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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Fool Me Once (part 5)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (Aegon ii x reader 👀) (wc: 6k)

Summary: As the further truths are uncovered, the battle for the Iron Throne begins

A/N: soooo, I said part 5 would be the last part, but in typical annoying writer fashion I’m not so sure now 😭. Either way, I truly cannot express how grateful I am for all the followers, and support I have received since starting it. I consider fmo my brain child but our baby with how interactive people have been. I’d love to get feedback or request on what hotd stuff you guys want to see from me. My inbox is always open so please let me know how you liked fmo (any thoughts or headcanons) and what you want to see 🫶🏽

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“We should run away to Yi-Ti.”

You look up from Aemond’s desk at Aegon with an exasperated expression. It was not the first time Aegon had thrown out the idea of leaving King’s Landing for good. There always an idealistic nature about Aegon that is as sweet as it is delusional. You know the guilt he would feel about leaving, and he knows you would too.

I have a dragon we can who can drop us anywhere. I can shave my head and we can change our identities

“You are supposed to help me be looking for this map,” Not bothering to give the same speech you tell him every time he brings it up.

Gently placing everything where you found it, you squat down to check the cabinets of the desk. Aemond kept his study annoyingly tidy, and you are sure we would notice if anything were out of place. The last thing you need is another argument.

There are multiple books, all of them relating to Westerosi histories, and a plethora of written works of poetry. Nothing stands out till you find a pile of letters. Your throat tightens. It shouldn’t hurt anymore, but now the situation has moved past just Aemond wanting to be with someone else. It affects your kids, your relationship with everyone in the family.

You are just tired, and you just want it end. Or at least to have some sort of closure through an explanation or an apology. You are not holding your breath for the later.

With a sigh, you sit, slumped against the wall. Across from the desk. Noticing you are out of his view, Aegon walks around the desk and sits next to you. The two of you sit in silence before Aegon speaks.

“We can skip dinner,” he suggests softly. “I am sure our absence will not be noticed.”

It is a lie. You both know that if you do not show up, you will be in for an earful from Alicent. Especially now that Viserys has finally worked up the strength to leave his chambers. Aegon reaches over to grab your hand. You look at the large ring on his pinkie finger. The golden scales an ode to Sunfyre. Even with all the problems Aegon has with family, he has always fully embraced his dragon. A bond you have never seen before between rider and dragon. You run your hand over the cool metal.

“You know, despite my hesitance towards dragons, sometimes I am envious of you guys for having them.” you laugh flatly. “It is not even the beasts themselves, but everything they represent. This strange strength that means you are better than everyone else. A free pass for destruction.”

The past year and a half had been a sobering one. You feel so disconnected from yourself. Depleted by actions outside of your control.

“But then I think maybe it is good I do not have a dragon; or more so I do not have the power that comes along with it. I have spent my whole life doing exactly what I was supposed to, just to still get dealt a hand of misfortune,” you murmur emotionless. “I fear that there was tiny seed of hate put in me when I first found out about Aemond’s actions, and that everything that has happened since has only made me more bitter and revengeful. I was told that fighting wrong doings with more destruction was never the answer. I do not know how much I believe that now.”

You look over at Aegon with an illegible look in your eyes. “I would go mad with the things I would do with that kind of power.”

Aegon swallows thickly. Honestly, his first instinct is to make a joke. You, the girl who got teary eyed when she learned about the field of sheep kept in the Red Keep for the dragons, speaking with such gravity. But his eyes travel to the faded scar on your arm and back up to you. The harm done to yourself, grief-stricken eyes, and tired frown. He’s only seen that type of look on his mother. The most persistent person he has ever known, and probably will ever know. She wakes up every day to tend to a man that has never done right by her and run a kingdom she did not want in the first place. There is a simmering type hate in your eyes that he is sure only comes from being around his family for too long.

He wonders if this is how his mother felt when she had him. Young, exhausted, and utterly pissed.

“You are not the only one who feels that way,” he softly. “But - you cannot let it get the best of you. Once you get in that place, it is hard to get out.”

You know he speaks from experience. Resentment leaves a bad taste in the mouth of those who feel like life has let them down.

