#i am not tagging anyone because i really missed the boat on this one and i don't know who's done it

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (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: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). 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: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

A/N:  🎶And now, the end is near/And so I face the final curtain🎶

Babies, we are at the end. I don't know what to say other than thank you all so very much, thank you for you patience, and I'm gonna miss the hell out of Reader and Elvis and their stupid, mutual pining asses. (I'm not crying, you are!) 😭 Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Without Love (I Have Nothing) (1969) before reading the middle section here. I've included the first takes to the final master version because the first takes are stripped down & give more of the intimate feel I was getting at, but the final master is excellent, so I wanted to give you listening options! It'll really give you an idea of what the moment feels and sounds like! (I'm such a nerd, I know. Also, only Elvis could nail a song like this in a few takes, lord have mercy.)

I will write a short Epilogue sometime soon, so stay tuned! Also, I am very seriously thinking about publishing a physical book of Pink Scarf (and a Kindle version, too) BUT ONLY IF people are wanting and willing to buy it! It would likely include new bonus chapters/material. Please let me know in the comments, asks, or DMs if this is something you want! Like I said, I don't wanna do it if no one wants it, so let me know!

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. 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! 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. 💜

Finally, 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. 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!)

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

The words echo in his head, but Elvis is frozen to the spot, watching your back as you walk out the door and possibly out of his life, feeling so raw he fears his heart might liquify and pour out of his mouth. The way you look so angry, more angry than he’s ever seen you, and so disappointed in him—it breaks his goddamn heart. Your vitriol paralyzes him, drying up the words that he can’t seem to tell you.

But he’s done it all for you, every stupid decision he made, he did in the name of love—and of keeping you safe and keeping you sane (you fuckin’ liar, you know that ain’t true, he lambasts himself).

“You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit…” Your words cut like daggers into his skin. He wants those words to be utterly untrue, outright lies, but he knows—he knows—that you are not entirely off base.

And perhaps that’s been the problem all along: he doesn’t truly believe he deserves you. For all the reasons you spit at him and for the fact that he has ruined you in more ways than one.

But the one crucial thing you are dead wrong about is that he didn’t care, that he’d just fucked you and wanted to pretend it never happened. He may be many of the things you said—egotistical, manipulative, stupid for lying to you—but he loves you, more than he has ever been able to express.

If anything, he’s cared too much.

But you are convinced of the opposite and, stupidly, he didn’t tell you any different.

This is the thing that finally gets him moving. His heart thrums in his chest as he races out the door, desperate to catch up to you. He looks around frantically for you, barely processing the confused and pitied looks of the men around him and flies out the main door of the penthouse suite.

“Y/n!” he shouts, hoping he can salvage this because he needs you more than he needs air to breathe.

I love you, I love you, I love you! screams in his mind but not out of his mouth, for reasons he can’t entirely explain. He arrives in the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors close behind you.

He’s too late.

“Fuck!!” he screams, and without thinking turns and plunges his fist into the wall. Plaster and paint flake around the new divot and burning pain radiates up his arm.

He nearly collapses from the way his heart tears in two, the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. He’s barely slept in days, what with taking care of you in the hospital, being wracked with worry, and then having to come back and give high quality performances as if life was normal. His heart is beating too fast and his limbs feel weak.

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

His legs threaten to give way and he leans against the wall, furious at you for making him feel these things. But he is more furious at himself.

You didn’t even say you were sorry, you stupid fucker, a little voice berates him.

I have nothing to be sorry for, the stubborn part of him, the one driven by his ego, replies.

The inner voice laughs sardonically. You have everything to be sorry for.

“EP!” he hears Jerry’s alarmed voice from far away. But he’s beyond caring.

I’ve lost her, is all he can think as his vision blurs and narrows, After all this, I’ve still lost her.

Jerry rushes to his side, but the despair and fury within Elvis drives him back into the penthouse, causing destruction along the way. He barely registers tearing the rest of his room apart, only knowing that he needs some outlet, some release of these horrible feelings trapped inside of him. To purge himself of the fact that even with all he tried to do to prevent it, his worst fears had still come to pass. Distantly, he’s aware of the breaking glass and the ripping of fabric and the roaring sound coming from his mouth, but everything is unfocused and red in his mind.

Elvis does this until finally his body gives out and he collapses on the bed. As he comes back into himself, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he’s actually a little afraid he will give himself a heart attack. Trying to steady his breathing, he looks up, and seeing himself in the mirror above the bed, he hardly recognizes the man lying there.

Self-pity descends rapidly. There’s no way she’ll ever love me after this. How could she?

Early in his life, he’d thought June had been his last hope of ever having a woman love him for who he truly is, stripped of fame, warts and all, but he’s long since realized that you are that woman. You are his last chance at having that kind of true love in his life. And now those dreams are dying right in front of him because of his own stupidity.

I’ll always be alone.

And with that thought, he closes his eyes and wishes he were anyone else but Elvis Presley.

*

The commotion outside his bedroom door has Elvis lifting his chin expectantly yet not hopefully. He’s spent the last three hours faking his way through his midnight show trying to push the horrified and angry look on your face out of his mind. Trying to forget that he let you walk out his door.

Needless to say, it wasn’t his best show, though bellowing out his feelings through the music was cathartic in its own way.

He’s not sure why he had frozen like he did. It certainly wasn’t like him to cow-tow in the midst of a fight, but he had promised himself in the hospital that he’d be gentler with you. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing you so completely furious. Maybe it was that you’d finally remembered what happened after so many years, unearthing his deepest, darkest secrets and mirroring them back to him in the worst of ways. Or maybe it was that so many of your words rang with truth, even though you’d misunderstood the core reasons behind his actions.

Either way, he feels like his heart was ripped out of his chest. Part of him yearns to do more self-destructive things, but instead he sits still on the edge of his giant bed, the one you should be in right now, trying to understand just how completely he managed to screw this up.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything.”

Your words ring through his head again and again, like a broken record. What did you mean by that exactly? Because the crushed look on your face when you said it made it seem like you had feelings for him back then that if realized would’ve changed your relationship, and that sends a wave of heartache through him so strong that he feels like he might vomit.

“Jerry, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in there, you’ll be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future!” He hears Sandy’s voice through the door and closes his eyes, trying to prepare himself for what he thinks is coming.

The door bursts open and he opens his eyes to see Sandy storm in, Jerry looking incredibly apologetic and a bit mortified that he was unable (or unwilling) to stop his wife.

Elvis waves Jerry off. He knows he can’t stop the onslaught. Jerry raises his eyebrows in an, “Are you sure?” way, and Elvis sends him out with a look.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Presley,” Sandy seethes, pointing at him once the door is closed behind her.

“Nice to see you, too, Sandra,” he responds wearily.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sandra’ me,” she spits, then looks him over carefully, as if really seeing him. She surveys the disaster of the room, which he had completely torn to shreds after you left, then looks back at him. “You look like shit,” she adds matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s glad of it.

He can’t help shooting her a withering glare, but Sandy’s blood is up and does not falter under his gaze like most would.

“How is she?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, let’s see…in the last three days her husband beat her up, her life imploded, and she just found out that her lover has been hiding some pretty crucial shit from her for over a decade. She sobbed for two hours straight and has been near catatonic since, so she’s just peachy, Elvis,” Sandy says sarcastically.

“Watch your tone, Sandra,” he warns, feeling his temper threaten.

“No, I don’t think I will, Elvis. Not when y/n is absolutely miserable and you are sitting up here doing nothing about it,” Sandy shoots back.

“This ain’t none of your business,” he says, vexed, standing and pointing a ring-clad finger at her. He likes Sandy, but he sure as hell doesn’t like her calling him out like this, not when he’s already been beating himself up about it.

Sandy laughs wickedly, “You made it my business the moment you let her tell me and started using me as cover for your lies.”

He can’t argue with that. Deflated, he runs his hand over his face. He is utterly miserable.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sandy says, and this time, her voice is quieter, gentler. “How could you keep something like that a secret for this long?”

He doesn’t want to say and certainly doesn’t want to appear vulnerable, but the ache in him is so bad, he can’t hide it. And he knows for a fact Sandy won’t let this go. Finally, he relents.

“I-I-I was trying to protect her, to protect our friendship… I w-was terrified I’d hurt her, that I’d…taken her against her will, and I-I-I could barely live with myself. I couldn’t burden her with the enormity of what we’d done” he says.

“And what about pushing her and Jack together, all the interfering? How exactly does that line up, E?” Sandy asks pointedly.

Elvis clears his throat and looks down. That is not something he is proud of. He wants to say he didn’t mean for it to go that way, but it would be a lie.

“It wasn’t like that, not at first. By the time I realized how I really felt about her, Jack had already swooped in and asked her out. I had nothin’ to do with it,” he says defensively.

Sandy crosses her arms, not accepting that and waits for him to continue.

“Well, then…then I-I realized she’d be better off with a man who could give her the stability and the family she wanted. I couldn’t be there for her, not the way she deserved. My career was just takin’ off and I—well, hell, it didn’t even matter until that day at Graceland, and I was ready to throw it all out the window when I’d thought she felt the same way about me that I felt for her, but-but then she…the overdose, she didn’t even remember…How was I supposed to explain that to her, Sandra? How? How was I gonna look her in the eyes and tell her she came on to me and we made love on the floor and that it completely changed everything? Who was gonna believe that? You know as well as I that it would’ve ruined her!” he says, his heart pounding, voice quavering, and his blood up.

Sandy looks at him carefully. “You were afraid she didn’t feel the same way. And that she doesn’t now,” she states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and caught like a deer in headlights.

“I had to protect her. And I had to set her up so she’d always be taken care of. And if she was with Jack, I could do that for her, for them. They could be happy. I wanted them to be happy, I-I swear. I thought they’d be happy!” he yells, back off the rails, pacing the room like a caged tiger.“I-I-I could…w-w-well, if she wasn’t with me, at least with him I would always know she was okay, and I could see her and it wouldn’t be some random-ass man that I didn’t know or trust takin’ her away from me forever!”

Sandy stays quiet, her gaze intense and knowing, and just waits for him to continue.

“I-I-I needed her to still be in my life, Sandra. I didn’t know Jack would fall so deep into the hole that he’d throw everything away. I didn’t think he would ever, ever hurt her!”

The words of his confession ring out and then die. Silence sits heavy for a moment.

“Wow. I have to say, that’s some masterful denial there,” Sandy finally says harshly. “Did you really think it was gonna be good for their marriage to take him away for months at a time? To feed him women and drugs and then be like, ‘Ooops! I didn’t know! It’s not my fault!’? Really?” she adds cuttingly, but steadily.

She’s right and he knows it. And she’s pushing him to admit the one thing he’s not sure he can.

He wants to get angry. He wants to scream and throw her out for her audacity. Instead, he just feels a rock in the pit of his stomach, realizing the truth of what she’s getting at:

That he’d knowingly sabotaged your marriage and then, when it was really bad, he’d taken advantage of the situation.

“You need to own up to what you did and apologize, and then you need to tell her what you’re so afraid of, Elvis. I can’t emphasize enough how much she needs to know that you love her,” Sandy continues with conviction.

His mouth pops open and then closes again, wordlessly, at hearing his feelings shared out loud so easily when he’s been harboring them alone for so many years. “You didn’t see how angry she was with me, how betrayed she looked…There’s no way she feels how I do, not after this,” he shakes his head.

Sandy rolls her eyes and mutters something unintelligible under her breath. “Listen, I have a pretty good idea how pissed and betrayed she’s feeling. And I’m not gonna speak for her, but…” she worries her lip a little, “you two of you really need to talk about how you truly feel about each other. Without all the other shit in the way.”

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

“I-I-I don’t think I can,” he states, defeated.

“Oh, please. We both know you can do anything when you want it bad enough,” she smiles slyly.

Once again, she’s right. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

“Because I love her, too, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves the best,” she says knowingly, “That and this mess has everyone on pins and needles. We all just wanna fucking relax.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe he can salvage this. Just not right now. He is too exhausted and things feel too raw.

"Just...wait a little bit," Sandy adds carefully, as if reading his mind. “I think you both need a little breather.”

He nods.

“But don’t wait too long,” she says on her way out the door, her voice warning him of his worst fear: if he waits too long, he will lose her.

The door clicks shut behind her and silence falls once again. He glances at the bottles on the bedside table. As exhausted as he is, he’s still keyed up too much to sleep.

He doesn’t want to rely on the sleeping pills, in fact, he hadn’t needed them at all when you were in his bed, but his body craves them and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist at the moment. So, he pops a few down and waits for the drowsy effect to take hold of him.

When he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

**

You are itching to play, yearning to feel the white and black ivories under your fingertips. It feels like it might be the only thing keeping you sane these past few days—this need to pour your entire heart into something beyond yourself.

Unfortunately for you, the only pianos you know of are in Elvis’ suite, on his stage, and in the rehearsal room. Two of those aren’t even options at this point. It’s bad enough that anywhere you go in the hotel, all you see is his visage, all you hear is his music feeding through the speakers. An ever-constant reminder of how stupid you are to have ever thought you’d be more to him than just a friend.

You can’t seem to escape him.

You are able, with little effort, to convince Sandy to talk Jerry into letting you into the rehearsal space. Both of them keep looking at you with kind yet sad eyes, as they’ve been witness to all your special humiliations these past few weeks. You suppose it’s good that you are not alone with this, but sometimes all you want is to scream bloody murder and get as far away as possible from Vegas, from Jack, from Elvis.

But you can’t go home, not right now. You learned that Elvis sent Jack back to Memphis to “get himself together” and that Red is his babysitter. But that means you can’t go back to Tennessee, not yet. You can’t face him with all this still up in the air.

So, you are stuck in the limbo that is Las Vegas. You have nothing of your own, no money, no way to get home even if you wanted to. You are exactly where you feared you would be: Alone and heartbroken and stuck.

You hadn’t counted on also being beat to hell, both physically and emotionally.

Which is why you are so desperate to get to a piano. It’s the only way you can get these awful feelings out of your system. You just need to lose yourself in music, in creating it.

But when Jerry lets you in to the large rehearsal space, you are not alone. Someone is already at the piano, their back to you, playing a mournful gospel-style ballad. Someone is already leaning into the keys and singing.

I awakened this morning, I was filled with despair All my dreams turned to ashes and gone, oh yeah

You frantically backpedal and look at Jerry in a panic, but he shakes his head only somewhat apologetically and will barely look you in the eyes as he closes the door, shutting you in with the very person you are trying to escape.

Damn him and Sandy both.

As I looked at my life it was barren and bare Without love I've had nothing at all

You lean your forehead against the door and close your eyes, not wanting to turn around and face him. Instead, you breathe shaking breaths and press your palms into the cool door in order

to not to let the intense waves of anger and sadness that are crashing over you drown you.

You’re not even sure that he knows you are here, his voice ricocheting and echoing throughout the large space. He sounds so consumed by the music that your presence may have gone unnoticed. You aren’t sure if you want him to know you are here or not, but either way, you are swept up into the music with him, your soul clamoring for any part of him despite your mind’s warnings.

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing at all

You don’t want to hear him, not at all (liar), but his melodic voice is hypnotizing, drawing you in with its rich baritone and crying tenor notes and possessed vibrato. And whatever headspace he is currently in has his voice sounding absolutely hauntingly beautiful. It makes you shiver. You are forced to listen, to hear the meaning behind the words.

Once I had a sweetheart who loved only me There was nothing, oh that she would not give, oh no

It's unfair, just how good his voice is at making you listen to it, more than just his words alone, making you hear his soul through the sound. You suppose that is his true talent: being able to pour emotion into a song in such a way that it transcends the music itself. With your eyes shut, it threads through your mind, simultaneously lulling you and making you want to weep. You know you are getting a window into his heart by listening, and it is telling you what you want to hear the most but are terrified to accept.

But I was blind to her goodness and I could not see That a heart without love cannot live

Oh god, oh god, oh god, your inner voice cries because you are suddenly and all at once bombarded with memories. His voice strips you bare, cutting through all the anger and fear and heartache, finally let yourself realize what your subconscious has been trying to tell you for a long time.

Echoes from both the near and distant past trigger inside your mind, your head aching with the residuals of the concussion. First, it’s your own voice, calling back to that moment on the lawn so many years ago, telling Elvis about how you knew Jack was the one: He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be…

Without love I've had nothing Without love I've had nothing at all

Then, Elvis’ words flood your mind, flashing from one moment to the next:

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It’s like he’s been telling you all along, yet you’ve been too blinded by fear and guilt and the sheer impossibility of it all to truly see.

I have conquered the world All but one thing did I have Without love I've had nothing

 At all

The final phrase is nearly a wail in the most beautiful of ways, the last run falling away and leaving a hollow silence in the room.

The memories come quickly now, a barrage of feelings and images: A boy backstage nervous as hell and his smile as you made him laugh. His eyes searching yours oh-so-closely in a diner booth as you tried to get over Ted. His melancholy the night you got engaged. Dancing, no, clinging onto you at the wedding before his world changed completely, and then again that mournful Christmas he’d returned, when you swore that Elvis wanted you more than anything in the world.

It’s the same way he looked when you climbed into his lap and rode him that fateful, forgotten day at Graceland.

His words from the other day, the ones that felt so possessive and manipulative take on different meaning as the puzzle pieces finally click into place, one by one:

“You are all I’ve been able to concentrate on, ya know that? You’re all I fuckin’ think about. I want you. I want you to be with me. Be with me.”

“Baby, you have me, you’ll always have me. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.”

“Let me take care of you. Let me be your everything.”

“I thought I told you, honey—I always get what I want, and I think I’ve made it quite fuckin’ clear who I want.”

“I need you.”

You are nearly brought to your knees with overwhelm, breathing too fast as you cling to the wall, anything, to ground you.

Then, like a freight train, it finally hits you, finally clicks, the thing he’s still hiding from you.

You suddenly remember the blanket of Elvis’ warmth surrounding you as you turned cold, bleeding out in his arms. The way his crystalline blues were terrified and beautiful and pleading. He rocked you in his arms, begging you not to leave him.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go…”

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

“…I-I love you, y/n, please, I love you.”

He’s loved you all along.

All of his cagey behavior, his deceit, the manipulations, it wasn’t to mess with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. It was because he loves you.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you turn around to face him. And as always, he’s right there, right where you need him.

“I…I…” is all you can manage to eek out.

He grabs your tear-stained cheeks in his big hands, his azure eyes deep and soulful, looking at you imploringly, and he whispers, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you more than anything in this life. I think I loved you the moment you steamrolled me in the hallway at school.”

Shock courses through you at hearing the words come out of his mouth, right here, in the present. You let out a choked, tearful laugh. It cuts through the anger you still feel and banishes your heartache, letting a swell of warmth overtake you. Despite all your feelings for him, you hadn’t even let yourself truly hope that he could feel the same way about you that you do about him. And to learn he’d felt this way for so long without your knowing…it feels inconceivable.

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Elvis Presley doesn’t apologize. He buys obscenely lavish gifts. He skirts around the subject and gets really nice with those puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t apologize, so this in itself floors you.

“I-I-I shoulda told you…but I thought…,” he steels himself against the emotions that are so obviously plaguing him before continuing, “that I’d taken advantage of you when you weren’t yourself, that I’d hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself, y/n. The guilt was eatin’ me alive and goddamn if I was gonna subject you to that pain. And I figured God wanted me to take on that burden for you, that there had to be a reason you didn’t remember. You wouldn’t have to face your betrayal of Jack or your regret for bein’ with me. I thought I was protectin’ you, protectin’ us.” He stops there, voice trembling, eyes open and honest, and you know then that while it had been wrong of him to hide this from you, he had truly believed that he was doing what was best for you. As mad as you are, part of you hurts for him because he’d gone through it all alone.

“I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, so I went meddlin’ in your life in the selfish need t’keep ya close to me, t’have some part of you as mine,” he rambles, racing through the words, utterly focused on getting out what he needs to say.

