’t bear to break her heart yet with the news. God, he’s spent so much time recently learning how to hide everything real about himself in order to become the man everyone wants him to be. But here, now, with you, it all begins to overflow.

“I-I-I told June to meet me in New Orleans. I-I w-w-was gonna bring her back here, to show her w-what I-I wanted to buy…for us,” he says, bouncing on his toes, tears welling and clouding his vision. He hates how it’s tearing him in two to say this.

You squeeze his hands, urging him to continue, and for you, he does.

“But when I-I got there, she was acting so strange. There w-wasn’t much time and, uh, she told me she’s engaged to someone else.” He blinks and the tears run over, finally spilling down his cheeks. Saying it out loud suddenly makes it feel all too real. His chest aches with betrayal, with loss.

You look at him with such care, though you do not look shocked at this news.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, E. I know you how much you loved her,” you say, squeezing his hands again gently.

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

“Did you know?” he asks suddenly, stepping back, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You take a conscious deep breath. “No, I didn’t. But she did call me a few times wondering where you were, if you were okay. She said she hadn’t heard from you in months…” you say awkwardly, petering off.

“Aw, shit,” he curses, running a hand through his greased hair. A wave of anger rolls through him, burning him from the inside, but as much as he wants to put it on June and her spiteful engagement, he knows the anger is mostly towards himself. He fucked up. He fucked around. And he’d expected June to just sit back and wait for him while he did it. He didn’t even make the time to call her.

And you know what he’s done. He can see it on your face. He looks down, unable to meet your eyes.

You don’t speak. You don’t lay into him or tell him he’s an asshole, although it might be better if you did. God knows he’s already thinking it. You just look at him with sadness and understanding and forgiveness, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

With that ache in his heart, he finally realizes that he couldn’t have loved June the way he said he did and then leave her hanging like that. But he did love her…at least, he had. They’d had such a beautiful summer together and he was sure he wanted to marry her, once his fame was settled. Three years, he’d told her.

Shit, I didn’t even make it six months, he thinks absently.

And then everything changed almost overnight. His fame exploded. There was Hollywood, then Vegas. And the girls, good god, there were so many beautiful girls who wanted him, needed him, who threw themselves at him. He’d been weak. He hated being alone. He couldn’t help it. It was just sex, he’d told himself, just a way to blow off steam as his world became smaller and smaller and nearly suffocated him. A thousand excuses run through his head, but in the end, it was his choice not to pick up the phone. It was his choice to screw around, to live this life.

It’s no wonder that June moved on, he thinks. I’m a first-rate asshole.

“Y/n, I messed it all up,” Elvis finally chokes out. The sob fully breaks the dam holding him together, the pressures of his fame and the realization hitting him like a truck: he is never going to be able to have that normal life with a wife and kids he’d once dreamed of. His knees buckle under the weight of all of it—his decisions, both good and bad, the fame he doesn’t know what to do with, the unexpected consequences of this privileged but isolating life he’s chosen.

He sinks to his knees, defeated, on the carpet of his future bedroom, the one he’ll probably never share with someone who loves him for who he truly is. Because he isn’t just Elvis Aron Presley anymore—he is “Elvis Presley,” the celebrity, the commodity, the fantasy.

While he relishes in the luxuries of it all, in being able to provide the life his family deserves, a small part of him cannot help but feel like he’s made a deal with the devil. That this talent he has been blessed with will also be the thing that damns him. He is overcome by the feeling that he’ll never know ever again if he is loved for who he really is, or if it is his fame and his image they love. And there is something about that that crushes his soul.

But he can’t say all this to you because it sounds dramatic and indulgent, and he knows there are very few people in this world who’d actually understand.  This is his cross to bear.

And yet you still comfort him. You are still here. “Oh, hon, I know. It’s okay, I know,” you say, kneeling down with him.

In the midst of all he’s achieved and gained these past few years, June is the representation of all that he stands to lose, all that he’s already lost. “She was my last chance, y/n. I’m never gonna be able to trust that a woman loves me for me and not for my fame after this. And I screwed it all up,” he says quietly, tears running freely. “I just feel so fucking alone.”

“Oh, that’s not true, Elvis, it’s not,” you say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll find her, I know you will. And you have so many people who love you for just being you, not for the fancy cars or the mansion or the fame. You’ve got your family, you’ve got Jack and your true friends. And you’ve got me.”

The way you say it, so softly, yet so matter-of-fact hits him hard, so hard that his heart stops beating for a moment. If he wasn’t already kneeling, the honest way your tired yet beautiful eyes search his face might knock him right off his feet.

It’s you, it’s you, it’s always been you, he thinks suddenly. This is the feeling he was avoiding in the car. The feeling he’s been avoiding since he watched Jack kiss your cheek in the diner a year ago.

It takes his breath away. You take his breath away, you always have. He’s been enamored with you since you plowed into him all those years ago in the hallway at Humes High.

Suddenly, June is all but forgotten because you reach up, cupping his face in your cold little hands and wipe a tear off his cheek. He cannot help the way his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation of the pad of your thumb dragging softly across his face. His breathing, rapid from his cries is now labored for another reason entirely.

Opening his eyes slowly, he shouldn’t be shocked to see tears in yours, your grief and sorrow, not only for yourself, but for him, too, welling there, as if you are connected to him. In fact, Elvis feels like his brain is short-circuiting because you are too damn close and the tension in the room is suddenly so thick, he feels like he might suffocate.  

Every cell in his body feels on fire as you lean in closer and closer until your lips press against his forehead. You’ve never kissed him, not once in all these years, and this alone sends heat rushing through his young body. Then when you kiss his nose, and then one tear-stained cheek, he holds his breath, feeling like he might die from this chaste sensation.

Warning bells explode in his brain because suddenly he wants you more than anything in this world, always has. And now you are so close. This is Jack’s girl, he thinks, and she’s my dear friend. Don’t be an idiot.

But when you lean in to kiss his other cheek, you place your lips alarmingly close to his, his tears wet underneath your soft lips, and his body is on high alert as only a twenty-two-year-old’s could be. His heart flutters as you pull back just enough to look deeply into his eyes, tears shining in your own, and then you lean in once more.

This can’t be happening. This should not be happening, his mind screams, but then your lips are grazing his and all rational thought ceases to exist.

You taste so sweet.

Heat blooms through the ache in his chest, and in his disbelief, he freezes. Part of him wants to devour you whole, but he is terrified that if he moves, he might spook you and he cannot bear that.

His confusion is overridden when your hands, shaking but demanding, pull him closer. Your lips are soft and sure, and he cannot help but be swept away by them. He’s kissed so many girls, too many to count, all over the country, but not one has ever made him feel like this, like his heart is going to leap out of his damn chest.

But this is a betrayal of a monumental kind, for both of you. While he is no stranger to betrayal, he does not want this for you. As much as he wants you with every fiber of his being, he does not want to be the source of your regret or heartache. He’s already done enough in that regard already, though you don’t know it. Mustering up every ounce of his self-control, Elvis pulls out of your kiss.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this. I’m no good for you this way,” Elvis says in a hushed tone, his forehead resting against yours. “I-I can’t have you regretting me, I-I-I couldn’t bear it.”

You lean back the slightest bit, and he thinks you might be listening, reconsidering, making him feel mostly dismay but also a little relief. What he does not expect is for you to press your little pointer finger up against his lips, hushing him, as you stare into his eyes. It’s as though your soul is as weary and needy as his and it feels as though you see him, truly see him, which is a new feeling for him. This sends a welcoming shiver down his spine, and he knows that despite every scrap of logic and propriety he is trying to lean on, with you he is powerless.

When your finger drags down his lips, catching on the bottom one, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Yet still he resists (even though he wants more than anything to see where this is going), thinking you might realize your mistake, and this will all be over in an embarrassed, yet still salvageable, flash.

Instead, you very deliberately scoot closer, your knees bumping his on the carpet. You lean in again, your lips grazing his again with a yearning he cannot help but return in kind. It’s barely a kiss, but the intent is there and when you pull up, effectively opening your mouth to him, the way he can feel your warm breath mingling with his own has him struggling to control himself.

You are testing him, testing the waters, hesitant but somehow insistent at the same time. His long lashes flutter closed when your fingers brush his jaw then rake into his perfectly styled hair. But it’s when the tip of your tongue touches his, sending a hot shockwave through him, that he can stand it no longer and closes the gap between your mouths with a longing sigh.

Pressing his pliant lips to your yielding ones, he rolls his tongue softly but firmly against yours, earning him a quiet moan from you. This is like fuel on the fire, finally spurring him into action, and his hands fly to the back of your head, pulling you closer.

If there is one thing besides music that Elvis excels at and loves to do, it’s kissing. He plays with it the same way he plays a crowd, listening to you and adjusting his performance as necessary. The buzzy way it makes him feel, like every nerve is magnetic, is one of the only things in this world that is anything like how it feels for him to perform for an audience. He loves the way it makes him feel.

But kissing you is unlike anything Elvis has experienced before. It’s as though you are tuned to the exact same frequency, finding his rhythm immediately, adapting easily. The usual fumbling of people getting acquainted in this way does not seem to apply to the two of you, the ebb and flow so natural it’s as though you had done this with each other many times before.

But the passion of it stokes a fire that has been denied a long time. Intense heat crashes over him, sending tendrils of warmth through his limbs and deep into his belly. He drinks you in as deep as he can without being desperate, and oh how close he is to being desperate for you. His grief over June melts away the more he tastes you, and he wonders how he ever lived before having the taste of your lips on his.

It's all very dramatic and romantic, which he is both at heart. From just a few kisses, he suddenly knows that if he could kiss you and only you for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man indeed. This surprises him.

But what truly shocks him is when you lean so far into him that it pushes him over, his knees screaming a little, and he falls back into the wall with a thump. He scrambles backwards, maneuvering his long legs into a more comfortable seated position while you don’t even miss a beat or attempt to come up for air. And when you crawl into his lap, hoisting the flowing fabric of your dress up just enough so your warm, bare thighs are straddling his, his heart actually flies right out of his goddamned chest.

Speaking of which, you are currently running your hands down his, pulling his silky shirt up enough to dance your fingertips over his stomach. His breath hitches then hisses at that, his arms involuntarily encompassing you, large hands splaying across your back to draw you ever nearer.

And you go willingly, inching up his lap until you are straddling his hips. When you grind down into his lap, he thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven, his blue eyes rolling back into his head with a low moan.

He'll admit he’s dreamed of this, fantasized about this, but nothing could truly prepare him for the reality of the way you are making him feel. A trickle of attraction that began six years ago is now a roaring river, and is so, so much more than anything he’s felt before with anyone else.

He doesn’t understand it. He loves women. He always falls in love too fast, enjoying the rapid descent into the madness of it all. There have only been a few that he feels were true, though every girl he’s with, he loves in his own way.

But you are not like any of them, not at all. With you, it has been slow, so gradual sometimes that he didn’t even realize it. A teenage crush turned into friendship, and within that has blossomed a love that he didn’t know he was capable of. It is not until this very instant that he realizes it truly for what it has become. He doesn’t just care for you. He loves you.

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

Realizing this as your hips begin to rock steadily over his crotch is not the best timing. He’s as hard as a rock, fighting both the swell of his physical need for you while wrestling with the emotional needs he’s quickly realizing at the same time.

If he didn’t love you, he might not care if this is just a quick fuck between friends, but he does care. And he’s worried about where this is coming from, likely your overall grief and your anger at Jack. No, he doesn’t like the messiness of that at all.

But another grind of your pelvis into his, coupled with your tongue down his throat has the physical quickly taking over any and all rational thought. He wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. And he desperately wants to give you what you need, which based on the mewls escaping your lips, is a physical release, a connection.

God, he can feel the wet heat of your cunt now through your panties and his pants as you slide over his length, back and forth, again and again. He clings to you as your hands wind through his hair, burying his head in your neck, his lips taking in as much of your skin as he can. He revels in the scent of you, your perfume and your irresistible musk that is permeating the room. He is positively dizzy with it.