You want to say that another worry is what will happen if you ever find equal footing with the men in your life. Would the spell wear off you were a flight risk? Would you be seen as a volatile powder keg if not a maiden to come to the defense of? Would you be seen as the prize in his eyes if you were not in the position you ate in? In that moment, you think you should tell him about what you let his grandsire do. If anyone would understand, it would be Aegon. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder.

You do not have the words for that just yet.

————

The search for the map in Aemond’s study goes unsuccessful. You decide to change tactics. There is a slight uneasiness you get digging through his things in the chambers. Soft whiff of lavender and citrus hit you nose as you look through folded clothes of his. You heart rate spikes when you see a scroll of thin parchment. Looking back to check the door, you then unroll the paper.

There is various lines and arrows, but the words are all in high Valyrian. You have picked up and word here and there since being in the Red Keep, but not well enough translate every word. Instead, you follow the arrows. Walking around the room in a way you are sure would look silly to someone if they walked in.

You find yourself in front of the small outline wall next to your clothing wardrobe. Blinking blankly at the wall, you frown. You run your fingers gently across the fabric on the wall. The deep red and gold stitching smooth under your hands. You push harder than intended and gasp when the wall swings open.

In front of you are stairs that lead down a pathway. A tunnel. You do not venture too far, but you see where the path is leading to. Daemon had given Aemond a direct line to outside the Red Keep. And a direct line for anyone to come in.

But why?

As you walk down the tunnel, something shiny catches your eye on ground. You pick up a single earring. A gold plaited coin earring. It is oddly familiar, but you cannot seem to put your finger on who it belongs to.

All you do know is that someone has been using the tunnel recently.

A part of you wanted to storm through the castle and find Aemond. Have him explain what the Seven Hells has been going on. Or if he even used the tunnels. But you surprise yourself when you knock on the Hand’s study door. Perhaps he is not the best person to go to in this state. You know it is not comfort you will find. But for all his faults, Otto Hightower will tell you want you need to hear or at least you will have his ear.

You are now not naive to how much Lord Hightower seems to want to keep you around.

After it was decided Aemond and you were to get married, you were not clueless enough not see the clear advantages not only for you house, but also for his. Your only naive thought being the mutual benefit would keep you safe or protected.

When you walk into the study, you find Otto sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. You know Viserys’ surprise appearance at the petition hearings rattled him as much as it pleased Rhaenyra and her family. You do not know where to begin or what you are even expecting of this conversation.

“Did you know about the tunnels,” you blurt suddenly. “The ones that run under the castle.”

In typical Otto fashion, his face does not give anything away. But he does shake his head, and gestures for you to continue.

“I…. I think Prince Daemon may have had something to do with my… problem.”

That makes Otto lean forward in his seat, the mention of Daemon clearly stirring something in him. You aren’t ready to put anything on Princess Rhaenyra yet. Partly because you are still wonder where her limits are opposed to seeing exactly how Daemon operates. And because just saw what happens when you question Rhaenyra, even if you have proof or a valid criticism.

“And if they had something to do with her, I cannot help but wonder if they had something to do with what happened to Alaric’s blanket,” you still shudder thinking about it.

You already had a deep sense of guilt since giving Otto the go ahead to find Alys. Taking a life is not something you want on your hand and conscious, and it only doubles knowing how this all could have been a perfectly plotted scheme. Your anger at your husband reaches a new level. Whether Alys was the shiny poisoned apple or a woman in love that has gone rouge, this still involves your kids.

“It seems your family’s influence is something many have noticed,” Otto finally speaks, voice gravely and tone even.

Your brows furrow. “They think threatening my son is going to make me tell my parents or uncle to back Rhaenyra’s claim?”

Your grandsire was an old man by the time Rhaenyra was named heir; your uncle took over for your house shortly after that time. And your uncle was just as thrilled as your parents when you married Aemond, clearly excited to have familiar ties to the Targaryen family. Now that you thought about it, you had never asked him where he stood when it comes to Rhaenyra being heir. But based on knowing how your family acquired their wealth and how they operate, they have never been ones to stray from tradition. Despite your grandsire bending the knee to Rhaenyra, you get the feeling everything is up the air especially with you being the good sister to the other possible claim.