“I just needed you in my life. And I-I-I need you now. I needja more than anythin’,” he keeps going, his voice still shaking and the pads of his thumbs caressing your cheeks before trailing down your neck and your arms. You can feel them shaking, too, a sweaty heat emanating from them as he grabs your hands in his. His eyes are stormy and grey and deep with emotion, pulling you in, forcing you to accept his words.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “It w-was wrong of me to-to sabotage what you had with Jack. And then to swoop in when you were vulnerable—it’s unforgivable. And if ya can’t forgive me…well, I-I’m gonna hafta understand. But I-I-I hope you do, that you can. I know I ain’t always a good man, y/n. I try to be, but bein’ with me—well, you already know it ain’t easy, the way my life is…” he trails off.

Part of you wants to interrupt him, to shout your love for him to the heavens, but frankly, his words have you speechless. And you know by his demeanor that he needs to get this out.

Tears pool in his eyes as he struggles to go on. “I know it’s been hard on you, all this. And if you can forgive me, if you wanna be with me, I promise I’ll do better t’make this work for ya. You make me a better man, y/n. You keep me on the ground, and God knows I need that more than anythin’,” he chuckles a little at that before his face drops into something much more serious.

“Come back to me, y/n. Please, come back to me. I love you,” he whispers, eyes imploring you. He is so used to demanding, but this he begs of you.

You are outwardly quiet, though your blood rushes in your ears. You want more than anything to concede to him with these revelations, to fall haplessly into his arms, and any other woman might. Honestly, you would have, just a few days ago, but Elvis cannot erase the harm he caused you with these welcome words or soulful singing or puppy dog eyes. You cannot escape the feelings of betrayal that have permeated through you these past few days.

“Elvis, I…I want to trust you again. I really do,” you finally get out, “because…because I love you, too. I think I have for a long, long time.”

Saying the words aloud lifts a weight from your shoulders, making you feel almost lightheaded.  You were so scared to say them, to reveal this hidden part of you, and the way his face lights up in such a hopeful way, it almost makes you start crying again. He squeezes your hands so hard that it hurts. But you have more to say and can’t let this distract you.

“But my mind it—it made me forget. I don’t know exactly why or how. I think I was so afraid that I could never have you, that there was no way you’d ever in a million years have those kinds of feelings for me…I think I had to protect myself,” you explain.

An inner strength you didn’t know you had until this very moment allows you to keep going. You take a deep breath. “Elvis, I want to forgive you, and I want to be with you, I do. But I am exhausted. I am weary. And I am still angry at you, and at Jack, and at myself. I need a little time to figure out what my world is now, without the oppressiveness of Vegas pushing in on me.”

You look up at him, hoping he understands, hoping he is willing to give you what you so desperately need.

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, surprise and confusion and dismay playing out on his features so quickly. You know he expected something different from you, and as much as you want to give it to him immediately, you know you cannot.

“I need to leave Vegas, E. I need space. I want to forgive you, but I need to heal,” you say firmly, looking into his eyes, holding back the sob that wants to break through. You can only hope that he sees and hears the truth in you. “I can’t start a life with you like this, bruised and broken.”

He shakes his head, small at first and then in outright protest. “No, no, baby, please, I need you here. I love you,” he says with a mixture of frustration and pleading and hurt, grabbing your cheeks again.

Tears pool and fall freely now, but you stay resolute, grabbing his wrists. “No, right now you need to be Elvis Presley and finish this engagement strong. You need to show the world that you are back and to spread that joy of music and performing as only you can.”

“None of that matters, baby. No, I need to be with you. I’ll cancel the rest of the performances,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting you every step of the way.

“The hell you will, Elvis Aron Presley. That’s not what I want, not for me or for you,” you say fervently, pulling away to look at him, bringing your hands to his face this time. “You need this. Seeing you up there…you are more alive now than you’ve been in years. I know how much you love this and your fans—”

“I love you more,” he interrupts, and it both makes your heart soar and breaks it at the same time. You close your eyes briefly to center yourself before looking back at him.

“And I love you. But I need space, and you have to finish this. Once it’s done, once I’ve had time to heal and forgive, then you come back to me, you hear?” you say, unable to keep the emotion from your voice but keeping it resolute all the same.

You watch him struggle. You can see how young he looks all of a sudden and you know he’s afraid you’re abandoning him. You’re afraid, too, but if the two of you have made it this long, you can stand it a while longer. Ultimately, you know if you fall back into him now, you’ll always hold resentment and that will poison you both over time, and you can’t have that.

Elvis closes his eyes and nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, so quietly you can barely hear it. A lone tear streaks down his cheek.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

He kisses you then, so softly, so gently, that you can’t help but lean into it. The chaste kiss is mournful and longing and hopeful all at once. It’s a kiss that is laced with the possibility that it could be the last one. You desperately hope that isn’t true, but only time will tell.

When you both pull away, you can feel the tether between you, the one that has always been there, tighten.

“Will you go to Hillcrest?” he asks, raising his eyes to yours hopefully, but it is more an offer than a question. The house in Beverly Hills is his home away from home.

You consider this and realize, other than going home to your parents (who you don’t quite feel ready to face yet, either), it’s your only option. It’s also a concession that will keep you connected to him, and you are comfortable giving him that. With its gorgeous views and serene setting, it will be a perfect solace.

“Yes,” you respond, and he seems sated by that. “Thank you,” you add quietly, then before you can second guess yourself, you tear yourself gently from his grasp and walk out the door.

Graciously and swiftly, he has Jerry take care of all the arrangements. Sandy is set to join you, and once you are both packed and ready, Jerry takes you to the airport and sees you both off.

Before he leaves, Jerry stops you. “He wanted me to give you this,” he says quietly, then opens your hand and places something soft in it.

Surprised, you look down, and see the familiar pink silk scarf folded there. You haven’t seen it since Jack ripped it from your neck that horrible night. Your fingers close around it. The message is clear: The ball is in your court.

“Send it when you’re ready for him,” Jerry adds with a knowing look.

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

Elvis Presley loves me, you think as you sit on the plane, but that feels trite, knowing other women have been able to say the same at some point or another.

Elvis has loved me since we were teenagers. He’s in love with me and has been all this time.

Now that is something that sends a thrill right through you.

You reach into your purse and run the silk between your fingers.

When it’s time, I’ll know.

**

Four Weeks Later

The hot California morning sun beats down on the umbrella that shades you. You had been reading and wanted to get some fresh air, the cold of the air conditioning giving you a bit of a chill in your white sundress but you cannot help but close your eyes drowsily as the heat swallows you like a blanket.

The last month was restorative, to say the least. It had been such a relief to get out of the stifling cacophony of Vegas, and it had allowed your brain to rest and recover from your concussion. Your bruises healed, and Sandy was there to both listen and have a good time when you needed it. You talked and thought through all your memories, working to understand both your reasons and Elvis’ for the way things had gone for your entire relationship.

You hadn’t heard from Elvis, as he was taking your need for space seriously, but Elvis’ lawyer had visited a few times, drawing up divorce papers that surprisingly took you a few days to sign. Not because you didn’t want to, of course, but because you had to fully process all that had happened and what it all meant to you. Sandy sat through your crying and guilt and shame like a champ, supporting you wholeheartedly once you finally picked up the pen and signed away your destructive marriage.

Once the lawyer had called back a week later saying that Jack had signed the papers, you felt like a new woman. Like you could finally start anew. Part of you had expected more of a fight out of Jack, but you did not dwell on the reasons he might have signed so willingly.

Sandy had headed home to Memphis to join Jerry once the Vegas engagement and resulting celebrations were over. You sent the pink scarf with her, with instructions to give it to Elvis only once you called her to do so, once you were finally ready. She’d smirked and rolled her eyes but was happy to do it all the same.

“Whatever I can do to finally get you two idiots on the same page,” she’d said lovingly.

You’d called her last night.

You can’t help but feel nervous. Even though a month was certainly not the longest you two had gone without speaking, this time it felt poignant and heavy in another way entirely. Your thoughts ran away from you at times: What if he’s changed his mind? What if he met someone else in Vegas?

It was possible and even probable that he’d been with other women since you left. You know how he is, and a man like him is not liable to change overnight. But you’ve spent most of your relationship with other people, and he still loved you after all this time, so even if he had been with someone else, you doubted it meant anything at all.

Of course, it still sends a red heat of jealously through you all the same. You push the thought as far away as you can, swinging your legs off the lounge chair, puttering back inside.

The cool air hits you like a wall of ice, and you close the sliding glass door quickly, goosebumps raising on your skin.

“Y/n.”

The familiar drawling baritone freezes you in your tracks. As your eyes adjust to the darkness inside the house, his tall frame becomes apparent across the living room and goosebumps rise over your skin for an entirely different reason than the cool air.

He looks incredible, magnificent even, wearing a silky white button up, the buttons undone at the top to reveal his tan chest, a pair of perfectly tailored black pants flattering him in all the right ways. But most significantly, the pink and black scarf is draped around his neck.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your heart fluttering in your chest.

That tether that you’ve learned has always been subconsciously tying you two together yanks you towards him. Your book drops to the floor and your bare feet run for him before your brain can catch up to you.

He meets you halfway and you throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. Your lips crash together with fervor, thirsty for each other after such a long drought. Soft, sweet, pillowy lips drink you in as your heart races and he pulls you in tighter. His familiar scent and warmth engulf you in such a comforting way that it brings tears to your eyes.

When your kiss finally slows and you both come up for air, you whisper, “You came.”

“Of course, I came.” As if there was ever any doubt.

Elvis pulls you to the couch, cradling you in his lap as he showers you with gentle but intense kisses. The heat between you builds but unlike in Vegas, it is more patient—openly full of love and admiration.

“I missed you,” he says into your mouth, his statuesquely perfect nose nuzzling into yours.

“I missed you, too,” you admit with a smile.

“Good,” he smiles, that lip of his curling up almost shyly.

His lips find your cheek, then placing soft kisses over your nose and eyelids and your forehead, as if committing your bone structure to memory with his mouth. It is unhurried because, for once, you have all the time and privacy in the world. You sigh underneath the reverence of his kisses as they trail down your jaw.

“Baby,” you say, stopping him, “as much as I want to continue this, I have things I need to say before that happens.”

He gives you one last kiss before bringing his attention to you. His gorgeous azure eyes fix in on you in such a way that you feel overwhelmed. It’s amazing to you how, even after all these years, he still has the ability to completely render you speechless with his magnetism and beauty.

“Yes?” he says, steeling himself for what may or may not be coming.

You tear your gaze from him enough to refocus. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I need you to know that I forgive you, for all of it. I forgive you, and more than anything, I love you. I want to be with you, though I know we need to figure out what that looks like. I mean, if that’s what you still want, of course,” you fumble, looking away, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Oh, it’s very much what I want, lil’ mama,” he purrs happily and seductively, using his pointer finger under your chin to turn your head, bringing his lips once more to yours. Fire blooms in your chest and radiates down into your belly as his tongue dips into your mouth. “I love you. I want you to be with me. Always have, baby.”

“I signed the divorce papers, and so did Jack,” you blurt out, needing to make sure he knows and understands.

Elvis chuckles, the low rumbling vibrating under your hand on his chest. “I know, Satnin,” he drawls, his bedroom eyes sharp underneath the haze of lust you see in them.

“Of course, you do,” you laugh, shaking your head, taking the moment to run your fingers through his coiffed dark hair.

He looks at you deeply, firmly but gently grabbing your chin in his hand. “Let me be your everything,” he whispers. It is somehow both a question and a command.

Your stomach drops, but not out of fear this time. No, it is a tingling anticipation that wafts over you and makes your breath catch. You run your finger over his lips, pulling down on that full bottom one.

“Yes,” you nod. You unfurl from his arms and stand, reaching for his hand.

Elvis looks up at you through those long, dark lashes with something between wonder and eagerness. You pull him off the couch wordlessly, his fingers intertwining with yours as you lead him through the house to the master bedroom.

When you finally arrive, you look up at him almost bashfully. “I was wondering if we could try something new?” you ask. You’d been thinking about this for weeks now, all the different ways you want him, but this one thing had stuck in your mind after all you’d been through.

His eyes sparkle almost gleefully with curiosity and lust. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?” he purrs.

You take a deep breath before speaking. You’re not sure if he’ll go for it, but you figure it won’t hurt to ask. “I want to be in charge,” you finally say, matter-of-factly.

His dazed look at your request quickly turns to interest as his brow furrows with consideration. He doesn’t mull long, however, much to your pleasure, before uttering, “Hmm, why not, baby? Let’s try it.” He smiles coyly before bringing you in for a long kiss.

Your heart begins to thump in your chest. You’ve never done this, and you bite your lip, knowing that you have to change your attitude for him to take you seriously. You draw on the strength you’ve gained over these past weeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“On your knees,” you command.

Elvis looks at you with amused surprise at the order. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

His left eyebrow shoots up so far you think it may try to escape his pretty face and his brilliant blues go wide.

“No, ma’am,” he says, his voice getting breathy and quiet. His eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly sinks, his knees finally touching the floor.

A thrill shoots through you seeing him like this, humbled before you. This man who commands and dominates every room he walks into, brought to his knees for you. You doubt anyone in his adult life has truly had him like this. You relish in the way it makes your heart race in your ribcage.

“Say it again,” you whisper. He seems to know what you mean.

“I love you,” he replies quietly, his eyes open and shining up at you. There is an innocent and boyish quality to them.

With everything that has happened, you have a renewed sense of purpose and confidence which makes you bold.

You lean down and grab his chin in your hand firmly, feeling the light scratch of dark stubble under your fingers.

“Show me,” you command.

He nods furiously in compliance, that look of innocence tempered by sparks of lust in the depths of his oceanic blues. He is more than willing and up for the challenge, and the look sends a shiver of anticipation through you so strong that you can already feel warmth gathering low in your belly. It’s been over a month now since you had him last and each day felt like torture.

Elvis runs his hands up the backs of your calves, caressing your bare legs and resting on the backs of your thighs, his eagerness and yearning evident in his speed. He wants you, too, and he is oh so used to getting what he wants that it gives you pleasure to stop him.

“Uh uh,” you tsk, grabbing his chin again, “you’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby boy, and then maybe, if you’re really good, then you’ll get what you want.” It comes out like a purr, dangerous but alluring, surprising even you. But the look on his face is worth it, the way he nearly crumbles when you call him baby boy, the way his pouty mouth falls open slightly, the way he squirms on his knees, itching to take you but following your lead instead.

“Now, are you gonna be a good boy and do what I tell you?” you coo with an edge of warning. You’ve never in your life have done anything like this before, and you hadn’t planned this, but the control, the power just comes naturally, his responses fueling you forward.

He nods again, unconsciously wetting his plump lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Use your words,” you order.

“Uh-um, y-yeah, yes, I-I-I promise…mama,” he stutters out, picking up your cues and nodding, eyes are wide and becoming more yielding as he begins to submit to you.

Something about the way he does it has that warmth surging in your belly yet again.

“Good,” you say, running your nails up and through his raven locks, scraping his scalp and making his eyes roll back at your touch. You pull back quickly, leaving him a little breathless.

“No hands. Use your mouth,” you order with a smirk.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, faster this time. He’s adapting quickly to your game, and the way he bows down to your feet, kissing the bare skin so softly as he makes his way slowly up your ankle to your calf has a thrill shivering through you. His pillowy lips and the tip of his tongue brush and lick their way up your legs, as he alternates one to the other. The sensation, especially after being deprived of his touch for so long, has you sighing softly, and his eyes roll up to yours, framed deliciously by those impossibly long and dark lashes. The blue of them has darkened with lust, but they remain compliant and eager to please.

That alone has the coil in your belly rapidly tightening, and you feel wetness begin to seep into your panties the closer his mouth comes to the place you want him the most.

Your breathing speeds up with this teasing when he meanders under your dress, peppering kisses along your panty line until his hot breath ghosts over the thin cotton of your panties. It puffs over your clit, and you pull your dress up with one hand to watch. His hands fly up to your ass of their own accord, squeezing and clutching at your panties to bring them down.

Using your other hand, you fist it tightly in his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look at you. “What did I say about hands, baby boy? I thought you were gonna be good for mama,” you tsk, shaking your head.

It’s a test. You relish in watching him quell the dominant urges he’s having by biting back a smirk of insolence, his lip sandwiched between his teeth so hard he could break the skin. The fire in his eyes almost dares you until he sees the serious look in your own and you tighten your grip in his hair. He winces a little and you watch him consider his options. You don’t let up during this battle of wills, unyielding and unbreaking of the eye contact that might usually level you.

No, after the last six weeks, this time you are going to get what you want.

Finally, he gets it, letting his arms drop to his sides. His face smooths, that innocence returning, and he submits completely to you.

“Good boy,” you breathe, releasing the grip on his hair and running your thumb over his lush bottom lip. His mouth opens and you push your thumb in, scraping at his teeth, then pushing into the soft warmth of his pink tongue. A low moan escapes him as his eyelashes flutter, and you allow him to suck it in, rolling his tongue over your thumb. A pleasured hum escapes your lips at the sensual sensation, and you feel it tingle straight down into your pussy.

“Try again,” you say, looking down at him, pulling out your thumb. You pull up your dress once more.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers eagerly, and you see the wheels turning for a moment before he continues. This time, he sits on his hands before he kisses directly over your sensitive nub, wetting the fabric with his tongue before kissing upwards. Then, he snaps the elastic between his teeth and slowly but surely pulls your panties down your legs. Your slick is already evident in the fabric, leaving little trails down your thighs. Gravity takes hold once they reach your knees, and they drop to the floor.

“There’s my clever boy,” you praise him, stepping out of your underwear, running your thumb over his high cheekbone. This causes that signature crooked, boyish smile to spread across his features, reminding you just how incredibly beautiful he is.

And he’s all yours.

As he lathes his tongue back up your thighs, cleaning the slick from them on the way back up to your core, your body shudders with delight and you feel him smiling against your skin. Looking down you see it is not a smirk, but genuine pleasure at making you feel good, and that sends warmth through your chest in addition to the heat rapidly building in your core.

You cannot help the moan of pleasure that escapes you when he finally reaches the apex between your legs and flattens his tongue over your folds. He drags it slowly, deliberately, ending with little flicks on your clit. Heat rolls over you, setting every nerve aflame, and this time when you grab his hair, it is to pull him encouragingly closer into your wet curls.

“Yes, good boy, just like that,” you sigh breathlessly as he begins to shower your pussy with attention, going slowly as you requested. He is soft and persistent, swathing gently through your folds, parting your labia with his tongue before rolling back to your clit. Oh, lord, he is so very versed in this, you remember quickly, as he suckles and presses soft kisses to that most sensitive place.

Your eyes fall shut as you grip his head and shoulder for balance. You cannot help the keening and panting that begins to emanate through you as the coil in your pelvis tightens. Even after only a short amount of time together, he somehow knows exactly how to play you for the most pleasure.

In a daze, your eyes open and you look down at him, his dark hair messy from your hands. That’s when you notice it: he is not touching you with his hands, as promised, but you see how he’s somehow undone his trousers without your knowing. You watch silently for a moment as one of his ring clad hands fondles and tugs at his cock, and it sends a thrill of arousal through you to catch a glimpse of him pleasuring himself like this when he doesn’t know you’re watching. Battling the swell of ecstasy that rockets through you, you curiously watch how his hand slides up and down over his length, pulling at the foreskin that mostly envelops his red tip, how his long thumb glides effortlessly over it, swirling the slick of precum around and over and down. It’s a well-practiced motion and it almost seems unconscious considering the way he is utterly focused on your pussy.

You gasp with pleasure as he massages your clit deftly with his tongue, and coupled with watching him jack off, you feel a desperation for more friction, more of him, building until you realize that it is you who is in control of this moment, not him. With a swell of need you push him back abruptly, his eyes bewildered, and lips shining with your arousal, hand still on his cock, wondering what he did wrong.