You are frantic in his lap now, chasing something he’s not entirely sure you’ve ever had. He knows about Ted, but he highly doubts Ted knew what to do with you. And with Jack, well, he’s not sure how far the two of you have gone, but he can only guess based on Jack’s recent actions and your desperation for no one to know that Ted had popped your cherry that you’ve been trying to be good and pure and wait.

But as you reach for his belt, pawing at him, for the first time in this whole event, he gets the distinct impression that you’re not sure what to do next, only that you are needy for something. And goddamn him, he is willing to give you what you need, but only if you really understand what it is you’re asking for.

“Wait, baby, just…wait,” Elvis pants, stilling your hips with one hand while grabbing the hand at his belt with the other. You whimper a little at the interruption, rolling your hips for emphasis, but despite the groan he can’t help, he’s having none of that.

“Baby, I need to know that you really want this,” he says, brushing your hair off your deliciously pink cheeks, your lips swollen from his kisses. He looks into your eyes, almost getting lost in them and forgetting what he set out to do. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and then add, “Elvis, please,” in a begging tone that sets him completely aflame.

“Oh, damn, okay, baby, okay,” he breathes, barely able to contain himself with that. He’s only human, after all. He races to help you with his pants, pulling them over his hips and down his legs in record time, his erection springing free, precum already glistening the tip. You lift up on your knees, you move your panties aside, and touching the silky soft skin of his cock, you help him line up with your entrance. He can’t help but gasp at the feeling of your cool little fingers circling his shaft, losing it a little more when he feels how incredibly soaked you already are.

He can’t believe this is happening. It shouldn’t be happening. But all logic is gone from him, replaced by the sweetness of your mouth and the wetness of your pussy and his desperate need for whatever love you have to give him.

He watches as you bite your lip in concentration, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you try to take him in. You are incredibly tight around the sensitive tip of his cock, and he moans a little at the constriction. That’s when he knows for sure that no one else has touched you like this for a long time. You aren’t ready for him, not yet.

Reaching under your skirt, he deftly finds the delicate little bundle of nerves there and begins to work it ever so gently. He shifts his hips down, his cock regretfully released from your hold on it. Sliding his fingers through your folds (oh, god), he gently slips one finger into your tight heat, then two, allowing you to adjust around him before pumping them in and out. Your eyes go wide and you gasp with the intrusion, but then they flutter closed with a sigh, and then another, and another before your hips begin to rock again.

He watches you in your ecstasy, taking in every delectable reaction he can and committing it to memory. The way your brow scrunches and your mouth falls open into a little O. The feel of your thighs clenching around his hand as he massages and fingers your dripping pussy. Those alluring little breathy moans escaping your lips. Every part of you has him completely mesmerized and he knows it. He knows his mouth is agape and he is moaning softly right along with you. He is so aroused just by watching you, he feels like he could come without you even touching him.

“E, I need more…I need you,” you breathe with your eyes closed and brow concentrated, and oh sweet lord, those might be the best words in the English language with the way they come out of your mouth.

He is utterly unable to deny you this. He can’t even speak, he just pulls his fingers out of you, lifts your hips, and maneuvers his cock back to the place it wants to be most. And you are more ready for him now, your tightness yielding much more easily around the sensitive tip of him.

It’s in that moment, as you sink down ever-so-slowly onto him and he is enveloped by your wet heat, that Elvis realizes he is utterly ruined for any other woman, ever. They cannot and will not ever hold a candle to you. He should’ve known before. He should’ve stopped this while he still could. But as you finally settle in his lap, taking him in completely, your fingers relaxing and your eyes bright and glassy, he knows he is well and truly fucked in every way.

He kisses you deeply again and again, memorizing your mouth, as you begin to raise and lower yourself on his cock. You feel so good, so completely perfect, it’s as if you were made just for him. He is drunk on you, hands wandering your body, finding what makes you keen, and he’s unable to get enough of you.

But you are so needy and ready that unfortunately it doesn’t take very long of you riding him and him playing with your clit for you to begin falling apart at the seams. Based on your surprised gasps, he’s not sure you’ve ever come before, so he does his best to help you get there while holding on to his own release for dear life. You begin to shudder around him, clenching his length, and with a strangled moan you hit your peak. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, the way you are coming undone on top of him, around him, your eyelashes fluttering closed and then popping open, all wild-eyed and rosy cheeked as the hushed sound of his name falls out of your perfect mouth.

He's so fucking enraptured that his orgasm hits harder and faster than expected, chasing yours almost immediately, not giving him time to pull out like he should have. But he can’t bring himself to care because it’s all you. All he’s ever wanted or needed—it’s you.

Oh, sweet Christ, I love you, I love you, I love you, he chants in his mind as he follows you over the edge.

He clings to you, head pressed into your breasts as he pulses hard into your warmth with a grunt, then stays there as he comes down from the high. And then you are both gasping in the silence, and there is an air of disbelief that fills the room that the two of you just did that, together.

This is making love, he realizes suddenly. It must be, considering the incredibly overwhelming feelings he has for you that are pouring through him in unreasonable amounts. He never wants to let you go, not ever.

He pulls back enough to kiss you tenderly, lingering a little too long. There is a sinking, nearly unbearable feeling that this may never happen again, and it threatens to break him, so he pushes it as far away as it will go.

You press your forehead to his, silent, you still enveloping him as he eventually begins to soften inside you. Neither of you rushes to move. He cannot read what you are thinking and that makes him nervous.

“Are you okay?” he finally whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

You both sit there a while, simmering in what you have done, and he wishes you would say something, say anything at all to let him know what is going on in that head of yours. But you are quiet, unreadable.

Finally, you remove yourself from his lap and stumble your way into the ensuite bathroom to clean up.

Elvis runs a hand down his face, wiping away the mixture of salty tears and sweat that has collected there. He uses his handkerchief to wipe himself off and then puts himself back together. Blissed out in his refraction, he is so full of love for you that he almost can’t stand it. He thought he’d known love before, and perhaps he did, but this realization of love for you is so big that he doesn’t know what to do with it. God, he feels like with you by his side, he could conquer the damn world.

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

Somehow, he’s both on top of the world and completely buried by it at the same time. You interrupt his thoughts, coming back in quietly and falling, exhausted, into his arms. He takes off his coat and puts it on top of you both. He can’t help but pull you closer, up into his lap, so your head rests against his chest. This is where you are supposed to be, he can’t help but think.

He knows the two of you need to talk about this. While he has been having his epiphany, he has absolutely no idea what you are thinking. He has no clue if you feel anything even close to what he feels for you. It is possible that all of this was just some sort of revenge on Jack, and that breaks his heart a little. And even if you did do it for that reason, you chose him. You felt safe enough with him to choose him.

But something deep inside him tells him it isn’t just that, not with the way you kissed him, not with the way he felt like his damn soul was connecting with yours. That deep connection he’s always felt to you, it can’t possibly be one-way.

But what if it is? a worried little voice creeps in.

He wants to ask you, but he looks down and sees you passed out on his chest. Fatigue begins to hit him, as he hasn’t slept in over a day.

It’s not long before he, too, falls into an exhausted slumber.

*

He’s not sure how long you sleep, but when he wakes, the sun has moved and the room is nearly dark. Disoriented, it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s you in his arms, and when he remembers why, his cheeks flame with heat.

Oh. Oh.

Drowsy, he rubs his eyes with one hand, trying to wake up. As the memories of your lovemaking resurface, his heart beats faster, and he knows the moment you wake you will both have to face what you’ve done. You’ll have to decide what comes next. And more than anything, the hopeful little voice inside him realizes that he wants to share this all with you—that’s why it is you he brought to Graceland today, and why it was so important to him that you like it.

“Y/n, honey, wake up,” he says quietly, not wanting to shock you awake, but you don’t even stir. He shifts under you, hoping that might get you moving, but you just lie there.

“Hey, baby, it’s time to wake up,” he says at full voice now, but you remain still, too still, and silent.

His heart starts to pound. Something isn’t right.

“Y/n! Honey, I need you to wake up!” He is getting frantic now, his hand gently tapping your face, which feels too cold. But still, you do not wake.

“Fuck. Fuck! Y/n, wake up!” He shakes you. Panic and confusion roll over him as he tries to figure out why you are knocked out. His sleep-addled brain runs through what happened before you both fell asleep, before you made love.

Her headache, he thinks. She took pills for her headache.

He had thought they were aspirin, but as he frantically rummages through her purse, pulling out the little prescription bottle, he reads “Percodan, one tablet every 6 hours for pain and sleep relief” on the label.

Elvis swears you took two tablets, not one, way too much for a girl your size. You hadn’t read the bottle.

Shit.

Having been in Hollywood, he knows that this happens. People overdose from taking these narcotics, usually to get high, but he knows that you did it on accident. Based on how full the bottle is, he’s guessing that you maybe hadn’t even taken the meds before today.

Regardless, he’s not taking any chances with you. There’s no phone hooked up at the house, so with his adrenaline now working overtime, he lifts your unconscious form and quickly carries you to the car. He peals out, driving to Baptist Memorial Hospital as fast as he possibly can.

The those few hours are some of the most terrifying of his life.

He bites every nail down to the quick in that waiting room, pacing there as your family sits, equally worried. He can’t help but feel that they are judging him for letting this happen, even though it was an accident.

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

Guilt eats away at him, even though he knows he had no idea about the pills, but if he hadn’t fallen asleep, maybe he would’ve realized sooner that something was wrong. Part of him feels like this is punishment for his sins, for what he let happen in the house. He prays and prays to God, harder than he’s ever prayed before.

Please, God, I love her. I can’t lose her. Do what you want to me, just let her be okay.

His prayers work.

You wake up. The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery. His heart nearly explodes with relief.

He offers to stay while your family goes home to get some rest. It is past visiting hours, but being Memphis’ own superstar, the nurses take pity on him and let him stay, as long as he doesn’t keep you awake.

When you finally stir, it’s the middle of the night.

“E—Elvis?” you croak. “What happened? Where am I?”

He sits up straight and leans forward to take your cold little hand in his. “Y/n! Oh, baby, you took too many of your headache pills and I couldn’t wake you up. You scared the hell outta me. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, squeezing your hand.

“Wake me up? Why—why was I asleep?” your brow furrows in confusion.

His heart drops into his stomach, dread like ice in his veins. He doesn’t want to ask, but he knows he must:

“What’s the last thing you remember, honey?”

Obviously still groggy, you close your eyes for a moment to think. “Um, I remember you picked me up and took me to…to your new house,” you say, then your eyes pop open, “You were showing me your beautiful new house, and then my headache got really bad, so I took some of my pills, and then…” You stop, looking at him blankly. “And after that, I don’t remember. You said I fell asleep?”

Oh, God, no. No, no, no. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

The force of his dread hits him like a tsunami as he runs through what happened in his head again. You took the pills first and then he told you about June and then you kissed him.

But you don’t remember. You don’t remember because you were accidentally fucking high.

“Elvis, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you say.

“Sorry, baby, I-I-I was just really worried about you, is all. I-I guess it’s all kinda hittin’ me at o-once, now that you’re o-o-okay,” he says, unable to keep his voice from shaking, unable to keep from stuttering through the half-truth.

“Please, go get some rest, E. I’ll be fine. I’m so tired, I feel like I could sleep for days…” you say, drowsily, eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay, okay, baby, I will…Get some rest,” he says, kissing you on the top of your head as you drift back into slumber.

In a panicked daze, he manages to make it down the hallway and to the men’s room before his stomach rolls and he is violently sick into the toilet.

Oh, sweet Lord, he took advantage of you. You were drugged and didn’t know what you were doing, and he had sex with you.

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have ever let it happen if I’d known! I would never hurt her! the reasonable part of his brain cries out.

Shame eats at him from deep inside, cutting him. He deserves it.

How could he do this? How could he let this happen?

I should’ve known. I should’ve known the moment she kissed me that she wasn’t in her right mind.

But he didn’t, and what the hell does that say about him? He’s fucking selfish and he took something from you that you weren’t in your right mind to give.

He dry heaves, wanting desperately to expel his regret but knowing that he never will, not until the day he dies.