“No, dear girl,” Otto sighs, eyes growing tired. “But I am sure they think you feeling unsafe here and having no love for your husband’s actions will.”

Your mind goes back to Rhaenyra’s offer. You are always welcomed at Dragonstone.

They hoped you would seek refuge in them, and in turn feel compelled to drop any allegiance you have to this side of the family. Did they know about how close you had grown to Aegon or to Helaena? Or that even through this turbulent time, you still find yourself having a soft spot for Alicent. You are sure they would reassure your safety if you ever switched side, but you know your safety was not a priority to them. Only the men or ships that would come with it.

“I am not shocked Daemon would go to such lengths, if true,” Otto says. “I would say I am shocked Rhaenyra would go along with it, but the Princess has always found a way to involve herself in things while feign innocence.”

His words make you raise a brow. You never knew if the Hand’s anger towards the Princess came from how she treated Alicent or his grandchildren, or if it came from the pressure he felt to get Aegon on the throne. Perhaps it is Alicent, even all this time and animosity, still craving a relationship with Rhaenyra that eats him up the most.

“You do not need to worry about that. Everything will be put to rest once the rightful heir is put on the throne, and any possible threats have been ridden,” his tone turns stern. You scoff sardonically in response. This is never going to end till there is a clear winner, and win to means there was a fight. War. That would only start if…

“The Queen would never let you do that. Usurp the throne or kill Rhaenyra,” you say immediately. Otto eyes narrow; the tell. It will always be Rhaenyra for his daughter, and it burns him inside. But that can be used in your favor. “Not unless she had more reason to. Rhaenyra could be a good queen for all we know, but her brazenness will always be her pitfall. Now she has Daemon at her side. Spilled blood is clearly not something he is worried about.”

You sit back in your chair and think for a second. Entitlement is like a dangerous herbal, and many members of this family get off on it.

“If you want Aegon on the throne, it may be best to take your time with this. Give Rhaenyra the chance to do what you think she does best… mess it up.”

By the time the power struggle between Rhaenyra and Daemon finally comes to fruition, maybe Aegon think differently. Your mind goes to Aemond, stewing silently about how his brother manages to get everything handed to him. You bite back a smile. Is a miserable existence to always be in the cards for him? If being with you is so terrible to him, maybe that is exactly what he deserves.

“I think I know how to start this off.”

———

You leave Otto’s study, but not before he leaves you with a long, meaningful glance and tells you he needs to discuss somethings with others. You assume it is the council, but you have a feeling his daughter is not privy to that.

The next time you see everyone is at dinner. Your eyes strained on the empty plate in front of you. A sick feeling coming over you every time you look down the table at Daemon and Rhaenyra. A large gap for the king between Rhaenyra and Alicent.

There is something unsettling about how everyone seems to think what happened in the Grand Hall was nothing. You all saw a man beheaded, and now are to sit down to a "family meal" at the behest of the King. The only mention of Vaemond comes in a prayer from Alicent; you catch the eyeroll given by Daemon. The lives of others are expendable if it prolongs or prompts up whatever claim is being fought for.

False promises do nothing to move you while that is all that makes up the Targaryen family. False promises to make up for future deceit. The gull of Viserys to plea for peace when many the broken relationships in the family can be tied to him. Tied to his indecisive, feeble reign as a king. The King That Never Should Have Been perhaps.

A sick sense of irony rushes over you watching his rioting body and empty eye socket while sitting next to Aemond. You have learned that the Gods can be deliciously cruel.

The crown not stand strong is the House of the Dragon remains divided

It’s all flowery words that seem to go in one ear and out the other for your peers. You can tell by the way Aegon’s eyes gloss over, Helaena brows burrow as she fiddles with whatever butterfly Aegon gave her, and how Aemond’s back stiffens that this final push for family unity comes too late. But it seems that all the older adults in the room are moved by the Viserys' speech, or at least Alicent and Rhaenyra are.

You and Otto, sitting across from each other, share a look when Alicent says that Rhaenyra would make a fine queen. The Queen and Princess exchange shy smiles and peripheral glances; for a moment, they look like young girls, untarnished by the world around them.