“Oh, what a naughty little boy you are. I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I didn’t say you could get yourself off, did I?” you say in a chastising tone.

And, oh god, the bashful look he gives you, dropping his cock, and how his cheeks redden at being caught as he looks down, those lashes fanning out, has you biting back a smile and more heat swelling under your dress.

“No, ma’am,” he says mournfully, shaking his head slightly. And then he’s blinking up at you with those deep blues, waiting for what you are going to do next, what his “punishment” might be, you realize.

“I guess I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson then,” you sigh with exasperation. But his disobeying you only serves to make you more aroused. You put your foot on his chest and push him down and backwards with a low growl. It’s like something primal has come over you, not only your need to dominate him, but also this flaming heat consuming your body and needing his mouth on you more definitively.

“Get on your back,” you demand.

Elvis scrambles backwards quickly and you are grateful for his flexibility as he easily untangles his legs from underneath him and falls back onto the thick shag carpeting. You step over him, sliding your dress up and over your head as you do so, leaving you in only your bra. When you look down, you see his blissed-out eyes wandering over your body with something akin to awe.

You lower yourself down to your knees, straddling his chest, which is already heaving from his arousal. He’s wearing the pink silk scarf, the one from your first night together, and it feels fitting, you think, as you lord over him and unravel it from around his neck. He watches you so intently in any other circumstance you might falter under his gaze, but while blown with lust, you can see by that bashful look in his eyes that he is committed to following your lead here.

“Hands above your head, baby boy,” you coo, running your hands up the underside of his arms, guiding them over his head. “Since you can’t seem to keep from doing naughty things with them, I’ll have to make you stop,” you admonish.

You sit fully on his chest then, feeling as the wetness of your cunt stains the front of his lovely silky shirt, and then you lean over, fully aware that it puts your breasts temptingly over his face. You hear him whimper, knowing he can’t touch you, and you smile as you use the black and pink scarf to tie his wrists together above his head.

You intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly pull back over his body, scooting your hips back as you go until your face is hovering just above his. He’s panting now, little puffs of breath coming from his lips as you ghost your own over his face. Tipping his chin up to try and capture a kiss, you pull back a bit.

“Nuh uh, baby boy. You have work to do first,” you shake your head, kissing the tip of his nose. Then you tempt him by flicking the tip of your tongue over the beautifully perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip, and he fully whines and squirms under you.

You laugh at that, the fact that you are able to put him in this position, to make him want you enough to be vulnerable and needy like this. Then you become more serious, looking him in the eyes.

“Now use that wicked little mouth of yours to make me come,” you say in a low, sultry, daring tone. “And no touching unless I say so!”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Elvis moans as you maneuver your body up and over his head, bracketing it in with your thighs. Your need for him is quite evident as you lower your already-soaking pussy onto his face and as his pouty mouth kisses your most sensitive areas, you know you are so wound already from this little game of yours that you fear you might come undone too soon.

You’ve never done this before and while part of you is a little worried about the mechanics and fears smothering him, that primal, instinctual part of you starts rocking your hips over his mouth.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly, unable and unwilling to contain the soft moans that his lips and tongue begin drawing out of you as you begin to ride his mouth. When he fully groans against you, the vibrations send a shockwave through your core, nearly snapping that coil inside you already. You steady yourself, finding a comfortable rhythm, and experimentally run your hands up your torso, using them to grope your breasts. You feel him moan again and look down to see him carefully watching you, his eyes blown black.

Sensing how it’s driving him wild, you lift your hips a little to give him air and reach down under the lace of your bra, using the pads of your fingers to lightly drag against the sensitive areola, taunting him and pinching your nipples to attention with a moan of your own.

“Fuckkkk,” he breathes out, the air tickling your labia.

“Language!” you hush him and plant back down on his face. His arms fight to come down and grab you, but between being tied and the way your weight is, he cannot, and groans against you again instead. He works you tirelessly now as you writhe over him and you feel that telltale tightening begin in earnest. You are nearly desperate as his tongue lathes against your folds again and again, dipping in and out of your hole, circling your clit and back again. He eats you expertly, willingly, and you ache for him.

“Good boy, there’s my good baby,” you pant quietly as your heart flutters and your breathing starts to hitch.

But when his tongue slips daringly lower, perhaps accidentally, perhaps not, you careen forward with a shocked gasp as it grazes your other hole.

“Elvis!” you gulp, clasping his hands with your own to steady yourself, stilling your hips. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about that slip yet, only knowing that it’s a place that has been forbidden before now. Your heart pounds so hard you hear the blood in your ears, your body on high alert.

“Hmmm?” is his only response before he tests you again, gently, letting his tongue circle that illicit spot lightly.

“Elvissss…” The moan escapes you before you can stop it because the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue there has your already aroused body teeming with the new sensation and you know you shouldn’t like it, you’re not supposed to like it…

“Yes? You like that mama?” he replies surprisingly bashful, submissively, compared to the sensual dominance that you are used to from him.

“I-I-I’m not sure, baby boy,” you finally stammer out honestly.

You feel him nod underneath you, as if understanding, and he goes back to suckle your clit, making you jump a little and roll your hips. And when his tongue travels back through your swollen folds and he goes a little farther to include that little secret spot, you can’t help but cry out in pleasure this time.

He smiles against you, and you respond by rolling harder on his face, effectively shutting him up. The carnality that flows through you banishes your prudishness and you let him kiss and eat you fully now, from hole to clit, letting the sensations consume you completely.

You fuck his face wildly. You don’t try to stop the keening noises crying from your lips, you just grip his hands for dear life as the coil inside you constricts, your body flooded with fire, desperate for the blast of release his talented mouth promises you. Frantic now, chasing that high, your body tenses over him and he groans loudly into your cunt, his tongue deep inside you, as your thighs squeeze his head.

The peak hits you incredibly hard and you cry out as you shatter above him. White stars flash behind your eyes followed by inky blackness. You can barely breathe for the way it hits you. He continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm, coaxing you, moaning into you in order to continue your pleasure for as long as possible. He devours every drop of your arousal. Shaking and shuddering and oversensitive, you finally scoot your hips back, allowing him to come up for air with his own gasp.

“Did I do good, mama?” he puffs, looking pleased, his face covered in your slick.

“You did perfect, baby boy,” you breathe out, kissing his cheeks, then his swollen lips, tasting your tangy sweetness there. Your body shivers with aftershocks as you come back into yourself, your mind concocting all the ways you want him tonight, all the ways in which you can show him your love and vice versa.

You look down at him, enjoying the sight of pussy-drunk lust on his boyish features, the vulnerability of his hands restrained above his head, the way his bedroom blues dreamily follow your gaze and your lead.

Your need for him feels insatiable. You want to wreck him, ruin him, in the best way possible. Biting your lip you roll your hips into his waist, feeling the cold of his belt sear into your bare core and Elvis’ eyes roll back a little as you drag your nails down over the part of his chest that is exposed above his shirt.

“You gonna continue to be good for mama, baby boy?” you lean down to coo in his ear, scootching your hips back just enough to feel the tip of his rock-hard length through his pants, and you can feel the shudder that ripples through him.

He nods furiously. “Y-yes, mama, oh yes, I’ll be good.”

“I’m so glad, baby,” you whisper, “Mama’s got somethin’ special in store for you.”

Elvis whimpers at that, and you can tell it is taking every ounce of self-control he has to keep from taking you right there and then, but he stays good and still and relatively quiet for you. You kiss down the shell of his ear, nibbling on the perfect lobe, and then you focus your attention on the divot just behind it where his jaw meets his skull. Lapping there for a minute, you take your time as he hums and tenses beneath you, turning his head the opposite direction to give you the access you want. You make your way agonizingly slowly down his neck, using your lips and teeth and tongue in all the ways you’ve learned he likes. By the time you reach his collarbone, he is practically writhing under you.

His breath is beginning to heave and become labored when you start down his tanned chest, the course hair there tickling your lips as you go. One by one, you pop the remaining buttons open, and with each, a pretty little huff escapes his pouting lips. Oh, how beautiful he looks with his cheeks all flushed and his hair mussed, those eyes alternating between peering down at you and looking up to the heavens.

Once again you move your hips back, this time hovering just above the erection raging in his pants. It’s enough that he can feel your heat, but you give him no friction whatsoever, and this is what finally has him bucking his hips up desperately, but you are prepared, dodging well out of the way before he finds any sort of relief.

“Now, now, that’s not how good boys behave,” you tsk at him, earning a huff in response. You use your nails to scratch down his now-exposed treasure trail, your lips following close behind and he fully whines by the time you reach the belt line.

“Please, please, mama,” he mewls at you, raising his head to look at you with begging eyes.

“All in good time,” you muse quietly, shooting him a soft smile.

You take your time with his heavy belt and zipper, causing him to spring forth, his cock hard and veiny, precum already oozing a sticky string between his tip and his abdomen, but you leave him there, untouched. Moving lower, you slowly, deftly, remove one shoe, then the other, doing the same with his socks. Then you pull his pants down his long legs, letting your fingers ghost over his sensitive skin. It’s torture, based on the way he squirms and sighs, and you find yourself full of emotions.

A small part of you relishes in making him squirm after finding out what he’d kept from you all these years, for all the time you may have lost with him because of his self-righteous ego. But a much larger part of you wants this with him, for him, because you know he’s likely not given himself to anyone like this. Not the great Elvis Presley, the man who strives for excellence and control in all things. You cannot imagine him letting just any woman bring him to his knees, tying him up, letting her have her way with him. At least you hope not.

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

But a sense of unease, jealously perhaps, wafts over you, diminishing your confidence slightly.

“Baby boy?” you hum pensively at him, running your finger softly up the sole of his foot, causing him to jump and giggle a little.

“Yes, mama?” he responds softly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

You frown, worrying your lip a little, wanting to approach this skillfully as not to ruin the mood, but you have to know. Now that the thought is there, you must know.

“Have you ever let anyone else do this? Touch and tease you like this?” you ask, trying to keep your voice sultry and light, running your fingers up the underside of his arm, dragging across the pink silk that binds his wrists.

His brow furrows for a moment as he tries to interpret what’s going on underneath the bravado you’re showing, trying to glean your true meaning, and then his face softens and smooths with realization, his eyes wide and open for you. “Not like this, mama. Just for you. Only you,” he says genuinely, and you know it’s true, that he’s not just giving you lip service within the game you are playing.

“Good,” you nod, more moved by this than you want to show right now, your heart swelling with this new knowledge. You kiss him gently and softly on the lips. 

“Do you trust me?” you add more mischievously, your confidence returning.

“Completely,” he nods back.

“Then it’s time to get on the bed, baby boy,” you purr.

He brings his arms down in front of his abdomen, the scarf still taut at his wrists and his shirt open and flowing behind him, and you help him to standing. His eyes sparkle a little with what you think is anticipation. Once to the bed, he snakes his long, beautiful body backwards until he is lying up against the dark pillows.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him lying there, vulnerable and all yours. Getting between his legs, you start at his feet, massaging the ropey muscles with your hands, and alternately kissing your way over the arches, his ankles, and up his calves, up every perfect part of him. You pay attention closely to these spots you’ve never really explored before, listening and watching him carefully. When his breath catches, or he hisses in through his teeth, you know it’s extra sensitive, and of course, when his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back you know you’ve hit the jackpot.

You take your sweet time working up his muscled legs, bringing up and opening his knees to give you more access to what you are finding is the highly sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Warmth rolls through you when you nip there, very close to his balls and he nearly jumps off the bed.

“Stay still and be good, baby boy,” you purr at him with a sly smile against his leg, and he whines in protest but stills himself. You think it’s high time you give him some well garnered attention to his large, heavy testicles. His musky scent fills your nostrils, setting your biological need for him on fire. You wiggle a little on your knees with anticipation but since you aren’t sure exactly what he likes or what his boundaries are yet, you want to make sure he has an out.

“Baby,” you say seriously, looking into his eyes, “if you really want me to stop, like really, I need you to tell me, okay? Say…” You stop, looking around for inspiration, something he would never say in the heat of the moment, and then your eyes land. Perfect.

“Say ‘pink scarf’ if you really want me to stop baby, okay?” you urge.

Elvis nods, looking excited and also a little concerned at the prospect of what you might do to him to require him to use such a phrase. “Pink scarf, got it,” he breathes.

With that, you feel better, and return your attentions down in between his legs. His cock is hard and buoyant against his pelvis, precum glistening the angry red tip that is peeking out from his lighter foreskin, but that is not what you’re going to focus on, not yet.

Using your thumbs, you apply gentle pressure to the insides of his thighs, massaging slow circles up, up, up, closer to his most sensitive areas. Lying on your stomach between his open legs, you test the waters by running your nails softly over the darkened, wrinkly skin of his ball sac.

He hisses in at that, his lower half tensing as you gently continue, using your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers to explore the area. In his arousal, his balls are pulled up tight to him, but it doesn’t detract from the fact they are still rather large compared to what you’re used to. His breathing becomes more labored as you roll his testes between your fingers, cupping them, then pulling gently.

His hips roll and wiggle. You love the effect you are having on him, the way he responds so readily under your touch, and you wonder if this is what it’s like for him when he plays with you. It sends heat of a different kind rolling through your body each time he jolts or gasps.

Which is exactly what he does when you nuzzle his sac with your nose before flattening your tongue against the seam and licking a long stripe from back to front. His hips rise off the mattress and running your hands over the crease of where his legs meet his torso, you push those famous narrow hips back down to the bed.

“Oh mama, oh mama,” he whispers quietly, almost like a begging prayer, as you continue lathing your tongue back and forth and up and down over his balls. He begins to writhe in earnest, despite your hands holding him, his legs pulling up and boxing you in.

“Be still,” you command, lifting your head, pushing his bent legs back open.

He obeys instantly, looking down at you with wild, shining eyes, nodding almost unconsciously in reply, as if preparing himself for whatever you deem to do next.

You use your hands again, one to push his legs up, tilting him towards you, the other rolling him like dice, before lifting his sac enough to lick the underside completely. Taking inspiration from his playbook, you then flick down over his taint, applying pressure with your tongue, his musky scent consuming you.

He moans long and loud at that, unable to contain himself as you shower this newly found spot with all your attention. As you lick and press and roll, he mewls and begins to shudder. Your heart beats faster against your ribcage at his reactions, how he pants above you, and you wonder what will happen if you press your thumb to that softer spot right above his puckered hole.

So you do. You press that spot over and over and watch him tremble and writhe until he looks damn well possessed.

“Please, oh please, oh GOD!” he cries out and eventually his entire body tenses, hips lifting as though he were coming inside you, and he shudders wildly before falling hard back onto the bed. Heart pounding, you lift your head to see a milky white leak from his tip. It’s not cum in the sense you are used to, but some sort of release nevertheless.

You’re not one hundred percent sure what just happened, but you are pleased you made him feel so good. You watch him lying there, gasping from pleasure, his hands clenching and releasing against their bonds, trying to recover from whatever that was. His face is flushed red, making the blue of his arousal-darkened eyes look almost preternatural, and tears leak, dampening his dark lashes. He looks positively bewildered.

“Good job, baby boy,” you praise him, kissing the inside of his knee.

“Wh-wh-what w-was that, mama?” he gasps, asking.

“That ever happen before?” you respond, curious, instead of answering him.

He shakes his head, his hair flopping as it lolls from side to side.

“Hmm…well, did it feel good, baby?” you ask because you aren’t entirely sure what happened, but you don’t let him know that. You don’t let him know about your own fresh arousal that’s leaking down the sides of your thighs or how your heart is fluttering in your throat at the sight of him such a mess before you. Not yet.

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

You smile at the blissed-out look on his face. You crawl up him to give his open lips a little kiss. “Mama’s not done with you yet, baby boy,” you whisper against his lips before pulling back.

His dreamy eyes go wide, but you don’t dwell, instead making haste to kiss down his chest once more, stopping to tongue and scrape his nipples with your teeth, making him jump underneath you once again. You kiss down the flat planes of his belly, detouring to give a little attention to his bound hands, sucking a digit or two into your mouth on the way down.

He fully shivers at that, moaning, sending a thrill of your own down to your toes. His belly is already heaving again with anticipation as you arrive at your next destination. His length bounces as his stomach moves, the milky white having leaked onto his belly, but whatever release he’d had did not affect the hardness of his cock, much to your pleasure.

Your goal here is to worship and tease, rather than the ways you’d had him in your mouth before. The way he’d fucked down into your throat both gently and harshly prior to this was not going to be his experience this time. No, this time is all about giving him a night he’s unlikely to ever forget. It is about claiming him as your own while showering him with love and attention on your terms. You’ve never had that before, not truly, and oh how sweet you are finding it already…

First, all you do is hover over his cock, so closely that he can feel your hot breath against him as you run your open mouth up and down his shaft. He squirms his hips from left to right, his hands fisting, and you can sense how it is taking everything in him not to buck up into you.

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

“Hush, baby,” you admonish him with a furrowed brow, stilling his hips again with your hands. “Be a patient good boy and you’ll get what you need.” Eventually…you think smugly.

He can only manage a whimper in response.

Finally, you place soft, barely there kisses up his shaft, feeling his rapid pulse through the throbbing veins. His foreskin awaits and you kiss gently around it, and it must be very sensitive because he’s fully gasping now, quiet “uh, uh, uhs” escaping his lips. Using only your tongue, you dip it into and under the foreskin, swirling it around the head.

“Oh, oh, no, t-too much, too much, mama!” he half moans-half cries, nearly levitating off the bed, but you don’t stop, instead sucking the tip of him into your mouth and soothing the head with your tongue.

You look up at the man you are in love with, in all his messy ecstasy, as tears stream down the sides of his pretty face, but he does not say the words, only sighing at this little bit of relief you give him. So, you continue, after this moment of reprieve, sending your tongue up and down his shaft, then kissing and tonguing his sensitive tip as though it were a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

“Please, please, please,” Elvis pants out of that wonderous and full mouth of his. By the time you use your hand to fondle his balls again, he is so fully enraptured, staring up into the mirrors above you, that you’re not sure he’s even on the same plane as you anymore.

God, it has you nearly coming undone yourself to see him like this, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him fall over. You find yourself pressing your thighs together, desperate for your own friction.

His gorgeous eyes flutter down to you as you once again tongue his tip. “B-bein’ good, m-mama, please, needju,” he whimpers, his words slurring together.

“Bein’ so good, baby boy,” you praise him, then you take him fully into your mouth, pumping once, twice, and then you feel his entire body tense and shake.

“F-f-fuuuuckkk,” he groans gutturally, his hips bucking into your throat, coming completely undone nearly instantly. His eyes roll back into his head, beads of sweat mixing with the tears down his face, and the prominent vein in his neck pulses in time with his salty, thick release. It coats your tongue, and you swallow him down readily before gently lathing your tongue over the tip of his sex. He squirms under you, rocked and hypersensitive as you pop off him.

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, looking so relieved and sex drunk that you are beside yourself now. Every nerve ending inside you is on fire. Before he can soften, you climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance and sliding him through your soaking folds and into your heat.

Elvis’ eyes widen in shock and he wiggles his hips down into the mattress as if trying to escape. little “ah ah ah!” puffs come from his lips, like he’s handling a hot potato.

“M-mama, ah, ah! I-I-I can’t,” he shakes his head before slamming it back onto the bed.

“Oh, you can, baby boy, you can, I promise,” you say breathlessly, relishing the feel of him filling you, even though he’s beginning to soften slightly. You roll your hips in his lap. “You’re gonna keep being such a good boy and make me come, right, baby?” you encourage demurely, hooking enough into his ego and his need to please you to keep him going.

All you know is that you need him, need to keep him inside you, to have him fill you up, even if you have to wait.

The noise that comes from him is somewhere between a groan and a growl, his eyes screwing shut for a moment as he tries to compose himself enough to continue. You still, placing your hands on his chest, and wait for his response.