And what’s even worse is that he is still left with the fact that he is desperately in love with you. You don’t remember what, up until a few minutes ago, was one of the most amazing moments of his young life. You can’t share that with him. And that makes him feel even more selfish because the last thing he should be thinking of is his own damn feelings.

Sitting there on the cold floor, he tries to convince himself it’s for the best. It’s much less complicated for you this way. For you, there was no betrayal. For you, making love with him can never be a mistake you once made in a moment of anger and desperation. For you, there is only the love of friendship between you two.

Yes, it’s better this way, he thinks. He can carry the burden for both of you. He deserves to.

Because he knows he cannot give you what you need. He cannot be there for you, day in and day out, holding you tight and keeping you safe. Especially not now. Not after what he’s done.

He has to lock this away. You can never know, not ever. He must protect you from this and from his guilt. He knows you wouldn’t be able to look at him if you knew.

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

He can’t stop crying. He has to stop crying because he has to go out there and he has to look fine. He has to be fine, for your sake. You’re alive and going to be okay, and it’s that which he latches onto as a mantra in order to slide into the persona that has made his name.  

He manages to make it to the car without losing it again, as the dawn starts to break on another day. He can’t bring himself to go home; he can’t look his mother in the eye right now. So, he drives aimlessly, for hours, his sins eating away at him until he finds himself at the church.

He waits for Reverend Hamill in a pew, his thoughts dark and churning. This is just the straw that broke him, for he knows that since his fame began two years ago, he has fallen so very far. He has been self-centered and vain. He has fornicated and broken hearts and caused pain to those he claimed to love, all in the name of this new life of his. And he’s pushed his friends to do the same. His stupid, selfish actions have had a ripple effect that has completely ruined lives.

Not only had he driven June away and into the arms of another man, he’d played with your life and Jack’s as well. If he hadn’t pushed Jack to cheat, you would never have needed those pills in the first place. You almost died because he didn’t want to be alone in his debauchery, and he knows that some sick part of him pushed Jack to it because he wanted to sabotage your relationship.

Then he realizes that, on top of all that, he did another incredibly selfish and stupid thing. He came inside you, which means that you could be pregnant. And that would ruin you completely, and you wouldn’t even know why, you wouldn’t understand. He would do the right thing, of course, and maybe, someday, you would learn to forgive him, but it would ruin you all in the process.

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

When the Reverend emerges, he looks surprised to find Elvis sitting there.

“Pastor, I am the most miserable man you’ve ever seen. I am doing the things you taught me not to, and I’m not doing the things you said I should,” he sobs, “Please, please pray for me.”

“Oh, son…come in,” Reverend Hamill says.

Deflated, consumed, and heavy with his guilt and the repercussions of his actions, he follows the pastor into his office. He can’t bring himself to admit what he’s done, to admit how horrible he is. He just cannot get the words out. Instead, he weeps and prays, over and over, the Reverend praying with him.

All he can whimper out is, “Please, please forgive me for my sins. Please.” He’s not sure if he’s asking the minister or God or both. He only knows he cannot live with himself for hurting you, even if you don’t know it.

After over an hour of this, by the grace of God, he finally calms some. His entire body and soul aches.

But he knows what he has to do now. He understands the deal he has made.

It doesn’t matter what he wants or needs. You being okay is all that matters. He has to make sure you’re taken care of. He has to make sure that you are happy.

In the days and weeks and months that follow, Elvis pretends he is having the time of his life, becoming every bit the budding superstar that the country insists that he is now. Sometimes, he even believes it; sometimes, he even forgets. Though every time he sees you, his heart breaks a little more, his love for you permeating him to the core.

But he knows he can’t have you. He knows he doesn’t deserve you.

Instead, he plants seeds in Jack’s ear. “You love her, don’t ya, Jacky Boy? When are ya gonna make an honest woman of her?” He pushes Jack to fully commit to you. He even goes with Jack to buy the ring, though he stops himself from paying for it. Jack has his pride, after all.

Instead, he throws himself into work, grateful for the grueling cycle of touring and recording and appearances and acting. He throws himself into fixing up Graceland for his family, building a life of extravagance that he never could’ve dreamed of.

And, God help him, he starts seeing other girls. He leans into the image of the playboy they all want him to be. He dates and he fucks, thinking that maybe, just maybe, one of these girls will make him forget the perfect way you fit into him, forget the way your face looked when you came undone around him. That maybe one of them will come close to the wonder that is you. That they will help him forget his past sins by cutting new ones. He cannot seem to help but do the sinful things he swore he wouldn’t do, lest he drown in his sorrows, but the girls help keep him from the one thing that is off limits: You.

When Jack finally pops the question in the summer, and you accept immediately, he can barely keep himself together. He convinces himself this is the right thing, that he is happy for the both of you as he stares into the night sky knowing deep in his soul that it should be him. He reminds himself that this is the deal, this is what he wanted, to see you happy and taken care of.

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

The moment you appear down the aisle, looking ever the most beautiful, blushing bride, every part of him aches with love for you. He’d thought that by giving you the life you dreamed of, the life you needed, that it would be enough to let you go. But as Elvis stands by Jack’s side at the altar, he realizes that no matter what has happened, no matter what he has done, he is always going to love you and it’s never not going to hurt, especially not after this.

Not after the quick look you shoot him as you step up to meet Jack, your pretty, wide eyes full of excitement and emotion. Not after seeing you all in white and wishing to God that it was him marrying you right now. Not after he keeps his peace after the minister asks if there’s a reason these two should not be married.

He somehow manages to keep himself from openly weeping during the ceremony by biting the inside of his cheek repeatedly but still finds himself caught in your radiance more than once and must force himself to look away. During the wedding pictures, he cannot help but maneuver himself close to you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, to be memorialized for all time on film. The press of his soft lips into your warm cheek sends that tell-tale shiver through him, one that drives in the fact that he still loves you. He gives himself this tiny thing, and no one questions it because they all know you are close friends, and a congratulatory cheek kiss on your wedding day is not strange.

Discretely, he makes sure to let the photographer know he wants copies of the pictures, with the excuse that he is paying for them and wants to make sure they are perfect. This, too, is not questioned, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

To torture himself even more, he offers Graceland up for the reception. These are his two best friends, after all, now cleaved together in holy matrimony for the rest of their lives. No expense should be spared because they deserve all the happiness in the world.

And they do, he reminds himself throughout the day. They do deserve all the happiness in the world.

At least if you are with Jack, he thinks, he still has you in his life. He can still see those beautiful, wide eyes whenever he wants without question or suspicion.

He clings to this.

Even so, he feels as though he is being sucked into a riptide. It seems fated that his life is going in a much different direction than the newlyweds. The draft notice he received a week ago confirms this, weighing heavy on his heart and feeing like a nail in the coffin of his hopes and dreams.

God is testing him, he thinks. It is all a very clear and stark reminder that where he goes, you cannot follow. He cannot help but feel that God is punishing him for his sins by taking him away from the fame he has just settled into to, taking him from the people he loves and the things he loves to do. He wants to lament that it isn’t fair, but part of him knows that he deserves this, too, for what he’s done and for what he’s done to you.

And perhaps God works in mysterious ways, as while he is loathe to leave his parents and his career and his fans, he cannot help the small part of him that is relieved he doesn’t have to watch you and Jack in your newlywedded bliss for the next two years. It’s the only upshot to this entire disaster.

But he won’t let his sorrow overshadow your big day. With a smile plastered on his face, he gives a charming and loving speech of how wonderful it is to see his two best friends find such happiness with each other. He only stutters once or twice, which comes across as endearing rather than damning. But the thing is, even though he is miserable, he is still happy for you two. He wants more than anything for you to have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and if that is with Jack, then so be it.

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

Your little sister (who at 18 is not so little anymore), Rosie, as the Maid of Honor, dances with Jack, while he, the Best Man, dances with you. The moment he touches you, sparks fly through him and down his spine, and he cannot help but pull you in a little too close, even though everyone is looking. His large hand wraps around your smaller one and the other clings to your waist.

The thing is, you do not react to this at all, not outwardly, anyway. You let him hold you and press his cheek against your temple. You let him breathe in your scent and lean into you, as if memorizing everything about you. You let his hands contract, pulling you in closer. You let him lead because it’s like somehow you know, in your soul, that he needs this, even if you’re not exactly sure why.

And for that he is grateful. He is grateful as he takes in every bit of you, committing you to memory, knowing that soon that is all he will have of you. All you will be is a memory, imprinted on his heart, for the rest of time.

When the song comes to an end, he leans back slowly, his eyes searching your face for any recognition, any understanding of his plight, any feelings of your own that might linger in your subconscious. You stare back at him openly for a moment, and for a second he thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes, but then Jack is pulling you away and the moment is gone.

As the party continues into the night, he feels like he is suffocating and escapes upstairs to his room. And as people know not to enter his bedroom without express permission, he feels safe to let out the shaking sob he’s been holding back for hours.

He’s not sure how long he cries before a tap at the door startles him into motion, frantically wiping at his face.

“Bewbie, sweet boy, can I come in? It’s just me,” his mama’s voice echoes through the door.

“Yeah, Mama, come in,” he croaks out, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. While he is relieved that it’s her and not one of the guys, or God forbid, you, he still doesn’t know how he’s going to explain the state he’s in.

His mama comes in quietly, shutting the door quickly behind her. She looks him over and in one fell swoop seems to understand, even though he’s said nothing, even though he’s spent months perfecting his nonchalantness for the world, what is going on.

But a mother knows.

His mama sits next to him on the edge of the bed, putting her arm comfortingly around his broad shoulders. “Oh, my wittle baby, it’s her, isn’t it? Our beautiful y/n. You love her,” she says, less of a question and more stating a fact.

That does him in, the way his secret is exposed so easily by his mama. It terrifies him that she knows him so well, and terrifies him that if she knows this, what else does she know? There’s no point in denying anything, so he curls into her like a child and lets go of it all, the tears streaming once again down his cheeks as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

His mama has always loved you, taking quickly to your genial ways and how you always made time to spend with her. Maybe she suspected something from the start, he doesn’t know, but she doesn’t judge or scold him now.

“H-hurts so bad, Satnin,” he hiccups out. And it does, now that he’s letting it. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest.

“I know, baby, I know,” she coos, rubbing his back. He can sense all the questions she wants to ask but doesn’t.

“I-I-I couldn’t…I-I ain’t w-w-what she needs or wants, Mama,” he stutters out. It’s as close as he’s willing to get to telling her the truth.

“It takes a brave man to let the girl he loves marry another, when he knows that’s what she wants, though I can’t say I wish it didn’t work out the other way,” his mama tuts.

“Y-you knew?”

“Course I knew, Bewbie. A mother always knows. To be fair, I been watchin’ the way ya look at that girl for the past few years and it didn’t take much t’put it all together, baby,” she says. “But the question is, does she know?”

He stills and stays silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, “I don’t know, Mama. I don’t think so.”

“Hmm,” she tuts, “I’m gonna trust you had good reason for lettin’ that wonderful girl go without tellin’ her how ya feel?”

His heart constricts, causing him to doubt his choices, but he can’t explain how he nearly killed you with his terrible decisions. He certainly can’t tell his mama that he made love to you when you weren’t yourself, no matter that it was you came on to him. And he knows his mama would balk if he told her how much he doesn’t deserve your love because of his sins.

“It’s better this way, Mama,” he says quietly, sitting up and staring at his hands. “And she’s happy, both she and Jack.”

His mama nods, resigned. “Alright, my sweet baby, puttin’ your friends’ happiness before your own…I know ya made the choice ya thought was best,” she says, wiping his face and pinching his cheeks, “but ya get yourself cleaned up now ‘n go be at least a ‘lil happy for your friends, okay?” She leaves the obvious unsaid—that he’s leaving to film in a few days and straight from there, it’ll be into the Army, so this will be one of the last times he can spend with them.

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

*

And then, in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. His mama is gone and his world fully collapses and it’s all his fault.

You are the only one who saves him from being completely swallowed in the blackness of his despair, and he’s not in his right mind to think or care how that looks. All he knows is you’re there when he needs you the most. You’re there to get him through the absolute worst of it before they send him a world away, and then, he loses you, too.