Your eyes catch Jacaerys’, and he gives you a warm smile. You try to replicate it to the best of your ability. None of Rhaenyra or Daemon’s children have done anything to make you suspicious of them, especially Baela and Rhaena. But you do notice how Lucerys never seems to look you in the eyes. You are still trying to figure out if that is a byproduct of you being Aemond’s wife or if he is privy to information.

When you were receiving offers for your hand, Jacaerys’ name had come up by members of your house but was instantly shut down by your parents. Though the idea of you being future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was tempting, but they did want to risk the embarrassment of the worst kept secret being spoken. Marrying a bastard was not the vision they had for you, Queen or not.

But when the music behinds, you do get an idea.

“I going to dance,” you whisper to Aemond.

“You know I do not like dancing,” Aemond sighs, and Aegon gives you a look at the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes at him. You remember the lecture his mother had to give him before the wedding festivities about being a good sport, and dancing with you.

“I never said I wanted to dance with you,” you hiss at him, and get up. You feel Aemond and Aegon watching you as you walk to Jace.

“I was wondering if we could dance,” you hold your hand out. Eyes going from Jace to Baela. “If your betrothed is fine with it of course.”

Baela gives you a good-natured shrug and smile. Jace looks surprised by your offer, but nonetheless grabs your hand and leads you to the free area near the table. You turn back briefly to see Aegon and Aemond look at you with mirrored looks of disbelief and disgust. You have duck your head to keep from laughing.

“I have to warn you I am not much of dancer,” Jace smiles as you begin to dance. “But I am sure I cannot be any worse than my uncle.”

You raise a brow at the comment but say nothing. While you are dancing, you see Viserys get carried out. The fact that he has lived to this point is a marvel… and a confusion. He refuses to go away.

“I do hope after that all of this, our families can see each other more often,” he lowers his voice slightly. The sentence seemed sincere enough, but he has also grown up having pretend half of him does not exist. If it is something Alicent and Rhaenyra’s children have in common, it is knowing when to put on a front. They learned it beautifully from their mothers. “I am sure Daella would appreciate seeing Dragonstone. And the girls would love you around.”

There is that mention of Dragonstone again. Before you can even reply, a commotion disturbs you. You turn to see Aemond standing with a drink in his hand.

“I want to make some final tributes,” a small smirk comes onto his face, and his eye flicks over to you. “First, to my dear wife. A gracious mother, and always keeps me on my toes.”

Your face gets hot when everyone’s eyes turn to you. Alicent looks at her son with a nervous look in her big eyes, confused by his sudden need to speak after a dinner of silence.

“And to health of my nephews - Jace, Luke, and Joffrey,” a sinking feeling comes into your stomach. There’s a glint in Aemond’s eye that you recognize all too well, and know not to trust. You see Jace’s shoulders tense at the mention of him and his brothers. “Each of them handsome, wise…. Strong.”

Your throat tightens. Even putting aside, the absolute irony of that coming from him now, you all just saw what happened to someone who questions the parentage of them. And now he is doing here in front of everyone.

“Aemond,” you begin, not even caring to use formalities with him. He cuts you off and continues.

“Come, let us drain our cups to the three Strong boys.”

And of course, to make matters worse, Aegon confidently raises his goblet in the air. They’re imbeciles. Everything seems to happen in slow motion - Jace punching Aemond, Aemond pushing Jace with ease, to out of the corner of your eye, Aegon slamming Luke’s face into the table. You wince at the scene before you as Helaena gets up to move you out of the way of the guards restraining Jace and Luke.

Alicent and Rhaenyra both get up from the table, yelling at their boys to stop. You take notice of the roasted pig on the table; you had heard about the pink dread prank from Helaena. It was never something you pushed with Aemond or Aegon, knowing it led to a large rift in their relationship. You know they love each other; you can tell by the way they backed each other up that they do. They just do not have the words to express their love, or their pain.

A dinner that was meant to bring everyone together ruined. There will probably always be too much bad blood, and not enough honest or apologies for reconciliation. Before Daemon leaves the room after staring Aemond down, he gives you a smile filled with mirth. A chill runs up your spine.

You watch as Alicent all but walks up to Rhaenyra, eyes soft and pleading. She gently rubs her arm as they smile at each other.