“How about this? You’ve been so good for mama. I’m gonna take this scarf off you and you use those hands to show me some love while we wait,” you say.

That has him opening those glassy, pretty eyes of his and nodding.

“Mama’s gonna keep makin’ you feel real good, don’t you worry now, baby,” you tut at him, untying the knots at his wrists. The silk yields easily. You lean forward on top of his chest and throw it around his neck.

Elvis rolls his wrists a few times then wraps his arms around your back, holding you fast to him while he continues to breathe heavily. The feeling of being draped on him and held in his long arms sends an almost wholesome warmth through your body. Oh, how you missed being close to him like this. It’s almost as if you didn’t know it until this very second, that string that has been pulling you two together for so long finally loosening as you fall unencumbered into each other’s arms.

After a long moment, he calms and his hands start roaming slowly over your back. You can feel the cool of his rings against your fiery skin and it sends shivers through you. You feel starved for him, hence your desperate need to have him inside you and to show him with every fiber of your being that you will be all he ever needs from here on out.

You hum softly, pleased, when his hands find your ass, your hips, and you swivel them. He is soft inside you for the moment, at least, and you feel the sharp intake of breath at your movements, his hands gripping you to keep you still.

Still sensitive, you think.

His hands flutter up and down your sides then, softly enough to make you want more. You can hear his heart pounding in his chest, the rhythm beginning to match yours the longer you stay intertwined. This is what you’ve been missing, needing, all along. Him vulnerable and sated under you. Knowing that you are the only one he truly wants. Knowing that it’s been that way for almost as long as you’ve known him.

“Say it again,” you whisper into his neck, kissing his pulse points.

It only takes him a moment to understand what you are asking.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Mmmm,” you hum, kissing your way up his strong, angular jaw to his lips. “Again.”

“I love you.” It rumbles in his chest so you can feel it vibrate into yours.

Each time he says it, it dances through you, lighting up all the dark spaces that were so afraid and convinced he would never feel the same.

You kiss his lips, softly at first, then deepening as your own love pours out of you and into him.

His hands are everywhere now, one tangling in your hair, the other snapping the clasp of your bra undone. Your mouths separate just long enough for you to rip off the lace and fling it to the side. The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you feel like you are melting into him. Your mouths are unhurried but intense, tongues exploring, devouring each other whole.

“I love you,” you say into his mouth, voice hushed and reverent.

He pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough for you to get lost in the oceanic depths of his eyes as they gaze at you adoringly, as if memorizing your features. “I’m yours,” he says. Then he pulls you back down to him, his mouth consuming you once more.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, kissing, touching, exploring each other as if it were the first time, but it is long enough that you feel him begin to stiffen inside of you once more, just as you knew he would. Slowly, you begin to rock on top of him, your hands and lips tracing his Apollo-like features. Your fingers rake through his raven hair, damp with sweat from the exertion.

Elvis’ hands cup your face, your neck, tangling through your hair, caressing your breasts. He touches you reverently, though as your passions increase, his hands light streams of fire over your skin wherever they deem to touch. A heated coil tightens again in your belly, more gradually this time, but deep all the same.

The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing that has synced between the two of you, a hushed feeling that matches the intensity of your lovemaking. His deep gaze threatens to consume you from below as you ride him, and every cell in your body is being called to his.

He fills you in ways no one ever has and as no one ever could. Perhaps he was made just for you, you think, with how perfectly you align. You realize that this is the first time you’ve had him with all your memories intact. Every moment the two of you have had since the beginning now swells between you, a now shared history that makes this moment all the more poignant.

You are lost in the depths of him just as much as he is lost in you. You can see it now, so obviously, and you wonder how you spend so very long without him. Beyond his talent, beyond his gorgeousness, lies that both human yet ethereal man, and he is wonderful and he is flawed, and he is finally yours.

He expertly touches your sensitive bud, sending you careening towards the edge of an abyss that once frightened you. Because of course this was never just about sex, though your brain tried to trick you, making you forget that your love for him started so very long ago. But what terrified you six weeks ago now feels ripe with possibility. What made you feel trapped has now been set free. And as that coil snaps and you fracture above him, it allows your true self to emerge for the first time in a very long time.

“I love you, Elvis,” you breathe, locking eyes with him as you fall, knowing he will be there to catch you.

Your moan of pleasure, his name a whispered prayer on your lips, coupled with the sight of you has him following right behind you, all his years of fear and guilt splintering into pieces along with the most intense orgasm he has ever had.   

“I love you, y/n,” he returns in equal measure.

You collapse into his arms, unaware of the tears on your face until you feel them wetting the pink scarf that somehow remains around his neck. Elvis holds you to him, his fingers twirling the ends of your hair, not just with possessiveness and control, but with unfettered love. There is aways to go between the two of you in your relationship, now that you remember everything that has happened, but you have no doubt that the two of you will figure it all out, together this time.

For the first time in forever, you feel truly at peace.

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

With the man you love eternally, who loves you just as much.

Here, with Elvis.

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[jeskoholic]

A Little Piece of You Chapter 17: The Ideal Girlfriend

This is a chapter from an on-going series. If you missed out on the previous entries, you can check my masterlist.

Previous chapter: A Coffee Date

Word count: 5,640

Tags: Male OC, Bestfriend Yujin, College friends, School Convo

Enjoy

“Come on man; I already explained things to you… I don’t have a girlfriend. Don’t be stupid.”

“Oh, is that the really the case?”

“Dawn… I know who you’re talking about and you’re dead wrong. She is just my best friend and there’s nothing else in the middle. I don’t know what made you think about anything about that.”

Dawn chuckled.

“What do you mean, Jae-in? Eve you called her as your ‘girlfriend’ at some point, right?”

“I did that because she’s a girl, right? She’s also my friend, so I think it just makes sense that I warrant myself calling her that. And by the way, I did that because of that one particular time that Shinwon and Kino drank their butts off and started asking stupid questions. I remember answering back at their claims just to make them both shut up. It was my only way out.”

“Well, sometimes things do work out like that especially with Shinwon and Kino. It’s funny how we don’t often see them talking together recently… “

“Hey, I don’t know what’s with you and the rest of UK, but why are y’all putting me in the hot seat now? You have no idea how much of a chore I had to endure with all the questioning from Hongseok and the others. Heck, even Yeri is being added to the mix and I can’t do anything about it. It feels weird that I’m complaining about this now, especially when I was so cool at it a while back but… I guess I was just uncomfortable talking about Soyeon especially to them. I only felt that when I was already relaying what transpired.”

“I don’t know about them… as far as I’m concerned, I just want to everyone else to be happy. I mean, look how well this first official date went with Jisoo. Like I said, if I don’t screw things up, this boat is sailing away smoothly. As a friend, I want those same things to happen to you guys as well, especially you, my man. I can’t even express to you how happy am I knowing my friends are good with Jisoo. It makes my efforts for her more relaxed knowing I have you guys behind me.”

“I’m happy for you man. It turned out to be a good idea that you brought us on this.”

“Wait, Jae-in… I just realized something…”

“Which is…?”

“You know with all of these happening… I’m sorry but I’ll have to introduce Soyeon to the conversation again. Do you mind?”

“Go ahead, I guess. We’re pretty much talking about her already at this point so might as well.”

Dawn scratched the back of his head just as he and Jae-in crossed a street towards a bright shop, of where they proceeded to continue on walking.

“I realized that… it’s been a while since you and Soyeon went dating, or went out, whatever… I just figured, you never introduced her to anyone else rather than the group, am I correct? I’m curious as to how she’d react with Soyeon given her personality is drastically different from most of us.”

“Who are we talking about? Is it Yujin?”

“Of course man, who else could it be? You know how Yujin works and how she’s so picky with stuff, especially those who date you. It’s funny to think how Wonyoung hated her so much back in high school and her predictions never came to fruition. You and Yujin were still friends up to this day. It’s hilarious when I think about how much that hated seeing each other because of you. I wonder how your ex would react once she finds out that you two have gone stronger ever since.”

“I get where you’re going at. Yujin is pretty much very nitpicky on whoever I’m dating, or having an intention to date but she has her reasons. After what happened with Wonyoung, she made sure to have my back ever since. She’s always been the brain in my heart, as I tend to act out of impulse without thought. I would go as far and say that she’s the voice inside my head telling me to think twice about things before heading in, which is exactly why I trust her so much. Also, you know how guys have that hint whenever a dickhead is hitting on a girl with malicious intent? Girls have that too, man, and Yujin’s been the one warning me of everything… well, at least until recently anyway.”

“Yeah, I know that. I just wondered, in case you introduced Soyeon to her… what do you think she’d say about her, then? Do you think she’s going to have the same thought like you did?”

“Knowing Yujin, she’ll be the first person to tell me to back off. All those realizations, all those reasons why I chose to end it with Soyeon… I’m sure she would have seen it coming before I even thought about it. It would feel as if she’d be the one to back off for me while I still can’t get the courage to do so. I don’t know; like I said: womanly instincts. She’d be sure to tease about it to me at some point along that, too.”

Dawn nodded.

“Well, in a way I envy you; girls are pretty hard to understand. At least you have Yujin there to help you out for things, especially on the red flags we guys are normally blind to.”

“I guess so… although with that whole thing with Soyeon, I never really told her anything. Joohyun-noona even knows more than her on this regard… I guess I never really had the chance to tell her as it went on… I just never thought of her as well. With how quiet she is, maybe she’s just really busy recently.

“You know what, come to think of it… I never saw Yujin since the semester began. I guess being on a different engineering department ought to show how dedicated she is compared to us, and how physically and mentally committed she is on school. Then again, I didn’t expect less from a high school top student. At least she’s not spending her weekends going to bars like we do.”

“Jae-in, but I heard that you barely join Kyungsoo and the others when they invite you out. I heard that you’re not even showing up.”

There was a pause, which involved Jae-in giving his friend a joking glare only for Dawn to return it with a smirk.

“Okay, Mr Smart-ass, I know you’re happy. I get it. I’m happy for you as well. I just don’t get why Yujin suddenly got dragged into this conversation out of nowhere. Point is I really haven’t talked to her for a while so she has no idea what’s going on with me. It might surprise her with how much shit I’ve been through without even being halfway across the semester.”

“Maybe that’s the point. I genuinely got curious how come she’s never heard of anything… surprised, even. You got to tell her and catch up, man. You two have been through a lot and she ought to know at some point. In that case, it would be better if it would be from you.”

Kim Hyojong and Yoon Jae-in reached the end path of the long street they have been traversing on. The skies have completely showed its vibrant purple hue as the day succumbed into the incoming evening. As always, Seoul’s bright night life had begun to bare itself amidst the baby steps of the twilight. Shops began to show their innate beauty along with the approaching evening, with Jae-in only being able to realize what he was missing right as he and Hyojong were about to part ways. He stood with his eyes on the marketplace’s humble horizon, its roof carefully etched to match the elegance of the incoming dusk.

Maybe I should. I do kinda miss that chaos of a girl as well.

---

After the grand culmination of Dawn’s plan, it was suffice to say that he had once again become incognito, but I quite expected that. I really could not blame him; after that good enough of a start, he ought to focus all of his efforts towards Jisoo if he really want to make the most out of what has been given to him. Plus, the rest of the United Kwangya have been really confined lately, with the conversations solely existing between the occasional appearances of Ningning complaining about how she constantly forgets her basic maths skills, Kino teasing her about it, Kyungsoo moderating all of them. Yeri and Shinwon became the new love birds of the group effectively replacing me and Soyeon, which was a good thing. Granted, we never really displayed our affection in front of our friends, even if it was just a group chat, but at least the rest of the members attention were focused on them and not us. They didn’t even bother to bring up the topic of Jisoo and Dawn for the rest of the conversations.

Still, there was no word from Soyeon, as expected. It was also rather odd that I don’t see her around campus, be it with Ningning or Kyungsoo even for just a chance encounter. I don’t know if she’s doing that on purpose or we’re really just not allowed to see each other with fate dictating what the best is for both of us.

But I guess I could not complain with that. At least she and I could get a huge breathing room.

With the threat of the exams just being around the corner, I figured I might as well grab the chance to catch up with a long-time friend of mine. Who knows when she’ll be busy again?

I messaged Yujin exactly on that night that Dawn and I went our separate ways. Well, given the really tight schedule of this particular woman, I had to arrange our next get-together after quite a long time. Days passed and it was another weekend, and like how it passed by with Hyojong I found myself on a local bubble tea shop with a rather high, wooden ceiling. It was this small, compact space with a natural vibe echoing off of it with the wooden furniture, floorboards, ceiling, as well as the entire house-like feel of it. The open windows raged from all around, with the rear exit offering a veranda filled with chairs coupled with the breath-taking view of the city.

As much as I love the feel of the wind grazing my face as we’d consume our respective bubble teas, with the length of Yujin’s hair it ought to get to her face at some point. I don’t want to ruin her experience here just because of that, so I elected to pick tables indoors.

“Jae-in, heya,” I heard her voice call from the entrance of the shop’s doorway, appearing all in her youthful presence as she supplied me with an enthusiastic smile. “You finally decided to ask me out, hmmm? Can’t seem to find the perfect fairy for all this?”

Ahn Yujin greeted me on the same way she would almost every time I see her, and that is always with a wide smile over her tall stature. She showed up today with the clear understanding that white was the colour for that meet, having decided to wear a matching white long sleeves and track pants, finished with her white sneakers that fixed the over-all get-up while a folded jacket draped over her arm. Yujin had once again decided to have her bangs, and I think it suited her perfectly. Seeing her on a hairstyle I haven’t seen her do since high school, and especially on this time that I haven’t seen her for a while, it felt so nostalgic and very comforting in a way. It did felt like a relief to see my best friend from highschool looking and glowing so well. I’d lie if I didn’t miss this girl one bit.

“Give me a break, Yujin,” I replied to her as I smirked. “This might be on me but it’s far from being a date. I already ordered and it’s already here for you. I was actually serious when I said that your tea might screw itself up when you come in late.”

“Excuse me, oppa; you’re the one who’s early. I’m just in time. If this tastes bad, I’m going to ask you for another one.”

“I’m willing to bet that it’s not. I made sure to get your favourite.”

“Is that so?” Yujin replied as she rather surprisingly took the space next to me instead of the chair opposite where I was seated. She placed the small hand bag she had with her and brushed her bangs before taking the drink ordered for her.

“You know that there is a chair opposite me, right?”

“Well, I can see that. I can also see that you’re smart enough to pick the couch for yourself. In that case, endure sitting there. At least you have a pretty fairy next to you; that’s not a loss whatsoever.”

“It feels like it’s you who missed teasing me, Yujinnah. It almost makes me feel bad that I treated you out here,” I replied to her as a joke, which immediately earned a slap towards my arm.

“Yah, fine I’ll just stop,” she said and then proceeded to sip from the drink I bought her. “So what’s up with the sudden call, Jae-in? Are you heartbroken again?”

Oh my god… the fact that I know she’s joking but at the same time being so spot on is crazy on itself.

Now it feels awkward to open up because she did it first like that.

“I guess that’s the case then. You’re silence is more than enough evidence for it. Plus, your face says it all,” she concluded before I could even speak.

It’s so hard when someone knows you so damn much.

“Come on now… of course at some point I’m going to have to ask you out for us to catch up. I know how busy your department could get, being stuck on huge Chem books and all. I’m surprised that you even squeezed me into your busy sched.”

“It’s not that hectic, Jae-in, really. Most of you people are pretty much exaggerating when it comes to our study habits as well as our activities.”

“Really…? So everything that I’ve been hearing was just an exaggeration? Is that why I never even managed to bump unto you if it was even just by chance? It’s like we’re not even in the same university, you know.”

“Well… actually… it’s not an exaggeration because it’s an understatement, really. Oh my… you have no idea how happy I am that you asked me out, actually. I’ve never felt so burned out recently. You not being my classmate take a lot of time getting used to.”

“You’re not used to being around that much of a girl circle now, do you?”

“It’s… It’s definitely different. The people I’m with now… I feel like they’re so pigeonholed into the one goal of the degree we’re all pursuing. I get that, but I’m naturally a fun and outgoing person so… having to stay back with them feels really hard, especially when I’m used to being with you and not taking things all too seriously while still making things work out. It feels impossible to do that now. I also kinda miss us walking home together and sharing some street food on the way to the apartment like we did before. I can’t do that now because… I need to be high profile to blend in. It sucks for my wallet, too.”

“Did I mishear you or did you just tell me that you missed me?”

Yujin nearly choked from her chocolate mix as she supressed a laugh. That was not really intentional.

“Maybe I did… this entire thing of us going out felt so refreshing to me. I’m being serious now.”

“Well, if that’s the case… I’m happy that I thought of asking you when I did. I just figured that maybe it was high time for us to catch up on a couple different axes. I also figured things have come really differently on our first semester away from each other. I was wondering how you’re dealing with the change.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about you now, do I?” She said; keeping her keen eyes planted on my drink at the desk. “I heard a lot from Kyungsoo-oppa. He told me that you’ve been hanging out a lot with them at bars every weekend. Is that true?”

“Umm…”

Well, technically…

“If that’s really the case, then I’m really envious. I don’t think I’ve touched a single glass of alcohol since we parted ways…. By the way, what did you order? What’s in your cup? I don’t think I’ve seen that before.”

What?

Yujin’s sudden interest to whatever I ordered really threw me off, but then again she was always like this. I was just starting to take in what was going on with her when she grabbed the drink from my end of the table and brought it closer to her face. Yujin then eyed the contents through the small hole of the straw, even closing her other eye to get a better view at it.

“What flavour is this, Jae-in? I don’t think I’ve tried this out before. It looks like a cookie and vanilla mix.”

“Oh uhh… it’s apparently called a Snow Leopard. I got it because I love cookies and cream flavoured things. It’s good. Try it out.”

With that, Yujin nodded and immediately went off to sip from my straw; her eyes lighting up. She then took her drink and slid it on the table towards my side as if beckoning me to taste the very thing I ordered for her. I casually took the drink and took a sip from her straw and my taste buds were immediately filled with the unusual chocolate flavour. I did not expect less from a triple chocolate mix that Yujin dearly loves.

“Damn… that was an experience. I might try that out for myself some time,” she exclaimed as she returned my drink to my side of the table. “I might have drank a bit so it’s a bit lesser than… yeah. You get it.”

“Don’t worry. I expected nothing less, Ahn Yujin.”

She slapped my arm and in turn smiling towards my direction.

“Well, anyway I’ll head us back to the topic at hand before I got distracted. I heard a lot of deals from Kyungsoo, you know; some of which even surprised me so much.”

“I actually did not expect Kyungsoo to tell you something, but that’s not saying that I didn’t want you hearing about me. It’s not like I’m hiding it or anything. It’s just… I was expecting that you’d know soon but from either Kino or Shinwon, not Kyungsoo. I wonder how that went down…”

“I’ll have you know, it was Kyungsoo who told me because he felt so concerned towards you. He didn’t entirely tell me of everything, because in his head those still deserve to be told by you. All he told me was things have been rough for you lately, and asked me to check on you whenever I had the time. They said you’ve pretty much gone incognito from them, especially recently. I guess when you asked me out for this one, maybe it was a huge deciding factor for me to go as well.”

“So I guess he knew that I’d reach you at some point. He’s not wrong. Be it that I’m reaching you out because I want to catch up on a couple of different matters, there’s no denying that thing have been crazy rough lately, especially the couple last weeks. Let’s just say that I’m dealing with the aftermath of that, as you know it affected me now less than it did with… with someone named Jeon Soyeon.”

“Ah, so that’s her name, huh? Well then, we have all afternoon, Jae-in. Now I’m curious. Tell me the entire thing. Tell me how you and this Soyeon girl ended up, and why you decided to cut ties with her once you felt it was wrong.”

---

The one thing that Jae-in loved so much about Yujin was that she has always been a good listener.