He loses everything that means anything to him—his mama, you, his career—and he wonders how long God will continue to punish him for his misdeeds, until he can’t bring himself to care much anymore about anything at all.

Germany feels like a cold fog that clouds his brain, even when he brings his Daddy and Dodger and Red over to live with him off base. In his haze, he writes Anita promises he wishes he could keep but deep down knows he won’t. Then, he turns around and does all the things he shouldn’t do because he can and what does it even matter if it’s all lost anyway? He takes the pills they give him to keep him awake in the field, and those make him feel pretty good, for a time anyway, and then he starts taking other pills they give him to bring him down after. In his off time, he screws and tries to forget the life he used to know.

And in those horrible quiet hours when he lies awake, trying to sleep when even the pills won’t let him, trying to escape and can’t, he thinks of you. He thinks of his love for you and your hold over him even now, a world away, and when he’s extra lonely, he imagines you on top of him, writhing and beautiful. And when he comes undone, there’s nothing left but a gaping hole in his heart and a mess in his hand.

*

March 1960

Elvis bites his nails to the quick on the long journey home. It’s not just because of the planes and the exhaustion and not knowing if he’ll ever get back to being “Elvis Presley,” but he knows he’ll be seeing you in a matter of hours. Not years or months or weeks, but hours.

And he thinks that maybe he is finally over you, that maybe he’s healed enough from everything and that he’s on his way to start something new, something fresh.

But, God, somehow you are more beautiful now than before, but you act so strange around him, and his heart wants to leap and implode all at once. Somehow everything has changed…but you, you still own his heart.

Once he discovers your pregnancy, he is over the moon for you because he can sense how badly you want this. He doesn’t care that the baby is Jack’s—he loves it more than anything because he loves you and seeing you so happy brings him true joy for the first time in a long, long time.

His career is taking off again, his new image impressing those who denounced him a few years ago, and he already has appearances and recordings and films lined up to go. Life feels…almost good, like maybe he’s finally paid his karmic debt.

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

His terrified confession of love is spoken in an act of desperation, a singular hope that if you know he loves you, you won’t be able to go, that the string of fate that draws you both together cannot be broken, that he can somehow will you back to life with the power of his love.

He begs God, begs as he’s never begged before, an inner wail of blood-soaked prayer that does not cease as he rides with your near-lifeless form to the hospital, nor when he calls Jack and your parents, nor as paces the waiting room.

Singularly focused on his pleas to God, he doesn’t even realize he’s covered in your blood until Charlie and Jerry arrive shortly after the ambulance and look at him in shock.

“Jesus, EP,” Charlie gasps quietly, taking in the macabre scene, “We need to get you changed and cleaned up before Jack gets here.”

That’s when he looks down and sees your life’s blood staining his pants, his shirt, his arms, his hands. God, it’s even under my nails, he thinks as he watches his hands shake, feeling utterly disconnected from his body.

He’s frozen, unable to move, repeating his prayers again and again, until Charlie whisks him away and has to physically help him strip down and wash the blood from his body in the bathroom. As he watches the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain, he cannot bear the thought that maybe it’s the last thing he has of you, these stains, and that maybe he’s truly lost you.

He just got you back. He can’t lose you. He won’t.

No, his inner mantra of prayer doesn’t cease until he is absolutely sure you are going to be okay.

Though “okay” is relative, he learns quickly. You have a long recovery ahead of you, the surgeons say, wiping their sweating brows, and the next few days will be crucial. The baby is gone, and the doctors say that more tests need to be done once you are well to see if that is even an option in the future.

He is heartbroken for you, and for Jack. But you are alive. You are alive.

Lamar and Red have to physically drag him from the hospital in the morning to get him ready and put him on the train to Florida for Frank Sinatra’s special, which is the very last thing he wants to do. But it is absolutely pivotal in his career comeback, so he tells Rosie in no uncertain terms that she is to keep him posted about her sister and any developments.

As he showers and packs, exhaustion seeping into his bones, it suddenly hits him that he told you he loved you, and it’s likely there will be fallout from that. It makes him incredibly worried, and he is even more loathe to leave until he knows where he stands with you. It’s possible you won’t even want to see him again.

Or it’s possible she loves you, too, a little voice hopes. But he knows better than to feed that monster. You don’t love him, not like that, and it’s selfish of him to even consider at a time like this.

“It’ll take your mind off things, EP,” Jerry tries to convince him, seeing his trepidation, prodding him along to get on the train. “And it’ll give y/n and Jack and her family time to get situated.”

The message is clear. Elvis is not in the inner circle of your life, not anymore, not as he wants to be. This fact is both sobering and cutting at the same time. It reminds him yet again that where he goes, you cannot follow, and where you go, he is not always welcome or needed.

He nods solemnly, thinking he finally understands, yet again, the terms of his deal with God. You live and he keeps his distance, he keeps his sins from tainting you. You live and he lets you go.

He pops a couple of pills, brought over from Germany, to wake him up, to get him in the performing mindset, to rev him up to being THE Elvis Presley. “Anything she needs, anything at all, comes to me,” he tells Jerry, “Hospital bills, recovery costs…and I want the best doctors helping her figure out her pregnancy issues. Oh, and send flowers, every day.”

Jerry nods, eyes observant and keen. “Of course, EP. Anything for y/n and Jack.”

Yes, anything for you.

*

You don’t remember a thing from that night, he learns from Rosie, and most of him thinks it’s for the best. But a small, egotistical part of him thinks bitterly that you certainly have a knack for forgetting anything monumental that happens between the two of you.

But he is busy. So busy, in fact, that he barely has time to think of you at all after that.

Except half the songs he chooses for his comeback album have something to do with you, which he only consciously realizes when he steps up to the mic to sing. And just as he thought of you the night of the talent show, he thinks of you now, singing about the girl of his best friend and how it feels so right being with you. He pours his hopes and dreams and frustrations and sorrows right into that album.

Perhaps it will cleanse him of needing you. Perhaps it’ll help him let you go.

When you find out that children are likely not in the cards for you and Jack, he sends more flowers, every day for a week. Jack is devastated and practically begs to come out to Hollywood to escape the sadness, so he agrees.

Anything for his friend, right?

He takes care of you from afar. He takes care of everything. Anything you could possibly want or need is yours. But he keeps his distance.

That is the bargain.

He falters at Christmas, almost letting his grief and yours ruin everything. He swears that you feel something for him, that maybe your impulse to be with him was not entirely driven by the drugs all those years ago. That maybe you do somehow remember his confession. Part of him swears if he had let it happen, you would’ve been his once again.

But you are not his, you never really were.

And while he knows this on a logical level, the more he is away, the more he fills his days with mindless movie making and wooing his costars and taking pills that bring him up and more that pull him down, the more he lets himself imagine you are his. From a distance, he can take care of you. From a distance and in the deep recesses of his mind, you belong to him and him alone.

“Elvis Presley” becomes a household name, now with a clean-cut image, alluring to both housewives and teenagers alike. His fame and wealth grow, and so does his isolation and loneliness. So does the need for the pills and to bring the rest of the guys into it all with him. Even Jack.

Especially Jack.

But he doesn’t like to think about why that is.

He manages to destroy his relationship with Anita along the way. He loved her, in his way, he really did. But she was not you. Neither is Ann, though he thinks for a moment that she may be the answer to his prayers, but in the end, he screws that up, too.

As the years drag on, he thinks he finally understands why he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had—it’s you—none of them are YOU. So he flits from fling to fling without ever truly landing because all he really wants is your love. But he doesn’t deserve it, he never has.

He knows this as he watches Jack descend into alcohol and drugs and women, and a small, horrible part of him wants Jack to self-destruct, and even though he knows this hurts you, he is too selfish to stop it. And the guilt of this, coupled with the downturn in his career, pushes him to self-destruct, too.

Still, he keeps his distance. When he’s home, he tries not to shoot you too many lingering glances. He reins himself in, most of the time, but in moments of weakness, he allows himself to get too close. He catches you alone, he makes a pass. But because you are you, you always rebuke him with a laugh. Silly Elvis, ever the jokester.

But sometimes, in the dark of night, in your beautiful, wide eyes, he sees something else. That deeper connection that drew you together in the first place, mixed with a heat he has only seen once or twice. And it is that which keeps his hope alive.

In an attempt to bury it and fill the hole in his heart, he almost marries, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. He’s wildly unhappy and dissatisfied, and it’s not until he finally gains some control over his career again that things take a turn for the better. He finally starts to clean up his act. He seeks knowledge and spiritual clarity. He finally finds his passion for music and performing again after nearly a decade.

But it’s too late for Jack. He managed to drag Jack to hell and while he made it back, Jack has not. And you are miserable because of it. This breaks his heart.

He tried to give you everything you wanted and needed by stepping back to let Jack do so. He kept his distance. He did what he’d promised God, and yet life still destroyed your dreams.

Jack no longer makes you happy. Jack is no longer the man who can give you what you need.

And suddenly Elvis wonders if he was wrong all along. That perhaps he wasn’t the man you needed then, but he is now. Perhaps his sins have been forgiven. Perhaps the more he pushes you away, the worse things become for both of you because you are indeed supposed to be together.

You are his. You’ve always been his.

So, riding high from his first Vegas performance, he finally allows himself to pursue you. He pushes away a decade and a half of guilt and shame and lets his charm and confidence entice you. He lets the sparks fly between you, finally free after all this time, and more intense than ever. To his gleeful surprise, you accept him willingly, if not a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it is just sex, he thinks at first, this carnal need he has for you, but he knows better. As soon as he tastes you after all these years, he knows he can never let you go again. As soon as he coaxes, then watches you come undone again and again, he realizes that still, after all this time, this is it for him. You are it. You always have been. And he will do anything to keep you, to make sure you know that you are his.

He thinks you might remember it all after that first night, but you don’t, not right away. He senses your fear to let go, to let yourself have him, to have this affair. He knows you want this to be only sex. And maybe it is for you, at first.

But he will have you. He doesn’t care how many mountains he must move or what he has to do to convince you to stay, but he loves you more than anything in the world and he’s not willing to part with you, not anymore.

It’s true that his fame, wealth, and influence have spoiled him into always getting what he desires. Of course, what he truly desires always has been you. Now unlocked, his love and want and need for you is insatiable, and he will do anything to keep it that way.

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

*

As the blackout of his rage starts to dissipate and he comes to, he assumes that his friends are holding him back from quite literally killing the disheveled and beaten man who used to be his best friend, and he watches with deep satisfaction as you slap the shit out of your husband.

He also feels the immense guilt of letting it get this far, of not knowing just how bad Jack was to you, and his part in all of it.

But when you vomit and promptly fall to an unconscious heap on the ground, his fear is what overshadows his rage and guilt. Something is wrong, he knows it.

Not again, not again, not again.

Triggered by your history, Elvis, with untold strength, wrenches himself from the four men holding him down and clamors to your side, everyone else forgotten.

Pulling your limp body into his lap, he screams for someone to call the doctor. His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might need one, too.

Please God, please God, please God. Not now, not after all we’ve been through.

That deep-seeded, old shame creeps back in as he rocks you: This is your fault. Your selfishness did this. You destroyed Jack, he took it out on her, and you’ve put her at risk, yet again. You are a scourge on this woman you claim to love so much. A pestilence.

He’s getting lost in this fearful despair, and then Jerry’s voice in his ear snaps him back: “EP. EP! You have to let her go, man. The doctor is here.” Jerry pulls his arms off her as the doctor examines her.

Elvis’ fingers go straight to his mouth, his obsessive habit of biting his nails taking over as he watches the doctor carefully.

The doctor looks up, taking in the scene. He looks at Elvis, then at Jack bleeding against the wall, and purses his lips. “Will somebody tell me what happened to this young lady?”

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

“Her husband slammed his fist into her face!” Sandy yells over him, furious, earning scathing looks from the entourage. They knew better than to give details, knowing to keep things close to the chest and avoid any legal issues, to protect him at all costs.

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

“No, it’s okay, Jer,” Elvis says firmly, waving him off. “I’m sure the doctor knows to be discreet.”