With the dinner going wrong, Aemond stalking out of the room, and learning about the map - everything seems to be put into perspective. As you watch your good mother, you wonder if that is how you will be with Aemond. Always waiting and ready for reconciliation, even despite mistreatment. Foolishly dismissive to how you can be hurt again if it means just moments of reprieve. Or maybe a better comparison would be Rhaenyra and Daemon. Knowing exactly what situation you got into, but still finding yourself wanting more because you thought you would be the exception. Both scenarios mean being in a constant loop of love and hate, praying for the day you reach apathy.

Rhaenyra seems to share Alicent’s warm disposition. Everything is warm and lovely when Rhaenyra smile. She is the Realm’s Delight for a reason. Even with the little time you have spent around Rhaenyra, you see how she operates. It is the way all Targaryens are treat her like the world revolves around her, and she’s yours. Entitlement and confidence used to mask a hallow shell, a trait she shares with her husband.

The possible reconnection of old companions would be a sweet affair. Instead, you finally get the complaining Aegon does about his half-sister. To hear the praises of those who have little regard for you.

Daemon giving Aemond the map, Alys introduction into your life, Rhaenyra telling you Dragonstone will always be a place you can go, and your families ties to this family are all connected. The same way your marriage to Aemond was always leading to something.

It was always a question you pondered since coming to the Red Keep. Does the Iron Throne corrupt those who vie for it or do those who vie for it corrupt the Crown itself?

Now not only have you been caught in the crossfire, but you children as well. And who knows what will come of the rest of your family once King Viserys dies. One thing you do know is that you will not leave any stone unturned by the time Rhaenyra tries to sit the throne. If your involvement is what they want, your involvement is what they will get. If your happiness and well-being is worth the price of the throne, what would happen if it was taken away right when she had it? Like your stability or sanity, ripped away without any caution or care.

This power that Rhaenyra is sure is hers to claim. The one that those want so badly for Aegon. The seat Aemond watches enviously as Aegon scoffs at the idea of it.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you call out after her before she leaves the dining hall. You reach out to grab her hand in a similar manner to Alicent. “I want to talk with you about Dragonstone.”

If they are willing to rip each other apart for the Iron Throne, so be it.

Aegon and Aemond stare at you like you have three heads when you tell them about wanting to stay at Dragonstone. Aegon goes as far as to giggle at your proposal. His eyes wild and glossy from the abundance of wine.

A part of you thought maybe you should just leave, but you know them. There is nowhere you can go that they cannot find you on dragon back. Plus, you still had to explain everything to your parents. You let them in on you leaving while holding some cards to your chest. Their faces go through a mirage of expressions. Aegon's brows shooting up when you mention the tunnels and Daemon while Aemond's going painfully stoic. You know he does not want you or Aegon to get a read on what he is thinking.

"So, you think Daemon and by extension Rhaenyra knew about the Strong whore, and wanted you to be upset enough to leave," Aegon begins sardonically, and Aemond's eye flickers to him when he says whore. "And in response.... you are leaving. Wow dearest, you are really sticking it to them."

You glare at him. You know he is hurt that you are leaving, even if it is for a short time. He is upset that this all leads back to the throne. For every part of Aegon that is loyal and loves deeply, there are parts that are equally selfish. It hits you that Aegon has never had to try with relationships; the only ones he knows are with women that are his family or with ones where he can buy their affection. Those women have no choice but to be around. But you are leaving, and without him… that would be a blow he would not recover from.

"I am not going for long, and I will be taking Quinton with me," you say, and Aegon rolls his eyes in response. "They involved my son, so I will get to the bottom of it."

"I'm sure Jace will be thrilled to hear it," he scoffs.

"You have no right to be jealous; you are not my husband."

It was cruel to say, and you can tell by the way his resolve turns from anger to bitterness. "I am needlessly reminded of that, thank you."

Your brows furrow at that. Who is reminds him of that? You sigh, running your hands over your face.

“This is punishment. This is because of me.”

Aemond finally speaks up, interrupting your argument with Aegon. He looks away from the fire and at you with a look you have not seen in moons. Sadness. You are sure this news is a lot for him to take in. It would be a lie to say that you are not at least a little happy that he feels uneasy about you possibly leaving. Or a little happy that the love story he had built in his head was not exactly what it seems.