She merely sat throughout the entire conversation, merely giving her best friend the occasional nods and shakes whenever there was an interesting detail with regards to the story, but of course included with that were the extreme reactions from Yujin’s rather expressive face.  Given how confident he is with her, Jae-in elected to not only include his insights among everything that happened, but also the details he would normally reserve for himself; that included everything, especially intimate moments. As expected, Yujin gave him a face of alarm. The ghost of that expression seemed to have continued until he reached the latter part of his story.

“Well, I guess you can see now why I ended what was going on between us,” Jae-in said with a clear conclusion. “It’s crazy, right? We haven’t gotten halfway through the semester yet and I already have this on the bag. It speaks too much about how bothered I am with the sudden development.”

“My god, Jae-in… I didn’t expect this to be this involved! You know what, I haven’t met this girl yet and I already do not like the sound of everything. It feels like there’s nothing linking you together aside from your sudden outbursts of hormones, and that’s even trying to call it by the simplest of ways, believe me. You two are just horny, especially during all this.”

“I… I guess so…”

“You know, the fact that it turned out the way it did, it somehow reminded me of your ex. I’m sure that I’m not the only one who felt that, right?”

“That’s… well, most of the reason why I chose to back off largely was because of Wonyoung. Things have been… I don’t even know how to put it out, actually. I just felt that it was wrong to continue because it was something that I never wanted in the first place. It sucks that it even had to go to that degree that it was already too difficult to let her go given the circumstances. At this point, I’m just happy that I pulled it off.”

“As you should,” Yujin replied earnestly. She then proceeded to place her now-empty drink over the table and cross her legs afterwards. “My god, I could not even imagine how much of a sump we’ll have to go through again if she ended up being like exactly like Wonyoung. I would not be surprised if she did. I mean, look at her; she’s pretty much a girl who could get any guy she would like. They tend to get really reactive and loud expressing their feelings but when they don’t get what they want, the results would automatically be a disaster for the guy… for you, Yoon Jae-in.”

“Ummm…”

“Damn, can you imagine how things turned out with you and Wonyoung from before? Do you still remember how she hated me so much just for the fact that you’re my best friend… it’s as if I could do something about that? Hello…? What am I supposed to do? I’m not even wedging myself between you two and she acts as if we’re having sex in the dark.”

Jae-in chuckled.

“I do remember that; of course. We almost never go out together even for a small lunch out because he’s always like a detective watching me all the time. It’s so uncomfortable. I can’t even nod or greet you when we bump into each other while you have Wonyoung walking beside you, Jae-in. One small eye-contact between us, I immediately get a glare from her, Oh my god; I think she wants me to stop being your best friend back then. She wants me to be invisible when you’re around, like what the fuck?”

Jae-in chuckled and Yujin smiled at his reaction.

“You know, Yujin, now that I’m openly talking about this, that’s pretty much how it turned out before. You know how Wonyoung and I always argued about you; that she’s threatened of our friendship given how our relationship developed from us initially being best friends as well. She always thought that at some point, I’ll give her up for you. I’m pretty sure that it did happen, you know; I chose you as my best friend instead of sulking on our doomed relationship anyway.”

“Jae-in, hearing all this from you makes me want to go out and eat lunch with you, but not a normal one. We should make sure that Wonyoung sees it as well, just so we can show her how our friendship thrived further the moment that she was out of the picture. I want to show her that a guy and a girl could be friends without falling for each other.”

“You… you talk as if we didn’t really try to make something else out of this,” Jae-in remarked calmly. “In a way, we’re not really a good example for that, all things considered.”

“Well, the keyword was we DID try to make something out of it. It just didn’t feel right. I never thought that I’d ever be awkward to you, and I don’t want that one week of attempted dating to happen again between us. We’re soul mates Jae-in, and maybe that means that we’re destined to be the best of friends since the very beginning.”

“If you put it out that way, it makes me feel so happy that we chose friendship instead of making something impossible out of this one. You always had my back, Yujin. I’ll always be grateful for that”

“We didn’t work out, Jae-in, because I know that I’m not really your type,” Yujin said with a tone of humour, covering her mouth with her hand in the process. “And that’s okay for me, you know. I have no problems with it.”

“Wait, wait, that’s interesting, since you brought it up, what do you think my type is, exactly? What does Ahn Yujin think of Yoon Jae-in’s ideal girl and that is in terms of a lot of factors. Let’s hear you enumerate everything.”

“Ahh, so we’re in that stage now, hmm?” Yujin said before shifting her place on the couch and then rubbing her palms together. “Now this is interesting. Are you asking this from me so that you can confirm the similarities with what I’m about to say?”

“Maybe… or perhaps I could get an idea because I felt like I haven’t been running standards for a long time. It doesn’t have to be so complex, and you can base it on the previous people I’ve taken a liking on.”

“Well, I can’t do everything because we might take all afternoon… how about three?”

“Fair. Let’s do that.”

“Good enough. Well for starters, girls that are way too feminine do not pique your interest in any way, Jae-in. I’m pretty sure you are aware of that. You don’t like the typical text-book reserved, campus-crush kind of deal. You don’t like girls who are very well known because they are using fame to be something else. I get that it’s not that bad, but you’re not just into it because it feels fake. Does that make any sense?”

“It’s not something I would expect to come from you but I think I can understand it.”

“Good. Next, you’re more into people with strong personalities, which conflicts the other interest I just mentioned. I don’t know, but there’s a thin line between people you like who are have a very strong presence but not being over-all too feminine and vulgar about at the same time. I can get understand it in my head but I can’t find the words for it. I’ve been you friend for so long and I think I can understand it without words. I mean, I’ve met some people who were so timid and shy on the face value and yet they’re much defined once you get to know them. It’s kind of like that.”

The fact that she knows so much about me, up to this degree is somehow amazing and scary at the same time. It makes me wonder if I’m that much obvious whenever I’m with her.

But then again, maybe I am. I’m just that comfortable when I’ve with Yujin that I don’t seem to mind what kind of stories I spill to her. This conversation was way more yielding than I thought.

“Now for the last one, this one feels more like an observation from my end but somehow attracted to mature girls. It does not necessarily mean that you’re into girls that are older than you, but often enough age is often associated with maturity so I guess things tend to curve that way when it’s all said and done. It correlates. I guess there’s that sense of security that you get when it comes to people like that. In a way, it perfectly concludes all of the points I’ve stated previously.”

“I don’t think that… that it’s entirely true for Wonyoung. I mean, our ages are not that far apart you know.”

“Honestly, Wonyoung or even the Soyeon girl does not fit any of the traits I have mentioned. That explains why it was not a surprise that you decided to cut it off. On Wonyoung, I could understand, because at least you two developed from friends, but for the Soyeon girl, I guess it was pretty self-explanatory.”

“I guess so… I suddenly became conscious of the traits you mentioned, you know. I can’t bring myself to not consider them the next time that I take a liking into someone…”

“And you should, so that you won’t just fall on someone who barely even fits your standards. At least by then you’d be able to sort things out for yourself. I get it, Jae-in; love is one huge trial and error, but how many errors are you planning to bust through that you’ll finally let yourself loose for the world, hmm?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Jae-in, you’re a very soft, kind-hearted person and that’s about one thing that I really love about you. I’m pretty sure that I’m not the first one who said that, but on times like these it’s working against you. You need to learn when to say ‘no’ and keep you standards to yourself, because at the end of the day you still need to look after yourself. Can’t date ever girl in the world to find out if you’re compatible or not, right?”

“I’m trying to keep that in mind, Yujin… it’s just that with this Soyeon situation, I let it unfold to a painfully hard situation to get out of before I even began to make a move. It’s a mistake I don’t intend to do again.”

Jae-in sat there in silence, keeping his gaze peeled towards the empty drink he had in front of him. He may have stayed in that state for so long that Yujin grew concerned. There was a sudden, surprising sensation from his left side, only for it to be revealed to be from Yujin’s end. Somehow through the silence, she placed her hand over his as an act of affirmation and assurance. She then clasped it, making sure that Jae-in felt the presence of her then and there.”

“Don’t think of it badly, Jae-in. I’m not blaming you for everything that happened to you. In fact, I really admire your courage for being honest to the girl. No one should take away the emotions you battled while you’re at it, as well. Also… as much as I’m trying to force these sorts of ideas unto you, in the end we’re still human beings. Things could not be bound ideally, as they say.

“Finding a perfect person definitely involves a bound of luck as well as a good stroke of fate. You’ll never know when you’ll meet her, or if you’ve even met her already. The range of your destiny could be someone you’ve already spent a long time being with to someone you accidentally tripped over on the way home. It’s easier once you let your heart welcome it instead of your mind.”

I honestly don’t know if she’s aware of the mixed messages she’s sending about. However, there’s no denying that things like this are pretty hard to understand. In fact, a woman’s heart is hard to understand, as I heard someone wise once said.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” Yujin said finally, returning them both back to earth once again as she shook her head. “We should go, Jae-in; we’ve stayed so long here that we’re already hogging the best seat in the entire shop. Besides, I want to walk the park for a bit if you’re game. Shall we?”

And with one final nod, Jae-in agreed. The preparation to leave was as quick as the decision to do so with Yujin being the first one to head on off for them both. However, as Yoon Jae-in and Ahn Yujin walk towards the wide doors of the welcoming shop, the young man was dazed with the apparition of their final conversation; clearly curious as to what kind of destiny the future holds for a guy like him.

He has a feeling that fate would confirm his destiny very soon.

---

Next Chapter: Black Swan

#kpop series #kpop story #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #ive yujin #gidle soyeon #jang wonyoung

[simmonsized]

🥑🌻🪐🥐☁️🎨 🧩 for Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

1. 🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

Probably the members of my Broblematic server (@outofstrings (bird and fae collectively, u may know of the Post-Cal ask blog), @future-geometries (Jess u are the first person I thought of) and definitely @alexharrier , who I think would probably hide me from the law even if I didn't explain the crime. I am not including beloved @chaton-katreal because I think she is too gentle, i would not want to muck up her life with murder!)

Or you know, my actual partner @notanotherdoodleblog probably LOL

All fantastic people, worth of hiding crimes.

2. 🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

Honestly most of my friends are pretty busy adulting 8( so we don't get to talk as much as I'd like to. @eggwyrt because our timezones are almost earth opposites. I love u!!!! I miss you!!

3. 🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

- I've got two real life best friends that I get together with and have coffee every weekend together, and sometimes do other things, and this is significant to me because adulthood makes it hard to keep friends, let alone see them.

- I got into the marine ecology lab at my school that I have been pushing for entrance into, despite missing a pre-req. I get to be on a boat for eight hours next quarter! Woohoo!

- I got fanart for a fic I am very proud of but very rarely interact with anybody about, which has boosted my confidence and made me feel really good, and each comment I've gotten since they posted the art has made my heart sing extra loud!

4. 🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh

Tbh I can't think of anything off the top of my head. My partner and I met through RVB, however, so we reference old seasons to each other fairly regularly, and I like to think we have a pretty good time c:

5. ☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

(i do not even like Simmons that much but it's a solid username and now is part of my brand. also I am classically a blue team girly lol)

6. 🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

This is an impossible task. Insurmountable, even. There are several!! Many!!! How can I pick one?? So I will list a few:

A. Everything anyone has ever drawn for my fanfics at all ever.

B. SPECIFICALLY everything @alexharrier has drawn for me, ever. Especially specially specially these two gifs which actually make me fucking insane every time I see them.

Honestly, this had me making sounds so incoherent only dogs could hear them, years ago when I did not consider my fic would be special to anyone. I really really really treasure them.

Also both my birthday gifts, Bro at Disneyland, and Bro at Home Depot 💕

C. This artwork for RNG chapter 66, from @101-sve . It is also special to me, and it's been my wallpaper on my phone ever since c: the atmosphere, the warmth, the halo of their hair i just... Yeah!!!!

D. Recent, probably familiar still, this Holy Fucking Shit Beautiful Atmospheric work of art for metempsychosis!!!! by @askinsufferableprickmod . I really actually cannot stop looking at it. It's so gorgeous, and honestly even if it had nothing to do with me I would still be in love with it. The concept of the kids are Gods, as beings outside the mortal world they made for themselves, all that is visible here, and I really really love it!

* I know all of these are things people have drawn for me, for my content, but honestly that is why they are my favorites! It is touching to see someone put heart into something that is related to something you, yourself, also put heart into!!! I love it!!!! I love these talented artists!!!!!

ALSO: we all know Theater of Coolty, but it is so beloved to me, I can recite it in my sleep lol.

7. 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately

On top of the other reasons I said I don't like things, you do actually have to convince me 6 times outta 10 if you want me to read a Homestuck fic in the third person. There is just something to the flavor of 2nd person that hits different. There is a reason different perspectives exist, and I think they can all be utilized well, but something about that classic, well-patterned "you, and then you" just gets me, you know?

#this is a long one #lots of tagging people sorry lol #anyway i am having fun #writer ask meme

[imminent-danger-came]

Anon chilling on the precipice of madness again, and I’m so glad you liked that last ask! Truly, there is much joy to be found in discussing how much we enjoy (*cough* are dealt immense emotional damage on a daily basis by *cough*) the monkey show. Also, since I apparently can’t stop bugging you, for clarity’s sake I’m going to call myself Unhinged Anon if I submit any future asks lol. 

As always you make excellent points, and I am very normal about you bringing up the ‘MK smiling at his reflection’ thing because the motif of reflections in this show (see also: S2E5, S3E4, some others I’m probably missing, and especially S4E1) doesn’t make me even the tiniest bit insane. Nope! Not at all. But this time, it’s actually something you said in the tags that launched my marbles into the stratosphere for me to never find, because now I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want, like… a Sandy spinoff series or something. 

And I don’t mean a lore-heavy, epic adventure rich in heavy themes and conflicts like we have in the main series, just with Sandy at the center instead of MK. I want Sandy's series to be almost exclusively season one-style laid back episodes. But the good kind of laid back episodes, you know? Stuff like S1E6&7, that a lot of people dismiss, especially on a first watch, as nothing more than filler but actually serve as a subtle expansion/exploration of characters (“I also summoned monster trees with my stress, so. Should I see a doctor? We’ll worry about that later” still haunts me) and dynamics hidden under the guise of a silly little adventure with funny jokes, great animation, and fairly low stakes. 

I want to see what an appointment with Sandy’s therapist looks like, or even just the shenanigans he gets up to during those episodes where he’s mysteriously absent and only Tang seems to notice. 

I want to see Sandy teach Tang how to make tea, and maybe nerd out about those theories Sandy mentioned having about the gang's whole deal with the OG Companions.

I want to see Sandy’s endless teddy bear energy clash with Red-wants to seem intimidating but will also grab his new friends warm milk if they ask-Son. 

I want to see Wukong forced to have an extended conversation with Sandy, or really anyone from the team that isn’t MK or actively yelling at him, and getting to really see how they work off of each other. 

I want to see the secret ‘how do we help our clearly not okay friend?’ talks Mei and Sandy have behind MK’s back whenever he starts acting weird, and all the gossip that goes on during the yoga sessions they start doing together after Mei gets the Samadhi fire. 

I want to see Sandy talking with the little girl that LBD possessed, especially since something kind of similar happened to him during season 4, and accidentally becoming her new (and favorite) giant blue uncle. 

I want an episode of MK and Sandy hanging out. Just chilling on the boat, playing with Mo, going for a little walk around town until BOOM! Sandy brings MK to his unsuspecting therapist, who’s about to get the most interesting case of their career. And maybe, if we’re allowed a little angst, a discussion about how scary it is to be born with a lot of power that not only can, but will, hurt a lot of people if it isn't carefully controlled. About how they’ve tried, and failed, to avoid causing pain. About wanting to never cause pain, and how the futility of that sentiment almost outweighs the importance of trying anyways. 

And above all, I DEMAND a Pigsy-Sandy origin story! 

Anyways, this is basically just me edging ever closer to the brink of madness after you accidently inflicted No Thoughts, Only Sandy syndrome upon me with your last response. But, it's also an invitation to gush about Sandy some more, if you want, and also share anything you would want to see in a hypothetical Sandy show!

Unhinged Anon I got you, here's a motif post where I have every MK reflection in the whole show.

AND “I also summoned monster trees with my stress, so. Should I see a doctor? We’ll worry about that later” HAUNTS ME TOO. There's something about the way those shots are set up, cracking from blue to gold:

MK also becoming a "master of focus" in this ep, with focus becoming important later in episodes like 1x09 and 3x11/12 with Mei.

BUT ANON.

Imma use this ask as a spring board for one of my fav personal theories, which is this: OG Sandy, from the original jttw pilgrimage, is also our current day Sandy!

I'll probably throw this into an official theory post later, but for now I'll go into this theory underneath the cut:

First, let's start with 2x08 To Catch a Leaf, during which Sandy has several PTSD flashbacks:

So, the first one is some sort of battlefield, and the second one...

Is of Zhu Bajie?

Now, we know Pigsy has never worn an outfit like this based off of this comment in 4x05:

Pigsy: "Blue ain't really my color, but it beats looking like that monster, Zhu Ganglie."

-

The Pig Demon in that flashback from 2x08 HAS to be Zhu Bajie of the original jttw pilgrimage. But why would Sandy have a memory like that?

Next is the fact that while everyone else in 4x09 Roast of the Monkie Kids is compared to their past life, Sandy notably isn't.

Tang knows friendship, but unlike Tang Sanzang isn't studious.

Mei is bold and brave, but lacks Ao Lie's caution.

Pigsy like Zhu Bajie is stubborn, but he has the heart his predecessor originally lacked.

Yet this is all Subodhi has to say to Sandy:

Subdohi: "You have nothing more to learn my hilariously blue student! Another star for you!" Sandy: "Dooww thank you wise master!" Subodhi: "But! You're far too nice for your own good." Sandy: "Uh huh, you noticed!"

(4x09 Roast of the Monkie Kids)

-

It's exceedingly strange that in an episode where Subodhi breaks down everyone's character arcs, Sandy is told he's all good. He has nothing more to learn, and no more character development to go through.

Unless of course...Subodhi quite simply couldn't compare Sandy to his past life because there was no past life to compare him to.

Another detail in s4 that's always intrigued me is how Sandy is brought back to himself from Sha Wujing in 4x06.

Pigsy's heartfelt speech on the legacy of their past lives not defining their current one, or how they're not monsters, doesn't work. It's instead Mo offering Sandy wholehearted love that brings Sandy back:

Which, of course Sandy has a close bond with Mo, but Pigsy's speech wasn't anything to scoff at either:

Pigsy: "No. No! Just cause we look a certain way, cause our monster ancestors were, well, monsters, none of that matters! I won't let his legacy define mine, and neither should you! Your the strongest, the biggest, the bluest guy I know! But all you've ever used those muscles for is to help people in need—your friends. That don't sound like a monster to me." (4x06 Show Me the Monster)

As far as we know, that should have been the exact thing Sandy needed to be freed from his past life, and yet it wasn't.

That would be because, at least under the confines of this theory, the guy Pigsy is saying Sandy wasn't like was indeed who Sandy used to be. Yes, Sandy has far outgrown the person who fought to establish his own place in the world, learning that "hurting others isn't a measure of one's strength". But here's the thing, who you used to be matters. Unlike Pigsy's relationship with Zhu Bajie, Sandy's relationship with who he was in the past can't as easily be written off. It's still a part of him.

There are also certain other details. like the fact that Sandy knows his way to Flower Fruit Mountain in "A Hero is Born", or how he's so knowledgeable on ancient powerful remedies like the crimson jimson weed. Of course these details could be chalked up to plot convenience—which is by no means a flaw or complaint—but I've always wondered if there was anything more to it.

But, Sandy's more laid back reaction to most things has always intrigued me, and it would re-contextualize certain scenes like this one from 2x10 in a fun way:

Pigsy: "No! What could have been so important that you'd leave MK alone to face that- that thing! You're supposed to be his mentor-"

Sandy: "ENOUGH!" "I think we should give Mr. Monkey King, a chance to explain."