The doctor looks up at his hovering, intimidating form, and says nothing for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I need to get her to a hospital and stabilized as soon as possible. She needs x-rays. It’s likely she has a serious concussion, Mr. Presley.”

The men start to argue, knowing that as soon as she leaves this room, a whole host of problems could fall down on them, but that’s the last thing he cares about right now. All that matters is you.

Elvis holds up his hand and everyone goes silent. “Do what you need to do, Doc. Anything she needs.”

The doctor nods and asks that someone phone for an ambulance.

Elvis looks up and sees that the men cleared the room at some point, leaving only the major players. Jack still sits, leaning on the wall next to Red, his face battered and bloody, watching the doctor. Elvis can’t tell if Jack is sorry or not. Elvis walks towards Jack, his anger tempered only by his concern for you.

“EP!” Jerry says in a warning tone, signaling for the men to flank him.

“I’m fine,” he commands, crouching at Jack’s side.

Jack flinches.

“Are you proud of yourself, Jacky Boy? Are you satisfied, seeing her laid out on the ground like that? Is this what you wanted?” he hisses.

Jack says nothing. He sees the tears in Jack’s eyes, the regret through the pain, and for a second, Elvis almost sees the man he used to know in there.

“Hmm,” he tuts, looking over his friend with disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll deal with you later. And you, too,” he says, with a low, deadly calm, pointedly to Red. Then he rises easily from the floor, his attention on the men with the stretcher who just entered the suite.

“It’s never enough with you, EP, you selfish motherfucker. The man who gets everything he wants, no matter how many lives he has to destroy to get it. The rules never apply to you, do they? Dammit, you coulda had anyone, anyone! Why did it have to be y/n?” Jack spits out mournfully from behind him.

Shame snakes through him, through the anger that continues to boil under just the surface, covering the sorrow that flows under that. There is truth in Jack’s words, he knows that, even though he wants to deny it.

“How long, Elvis?”

He supposes he owes Jack that much, though he doesn’t even turn his head.

“Opening night.”

“No, you bastard. How long have you been in love with my wife?”

The room goes silent yet again.

Elvis turns around, but he cannot bring himself to look Jack in the eyes for a moment. A lifetime of memories flashes through his head, of times much better than this, of times when they had each other’s backs. Ultimately, he knows what Jack has become is partially his fault. Ultimately, he knows it was wrong of him to want you when you weren’t his, wrong to have sex with you, even before the debacle of you and the pills. It was wrong of him to manipulate Jack into marrying you.

As much as he hates Jack right now, he once loved him, and still, he betrayed him.

Jack chuckles darkly, “That fucking long, huh?”

Elvis finally looks Jack in the eyes but says nothing. Nothing he can say will make any of this less of a fiasco. Nothing he can say with make it right, no matter how much he wants to jump in to defend himself, to tell Jack he saw you first, to tell him he wanted you first, to fucking explain that you’re his goddamn soulmate and he’s had to watch you be with someone else for almost two fucking decades.

“Ahhh, and she didn’t even know, did she?” A hint of a smile plays on Jack’s bloodied lips. “Didn’t even give the King the time of day! Well, at least I got that goin’ for me,” he laughs.  

His brow furrows as he fumes, and he steps towards Jack again. Lamar puts himself between the two men.

“It’s fine, Lamar, let him at me. What do I have to lose now anyways?” Jack laughs, which turn suddenly to sobs, “You were my brother. I gave up my life for you! I loved you, man!”

The words cut Elvis to the bone, flooding his fury with more guilt.

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

“You don’t fucking love her,” Elvis says, infuriated, pushing past Lamar to grab Jack’s chin, wrenching his head to look at you being put on the stretcher. “You hurt her. You been hurtin’ her. And Jack, if she dies, I don’t care what brotherly love was between you and me—I will fucking kill you,” he says, low and vehement in Jack’s ear, for only him to hear.

He pulls back to stare Jack in the eye, to let him know just how serious he is, to make sure he understands that through the pain and the alcohol and whatever pills he might be on.

Jack blinks through his tears and nods his head once, shakily.

Elvis releases him.

Then he steps in behind you, still unconscious, on the stretcher as they take you out of the penthouse and to the elevator.

“EP, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to…” Charlie starts, hustling behind him.

He turns, seeing the stares of the men who have given him their lives to stand by his side. Some of them are befuddled, some understanding and resigned, some even a little suspicious after tonight’s events.

“I don’t give two shits if it’s a good idea or not, I’m goin’ with her. Anyone wanna argue with me about it?” he says impatiently, shooting up an eyebrow.

No one does.

It’s good it’s the middle of the night, otherwise he would’ve caused a huge scene at the hospital. But the nurses and doctors seem to gather by his demeanor that now is not the time for autographs. Instead of putting them in the waiting room, they set up an empty room at the end of the hall for the lot of them, a gruff old nurse warning them they best be quiet and not wake any of the patients before she closes the door on them.

And for the third time in his life, he waits to know your fate.

He waits for you, just as he’s been waiting for you for the last 18 years.

He waits and he prays, though this time, he makes no bargains with God.

He stills when the doctor finally comes to tell him that, yes, you do have a concussion and though you will likely experience symptoms as you recover, you should recover fully. He feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

When the doctor leads him and him alone back to your room, the doctor mentions the other symptoms you’ll likely experience and that you might have issues with your memory leading up to the event. Elvis cannot help but chuckle at that.

“Oh, I’m betting she will,” he says under his breath, though this time, he thinks it might be best after what you went through tonight.

He sits by your side in the quiet, dimmed room, and is taken aback by the angry bruising already spreading over your beautiful face. His fury at Jack swells through him once more, followed immediately by sadness. You look so innocent and fragile lying there. Suddenly, he feels afraid to touch you, as though you might break.

So, he waits. He waits for you to wake and he prays. He thinks of the lifetime he’s had without you and the life he wants with you going forward. And this time, he knows he won’t be leaving your side for anyone or anything.

But his secrets still lay heavy and dark on his heart. There are those things he cannot tell you of that day at Graceland so long ago, and the things he still cannot bring himself to admit to, like his confession of love as you almost died in his arms and his meddling in your life. He doesn’t want to tell you how all of it has led to you lying here in this hospital, hurt and fragile but somehow still his, he hopes.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it yet, so for now he just waits for you to come back to him.

He’s been too rough with you, he thinks, in his quest to show you how you are his. Pushing you too hard to keep up with his rockstar lifestyle and his insatiable need for you sexually has not been good for you. You’re exhausted, not eating, and have been on an emotional rollercoaster for days, and he was too consumed by his own selfishness to listen, so much so that he almost drove you away. The hurt, the feeling of pure panic that shot through him when you said you were leaving was enough to bring him to his knees, but of course, he could not tell you that. He couldn’t show you that weakness. Instead, he’d covered it with anger and passion, fucking you into submission.

He realizes his dominance, while fun in the bedroom, is perhaps masking his true feelings. He has told you in so many words how desperate he is for you, how he wants you to be with him, to let him take care of you, how he is yours, that he needs you. But in truth, he is afraid. Afraid that you don’t and never will feel the same towards him as he does towards you. That it is only his coercion, manipulation, and his sexual prowess that keeps you here with him. No matter how much you say you are his and that you will stay as he fucks it out of you, he’s not convinced that you’ll feel the same in the light of day, of your own accord.

Lord, the way you said you needed him tonight flashed him right back to that first time with you at Graceland. The time you don’t remember. He is putty in your hands now, just as he was then. But that need of yours was only sexual. If it is truly just sex for you and you are only staying for that…well, that scares him and makes him want to hold onto you so tightly that you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

If you don’t ever feel that same pull inside your heart, in your soul, that he has for you, he’s not sure what he will do.

Gone is the bravado and confidence gleaned from years of being Elvis Presley. Instead, he sits here at your bedside feeling stripped to his core: a nervous, stuttering boy with a funny name who loves you more than life itself. He is that boy who picked your books up off the ground, the one who you calmed backstage with your sweetness and wit. For you and you alone, he is just Elvis. And he’s worried he won’t recover if you don’t ever grow to love him.

Anxiety courses through him, a throbbing pulse that serves to remind him that for all he has and is in this world, he is still only a man. And you are the girl who has comforted him through some of his worst moments, yet now after all this time he’s still terrified to let you truly see him. If he lets you in, you will see him for all that he is and all the terrible parts of himself he’s ashamed of: his selfishness and possessiveness, his overindulgence, his obsessive tendencies, his goddamned vanity and ego. His secrets. If you know the things he’s kept from you, he’s not sure you’ll ever forgive him. Certainly, you could not love him.

His heart aches at that thought, flooding him with despair. He needs you so badly that he cannot bear to risk showing you everything; however, a deep part of him wants to flay himself bare to you, to expose himself in a way that he has never done before, not with anyone.

Elvis puts his head on the bed near your hand. He is going to be gentler with you, especially after tonight. He will prove to you that he is worthy of your love, that this is so much more than just sex. He’s going to take care of you and give you the life you’ve always deserved.

God has humbled him once again tonight, and he knows he must do better.

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

And he hopes that one day, you will love him, too.

*

Taglist:

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

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

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

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

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

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

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis 

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

#Pink Scarf Part 18.2 #Pink Scarf #elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #if you're looking for trouble #you came to the right place #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis presley imagine #elvis presely smut #elvis smut #elvis x you #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #austin!elvis smut #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis imagine #elvis fic #elvis fanfic #austin!elvis fic #elvis presley fic

[diagonal-queen]

omg! please i want to aks hunting dogs when s/o blows them a kiss, well, just baby tecchou and tachihara cuase someone would not be able to see it...

i had to read this like a million times before it hit me that you were referring to jouno. i thought you were just a fukuchi hater and you meant like he didn't deserve to receive your blown kisses (true)

When you blow them a kiss

♡ pairing: Tecchou Suehiro, Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do they react when you blow them a kiss?

♡ cw: Absolutely none!

note: I really don't wanna jinx anything, so I won't talk about how excited I am that my large and inescapable writer's block is seemingly passing. I will simply not say a thing. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Tecchou:

He's a little confused at first ngl. He probably hasn't received treatment like this very much in his lifetime so he kinda just stands there and looks at you like a lost puppy T-T

You have to explain to him what it means. Then he's like 'Ohh...' and then his face just slowly starts turning red lol

If you do it any time from then on he goes along with it (either 'catching' the kiss or returning it), and after a while it just becomes instinct to him

Nobody dares to question him about it. Why would they? He's a Hunting Dog, and his heart is reserved for you only.

If you blew kisses to anyone else he would get super jealous lowkey. Like he might try to hide it but he'd be so bad at it and he'd ask you to reserve it for him because he feels that it's your guys' special thing

If you blew him a kiss while the other Hunting Dogs were around most of them probably wouldn't pay it too much mind. TERUKO on the other hand-

She'd start bullying you guys so bad omg. It'd be like a legit problem she'd mock you so hard she would forget to do her damn job

Overall though? Tecchou loves it, but he's more enamoured with the person blowing the kiss rather than the kiss itself (that's you!)

Tachihara:

He's a member of the strongest military unit in the country. He's a solider. He successfully infiltrated the mafia. He's taken many lives. He's Tachihara freakin' Michizou. And when you blow him a kiss, he is flabbergasted.

I mean fully taken aback. Red faced, wide eyed, eyebrows raised, frozen in surprise. Altogether adorable.

Tachihara acts so suave and charming all the time but when you reciprocate it by blowing a kiss? He honestly gets so shy

If you did it in public, especially around his coworkers (HD or PM), he'd almost have a meltdown. He's so flustered it's insane

He's like 'Don't do that! At least not right now!!' and he pretends that he didn't love it. He wants to maintain his 'badass gangster' image even though in reality he's so soft and goofy

Tachihara would one HUNDRED percent start doing it to you. He'd try so hard to get you to react the same way he did the first time. If he succeeds he acts like such a smug bastard, but if he doesn't he will never stop trying

You and he will always do it in private though. I mean he'd prefer to just...kiss you, but if for any reason he can't, blowing him a kiss will suffice

It may or may not become a regular thing. Either that or he'll forever do his best to one-up you and fluster you. Both outcomes involve affection from Tachihara so it's a win-win, really.