It would serve him right. He felt comfortable enough to do what he has done because there was always the expectation you would be around. Sitting in the Red Keep, taking care of your children and waiting to him to finally come around.

“Give us the room,” you whisper to Aegon. He leaves in a huff, not happy with you. You walk over and sit on the seat opposite to Aemond's.

The only noise that permeates throughout the room is the crackling of the fire in front of you two.

“It is foolish for you to think they would not harm you, especially now,” he starts to fiddle with his fingers, a tick he has picked up from his mother. “You would in place surrounded by her people… by dragons.”

“She would not hurt me. Not now, she wants my family’s support,” you rebut.

He does not answer right away.

“You would be giving her exactly what she wants. Us apart.”

Us. You two have not been an ‘us’ for quite some time, and Aemond referring to you as that makes you chuckle coldly.

“That’s the point, dear husband,” your eyes drift from him to the burning flames. “You know how your sister is. She wants everything entirely too much, and now she has a guard dog, planning and watching her every move. This just one step in her 'preparing' for the throne, and what may happen if she takes it."

“She is not fit for the throne. Neither of them is,” he says bitterly. “It would cut her up inside and out just like it did my….”

He trails off softly. Viserys was never made to be King, but then again who is. By the time everything falls into place, things will be different.

“So, we let it.”

Your conversation is stopped by Quinton opening the door for Jayne.

"Sorry, my lady but your parents were asking for you," she says softly. You notice how her eyes seem to survey the room. Taking inspection of anything and everything in it. Your parents watched Daella and Alaric for you during dinner. You nod in acknowledgment, but as you get up you notice the necklace she wears.

A gold plaited coin dangling on a dainty gold chain, perfectly matching the earring you found in the tunnel. Your blood runs cold.

"Thank you, Jayne," you stand up slowly as your eyes go to Aemond. You hope he can read something, anything from the look in your eyes. Your eyes travel to the wall where the secret door is. His eye looks at you, then to Jayne, and you watch him swallow and sink back into the chair.

"Ser Quinton, if you do not mind staying," Aemond says softly, going back to staring at the fire. "I have something I need you to tend to."

Quinton gives you a skeptical look, knowing the tense history between him and Aemond but you give him a reassuring smile.

Maybe it is time Quinton proves his unwavering loyalty to you.

“I just need…. to get away,” it was not a complete lie. On top of having things to figure out, you were looking forward to getting away from the Red Keep. Even if it was to Dragonstone of all places.

Your father had giving you a skeptical look when you mentioned going to Dragonstone. You tell him this the perfect time for him to stay in King’s Landing in your stead. You whisper to him to stay close to the Hand and to Prince Aegon. When his resolve still did not chance, you told him about this being an opportunity for Daella to get connected to her ancestral home, and he understood. He always has a soft heart when it comes to his grandchildren.

It was your mother who gave you the most grief about the proposition. She stays in the room after your father has left.

“I do not think it is appropriate you leave your husband,” she sighs. “Especially at a time like this.”

It has always been her concern. Your allegiance to Aemond and in turn to the who she thinks should sit the throne. A part of you wants to tell her the plan. Maybe rub in her face that Aegon wants you.

But you know you would not be met with an impressed gaze or her questioning how your life has come to this place. Instead, she would ask why you haven’t debased yourself for him yet? Why haven’t you jumped at the chance to be in his bed, in his mind, under his skin the way real lovers do. Sometimes you look at Aegon and ask yourself the same questions. The most frustrating part is you know he would take you up on it. Aegon would indulge the most depraved parts of you because those of the ones he likes the most.

Your mother always manages to seep her way into things that should be good for you. It happened moons ago when you first became friends with Helaena. It is how you are in this mess now. Telling her about Aegon before the right time would be fatal. A blow to your plan, and the last remaining pieces of your heart.

“Perhaps he can come with you?”

“The point is to have some time away from each other. He thinks it would do us some good too.” Your spine feels tight as you are painfully aware of your posture in front of her, “The Princess offered, and it would be rude not take her up on it. She is till the heir till otherwise.”