(2x10 This is the End!)

Of course with this theory comes a few questions, like why Sandy didn't meet the same fate as the other pilgrims, or why he wouldn't let Sun Wukong know he was alive, or why he would bother to pretend he wasn't the OG Sha Wujing at all. And honestly? I don't have an answer to these questions!

But what I do know is that Sandy's friends are greatly important to him-

Sandy: "Hurting others isn't a measure of one's strength—took me a really long time to realize that. As long as I'm doing something to help out a friend, I don't mind what it is! I just want to be there for 'em when they need me. Cause at the end of the day, helping my friends is more important than anything else in the world!" (2x08 To Catch a Leaf)

-and losing them would affect him greatly.

Whatever happened to the og jttw crew, that could very easily be the reason Sandy was "the most dangerous, deadly, rage filled warrior [Pigsy] ever [knew]". Based off of that 2x08 Zhu Bajie flashback, Sandy could very well have watched his friend die.

But, now that Sandy has his friends back in his life? Of course he's going to do whatever he can for them!

Which would include anything from making tea to breaking his vow to never fight again.

And please for the love of god give us a Pigsy - Sandy origin story. I'm begging. WHAT IS THEIR HISTORY MAN. WHY DID PIGSY KNOW HOW TO COMMIT A JAILBREAK.

#that slice of life sandy show sounds so comfy #I would love to learn about the sanctity of quiet moments and daily life with my favorite blue thing! #Also MK get's therapy pog #anyways *plays Sandy's ''anything for pigsy'' in my mind over and over again* #So if the stars aligned and BOTH og Sandy is current Sandy and eamk were true #Which is unlikely. BUT PRETENDING FOR A MOMENT IT COULD HAPPEN #The dream would be for Sandy to share what he learned with MK. #Like. How he got from ''I am a monster! That's what the world wants me to be—so that's what I'm gonna give 'em!'' to #''Hurting others isn't a measure of one's strength'' and just wanting to have some tea with his friends #Either way clearly Sandy has some expertise on the subject of being a chaotic destructive force. HE CAN HELP MK OKAY #HE HAS GUIDANCE AND WISDOM TO SHARE #SANDY MK TRAINING ARC WHEN #I need Sandy to meditate with MK at least once alright #Which may never happen and that's okay. But I can dream! #asks #lmk theory #lmk #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk sandy #Still chasing the high of 2x03 where Sandy and MK made tea together #unhinged anon

[keilahseverin]

Spell your URL: keilahseverin

Spell out your URL using song titles that can describe your muse, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL!

Tagged by @humblemooncat and @bananarose yessss 2x tags means 2x effort let's goooo

My URL = one of my WOL's name because I am so very creative haha.

This was HARD, but uhhh I made it hard on myself. I approached this a little differently from the description above and built a "soundtrack" based on Keilah's story. I had several criteria for picking songs here:

Can't pick two songs from the same band or source.

The lyrics of the song, if any, have to be relevant to Keilah's personality or life somehow.

The overall vibe of the song has to fit Keilah.

No FFXIV OST, that would be too easy (but other FF titles were fair game... even though none of them made the cut, lul).

I think the criteria worked, because I was able to fish around in my library and memory for a collection of songs that I think represents Keilah well in many different ways! (Plus, new story brainworms moved in how about that??)

If you decide to do this challenge, I encourage you to find a fun way to represent your muse that makes sense for you! Song titles, songs from OSTs only, whatever :)

---

Here is the soundtrack:

K - Kid A, Radiohead - I slip away, I slipped on a little white lie

E - E. Is Stable, Menomena - Coldness sets in like fingernails raked across the door

I - I Walked, Sufjan Stevens - I would not have run off, but I couldn't bear that it's me, it's my fault

L - La cathédrale engloutie (The Sunken Cathedral), Debussy - The slow, quiet buildup conjuring images of a drowned cathedral slowly emerging from the sea... only for the waves to roll back in, engulfing the cathedral, as they ever have. I can't help but picture Keilah's big discoveries about her own past taking place during this song. Okay and maybe I cheated a little using the French version of the name "But Keilah there is also an S in your name" Yes shhh quiet it's okay shhhhh.

A - Area Zero, multiple composers/arrangers (Pokémon Scarlet & Violet OST) [potential Pokémon SV late-game spoiler!]- The mysterious feel of this track-- like you're stumbling upon knowledge you shouldn't be witness to-- fits well with Keilah's personal journey.

H - Hand in my Pocket, Alanis Morissette - I'm sad, but I'm laughing. I'm brave, but I'm chicken shit. I'm sick, but I'm pretty, baby

S - Sacrifice, The Weeknd - Every time you try to fix me, I know you'll never find that missing piece

E - Emil (Sacrifice), Keiichi Okabe (Nier Replicant 1.22... OST) - "There are as many ways to view the world as there are people in it."

V - Valley of Calm Trees, Klaxons - While passing through the clouds of diamond dust as two mock suns arise beside our one, the sun-dogs guide the way towards the east and set behind the valley of calm trees

E - Exit This Earth's Atomosphere, Camellia - keilahbossfight.mp3

R - Recover, Chvrches - And if I recover, will you be my comfort? Or it can be over. Or we can just leave it here

I - Invincible, Muse - Don't give up the fight. You will be alright, 'cause there's no one like you in the universe

N - No One Knows, Queens of the Stone Age - I drift along the ocean, dead lifeboat in the sun, and come undone

---

Tagging 13 people here we go, 0 pressure to do this especially if it's not your thing, more of an FYI hi this might be cool if you want: @archaiclumina @miqomonkly @gobbie-boom @ravendas-xiv @ishgardmuffin @umbralaether @irisopranta @emetkoto @arinaxiv @emc2beans @protection-and-pleasure @whimsyxiv @wingedasarath and of course anyone else that stumbles upon this and wants to try!

Feel free to do this with your character's name instead, whatever floats your boat really heh heh.

#thank you for the tag! #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv viera #ffxiv wol #keilah severin #ffxiv oc #music #playlist #oc playlist #oc soundtrack #tag game

[kaijubonemoisturizer]

People I’d like to get to know better

Tagged by: @catboy-kakashi

How sweet of you to tag me!

Last song: Tring Quarry by Trash Boat. Absolute banger.

Favorite color: green. Especially a silvery sagey green. 💚

Currently watching: Mad Max Fury Road. And by currently I mean right now. Good movie. Fantastic aesthetics and character designs. Miss Furiosa I have feelings for you. Please.

Last movie/tv show: last movie. Well. See above. Last tv show? Naruto because SOME PEOPLE.

Spicy/savory/sweet: I have. SUCH. A sweet tooth I fear. Mint and chocolate <3 although I do go for savory. Thinking of some lovely beef stew I had recently. REALLY amazing stew… you wish you could have a stew that wonderful and delicious.

Relationship status: I have two lovely partners and I am so very lucky to have them :) I’m actually gonna go ice skating with one of them tonight!

Current obsession: NARUTO. In 2023. Because. Again. CERTAIN people are terrible and nasty.

Last thing you googled: buy shoebill online. For a bit with my friend.

Tagging: @gods-sugar-daddy @kes-geiszler @mangoob @newtgottlieb @lettuce-tv and anyone else who wants to!

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Insatiable - Part Ten

RATING: Explicit (Whole series is 18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x OFC

Word count: 4.3k

Chapter Tags: Allusions to childhood trauma including abuse, mention of stalking, some angst, smut

Author’s Note: You guys this chapter nearly killed me, but we made it! 🥲 This is not the end of the series but I will be pausing to work on other projects. This series simply would not exist without @keeper0fthestars​ and @acrossthesestars​ I am so happy and grateful to both of you. I love you and the rest of the “pack” so big.

Missed Part One? You can read it here.

Moodboard by @acrossthesestars​

“What do you mean they left?”

Will considers you carefully. There’s a steadiness to him, his mellow presence a reassuring counterpoint to the frantic pulse beating in your ears.

“Here. They wanted me to give this to you.” His gruff voice is surprisingly gentle as he hands you a neatly folded letter. He looks like he’s about to say more, but he shakes his head and moment passes. 

Will pats your shoulder once as he moves past you, an almost brotherly gesture that’s as unexpected as it is comforting. He steps carefully onto the nearby dock and sets about checking the knots where he’s moored the boat in place. You suspect the knots are perfectly fine already and that he's just giving you a moment. Over his shoulder, you can see a parked pickup, likely a rental, pointed towards a large sign that reads Aeropuerto: 20 Kilómetros.

With a shaky breath, you unfold the note.

It’s in Santi’s careful handwriting. A few scant lines crowd onto a small piece of yellow note paper, likely the only thing they’d found to write on board this borrowed boat. 

Dandelion,

Frankie and I went back and forth about this a dozen times. For what it’s worth, we’re sorry for not telling you about the bond sooner. We never wanted to scare you, or put pressure on you, but that hasn’t worked out so great, huh? 

We fucked up. I could tell you it was because of the secrecy that’s been ingrained in us since we were young, and that would be the truth. But it’s also true that we’re not used to sharing this part of ourselves with anyone else. 

Bonds like this - they’re rare. Even we don’t understand all of it, not why they happen, or to who, and we’ve never heard of it happening for three people at once, or for a non-shifter. One thing we do know: all parties need to accept a bond for it to lock into place and become permanent. If you decide you want out, it will fade over time. 

One month from today, we’ll be at Dulles catching a connecting flight between jobs. Flight 63D, Terminal B, 2:45pm. If you decide you want to give us a chance to explain, meet us there. If not, know that we won’t bother you again.

Miller’s a good man. He’ll see you safely to your flight, and answer any questions he can about us, shifters, whatever. We’d rather have you told you ourselves but it seemed better not to push, not like this. 

Know this: your choices are, and always have been, your own. We hope you’ll come find us, but if you really never want to see us again, we’ll respect that. The last thing we want is to make you feel unsafe. What happens next is up to you, leoncita, no one else. 

Cuidate.

They’ve both signed their names and there’s something oddly real about that. Mundane and tangible in a way these last weeks of meetings and shifters and near misses largely haven’t been. It’s foolish but you lift the letter to your nose, hoping to catch their familiar, mingled scents. It’s no use - all you can smell is cold brine and distant seaweed.

_____

“She’ll be here. I know it.”

Santi looks up from the contents of his carry on. He’s spent the last ten minutes packing and repacking it, making sure that every last piece of kit he needs is in place but he still can’t shake the sense that something’s missing. Frankie leans against a nearby pillar, eyes on the entrance to the bustling terminal. To anyone else, he’d look casual in his worn cap, his arms crossed and his shoulders slumped. 

Santi isn’t anyone else.

“Yeah. Of course she will.” He injects as much confidence as he can into the statement. To anyone else, his even tone and quick nod would be convincing. 

Frankie isn’t anyone else. 

He raises a questioning eyebrow at his partner. Santi sighs and sets his bag aside. He’s still trying to work out the right words to reassure them both when an announcement crackles over the loudspeaker. 

“Attention passengers: Flight 63D to Dubai is now boarding.” 

Frankie darts another glance at the entrance while he lifts up his hat to run a hand through his hair before jamming it decisively back in place. “She’ll be here.”

Santi only nods and begins re-packing his bag.  

_____

Your bag hits the ground with a dull thump. 

“I’m home.”

The words are a hollow echo in the still air. The apartment is just as you left it: thrifted couch and plastic plants, posters tacked to your wall but never framed. A layer of dust clings to everything, but even when you wipe it away the place remains oddly lifeless. There’s mail to sort through and canned food in the cabinets, and you can’t shake the knowledge that it will be exactly the same the next time you return from a trip. And the next time. And the next…

You try to keep busy. There are blog posts to write, contracts to consider, a potential book deal to negotiate. It had all seemed so perfect when you’d left, a future full of travel and work. Unrestrained. Unfettered. Free. 

Alone.

You flip through endless stacks of travel brochures without truly seeing them. Usually, you arrive back at your place already burning to set out again, a million places calling your name from the maps scattered over the walls. Normally, you fall asleep dreaming of far off cities, sprawling deserts, soaring mountains. 

Now you barely sleep and when you do, you dream of hummingbirds and wolves.

One month. 

No calls, no visits, nothing. A chance to clear your head.

So why is it still so full of them?

Maybe it’s because you see them every time you reach for your phone. You haven’t changed your lock screen, despite the flicker of pain you feel each time you lift the device, seeing three smiling faces. You find yourself looking for them in crowds, catching false glimpses of Frankie’s grin, Santi’s smirk.

Your mind wanders, probing their absence like a toothache and throwing out countless questions. How does Santi take his coffee? What album did Frankie play on repeat in high school? What was it like, growing up as shifters? How did they meet and know they were… in love? Your mind shys away from the word “mates.”

Are they thinking about you?

You can’t stop thinking of the way Frankie’s entire face had crinkled in delight when Santi told a story, and how Santi’s eyes had burned at the sight of you down on your knees for Frankie - the possessive, longing way he’d looked at both of you. The way they’d leapt to your side when you needed help, and the way Frankie’s head felt cradled in your lap when he’d been wounded doing so again. 

Are they safe now?

It’s not only dreams of wolves and Cartago streets that rob you of sleep. You hunger for their touch, waking up countless times with molten need and an aching, empty core, your hand between your legs failing to chase their phantom touches. 

You try to convince yourself it’s nothing but a lingering aftereffect of the bond. Some strange magic. An alteration of your mind. 

As the weeks go by, you have to admit that isn’t true. 

You want that sense of rightness, of belonging. Want to make Santi smile and have Frankie lay his head in your lap again. Want to follow this connection and see where it leads, to see the world through their eyes. Want them by your side and in your bed.

That night… You’d been scared, yes, but not of them. Not really. Shocked, maybe, hurt, perhaps, but never afraid of them. It had been old ghosts haunting you: memories of screaming fights and cruel hands, chaos stalking you from home to home, being locked away and kept there in the dark. But Frankie and Santi aren’t monsters at your door . They’re the ones padding beside you as you keep climbing out of that darkness.

Or, they would have been. If you hadn’t been so afraid to let them in.

One month.

It had sounded so reasonable, especially after you’d woken on that boat with shame weighing heavy on your shoulders. In the bright morning light, it had been clear that the only threat had been the fractured splinters of your past, coming back to slash at your present. You’d shoved them aside for so long but something has dragged them back to the surface, their jagged edges threatening to sever you from these new bonds.

Will you let them?

_____

“This is the final boarding call for Flight 63D. Any remaining passengers must board at this time.”

Frankie stares down the long, empty corridor, his eyes vacant . “She’s not here.” 

Santi knows that look - that flat, remote stillness, the apathy that steals over his partner when he’s retreating from the world. He squeezes his mate’s shoulder, his own expression grim.

“She made her choice. We just have to live with it.”

He’s almost relieved when Frankie glares at him. He wants so badly to be wrong, to think that any second now their girl will turn the corner.

But they’ve waited as long as they can. Frankie knows it too. He deflates without so much as challenging his partner, the fight leaving him in a dejected huff of air.

Santi sighs, resigned. He rises to his feet slowly, reluctantly, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. “Come on, Fish.” 

Frankie allows himself to be led toward the gate, throwing one last, longing glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the jetway. Their footsteps echo dully in the utility-carpeted metal corridor, the last passengers to board before the flight attendants pull the heavy door shut. The locking mechanism slides home with a finite clang.

_____

The highway is a mess. Traffic was already slow when the sky turned bruised and angry, sending cold sheets of rain cascading over your windshield until your car seemed like it was underwater.

“Come on, come on.” You grip the steering wheel and glare at the car ahead of you as if sheer force of will can advance its pace above a crawl. You can’t shake the feeling that your chance to set things right is slipping through your fingers. What if you don’t make it in time for their arrival and they don’t stick around? You have no way of contacting them - no phone number, no address, not even goddamn social media accounts. 

They’ll assume you’ve made up your mind. That you want nothing to do with them. Worse, they’ll accept it. Their letter made that clear. They’ll respect what they’ll think was your choice and you’ll never see them again.

Your chest aches with the thought. For the thousandth time since that awful night on the boat, you berate yourself for letting panic take control. Frankie and Santi may have burst into your life unexpectedly, upending everything you thought you knew and wanted, throwing your carefully plotted life off course but then, isn’t that its own kind of adventure? 

Beyond all that though, you just… want them. They had fought for you, wanted you, trusted you. Is a little traffic really going to stop you from doing the same for them?

Fuck that.

With a wrench of the steering wheel, you surge up the breakdown lane, ignoring the indignant bonks chasing you towards your exit. They’ll just have to wait. You have somewhere to be.

_____

By the time you dash from the parking lot and into the airport, you are drenched to the bone, skin clammy and teeth nearly chattering as the icy air conditioning seeps through the clothing clinging wetly to your body. 

You barely notice.

You’d planned ahead, using some of your thousands of air miles to buy the cheapest ticket available. Thank god for mobile boarding passes. You’d checked in while sprinting through the parking lot, one eye on your phone and the other on the familiar menus. Even security goes more smoothly than you’d dared to hope by some miracle of timing, but just as you’re sliding your shoes back on a detached, polished voice chimes overhead. 

“This is the final boarding call for Flight 63D. Any remaining passengers must board at this time.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. Boarding call? You pull their letter out with trembling fingers but it confirms what you already know. That’s their flight. And it’s minutes from leaving.

You take off running again, ignoring the people turning to stare and the stitch forming in your side. You’re so close to their gate. If you can just get there in time you can explain, apologize, try again, make it right…

Please, please still be here.

You skid to a halt at their gate just as attendants are closing the jetway. The chairs around them are empty, waiting for the next round of passengers to fill them.

You’re too late.

You drop into one of those empty chairs, your face in your hands. That’s it. Your one chance to make things right - gone. Santi and Frankie will spend the rest of their lives thinking you’re afraid of them, that you couldn’t accept them, that you’re better off without them. Only you will know how painfully untrue that is and it’s all your fault.

You’re so caught up in a spiral of shame and recrimination that you barely register the flurry of activity at the gate.

“- not wishful thinking. I’m telling you she’s -“

You whip your head up to see Frankie pushing his way past flustered attendants, Santi close on his heels. He’s looking around frantically - and then locks eyes with you.

An astonished, watery laugh bubbles up in your throat. “My boys.”

It sends Frankie to his knees.

And then you’re moving. The world goes soft around the edges, the moments blurring as Frankie reaches for you, and you for him. You stumble, he catches you, and then you’re in each other’s arms, laughing and crying at once. His hands are warm and dry against your wet cheeks, his lips soft and wanting against your own.

“You’re here.” 

The surprise in his voice cuts you like a knife. “You really thought I wouldn’t?”

“You left it pretty late.”

You look up and see Santi standing above you, his expression unreadable.

Shame floods you once more. “I should never have said all those things,” you say. “It wasn’t fair and I’m so, so-“

Santi takes your face gently in his hands. “You needed to know you were safe. Don’t ever apologize for that, you hear me?” You lean into his steady touch and nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He takes a breath, that solemn mask beginning to crack. “Does this mean you want to give this a shot?”

“Yes.” Your voice is small but sure. “This whole month, all I could think of was you. Both of you.” 

For a moment, you worry it won’t be enough. That you broke some essential trust by bailing so quickly. 

Santi hauls the two of you to your feet and wraps you and Frankie in his arms.There’s so much more to say, so much you still want to know, but for now, this is all that matters. The three of you here, together.

Your borrowed time runs out when one attendant gathers the courage to cough loudly and say “The plane isn’t going to wait. Are you getting back on board or not?”

You wipe at your eyes and aim for a light tone. “You guys need to go, I get it.” 

They initially say they still need to go

Dandelion nods sadly. Steps into their arms for one last hug before they need to let go.

_____

They don’t let go.