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fedyushka, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd fanfic #bsd fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #tachihara michizou #michizou tachihara x reader #tachihara x reader #bsd tachihara #bsd tecchou #tecchou x reader #tecchou suehiro x reader #tecchou suehiro #bsd hcs #bsd headcanons #bsd fluff

[prototypelq]

During my foolish attempt (thankfully, successful, through a lot of time, trial and error) at DMC5 SoS difficulty run, the Vergil fights have caught my attention. Vergil's behaviour in both fights is very unusual, and I wanted to share some thoughts on this matter.

post sponsored by mutual @stashoflostsouls's suggestion to share this

I'll open up with the most obvious one, a rebuttal of a misconception, that I've seen a number of times in the fandom, and which baffles me to this day - M20, aka Son VS Idiot Dad fight, which is a complete joke.

Don't get me wrong, this was not the hardest difficulty, not am I the most skilled player, but I almost won this battle first try, and actually won it on second, while being extremely freakin rusty at Nero game, by which I mean halfway remembering the controls in the middle of the fight. Even if you learn the attack patterns and dodges, a proper challenging bossfight will not allow this kind of victory.

M20 Vergil tends to fall on his knee for a breather after laying a single finger on him, he is Much Slower than before, and he gets caught by the most obnoxious Devil Breaker animations to boot. M20 Vergil is exhausted, he does not have his proper strength for this fight, and so a newly-awakened Nero thrashes him easily. Literally. This fight is mechanically and challenge-wise equal to an interactive cutscene, same as the credits. This does NOT mean Nero is on par with the twins' power, it only means he stopped them in their final moments, running all of their last fumes into that rush, only to be stopped from ending it all.

Okay, now that weird thing out of the way - M19 the Twins Final Stand.

Vergil behaves Very Weird in this fight, to say the least. First of all - phase 1 and phase 3 attacks are...Heaven and Hell. On SoS you need to dodge three then five consecutive Judgement Cuts. If phase 1 Vergil can be parried, interrupted or juggled even, phase 3 Vergil is completely bonkers insane, the only thing you can do against him is pray and run away. again I am not too skilled at the game.

Which, you know, is unusual for him. Because Vergil is decidedly Not known for toying with his prey. Vergil is known for going all in and executing threats on sight. It is weird for him to hold back so obviously.

Even funnier, one of the defeat lines he says is 'You've disappointed me, Dante' as in 'player you fool, this is only my first easy phase of the fight, how will you even survive the DT transition'.

i heard this one a lot

But okay, this can be excused by DMC5 being, y'know, a game. And a good bossfight needs mechanics, phases and challenge escalation, otherwise, it will decidedly not be a good bossfight, I hear you say. Hold that thought.

Now for the Arguably Most Stupid Move In the Entirety of DMC - the Mega Ultra Super Freakin Charged Flying Lizord Freight Attack during the 2d to 3d fight phase transition.

I cannot find the words to properly describe just how stupid this move is. It is flashy and powerful, which does suit Vergil at first glance, however, this is a fight against Dante. Batshit like this Would never work on Dante, Could never work on Dante, and never ever Will work on Dante. You wanna know how to dodge this attack? Double jump. That's it. Of course, you can get fancy and RoyalRevenge it right back, or Gunslinger-charge the IMMAH FIRE MAH LAZOR with the Double Kalinnas, or do another stylish move, but the easiest, cheapest, most obvious way to dodge this attack is double jump.

Do you see why this is stupid. For your notice, even the fried chicken Malphas' rampage attack has a larger hitbox than this!!!

Now, contrary to all the evidence presented above, there is One attack in the 1st phase which you must always take seriously - the teleporting Stab. It's the scenic attack which has Vergil shishkebab the player with Yamato and reminisce on 'the old times'. This attack is not hard to dodge, any moving will do it, however the Timing has to be very exact - too fast or too slow, and you can say bye-bye to your healthbar.

This attack is Vergil NOT messing around, this one is serious and dangerous, and you need to always keep it in mind. This attack is Vergil checking you, this is him testing how in control you are of this fight. If you are too excited, or tired, or your attention wandered and he does this - Easy Mode is Now Selectable TM. If I am not mistaken, this is the only attack which timing does not change between phases, meaning the dodge window in phase one and phase three is the same. Meaning this attack is Vergil Not holding back, unlike every other move in phase one, which is considerably faster the more the fight progresses.

So, what do we have in total:

Vergil responding in kind to Dante's provocation in the cutscene; then for some reason limiting himself during the start of the fight; except The Stab, which you can consider a provocation in of itself; doing a needlessly flashy and hopelessly useless freight train attack, which Vergil overly-telegraphs by flying around (parading) beforehand; and only after ALL THIS, does he start fighting in proper.

Why?

Tu-dunnn, advertising time! I am a firm believer and follower of the amazing mutual @stashoflostsouls' school of character analysis and thought, and for this particular post I will be referencing her analysis of Vergil's motivation, which you can guess from the title of this analysis - Vergil loves his brother and it’s the reason he falls, and her analysis on V(ergil) and how Dante ended up being the death omen of his own brother.

You should really treat yourself to reading the full versions of this, but a tldr for the post purposes: Vergil loves his brother so much, he could never kill him; Dante's determination to chase Vergil made him a death omen for his own older brother; after his rebirth in dmc5 Vergil feels rejected by Dante, has no reason to live, and he is ready to face death, which he has been running from his whole life, at the hands of his younger brother.

This analysis shines new light and makes sense of this erratic behaviour of Vergil's in M19. The entire fight is one big trap, a provocation, only the last phase of the fight is the actual last stand. The holding back at the beginning of the fight, and the frying freight lizord attacks are a big red flag Vergil keeps waving in front of Dante. To make him commit to this fight, to truly end this for once and for all, to bait his younger brother into thinking Vergil is serious and force his hand into killing Vergil, because that's the only way he would allow himself to go out.

thanks for reading, bonus discord quote about this from my dear mutual @stashoflostsouls

p.s. my dear mutual @fluffypichu876 has also pretty much confirmed this in regards to highest-difficulty experience with the Vergil bossfights, much thanks and appreciation for that insight)

#this is unhinged overanalysis of basic boss mechanics #youre welcome #mutual thank you for nagging me to share this) #and a big thank you for finding that quote it is absolutely hilarious #dmc #vergil sparda #dante sparda #the sparda loser twins #dmc5 #Youtube

[cynthplop]

BRIGAND OC....... HEHE <3

feat @werepaladin 's grimoult who is fletch dad dad of all fletch

bio under da freakin read more

Fletcher 'Fletch' Vvulfson is the eldest living son of the infamous Brigand leader Vvulf. Scrappy, crude, hot tempered, he goes to violent and brutal lengths to be recognized by his father despite his lack of commanding presence and physical strength. 

However, what Fletch lacks in power, courage, and leadership is doubled in his inventive nature and skill of trap making. He lays down all manner of bloodthirsty contraptions around the Darkest Heir's estate, all more barbaric than the last in order to maim his soldiers and slow his efforts; all whilst hidden from view in the safety of the shadows. Perhaps he may even capture vital prey that will turn the tide of the war in his father's favour. 

Fletch continuously fails to realize that no matter what he does to try and prove himself as the fierce progeny of the Brigand Vvulf, no matter how innovative and how fiendish his inventions, his father will never see him as anything more than vermin at best and a punching bag at worst. Despite the violence running through his veins from the very day he was conceived, all Fletch truly, secretly yearns for is acceptance and family. And it will take nothing short of the terrible sacrifice of an innocent for him to see the error of his ways.

#darkest dungeon #darkest dungeon oc #darkest dungeon brigand #dd oc #brigand oc #dd fletcher #dd grimoult #dd dawn

[sztampok]

Hazbin Hotel ~ My random thoughts after watching season 1

I don't know how tumblr works, but I feel the NEED to share some of my inside thoughts with you, so here we go, I hope that somebody will see that

And of course, spoiler warning of season 1 and rumors about 2

Vox and Valentino aka happy, perfect couple NO WAY. I love both of these characters - Vox, because I'm simp of this freakin TV and Val, coz he is very good written villain. In the same time I totally hate Valentino's behavior. He acts like a spoiled child which gets everything that he wants, he treats others like a trash. In my opinion in some scenes it's also shown that he treats Vox like that. I really like the idea of two bad guys being together, but no offense - Valentino seems extremely toxic as a partner. While doing some research I've read about fact that previously they relationship were pictured as typically toxic love. I'm not sure If that was a canon or fanon, so sorry for any misunderstandings (I'm new fan of Hazbin, so I'm not into the full lore yet).

Buut, listen here, wouldn't you like to see more of them together at season 2? What I think is that It would be so amazing (and oddly satysfying) to see this relationship even more toxic. Why? To break it up and let Vox be free from him.

Also, I think that in season 2 Val should be punished for everything that he did to Angel. I would love to see them breaking up, not because of potentially death of Valentino or other things, but because of Vox or some characters trying to help this TV guy. Shooow me Vox escaping from this freak. Okay, okay, Vox isn't pure, I heard rumors about him being one of the main villains (with rest of the Vees) at season 2, but still, toxic relationship is sad : (

And another thing - I don't see them as official partners like two boyfriends, the loved ones. Imo they are totally just hooking up, fwb relationship. But afterall, that sort of Vox's contact with Valentino seems very bad affecting to him.

OK, AND NOW LISTEN, BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS FIRE. I heard theory about Velvette's love potion being made of Valentino saliva. Makes sense? Of course. Val's saliva is clearly red btw, it's visible when he met Charlie and in some more parts. What if Vox's red stripes on his screen are also some part of this potion/Val's saliva? What if this think isn't error on his screen, but hint of being under Val's 'charm'? Okay, I'm done talking shit xD I have no one to share that, so yeah, maybe you will like it. Ohh, and I'm gonna post more if this post will gain your attention I hope that nobody is offended by this. You are Vox x Val shipper? Ok, have fun

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vees #vox the tv demon #the vees #vox hazbin hotel #valentino #theory #shitpost #thoughts #my thoughts

[love-islike-abomb]

Ho hey

Roman reigns x Sofia (OC) featuring Seth Rollins under his real name

I don't think I've ever written this much smut in a day before!!😱

And two fics in one day!

Warnings fluff, bit of angst, smut, I'm on a public sex run apparently🤷 mentions of alcohol, errors I may have missed.

Word count: 1.4k

Tag list: @reignsangel444 @acknowledge-reigns @helensanders92 @heerah34 @mzv11 @marchm-langdon @msbluehaz3 @mandeelemons @mindfulofmani @niknakbucks92 @pittieprincess22 @queengreenarrowmia89 @vintage-pvssy @weirdgirl16355 @windhamsrotunda

________

The entire locker room had decided to go to a bar after hearing the ratings for smackdown had surpassed all other wrestling promotions. Triple h had really turned things around. Moral was up, people were happier, the money was rolling in, life was good. My brother, who you might know as Seth freakin Rollins, but I call him Colby or Colbs had been hounding me to come out with him and I knew why. Roman had a girlfriend he didn't like and i'll be honest she was a bit of a bitch. He wanted me to split them up and he knew I had a crush on Roman so his little sister dating his best friend was his ultimate thrill I guess. Weirdo!! However he gets his kicks I suppose.

"alright Colby! Alright! I'll go! Give me a little bit to get dressed ok!" I said with a hint of frustration to my voice. When he was persistent he was annoying!

"thank you Sofia!" He smiled "I owe you one!"

"I can't believe I'm doing this! I swear if Roman gets mad at me because of you you better tell him this was your idea And I didn't wanna do it in the first place!" I said poking his chest.

He put his hands up in surrender "fair enough" he said "but I don't think that he'll be mad at you anyway"

I looked at him and squinted my eyes "you've been up to no good havent you?!" I said crosssing my arms.

"you gonna get dressed?" He asked

I rolled my eyes "fine" I said walking to my room. I went through a bunch of different outfits before I found the right one.