Your mother stares at you for a moment. She scrutinizes every part of your face, the face she gave you wholly. Her only daughter. The person she has invested so much in.

“You always do this,” she starts coldly. “Shrivel up when things do not go your way. You have so much put in front of you, and you do so little with it. Leaving your husband when things are tough? I thought I raised you better than that.”

A lump grows in your throat. You are taken back to your wedding day. Your mother talking you through a panic attack, telling you to think of your future. That not going through with the marriage means throwing away years of work. In the end, you walked down the aisle. You followed through, and now the debt comes due. You are her biggest star, and her gravest disappointment.

Everything she could have had, and nothing she ever was at your age. You know your mother is happy with her position now, later in life. Reaping the benefits of your father’s house, but it was not always like that. There was never an opportunity to be draped in silk or have the ear of the royal family when she was your age.

“When this does not work, I hope you will not go running to your father.”

And with that she gets up and leaves you in the kids’ room.

You flinch when the door slams. As you sit in silence, you wonder if you would have gotten a different response if you told her about Alys. Maybe she would have pulled you into her arms like she did when you were younger. Deep down, you know she would have asked you what you did wrong; what did you do to make Aemond want to find comfort in another woman. Regardless of the pretenses, he still jumped at the first chance he got at something he saw as real. She would see it as a sign of failure on her part. She did not instill the right values in you to keep your husband happy. She has a funny way of flipping everything on its head, and yet you still crave any validation from her.

Your mother is as cruel as she is dutiful. As cold as she is charming. And as calculating as she is hurt and wounded by the world, she grew up in. The more your plan falls into place the more you find solace.

You are your mother’s daughter.

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#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon x reader

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beskarandblasters · 1 year

Text

Tolerate It

Ex!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author's note: The title and story are loosely based on the Taylor Swift song. As always let me know your thoughts and requests are currently open.

Summary: You and Din used to be in a relationship but split before Grogu left to train with Luke. You find Din on Nevarro on your way to talk to Greef Karga, asking him why he doesn’t have Grogu anymore. Which leads to talks about your past together.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: post season Book of Boba Fett/beginning of season 3, angst, reader is able-bodied, Din can lift reader, fingering, semi public sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex on the starfighter... 👀, no use of y/n

To say that Nevarro has changed for the better would be an underestimate. It’s practically a brand new place now, thanks to Greef Karga. But thinking of Nevarro and Greef leads you to thinking of the bounty hunter’s guild which leads you to thinking of Din… It’s still a tough subject for you. It’s been over a year since you’ve last seen him; over a year since you last told him that it was the end for you two. Something that makes you think;

How could I be so stupid?

But you had your reasons. Being with a stoic bounty hunter who keeps his heart heavily guarded is no easy relationship to be in. He let Grogu into his heart and maybe you thought he could do the same for you. But it was all too much for him. After being alone for so long in his life, making room for two just wasn’t something he could do. And of course the kid needed him more than you did and you completely understood that. But there was nothing left for you. You tolerated it for as long as you could, because that’s all your relationship was towards the end, tolerance. You left before he could.

Might as well do this on my own terms, you thought at the time.

He’ll be so much better off without me. I bet he won’t even miss me.

You think about him often even though it’s painful. You think about nights on the Razor Crest together, feeling like a small family together, admiring how focused he gets when he’s on the look out for a bounty. You really did miss him, even though sometimes it felt like you weren’t even visible to him. It all hurts so much even after all this time.

Enough of that. It’s in the past. Over and done with.

You’re back on Nevarro after being off planet for a while. With Greek Karga being High Magistrate now, you’ve come back here looking for a job, something more permanent than being Din’s mechanic. And now that Nevarro has reinvented itself it’s not a bad place to live either.

You’re walking down the streets of Nevarro, heading to Greef’s building and that's when you see him walking in your direction. You could spot him from a mile away. That tall, looming figure, covered in beskar. You get butterflies in your stomach. Panicking, you turn and start walking the other direction, hoping that he won’t notice you.

And then you feel a gloved hand, grabbing you by the arm.

“Were you trying to avoid me?”

You panic even more, not knowing what to say. I mean, he’s right. You were trying to avoid him. You turn to face him and say,

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why? You’re the one that left me,” he says, getting right to the point.