Santi makes a quick call to their… boss? Commanding officer? You aren’t clear on the specifics but hear him spinning a story about crossed wires and missed flights. It sounds like the person on other end of the line is less than thrilled.

“Everything ok?”

“Oh, yeah, we’ll fly out tomorrow instead.” He grins you and Frankie. “Let’s get a room.”

_____

You don’t even make it to the bed.

The instant the door clicks behind you, the three of you reach for each other. Hands skimming jaws, fingers tightening around curls, hips touching and arms tangling. Frankie’s mouth moves against yours while Santi frees you of clothes that suddenly seem impossibly constricting. You tilt your neck to kiss him as Frankie’s hands wander, touching and holding and having. The three of you share breaths of giddy laughter, all too aware of how closely you had come to losing each other. 

Once shirts are unbuttoned and belts flung, pants shucked and boots kicked aside, the three of you stand skin to skin, breathing each other in as if for the first time. You trace the lines of their bodies, your hands stilling when you reach old scars. You kiss them slowly, soothing old hurts you’ve come too late to heal even as you map their bodies, relearning them slowly, thoroughly. The times before had been fleeting, rushed things but this… this is the beginning of something new.

Santi’s lips brush over a shiny crescent splitting your brow - the last trace of the incident that had brought you all together. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

This? Us?

Frankie pauses his own loving exploration of your neck, his hands resting on your hips, his lips pressed to your shoulder.

“I’m sure,” you tell them. “I’m still not completely sure what this is, but I want to find out. With you. If that’s still what you want?”

You barely get the words out before Santi is grinning. A shudder runs through Frankie and then he’s moving again, pulling you towards him for another deep, searching kiss. He must find what he’s looking for because when he finally pulls back, his dark eyes are shining.

“Yes, deseito. We want this. We want you.”

There’s no need for words after that. Your bodies do the talking for you, a wordless exchange of need and desire, touch and taste. Just when your body is on fire for more, your breath coming in ragged pants, when you’re about to plead with them to fill you, a look of worry flashes over Santi’s face.

“What is it?” 

“I knew I forgot something,” he mutters. “Fucking condoms. I’ll see if they have something downstairs.”

He’s reaching for his jeans when you put a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

He turns to you, concern creased between his brows. “Do you not want - “

“No! I mean, yes, I want to have sex with you.” Your ears burn with the frank admission, but you persevere. “I just meant, I’m on the pill and got tested recently, so…”

Frankie’s tongue darts between his lips. “Are you sure?”

Guilt twinges in your belly at how careful they’re being. Respect is one thing, and they’ve always waited on not just your agreement but your enthusiasm, but you can’t shake the feeling that their caution goes beyond that this time. 

You have a lot of trust to rebuild.

“I’m sure,” you say again. Santi’s cock rests heavily against your thigh and it only takes a quick movement to bring him between your legs, his thick, flushed head gliding against your folds. You reach for Frankie, smiling when he grunts and closes his eyes in answer to your eager touch. You draw him closer, guiding him between your thighs, too. “I want to feel you - both of you.” 

Frankie moans. He cups your jaw as he rubs his cock against you, shuddering when it grazes Santi’s. “Cariño…”

The endearment rumbles against your back. You shift just enough to take Frankie’s thumb into your mouth. Your lips close over him and you suck him deeper, humming as he groans. Santi’s hand dips lower until he’s pressing against your sex.

“Christ, baby,” Santi rasps. “Hear how wet you are?”

And god, it’s true. You hear it when he fingers you, taste it when he puts his fingers to your lips for you to lick obediently clean.

“Mmhm.”

“Don’t swallow,” Frankie growls. He tips your face back and licks into your mouth, pulling the taste of your own slick from your tongue. While you whine and lean back against him, Santi drops to his knees and latches his mouth onto your soaked pussy. His tongue sweeps eagerly through your folds and glides taunting circles around your clit. Frankie keeps one steadying arm around your waist but his hand roves over your breasts, gathering and kneading, squeezing and pinching until you buck and moan. 

“More,” you beg. “Fuck, I’ve missed you both, please.” You’re already babbling, more need than sense passing your lips, but they understand you. 

Frankie’s teeth sink gently into your earlobe. “Being so good for us, deseito. Hold still, sweet thing, we’ve got you.” He murmurs praise and sweet filth in your ear as his partner - your mate - works you open with thick, clever fingers. The stretch is delicious, but it’s not enough.

“Need more,” you gasp, earning a deep rumble of amusement against your back. 

“Better give it to her, Pope. Our girl sounds pretty needy.”

He almost stumbles over the affectionate title, as though afraid you’ll balk at it.

“Good thing I’ve got my boys to take care of me then,” you answer slyly. 

“Fuck,” Santi snarls. He rises to his feet and captures your mouth in a searing, possessive kiss. “Do you have any idea what that does to us, leoncita?”

“Maybe you should show me.” You’re back on familiar ground now and oh, it feels like home.

_____

They take turns sliding in and out of you. After a few thrusts from Santi, Frankie takes over, the two of them fucking you in fierce, alternating tandem. Years of fighting and loving have made them a deadly effective unit and they take you apart with tender efficiency and ruthless affection. You’re too blissed out to tell when one ends and the other begins, much less how many times they’ve made you come. All you know is that they’re here, your mates, and that they are making your body keen for them. 

It’s only when one of them - Frankie, you realize - comes shuddering in your arms, that you catch a breath. With one hand tangled in his hair and the other clutching Santi behind you, you gasp out “Bed. Now.”

The three of you tumble into it in a giggling, joyous heap. Sweat sheens your bodies and plasters hair to your head, your limbs trembling from exertion. You press lazy kisses to Santi’s jaw and card your fingers through Frankie’s hair while they coil around you. It’s not long before you’re taking Frankie into your mouth while Santi fucks you slowly from behind. The moment shifts and you’re riding Frankie’s cock while he licks the taste of you from Santi. You slide from between them in a blur of need. It’s sweat and pressure, tongues and teeth, desperate hands and eager moans. 

Every time brings you closer together until you can feel the bond glowing hot and molten between you, a living, golden flame warming you from the inside out. You can hear them, feel them, echoes of pleasure reverberating through you and reflecting back to them. 

Oh fuck, just like that baby please

Missed you

Need you

Taking us so well, sweet thing

Mine

Ours

My mate, my mate, my mate

_____

“This job you’re going on. Is it… safe?” 

You zip Santi’s dog tag along its chain, knowing it’s a foolish question even as you ask it. If it were safe, it wouldn’t require the presence of highly trained soldiers with uniquely deadly abilities. 

Frankie nuzzles your shoulder. “Worried about us, baby?” Tired as he is, you catch the pleased note in his voice and turn to kiss him. 

“I just... I don’t want to lose you.” 

When they don’t reply, you wince at how your words hang heavy in the air. “I know that’s rich coming from me but -”

“Hey.” Santi cuts you off. “We’ve got this.” Frankie nods in agreement, the movement brushing his curls against the nape of your neck and making you shiver. 

You reach for the chains around Santi’s neck, then Frankie’s. They wait curiously while you fiddle with their dog tags, swiping one from each of them and sliding them onto a long silver chain around your own neck. They settle between your breasts, body-warm and comfortingly heavy against your skin while the two of them look on, alert and hungry. 

“There. Now you’ll have to come back.” Your intended playfulness falls a little flat, uncertainty creeping into your voice despite you.

Santi cups the back of your head. “You’re ours. And we’re yours. Nothing is going to stop us coming home to you.” 

Ours. Home. Your eyes widen at the words that had sent you running. 

Because I’m your mate? You send the words down the bond, unsure if you’re doing it right but wanting to meet them on their level. 

Frankie’s arms tighten around your waist as Santi tips your chin up, meeting your eyes in the dim light. 

Yeah, baby. Our mate. And you’re ours.

Even down the bond, you hear the possessive growl in his words. You wait for it to spike your pulse, to put you on edge like it had in the past. 

Instead, you settle deeper into their arms, draped in affection and belonging that you can only hope you radiate back to them. You fall asleep tangled up in each other, making plans for when they return, safe in the knowledge that you’ve found your way back together and that this is only the beginning.

Moodboard by @acrossthesestars

#Santiago Garcia x reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Fic #My fic #Insatiable

[thaddeusthawne]

Thank You

Snowells Week 2023: Day 7: Year 7 (Snowells Appreciation Day)

So this is going to be a little different from the other days I will post for this week. I still have more to post but I’ve been a bit delayed due to personal reasons but they will be put out soon! That being said, I wanted to say thank you to everyone in this fandom.

In different ways you guys have inspired me to start creating things that most fandoms haven’t. Maybe it’s because most fandoms are so big and intimidating to join but for me, the snowells fandom has always been this safe place to interact with. Whether it’s everyone’s collective excitement over snowells related scenes or funny joke posts this fandom felt easy to enjoy and participate in.

Funny enough I didn’t start shipping snowells until I ran into my first fanfic for this ship. I knew about it because I had followed some snowells peeps on my old blog (deleted it and recreated a new main & this side blog) but I never really understood the fascination for it. However one night I remember just scrolling on tumblr and accidentally clicking on the wrong ao3 link. For the life of me I can’t remember what fic it was but that’s only because I ended up reading pretty much everything that I could find. This was around the time that the beginning of season 2 was airing if that helps give an idea of what I walking into in terms of the fandom content. I stayed up that night just reading, clicking on fics randomly. I finally understood. And then a short time later Harry saved Caitlin from Grodd and then in the next episode she saved him from a bullet.

I was hooked and excited at the possibility on them getting together and started to silently enjoy them. I looked forward to every possible scene and over the years I kept thinking “Maybe it might finally happen!”. It never did of course but it did give me a lot of ideas.

Then in 2019 I finally found the courage to make my own stuff. It was nerve-racking but I had seen other people’s works and ideas met with so much positivity that I felt brave enough to try. Then I started to post some things and I was like “They’re reblogging it? And liking it? And leaving comments in the tags? 😳🥹🥰”. It meant a lot to me back then and it still means so much to me now. While I still have moments of self doubt, I look back on where I started and how far I’ve come. I honestly don’t think I would have been able to do that in any other fandom.

This community allowed me a space to grow as a writer/creator. I still have room to grow, but being able to participate and get even a few comments really helped build up my confidence and motivated me to learn to improve my skills. I went from writing maybe a few paragraphs to starting to flesh things out way more and planning out more extensive stories. Even though the show is over, I still plan to keep writing for this ship. I’m going to miss this show and these characters but I am hopeful that this fandom will still stay a source of comfort for me and anyone else who might feel the same way.

And while this ship may not have sailed, it was still fun to party on the boat.

#snowellsweek2023 #day 7 #thank you all so much! #and maybe one day we'll see these two in some other form of media #*looks at dc headquarters*

[rhube]

I want to write something about how valuable fanfic is.

Of late, I have begun to be concerned about how it has supplanted the role of original fiction in my life. Not because I think fanfiction is in some sense less worthy, but because, as a writer, I see the avenues for getting paid for fiction narrowing considerably as the amount of free fiction vastly increases. Fiction that you can depend on satisfying your itch, because someone else's labour in creating a story and characters has given you, the reader, something you know you will like in each fanfiction piece.

This makes the search for fiction that I will enjoy considerably easier, but it doesn't pay anyone's bills. Not the original creator, and not the fanfic writer either.

It's a problem that I see reaching a crisis point in the unfortunately capitalistic marketplace of ideas. And not one I know how to solve.

I have written what I believe are many great stories - and plenty of shit ones, but listen, I have been at this for 35 years and am paid well-above average for someone who makes money off writing. I don't believe I have many good qualities, but there is substantial evidence that I have at least some skill at writing. I have written good stories. Some of which I am quite proud of. I fear the dream I had as a little girl of having a traditionally published novel is something I missed the boat on.

I worry my dad won't ever see the dedication I have planned to make to him for at least 20 years.

But although I really fear for traditional publishing, and authors, and books, I must say: fanfiction is wonderful.

I am, exhaustingly, boringly, sick. I keep losing friends because I can't talk about anything else or do anything fun and sometimes I haven't the brain space or emotional capacity to be anything but very difficult to know.

Any normality I manage to claw out of life depends on forcing myself to exercise my brain and my body as little as possible, in a dimly lit room, for hours or days on end.

I have never been one who was comfortable being unproductive. This constant need for rest is torture. I cannot distract myself with computer games because even the gentlest ones are full of flashing lights and bright colours.

I am an avid consumer of stories - my whole life at work and play is centred around that - and I often can't play games or watch TV. Films have to be watched in small chunks over days. It ruins a lot of them.

Fanfiction is a life saver. Dark mode on AO3 is a life saver too. AO3 never has flashing lights or rapid editing cuts that stimulate my brain into inflammation.

I can read fanfiction on my phone, with blue light filtering and the brightness turned way down, in dark mode, and - crucially - unlike traditional books, I don't have to spend precious resources of effort adapting to a new world or new characters. I can find characters and relationships and tropes that I can reliably find good fiction on for YEARS.

It isn't always easy. I have been through the entire archive for certain ships and read all the stories that aren't tagged with my specific no-nos. And some of the stories that are tagged with no-nos, because when I get desperate, I push my own boundaries. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn't.

But I almost always still find new fics. Fics that I can get lost in for HOURS. And even if I would like to be able to take a break and do something else, I can't, but that's OK, because the fanfic is still there for me. I have something to do. Something with which to occupy my starved mind without taxing it too much and making me worse.

I cannot place a value on the rest fanfiction enables me to get that I wouldn't otherwise.

I am so very bad at tolerating boredom. It is galling in the extreme that boredom, or the very gentlest of activities, are currently the only things that help with my MECFS.

So, I have spent most of yesterday evening and night, and most of today, reading a wonderful fic called you are enough. Which I found because a different fanfic author wrote another wonderful fic that I am caught up on, and their only other fic in the fandom was inspired by you are enough, so obviously I had to read you are enough first.

And so I can daisy-chain fanfic authors to find vast quantities of content that are the only thing that helps me get through my symptoms and hope for recovery. I can't do that with traditional books.

And the works of fanfic authors make me cry and laugh and let me escape the prison of my body and the empty void it has left in my once active life.

And later today I will see friends because I rested all yesterday evening and night and all this morning, reading tens of thousands of words of fanfic that a stranger put their heart and skill into and set on the Internet for free.

I still worry about the state of fiction and our ability to get paid and recognised for our art in an ever more exploitative world. But fanfic is wonderful.

Fanfic saves me.

Thanks, fanfic writers.

Thanks, AO3.

#fanfic #me #fiction #chronic illness #mecfs

[nuclearanomaly]

12 – Miss the Boat

Technically a mini follow-up to the Valentione’s Day fic I wrote recently (x)

wc. 530 | Bookshop AU | Chat Fic

Snowy countryside sped past outside the car window. Hilda was content to watch it, lost in thought as she absently tapped along to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Her phone pinged suddenly in the depth of her jacket pocket, cutting through the music. She fished it out, raising an eyebrow as the notification was tagged to the band group chat, and then smirking as she read the message.

> Varlineau I’m moving this conversation here because I swear I’m going to lose my mind and it’s only 11am

Eager to get involved before Estinien has a chance to try and defend himself Hilda tapped out a hasty response.

Oh, what’s he done now? < 

> He took Ninira out for Valentione’s Day and they’re somehow still not dating

> Because it wasn’t a date. We just went to grab some food. 

Seriously Estinien? On Valentione’s Day and everything? <

> People are allowed to hang out on stupid holidays and not celebrate them.

> Varlineau I swear if you don’t ask her out properly I’m going to find someone else to hook her up with. 

Oh, I like this idea! I mean if Estinien isn’t going to do shit the least we could do is find someone who will! <

> Exactly, we’ve done our best! > At this point he’s a lost cause.

> Thanks…

> ….

> Hey Fray, welcome to the intervention

Morning Fray! < Know anyone looking for a very cute girlfriend? < Despite popular belief Nini is very much on the market. <

> hm, no. but i could ask

> ...Really? You too?

> Don’t whine Varlineau, you’re the one that refuses to do anything about all this  > Grow a spine, then we’ll talk

It’s impressive you can even hold up your guitar tbh <

> 😑

> what about your other friend? the one with the blue hair?

Haurchefant? <

> he seems like he’d be dtf with anyone

Hilda, who was in the middle of taking a sip from her coffee, snorted, choked and spat most of the contents back into the cup earning a concerned look from Lucia who sat behind the steering wheel.

“You alright?”

��Fine. Just Fray fucking casually commenting in the band chat that Haurchefant has “down to fuck” energy catching me off guard is all.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong… but do I want to know why this is your band’s morning conversation?”

“We’re discussing new dating options for Ninira. Any suggestions?”

Lucia sighed, “Is Estinien in trouble again?” 

“Just a bit.”  Her phone pinged again.

> While you are not wrong I’m not sure if Ninira is looking for that kind of energy > Varlineau, thoughts?

> I am not talking about this with any of you

> Your loss > But seriously if you don’t do something you’re going to miss your opportunity and then you’ll be sorry 

Aw Ysayle, getting serious already? I wanted to have fun for a bit longer! <

> And if you don’t do something I’m kicking you from the band

Ohh shit!! <

> wtf no you’re not

> Know any bassists, Fray?

> maybe > if i tell rielle she can join the band if she learns bass?

> Perfect! 

> You’re not replacing me with a 12 year old

She’ll have more spine than you do < 

> truth

> I hate all of you.

#ffxivwrite2022 #Bookshop AU #Hilda Ware #Ysayle Dangoulain #Estinien Varlineau #Fray Myste #with a brief appearance by #Lucia Junius #and mentioned but not featured #Ninira Nira #tfw the band grows increasingly tired of your shit #and will take it out on you in a group format #yeets #I guess I can say I've accomplished 2 entries #also chat fic + tumblr TERRIBLE formatting is hell im sorry #writing: mine

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Characters Out of Context Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @writernopal! :D

Rules: Include one character quote of your choosing ⁠from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like). Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it. Have fun! No pressure!

These are from Silver Glass (under the cut because this got longer than expected):

Prologue:

"Am I to pack my bags?" Eames asked.

Chapter 1:

"I take it they didn't marry for love," he observed.

Chapter 2:

By now Yo-han was just about sick of this business. As soon as they were safely away he snapped, "You had better be leading me to the front door this time."

Chapter 3:

Yo-han poured himself another cup of tea. "I suspect it means Mr. Lennox wants me to judge for myself if his wife is trying to murder him."

Chapter 4:

David tried to change the subject. "Gibson complained rabbits are eating his cabbages again. He wants me and McCullagh to help him shoot them. Can I borrow your gun tomorrow?"

Chapter 5:

"But what does it mean?" Eames asked. "Half grim? Baron nine thirds? That's not a proper fraction!"

Chapter 6:

The dining room windows faced over the lough. Mr. Seo looked out at the other bank as if he expected to find the answer there. "Miss Patton, do you have a boat?"

Chapter 7:

When they reached the path that ran past Phil's house, she couldn't stand it any more. "I won't repeat what Miss Bennett said. Not even to Vi. Especially not to Vi."

Chapter 8:

"Do you think this is a time for play-acting and putting on such a… a ridiculous pantomime?" was what he said next.

Chapter 9:

Eames drew his breath in sharply. "You know almost everything," he said, apparently to himself. He still hadn't let go of Lennox. He rubbed his thumb almost absently over the back of Lennox's hand. "How did you find that out?"

Flashback 1:

"Go to the American embassy at Alexandretta," Sahak says. "A British warship is coming to save us. But dress him," he jerks his head in Davit's direction, "as a girl. They're killing all the men and boys."

Flashback 2:

"Really?" Alec looks startled. "I assumed you were Greek."

Flashback 3:

"I don't drink." Dzovik looks annoyed, maybe at having something in common with Alec.

Chapter 10:

Alec's breath hitched. Davit felt his heartbeat speed up. "Davit, do you understand? I'm sorry you killed her because… I don't know how to say it. I'm sorry for the effect it's had on you. If I could change the past I would stop you killing her to save you, not her."