I put my makeup on and did my hair in a bun with a slight curl on my bangs grabbed my handbag and headed downstairs. When Colby saw me he smiled "she doesn't stand a chance!"

At the bar

"Sofia! I'm glad you came! How are you?!" Nattie greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm amazing! How are you?" I smiled back.

She leaned over and whispered in my ear "that bitch has been ruining everyone's fun!" She said through grinted teeth.

I looked at her and sighed "you to?" I rubbed my forehead "Sofia, she needs to go and I have just the idea to get rid of her" she smiled "follow me!"

She led me to the karaoke machine and asked the DJ to put on a song "it's one of your favorites! You'll know it when you hear it!" She smiled.

About 20 minutes later I was sitting at a booth and heard the beginning chords of ho hey and turned around to look at nattie Before mouthing 'you didn't!' at her and she simply nodded her head. I hung my head and sighed. Not only am I gonna get rid of her I'm admitting my feelings for Roman all at once!! The entire time he hadn't realized I was here as when he heard the song start he knew only one person would request that song... Me!

I walked up to the karaoke stand and grabbed the microphone. On the outside I smiled but on the inside my heart was in my throat. I put the microphone to my lips "I've been trying to do it right! Been living a lonely life! I've been sleeping here instead! Been sleepin in my bed!" I saw Roman turn his head and look directly at me "Sofia?" He mouthed. His girlfriend grabbed him and made him look at her "me!"she yelled.

I finally gathered my courage at the second verse of the song. She looked right at me and I stared right back "I don't think you're right for him!" I sang and then looked at Roman "think of what might've been!" He looked at her as I kept singing "took a bus to China town!" I watched as he removed her hand from his chest "she's right! We're over alessa!" He said as he walked away and she screamed.

Colby had been standing in the corner watching the whole thing and smiled at me before giving me a thumbs up. Roman walked up to me with a smile on his face "bout damn time" I smiled.

"me? What about you? Taking your own time telling me how you felt!" He smiled.

"crazy lady over there made if difficult for everyone!" I said. Roman looked at her then back at me before leaning over and whispering in my ear "let's give her a show then!" He smiled. He closed the gap between us, his lips soft and he tasted like vanilla. I heard her yelling and screaming and storming off but I didn't care. She knew better then to approach the stage because so many people would have stepped in-between her and us. When we broke apart we both had smiles on our faces.

"do you wanna come stay at the hotel with me? I'll let Colby know!" He smiled. I looked over at the end of the bar making Roman look to and he smiled when he saw Colby "I think he already knows" I smiled. Colby gave him a thumbs up as I rolled my eyes.

"before my brother embarrasses me any further, do you wanna head back to the hotel?" I asked.

"you got something in mind?" He asked.

"its almost 1am! Im tired!" I giggled.

He got up off the bar stool and walked up to me and leaned over to my ear "what happens if I do this?" He said in a low growly voice that in and of itself would have dropped me to my knees If I had been Standing, before gently running his lips along my neck making my body go limp "what if I fuck you right here on this bar?" I looked up at him "my brother is..... Gone" I said realizing Roman and I were the only ones left in the bar.

"time flies when you're in love" he smiled.

I smiled back and wrapped my arms around his neck. I'd never been so happy I'd worn a dress! He spun me around so my arms were resting on the edge of the bar before Lifting it up over my ass to reveal my black lace thong, he ran his hands over my skin "Sofia you're so beautiful!" He said. I heard him undo his belt and slightly slide his jeans down. He moved my thong to the side and slowly slid himself inside me, both of us letting out loud groans of pleasure "fuck baby girl! That pussy is hot!" He growled. Slow thrusts at first until he had built up a speed that had us both moaning messes. I started bouncing my ass against him and it only seemed to drive him on "Fuck baby! The way that pussy is gripping my cock you're close! Give it to me! Let it go baby!" His words like music to my ears. I felt the knot in my stomach burst and my "That's my good girl! Give it to me!" He growled in my ear

"fuck!! Don't stop!!" I groaned..his thrusts getting harder and deeper "what's my name baby" he said with a smirk.

"daddy!" I moaned out as my orgasm rippled through my body.

His thrusts became hard and sloppy as he chased his own orgasm "fuck baby!! milk my cock with that pussy! Oh fuck I'm gonna fill that hot pussy up!" He growled, his head falling back, releasing his hot cum deep into my aching cunt. His moans were music to my ears. A few last sloppy thrusts and he stilled inside me "Sofia that was incredible!" He smiled before slowly pulling out of me, making me whine at the lack of contact. I pulled up my thong and dropped my dress back down and he pulled up his jeans.

"i should of never dated that crazy bitch who was using me! The truth is Sofia I've always loved you and I was in denial because I thought Colby wouldnt approve of me dating his little sister and I -" I cut him off with a kiss "roman, colby was the one who convinced me to come here because he wanted you away from that girl and knew I was the only person who could do it" I smiled.

He smiled at me "i love you Sofia! Be mine?!"

"i love you to Roman! I would love nothing more!"

#Spotify #roman reigns #big daddy uce #the only daddy☝️😩🫦 #roman reigns fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe x oc #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #romance #roman reigns fluff

[scoobydoomistakes]

Ok, so, Shaggy's about to meet the spooky headmistress.

They chat in front of these similarly-spooky stairs...

...where he– wait, no, sorry, they're to the side of the stairs.

He reaches out to– sorry, sorry, I've made a grievous error. They're next to a corner and painting.

The floating hand conc– crap, no, I must have mistyped. It's actually an armchair and window.

Phew. Glad we got that straightened out.

After all that, he turns to Scooby, who then proceeds...

...to… seem every bit as concerned he's several feet over, back at the freakin' corner painting again.

this is what happens when you hire m.c. escher as your architect, guys

#scooby doo mistakes #follow me for more #comedy #humor #cartoon #animation #lol #humorous #funny pictures #funny content #humor blog #cartoons #funny #scooby doo #ghoul school #halloween #halloween 2023

[lya-ayl]

ERROR DOODLES cuz I have art block

He's so freakin ugly I love him he is so cute he reminds me of that dirty wet kitten named Wisp on TikTok

Also I drew him in his redesign cuz I LOVE BIG SCARFS!!!!!

#yeah #lya doodles #art block is pain #error sans #utmv #undertale au

[sirfrogsworth]

Oh god, please don't do this.

Update your phone.

Maybe an argument can be made to wait a week or two just in case there are bugs in the new update, but updates are crucial to your phone's security. Updating apps is also part of that security. Unless it is an app that has no internet requirement, you need to keep them current. And if an app is no longer being supported or updated, you should probably move on to the next best thing. Even if that sucks sometimes.

And I hate to defend Apple all the time, but you cannot make current judgments based on the freakin' iPhone 4. Apple currently makes some of the longest lasting products on the market. Not only that, they support those products with software updates for pretty much their entire lifespan. Google and Samsung were being praised this year for promising 5 and 7 years of updates. Apple has been doing this for years now. They never put a number on it, but if a phone can run the software, they support it.

In fact, the big story about Apple slowing down phones is always presented as them wanting people to buy new phones, but in that case they were actually trying to extend the life of people's devices. If they hadn't throttled the CPU, the battery would have bricked a bunch of phones. Their error was not disclosing what they were doing. They got sued for that and rightly so. All people needed was a battery swap and they'd be back to full speed. It's ridiculous that Apple didn't just disclose that from the beginning.

Also, the days of phones getting too old to run new software are pretty much over. Moore's Law is slowing down and phones are incredibly powerful and anything within the last 5 years or so will probably last 7 to 10 years if you take care of it. Depending on your use, you might need a battery swap, but you should only need to replace your phone sooner if there are features you absolutely need in the new model.

Apple's big sin is not planned obsolescence but repairability. Their products are well made. They last a long time. And they tend to have fewer manufacturing defects than other brands. (In general. Your anecdotal experiences will vary.)

But... shit happens.

People drop things. They spill things. They abuse things. And when they break, you shouldn't have to get a whole new thing. Apple seems to have poorly trained diagnostic staff who commonly tell people their device cannot be repaired when the diagnosis is not apparent. Or they will misdiagnose something with a super expensive repair when it is actually a minor fix. (Which is why experienced repair shops exist and should be supported by Apple.) Apple has tried to micro-manage the repair process of their devices to such a degree that it has sparked an entire advocacy movement.

But don't let Google, Samsung, etc off the hook either. They suck too. If you are using Android thinking you have some moral high ground, they either do the same shit or they do slightly different shit that is just as bad.

Not to mention, Google is an advertising company. I don't understand people who are like, "Apple is evil, so I'm going to use this advertising platform instead." It's a lateral move, at best.

No good guys in capitalism, folks.

At minimum, repair shops should be able to use spare parts from broken devices to fix salvageable ones. And Apple is literally pairing screens and chips to one device so they can't be used to fix others. It's... diabolical.

So, update your phones.

Apple is bad at repairability but is good as far as planned obsolescence goes. Although when computers and phones eventually are able to last for 20 years, we'll see if that changes. For now, they make things that last until you fumble them into the toilet bowl and *that* is when they start to suck.

If you need a good villain to talk about planned obsolescence, I would go with Samsung appliances.

[missanthropicprinciple]

Good night nurse!!! what a freakin last two days. Work has been bonkers. Non. Stop. Absolute comedy of errors. Jerk from facilities was angry about something (swearing under his breath) and banging around and ended up taking a tiny chunk/scrape out of the freshly painted wall. Submitted a form for a flier to be posted. Student said I needed one more print-out (99% sure I printed out seven) but I had to double back to print off another sheet. A student stopped by at 4:55pm to drop off a form she filled out so I had to unlock and office to put it in her file because it contained personal information. Tried to stroll out 5 minutes early because I got in 10 minutes early. I left 10 minutes late. I literally ran out of work. Knocked on the window of the SUV so I could get in because it was locked which broke my 15-year-old bracelet. Doubled back to pick up the shard of glass that I will most likely not be able to reattach. Came home and washed up because I'd been sweating and knocked something down the drain which I had to fish out and nearly gagged because I need to extract the slimy hair from it and haven't had a minute to do so. Sheesh!

#personal #there's way more than this

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Epilogue (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: SEX. FLUFF (!!). Cussing. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 2.6k

A/N:  Oh, lord, here we are. THE END. It seems highly fitting that it all comes to a close on our man's birthday. (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELVIS DARLIN') 💗 So here's some tooth-rotting, sexy fluff for you because I love them and I love y'all.

I have heard your requests for a paperback/ebook loud and clear (ahhh, thank you!) and can tell you I am writing bonus material as we speak and working on the process of self-publishing through Amazon. I will warn you that the physical book is gonna be HUGE (my estimate is close to 600 pages with the bonus material added 😂), but that does mean the cost of the physical book will be a little spendy (not outrageous or anything) because of the cost of printing. Just wanted to let you know in advance!

Also, I know in the past that people were interested in me dropping in for a Q & A type thing on Discord or Twitter Spaces to talk about Pink Scarf...is this something y'all are interested in still? (If not, totally okay!) Let me know in the comments if that sounds like something you'd want!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. I'm hoping to soon have a website and an Amazon page up and running soonish so you can follow my other works. I'll keep you posted! Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

Finally, and I can't say this enough, I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support and generosity. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

I also want to give a special shout out to my flower, Daisy, @powerofelvis for keeping me sane (relatively lol) and on track throughout this whole process. Thank you for all your encouragement and love (and for listening to me scream into the void), baby! 💜

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I know I'm terribly slow at getting to them but I love every single one!

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 AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Graceland, New Year’s Eve, 1969

The mansion you now call home still sparkles with Christmas decorations as you make your way through the throng of friends and visitors, smiling and laughing, sipping on a delicious champagne that you are positive is ridiculously expensive for the way it melts on your tongue. Everyone is rested and in great spirits, as 1969 was a monumentally successful year for Elvis Presley Enterprises and all those involved.

For you, it’s been a monumental year in many ways. You would never have imagined six months ago that by the end of the year you’d be in the midst of divorcing Jack, preparing for your new career as a backup singer, and moving into Graceland with Elvis, who you are wildly, madly in love with.

A whirlwind, to say the least.

Speak of the devil, you feel that telltale rise of goosebumps on your skin, that magical sixth sense you are now so aware of when you know that Elvis is watching you. You turn from your conversation with Joe and his wife Joanie to find Elvis gazing at you from across the living room with a dangerously coy smile playing on his lips and that unmistakable glint in his eyes. The heat of the look sets your body aflame, a flush rising quickly to your cheeks.

Lord in heaven, this man, you think, giving him a furrow of your brow and a disbelieving look back, only this man would be so bold as to want to take me in the middle of a party at his own damn house.  

But damn it if he doesn’t even waver, completely uncaring that any of the guests might see the blatantly sexual, heated intensity of his stare. He calls it “that lean and hungry look,” and you cannot help the shiver that cascades down your spine because you know he’s about to eat you alive, party be damned.

And sure enough, he strides across the room as if no one else is here, and saying nothing at all, grabs your hand and yanks you away from your conversation. You briefly catch the look of surprise from Joanie and Joe’s smirk before being whisked away.

“Elvis!” you whisper loudly enough for him to hear you, “We have guests!” You manage to set your champagne flute on a nearby table before doubling your steps to try and keep up with his long strides.

He gives no indication of hearing you, though you know he has. But he is singularly focused, which sends warmth into your core and wetness already pooling in your panties because you know what’s coming.

He surprises you by not even making it up the stairs to the bedroom, instead pulling you into the half bathroom on the lower level. You yelp at the change in direction and then he’s slamming you up against the door while locking it at the same time.

Your yelp quickly turns into a quiet moan because his large hands and luscious mouth are suddenly everywhere, all at once. His lips crush into yours, then burn down your neck, sending fire into your belly, and you can’t help but respond. Your hands fly to his head, raking through his scalp. His hand grips the outside of your bare thigh, hitching it up to his waist, his hand slipping under the hem of your dress.

He rolls his pelvis slowly and deliberately into yours. He’s already rock hard, and the sensation of his bulge pressing into your core through his pants has you groaning a little too loud, considering you have a house full of people. Elvis doesn’t say a word though, he just smirks and places a ring-clad hand over your mouth.

That action alone has you melting into a puddle because you know, you just know how he’s going to take you: quick and dirty.

“You better be quiet, lil’ mama, or ev’ryone’s gonna know I’m fuckin’ ya senseless,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. You can smell the musk of arousal on him, the pheromones so strong they are nearly dizzying. He nibbles the lobe of your ear possessively. This action coupled with his words sends sparks showering through you.

You think you might come apart already, and he’s barely touched you.

His brilliant blues are blown black when he draws away. Free hand snaking up your thigh, his fingers first dance over your soaked panties, then dip them underneath the delicate fabric to graze up through your folds and straight to your clit.

Your eyes roll back, his hand muffling the moans that escape your throat involuntarily. He’s so worked up already, he doesn’t tease you long. Two long fingers plunge knuckle deep into your wet heat, the cold edges of his rings making you squirm a little at the intrusion. You begin panting into his hand as he so expertly thrusts and curves them to give you the maximum amount of pleasure as he stretches you out.

This doesn’t last long, though. He’s too far gone and much too needy for foreplay. A deeply primal instinct has taken over the man you love—you can see it written all over his handsome face. And you welcome it, even as you whimper at the loss of his digits when he unceremoniously pulls them out of you. You welcome it as he spins you around, pushing you up against the door. You welcome it gladly as he hikes your dress up to your waist and rips your lacy panties right off your body.

You gasp, hearing the tearing of fabric as your flushed cheek is pressed into the wood of the door, shivering both from the exposure of the air on your bare ass and for what you know is next. Soon after, you hear the clink of his heavy belt and the woosh of his pants as they thump to the floor and then he’s filling you so completely that you are clawing at the door for purchase.

He can’t stop the growl that comes from within when he sinks deep inside you to the hilt, bottoming out quickly. He’s impatient and does not linger, however, instead pulling back and thrusting into you hard, gripping your hips like his life depends on it.

You manage to keep your gasps quiet as he sets a relentless pace. Your entire body tingles, the obscene sounds from your joining sending you hurtling towards the edge of your own release. He knows your body so well, rubbing desperate circles on your clit that, along with the way he’s filling you, already has your legs shaking and abdomen tensing with pleasure.

Neither of you are going to last long. It’s evident as your breathing speeds up and the coil in your belly snaps, causing you to hit your climax hard with a strangled cry. The wave crests fast,and your walls tense and flutter around him. You love how he still can make you see stars, even in these circumstances. His hips stutter, the rhythm faltering, and he follows soon after you with a relieved and gracious groan, pulsing and coating your walls with his arousal.

Heavy breathing is the only sound in the tiny space. Elvis envelops you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your hair as he pulls you close. You live for these moments when he’s stripped vulnerable, his love so evident and overflowing, making even a bathroom quickie more like making love than you’d had in over a decade of marriage.

You sigh into him, and he kisses the back of your head. “Sorry about your panties, baby,” he whispers almost bashfully into your ear.

You can’t help but laugh, “At the rate you go through ruining them, you might as well just buy me the whole store, love.”

Elvis pulls out and turns you around, grasping your chin before pulling you into a deep kiss. It has you melting into his arms, but you know you can’t stay there long, not with a house full of people.

The swell of love you feel for this wonderful, talented, charismatic man is incredible. So many years of shared history has made it easy to slip into a comfortable life with him, so much so that you almost forget what your life was like before. It’s not without its challenges, certainly. He is still mercurial, and you still get locked up in your own head sometimes. The both of you are stubborn as hell, especially now that you’ve taken more agency for yourself in this relationship, more than you ever had with Jack.

As you pull apart and clean up, you feel incredibly lucky that things have worked out the way they have, despite so many years of struggles to make your way to each other.

Once put back together (though sure some of your guests will know exactly what was going on in the bathroom), you reach for the door. Elvis stops you.

“I was gonna wait ‘til midnight and make it a big thing, but I just can’t,” he drawls behind you.

“Wait for what?” you ask quizzically, turning around.

You gasp and your heart begins to gallop in your chest as you watch him sink to one knee as best he can in the tiny space. He pulls a little black box from his pocket. You’re afraid your heart might flutter right out of your body at the sight of it.

“You make me a better man, baby. I love you so much it hurts sometimes, and I thank God every day that He put you in my life. I can’t imagine tryin’ to go another day without you by my side. Now, I know it feels real soon, but if we’re honest, it’s been a long time comin’, and I-I-I know you’re still in the middle of the divorce and all, but y/n, would you do me the honor of bein’ my wife?” Elvis asks, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s both exhilaration and trepidation all at once, flooding every part of you. Part of you screams with excitement: Of course! Of course! Of course, I’ll be your wife!

But another part is filled with latent fear—fear of being consumed by another marriage so soon, still afraid that this man before you will love you and leave you like the rest. Elvis had said many times over the years that he wasn’t really interested in marriage, and you can’t help but think of that in this moment, as much as you don’t want to.

“Elvis,” you manage to breathe, “I thought…I thought you said you weren’t the ‘marrying kind’? That you didn’t want to be tied down? Are you…are you sure?”

You watch something flash in his eyes for a moment before he looks up at you again. He stands and takes your hands in his. “I-I said that cuz I didn’t think I could ever have you. I knew I couldn’t marry anyone else, wouldn’t be right. You’re the only one I ever truly wanted. I-I-I…you’re my soulmate, y/n. It’s only ever been you, honey,” he says quietly, laying it all out for you, as he pushes an errant strand of your hair behind your ear.

A happy tear trickles down your face. You know he loves you—he tells you every day. But this is so much more than that. You didn’t realize he’d put his entire life on hold for you like this. His soulmate.

As much as it scares you, you know it’s true. He’s right. This inexplicable pull that’s been between the two of you for all this time, the pull you tried so desperately to ignore and forget for so many years, is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt for anyone in your life. Every cell in your body yearns for him, and he feels like home. You fit together perfectly. Now that you’re finally in sync, everything just works.

You cannot ignore the truth that finding your way to each other after all these years feels utterly meant to be. He is there when you need him. He brings out a side of you that you never knew existed—in the bedroom, with your music, your unyielding love for him, even in the hardest moments.

The way he gazes at you now, full of hope and love, makes your knees weak. But part of you is still scared that it’s too soon, that you’ll lose yourself all over again.

Elvis reads your mind, sensing your doubts in that intuitive way of his. “The wedding part doesn’t hafta be right away…I know we gotta wait for the divorce to be final anyway. But whenever you’re ready, whenever you’re comfortable, I’ll be here,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours.

This sends a sense of relief through you, a release of pressure. Finally, you find your voice. “Let me be your everything?” you whisper, taking his face in your hands, your eyes searching his deep and worldly ones.

Elvis knows what you are asking of him, and he doesn’t think twice. His lips curl up into that beautiful grin of his as he nods. “Yes, everything,” he says back.

“Then yes, yes, I will be your wife,” you laugh, through more happy tears.

“Yes?” he asks joyfully, just to be sure.

“Yes!” you squeal as he scoops you up in his arms, pressing his pliant and soft lips to yours.

His hands shake adorably when he slides the tasteful yet extravagantly sized diamond on your ring finger.

And it sits perfectly, as though his ring was always meant to be there. You both stare at it for a moment, your hand resting on top of his.

Squeezing your hand, Elvis looks at you with a boyish kind of awe. “Are you happy, baby?” he asks quietly, his long lashes fanning out as he runs his eyes over your face.

A moment of déjà vu hits you. He’s asked you this before, many different times, and those moments flash through your head, reminding you of your deep history together. The history you now remember and share.

All he’s ever really wanted to do is make me happy, you realize. The thought sends warmth blooming through you.

You look up at him, into that handsome face that you want to spend eternity with. “Oh, I’m more than happy, my love,” you respond. And you are. So much so, you almost don’t believe it.  Then you pull him down for a sweet, soft kiss. He drinks you in as if you are oxygen, bringing you closer.

“Are you happy?” you ask as you nuzzle his nose.

“Darlin’, I’m so happy I wanna sing from the rooftop,” he drawls, grabbing your ass. “I’ll marry ya right here in this damn bathroom, if I gotta. Gonna make you Mrs. Y/n Presley. Then I wanna parade you around and let everyone know you’re mine.” He almost growls the last part and presses his long body into yours.

You laugh. “Well, I don’t think we have to resort to getting married in the bathroom, but Mrs. Y/n Presley has quite the nice ring to it,” you say, smiling, putting your hands in his back pockets.

“I love you,” Elvis says unabashedly, suddenly serious.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, kissing him again. “Now let’s go tell everyone how I’m gonna make an honest man out of you.”

He laughs at that, a big and boisterous sound that makes your own heart sing.

And it will do so for the rest of your days.

*THE END*

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interested in me doing a Pink Scarf Q & A type thing on Discord/Spaces! 💗🧣💗

Taglist:

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

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

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

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[develation]

Day 1 - Dejavu

One Small Dreamcember Prompts

(OSD Mythical Dreamtale AU)

Ayo, today has been one hell of a day for me but here it is! I've been trying to get some inspo for this little OSD au and like a freakin blessing, Cat posted their adorable dreamcember prompt list. Oh my god, I am so excited about this and I can't wait to share the lore for mythical dreamtale through this event.

So in case it isn't clear, Dream and Nightmare in this au can shape-shift, though as you can imagine, it takes a lot of practice, so when they were kids there was a lot of trial and error. As shown here, Dream happened to be better at it than Nightmare.

Another tidbit from the original ref is that Dream is basically a star and Nightmare is dark matter. Since Nightmare is basically a mass of energy/matter, he has no lifespan, but as I'm sure all of you know, stars do. Now the good thing about that is that he can be reborn through his own supernova, but that takes a considerable amount of time. And they don't know that yet.

So Nightmare is left to take care of Dream's heartbroken Chimera (the birds on Dream's cloak), and wallow in his misery for a while.

Mythical Dreamtale ref - Bunch of lore here if you're confused!

OSD & One Small Dreamcember belong to @calcium-cat !

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