Epilogue:

Leopold Colman hung his hat beside the door and took off his coat as he answered. "Better than the last one. Miss O'Hara managed to get one out of twenty lines right, and that idiot Jefferson has finally figured out which side of the stage to enter from. With any luck we'll be able to get through the first act without being booed off."

Open tag for anyone who wants to do this! ;D

#tag game #writing #my writing #my WIPs #WIP: glass

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 17 (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: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 10k

A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL 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 long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.

“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.

You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.

“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.

This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.

“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.

That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.

Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.

“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.

You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.

“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.

The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.

“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.

“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.

“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.

Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.

“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.

Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”

Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.

Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

*

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.  

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

*

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

*

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.  

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.  

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

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

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

#Pink Scarf #Pink Scarf Part 17 #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis smut #elvis fic #elvis presley smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley imagine #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis smut #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction #austin butler

[duplicitywrites]

tagged by: @joeys-piano, thank you!

rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

i will attempt to list them all. some have titles and some don't, so i'll try to make clear what's what. i am probably missing some in this list, but oh well 😭

not tagging anyone because that would be hell, but if you want to suffer like me then go ahead 💕

Serials

Diversions: A Discord Server

Welcome to the Cultys

Harry James [Redacted]

Long Fics

Fear is Only the Beginning

On Your Best Behaviour

Amor Vincit Omnia

Fluff Fics

A Walk to Remember [Series: Adventures of Harry + Mr Tom]

You're Adopted! [Series: Tom and Harry’s Child Protective Services]

No Encouragement Necessary

Child of Death [Gen AU]

Then and Now and Forever

Mid-Length Fics

With a Thousand Dreams (I'm Holding Heavy)

A Day Like Any Other

What Goes Unsaid [Tomarry Big Bang 2020]

Damaged [Heathers AU]

Equivalent Exchange [Coraline AU]

Evermore

Empty Hearts Make the Most Noise

As It Begins [Bridgerton AU]

By the Devil's Law [Liver Fic]

Terms and Conditions May Apply

After Hours

PWPlicity

the eternal flame

takes one to know one (so take it from me) [Tom/Al + Tomarry]

perfect boys with their perfect lives [Tomdric]

effervescent [Twilight AU]

out of the mouth of babes [Harrycest]

Misc

Harry Potter and the Seven Soup Bowls [Series: Voldemort’s Soup Delivery Service]

Until The Very End [Slow Burn/Soulmate Subversion]

Unposted

"dudlemort" [Dudley Dursley x Voldemort (not really romantic but that's the intention)]

"a dark lord a day" [Crack Fic]

"mary" [Fem!Tom Same Age AU]

"somno scene w cindle" [collab w Cindle]

"forget me not" [Gen Memory Loss AU]

"tempered in darkness" [Vee Wins AU, collab w Apples]

"infant death" [Tom Riddle De-Aging AU]

"tomwald" [Tom Riddle x Gellert Grindelwald]

"tomcest tomcest tomcest" [Diary Tom x2]

"rich bitch" [Sugar Baby Tom AU, adopted from Divida]

"sleeping beauty/somno AU" [Modern AU, based off a movie trailer i watched]

"the purple phenomenon" [Crack Fic, livewritten on discord]

Scraps

"bougie boat harry" [Modern AU, tomarry as kids]

"ageless" [Soulmates/Serial Killer AU]

"simplicity" [sequel to difficulties]

"superhero AU"

"praise kink AU"

"holidate" [Same Age AU, insp. by the film of the same name]

"tim toddle"

"the near and the dear ones"

"quidditch"

#tag game

[emmalovesdilemmas]

10 characters, 10 fandoms, 10 tags

thanks for tagging me @wolfpants​, i loved reading yours! i couldn’t tell if this was for the character you love the most or the character you related to most so i kind of just went with the character who took up most of my brainspace for each of these.

1. black sails - flint

“You must know this. You're too smart not to know this. They paint the world full of shadows and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons, their judgments. Because in the darkness, there be dragons. But it isn't true. We can prove that it isn't true. In the dark, there is discovery, there is possibility, there is freedom.”

2. the terror - francis crozier

“Friend, mother, lover, all the things they say a ship is to a captain, and they miss the only thing that matters: Confessor. This ship knows everything about me, Thomas.”

3. hannibal - will graham

“At night I leave the lights on in my little house and walks across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance the house is like a boat on the sea. It's really the only time I feel safe.”

4. succession - shiv roy

“You’re in a shitstorm of conflicting interests here. You can’t trust anyone. You just have to be smart. So, listen to everyone and make an assessment. Because frankly, I want what’s best for me. But the other people? The folks who want you to get up there tomorrow, and get pulled apart? They want what’s best for them. You need to think about what’s best for you.”

5. our flag means death - jim

“I’m gonna keep this very simple. You all know me as Jim, si? So just...keep calling me Jim. Huh, nothing’s changed.”

6. infinity train - lake/mirror tulip

“I’m not Tulip! I’m not foil, I’m not reflection, I’m not a sliver, I’m not a ‘Null,’ I’m not any of the hundreds of names that everyone wants to give me! I’m my own person who is getting off this train!”

7. avatar the last airbender/the legend of korra - katara

“I know sometimes it hurts more to hope and it hurts more to care, but you have to promise me that you won't stop caring.”

8.  everything, everywhere, all at once - waymond wang

“You think I'm weak don't you? All of those years ago when we first fell in love, your father would say I was too sweet for my own good. Maybe he was right. You tell me it's a cruel world, and we're all running around in circles. I know that. I've been on this earth just as many days as you. When I choose to see the good side of things, I'm not being naive. It is strategic and necessary. It's how I've learned to survive through everything. I know you see yourself as a fighter. Well, I see myself as one too. This is how I fight.”

9. schitt’s creek - david

“There are certain lies I tell myself, and if you’re any kind of friend you will let me cling to those lies.”

10. the locked tomb series - harrowhark nonagesimus

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

no pressure tagging @softlystarstruck, @corvuscrowned, @academicdisasterfic, @saintgarbanzo, @babooshkart, @epitomereally, @moonstruckwytch, @nv-md, @oknowkiss, @bluebutter-art (and anyone else who wants to) if you haven’t done this yet and want to!

#tag game

[scarfacemarston]

Hey there. So I've been following your blog for a while and I don't know who to ask. I've been in the fandom for about seven months and no matter what I do, I can't seem to break into the fandom. I haven't been able to interact with many people and my writing seems to get nowhere. Have I done something wrong? Am I just not a good writing? What should I do?

That is a tough question and I feel for you. I really do. I’m just as frustrated and have been since I joined the fandom. I know tons of other people are in your boat, even some of the bigger blogs have talked about this. I doubt your writing sucks. It really is hit or miss here. I don’t really have any advice, sadly. A lot of this is stuff out of your control. Part of it may be that the fandom is three years old and a lot of people have moved on. This also happens to artists, role players, people who do original photo edits and those who share youtube content. TLDR: It’s luck, algorithms, who the fandom chooses to interact with, character choices and format. 

I have a few ideas as to what may be happening. Please realize I am not coming for individuals, but I am pointing out trends. First of all, fandoms and people, in general, are entitled. I think all of us are to a certain extent and many of us may not realize it. But I’ve seen people in this fandom be especially entitled and rude whether it’s through requests or criticisms. I rarely get a please or thank you and I just delete the rude ones outright.

One: this doesn’t quite exactly deal with being rude or entitled, but I feel like it relates in some ways. Some people RARELY like content and it is even more rare to reblog. Reblogging is literally how people see your work. Even then, a lot of people don’t tag what they reblog so showing up in tags is another way we as creators “survive” so to speak. I can’t fix that. No one can. It’s not great in this fandom and that’s one of the reasons why some people move on. However, all fandoms have this to a certain extent.This is out of your control. Two: Tumblr’s algorithm sucks. It really does and there is no rhyme or reason. I don’t understand why that is or how to fix it. Some of my favorite blogs don’t get the attention they should and I think that is in part because of the algorithm. If you haven’t posted for a while, I noticed the algorithm gets worse. I took a few months break and it took ages until my stuff started showing up. I had that just happen a few weeks ago when I briefly opened my requests. It didn’t show up in the tags. There is no way to fix that.

Three: People can be shadow-banned and not know it. I don’t quite understand the process myself, but someone suggested a while back that I may have had that happen to me because my stuff wasn’t showing up in the tags at all. I know it’s something that trolls do - some people will gang up and report you and so you get kind of soft banned. (please feel free to correct me, anyone.)

Four: Do you write for what some may consider a niche character or controversial ones? Niche people seem to include Mary-Beth, Kieran, Rev. Swanson, Tilly, and Lenny. (hmmmm I wonder what the last two have in common…..)

If so, people tend to ignore those characters because I noticed the tags are empty. Five: Controversial characters - Everyone knows Micah is a controversial character. Dutch is as well, however, I think he and Arthur have the most fans out of anyone. Now if you’re a Molly, Karen, Grimshaw or Abigail stan, you’re shit out of luck because again - what does this last set have in common? They’re women. This fandom is very sexist and one of the most sexist ones I’ve been. Abigail and Molly are especially controversial. I deal with Abigail a lot and that is actually because others were making anti-sex work and nasty sexist comments so I wanted to correct that. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did because I was trying to slow that down so my blog is known for that rather than my writing. If you’re a Charles, Sean, Javier, Dutch, Arthur or any of the other mains - you tend ot have it easier,- but there is more competition. Some of these tags may also have a lot more fighting and drama. Abigail, John, and Dutch seem to have a lot of people arguing. Josiah, Hosea and Sadie seem to be wild cards. 

Six: For some people who have been around What are you known for in the fandom? Do people find you controversial? I think I have that status and that’s part of my issue. If you’re newer and haven’t gotten into any drama, that shouldn’t be the issue.

Seven: People rarely interact with each other or at least, that is what I have noticed with me and a few blogs I really like.

Eight: Finally, Formatting. This is the oddest one to me and it shouldn’t be the case. Again, I will be clear that I am not coming for bloggers themselves. They earned their success, too. But pictures. I write a lot of meta. I don’t know if people think I’m elitist or anything by how I write because it can be academic. However, I work very hard on meta.and for many, I rarely get the views, interaction,s or reblogs I wish I got. Yet people can put in one picture or more and get hundreds of likes and reblogs. A picture shouldn’t make a difference in if people read or like your content or not. My only guess is that it breaks it up and people are less intimidated by that rather than seeing a block of text. But it’s very frustrating because people like myself or others work JUST as hard as anyone else and yet something so simple makes such a difference. My metas take sometimes hours to write and have true historical research. I’ve even had similar questions with my opinions and others have similar opinions. I’m not at all saying they stole it - not at all - we agree, but their work gets noticed and mine doesn’t It’s not just me and it’s not just you, anon. It’s a lot of people. I cant add pics to some of my posts because it would be rude to have such a long post and make it longer with pics. I learned this was the case because out of all my metas, the one that has the most interaction is one with a picture. I’m serious. It is the same with people writing headcanons or fanfics, if you have a picture or gif, you’ll get more attention. I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s the trend I’ve noticed. Overall: It’s not fair, but you can’t control what people read or how they interact. If you put pictures in and your work is shorter, then you might find more success. That’s my only suggestion and maybe I should take that advice.

I know people are going to say I’m whining, and maybe I am, but I have the right to be frustrated with how my content is received, just like how you, anon is concerned and how people have been talking for ages. I mean literally, tons of people in this fandom have talked about this people from newer blogs to even some of the “biggest” blogs here. Everyone wants to feel like they matter.

It could also be as simple as for whatever reason out of your control, people don’t like what you write. For some of my stuff, that is probably the case, especially since I have some hot takes.

So I wish I could give you more help. I really wish I could. But these are at least some reasons why your writing may not be getting traction. I’ll put tags and see if anyone else has suggestions or ways to fix it.

I have a feeling that I’ll get some interesting messages and anons because of this. I might be unfollowed and I can’t stop you. However,  if anyone starts sending me abusive asks, you will be blocked. Plain and simple. I was asked to give my opinion after being here for over three years and watching  many blogs say the SAME thing. So if you’re going to come for me, you have a lot of other blogs to come for, too. These are just my observations.

#rdr 2 #red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #dutch van der linde #john marston #arthur morgan #abigail roberts #abigail marston #lenny summers #kieran duffy #charles smith #javier escuella #tilly jackson #karen jones #reverend swanson #molly o'shea #mary beth gaskill #micah bell #josiah trelawny #hosea matthews

[imkylotrash]

Glitter In The Air

Pairing: Sky x reader

Request: The reader is the girl Stella blinded and no one believes her that it was Stella not even Sky in the beginning. But in the end they end up back together. Anonymous 

A/N If you want to know where I took inspiration from, it’s Glitter in the Air by Pink 💛

Tagging: @grey-girl @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​ @intoanothermind​ @artsyle​ @baueoud​ @glowingatdawn​ 

As you enter the dining hall, you feel everyone stare at you. You don’t need to be able to see to know you’re the centre of attention. You can still see shadows so your vision hasn’t been completely lost but Stella ruined your eyes forever that day. You’d never be able to see your mom’s face again or look at the boy you loved. You inch forward getting some food before sitting down. It’s only the second day since you got back, but everyone has treated you like a complete freak for those 48 hours. No one believed Stella had done this to you, not even Sky. 

You’d spent months in the hospital waiting for him to call you or even just text you but he hadn’t. Instead you’d waited by the phone feeling lonely and pathetic. Of course, he didn’t believe you. No one did. Except he was your boyfriend when it happened and you really thought he would care. He was the only one you counted on to have your back but for some reason he took Stella’s side. 

“Hey. Is anyone sitting here?” You look up before realising it doesn’t change much for you. It’s a habit that’s been hard to shake - the need to make eye contact, inspect the face in front of you. Having been robbed of the possibility, you found it mattered even more to you now than before. 

“No, it’s fine.” You don’t recognise her voice which means she must be a first year. The only year that wouldn’t know what had happened to you. Carefully, you remove the sunglasses you’ve been wearing waiting for the person to notice. You’ve been told that your eyes look charred as if your eyes had been on fire. Suppose with Stella’s powers they had. 

“What’s your name?” the stranger asks completely ignoring your eyes. It’s weird but nice. You like not having to explain it or be called a liar when people refuse to believe your story. 

“Y/N. You?” 

“Bloom. I just started and I didn’t see anyone I knew so I figured I could sit with you.” Of course, she thought so. It’s easy sitting down next to the outcast. Tomorrow, she’ll not want to sit with you when she realises what’s happened. 

“Please. Don’t slum down.” Now that voice you’d recognise anywhere. A chill spreads down your spine just by hearing her talk. You can’t believe you have to go to school with the perpetrator just because she’s the princess of Solaria and you’re the poor girl who no one believed. 

“Stella! This is Y/N. She’s really nice.” Bloom seems outraged over Stella’s comment but it’s far from the worst Stella has said to you. 

“It’s fine, Bloom. I’m done anyway,” you smile before carefully following the wall down the hall. It’s a good thing you have a mental map of Alfea so you actually know where you’re going. You’d needed to learn it for a prank where getting away quickly had been crucial. That was when the two boys, Sky and Riven, still talked to you. 

“1, 2, 3, 4...” You’re not prepared for someone turning the corner and walking right into you. If it hadn’t been for them catching you, you would’ve fallen ass down. 

“Thank!” you exclaim finding your place on the wall again. You could go years without touching him and still recognise him immediately. Electricity cackles between your skin and his. He’s holding you so gently, you feel like crying again but you’re not going to. He had every chance to believe you and stand up for you, but he didn’t. 

“No, I’m sorry. I should watch where I’m going.” His voice brings back memories you’ve been trying to avoid. Picnic on the field with you feeding him a strawberry and then absolutely cracking up because it turned out to be the most unsexy thing ever. Him asking you to close your eyes and trust him because he had something huge planned; a trip to Earth. That was the place he picked because he knew how much you loved small villages and the countryside in England was perfect for exploring and finding tiny villages that had stayed under the radar of tourism. 

“I guess we’re both sorry then.” You don’t know what else to say because what do you say to the boy who refused to believe you when you told him how you got hurt? You wanted him to apologise and say he believed you. Instead he walks past you mumbling something about being late for class. You don’t meet him again until the specialists’ party. You hear Riven use your story as a horror story meant to scare of Bloom but if you know Sky right, she’s not even his type. That’s what sets this whole thing in motion. You’re about to leave when he corners you. His breath smells like cheap beer and punch letting you know that he hasn’t been taking it easy tonight. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers leaning his forehead on your shoulder. You want to push him away and tell him to never talk to you again but god, you’ve missed him. 

“Sorry for what?” you ask standing completely still. It’s been months since anyone’s touched you. The doctors tried to but you hated being touched. Ever since Stella blinded you, you’d been struggling with being touched but Sky was the exception. 

“Riven told Bloom about you and I defended Stella. But when I confronted her, she admitted to it. She admitted to blinding you and I didn’t believe you all those months ago.” You feel something wet hit your shoulder and it takes a second for you to realise that he’s crying. It’s hot, fresh tears because he didn’t believe you. 

“Why didn’t you believe me when I told you?” This is not the right time. He’s drunk and emotional. Your therapist would most definitely scold you for this because all you’re doing is ask for trouble. 

“Because I’m an idiot. I have no real reason other than I got swept away with everyone else believing Stella over you. I should’ve questioned her explanation much sooner.” It’s everything you’ve dreamed of hearing but it clings hollow when you think about the fact that he’s drunk right now. He might think differently in the light of day. 

“You’re drunk. Come find me tomorrow if you still want to apologise then.” You gently take a step to the side breaking the contact between you and Sky. After that you go straight to bed anxious for the next day. Even if he shows up, it’ll still be a lot of work for you to be able to trust him again. He broke your heart siding with Stella and you’re not sure you could go through that again. 

He finds you the next night asking you to follow him. It takes your breath away seeing his shadow but knowing you’ll never again be able to enjoy his face. You can’t believe how much Stella took from you that day and all because she was jealous. 

“I still want to apologise,” he says once you’re finally outside. The moon is so huge and bright today that you can vaguely spot it. Something that doesn’t happen often anymore. The healers did an amazing job on your eyes even though they didn’t manage to fix them entirely. 

“I never should’ve believed Stella. And I can think of a million excuse but you deserve better than that. So, I’ll just say that I’m sorry and I take full responsibilities for what happened between the two of us. I should’ve believed you and stood by you.” It’s nice for someone to finally believe you but you’re hesitant taking him back. What about next time something happens? Will he not believe you then? 

“How can I trust that?” you ask. 

“By letting me show you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance but I promise you this time I’ll be different. If you ask me to, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll climb up and bring back a piece of the moon if that’s what you want me to do.” 

“What if I want the full moon?” 

“Then I’ll bring you the full moon. I just need you to know how deeply sorry I am for ever hurting you and abandoning you when you needed me the most.” You don’t want this night to end. You’ve waited so long to hear him say this and now he’s saying everything you hoped for. 

“I would need to take it slow. I want to trust you, but...” You wish he’d touch you so that you could him there. It’s not the same just hearing his voice. 

“I get it. I wouldn’t either if the roles were reversed. But I promise I’ll spend the rest of our lives making up for this.” He’s close enough for you to feel his breath hit your skin. He’s letting you decide if you want to close the gap and in turn agree to a second chance. 

“I can’t get hurt like that again,” you whisper fighting a losing battle against the tears forming in your eyes. 

“I know, sugar.” You close the gap unable to resist any longer. Hearing his old nickname for you is what tips the boat. Some might say you’re an idiot for believing him and forgiving him but the heart wants what the heart wants. You want to give him a second chance to prove that’s matured over the past months. 

“Thank you for giving me a second chance.” As you struggle a little to catch your breath, you can’t help but think that it’ll never be better than tonight. 

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