“Can-can we not do this here?” you say, looking around the busy street. There were some people staring because of course they were. You and Din had become a recognizable pair for the people of Nevarro. And now that you two haven’t been seen together for a while, heads were turning at the sight of you.

“Follow me,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to wherever he wants to go.

You don’t say anything and neither does he. You’re so incredibly nervous about this.

What is going to say to me? He sounded kind of mad. But he is right though, I was the one to break up with him… But then again how could anyone blame me after how he treated me? And where is he taking me, anyway?

He leads you into the lava flats towards a ship you don’t recognize. What happened after you left him?

“What’s this?”

“My new ship,” he answers. “Got it from Peli.”

He lets go of your hand and faces you.

“It seems like a lot has happened since I last saw you. Where’s the kid?”

“With his own kind,” he says, offering nothing more.

“Well aren’t you going to give me more details?” you ask, putting your hand on your hip.

He sighs and then tells you everything. He tells you about the Crest being destroyed and Grogu being captured by Moff Gideon. He tells you about a Jedi coming to the rescue and taking Grogu with him. He tells you about the Darksaber and how he won it from Moff. He tells you about the ship he got from Peli; an N1 Naboo Starfighter. It was a lot. The whole time he’s telling you this your eyes are wide open and your jaw practically on the ground. And now you feel bad for him… He’s alone again.

“I’m sorry, Din… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for all of that.”

“It’s alright. I think if you had been with me through all of that, it would’ve made it harder. I would’ve had to worry about your safety, too.”

And that’s why I left you. You didn’t have the capacity to worry about me; to care about me.

“Yeah and that’s just it, Din. There wasn’t any room for me in your life. Don’t you understand how hard that was for me? I felt like a burden to you,” you retort, your voice raising slightly.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. The helmet just tilted down at you, reading the expression on your face. You’re sure your face is red with anger. Your hands were trembling.

And then he speaks with that raspy, modulated tone of his,

“That doesn't mean I didn’t miss you…”

You sigh because you feel the same way. You missed everything about him. You missed his scent, the feeling of the beskar on you when he held you, his voice, his protective nature, his interactions with the kid. Maker, you missed it all so much.

You take a step forward, closing the gap between you two. He follows your lead and wraps his arms around you. You rest your head against his chest and you two just stay there awhile, holding each other.

It isn’t until he snakes a hand down to your pants and cups your sex that you realize where this is going.

This is such a bad idea.

But it is what’s familiar. It’s not like you haven’t had sex since you left him. You’ve had your share of one night stands after a random guy at a cantina talks you up. But they don’t know you like Din does. They don’t know the way you like to be touched and pleasured.

“Right here?” you ask, pulling away and looking up at him.

“Why not? There’s no one around…”

You sigh and lean into him again, letting him continue. Your mind is telling you no; that you shouldn’t be doing this; that you’re just going to reopen old wounds. But your body is telling you yes; that you need this; that you missed him so much.

I’m not the first person to go back to their ex, you thought to yourself as he touched you.

He slips his gloved hands down your pants and begins rubbing small circles around your clit. Maker, was he good at that. It was rare that you ever got to experience his tongue so to say that he was talented with his hands would be an understatement.

You lean back on to the ship near the cockpit and spread your legs more, giving him access to slip a finger inside. And he does.

This is exhilarating for you. The sun is going down on Nevarro and you’re about to have sex with your ex against his new ship out in the open.

“You have no idea how much I needed this cyar’ika,” he moans into your ear, slipping another finger inside.

“Oh yeah? How much?”

“I thought about you all the time. I thought about your body and how much I missed it; how much I missed you.”

Hearing him say all of this tugs at your heart. You thought after you had left, he would’ve been perfectly fine, continuing his life as normal.

“Show me, then,” you say against his helmet.

He slides down your pants and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you on the ship a little more. He takes his cock out of his suit and slicks it with your juices from his hand.

He aligns himself with your entrance and starts thrusting in and out, his hands still holding your thighs up. He’s taking his time with you, his thrusts are methodically slow until you beg him, “Din, faster please.”

“Anything for you, cyar’ika,” he says, picking up the pace.

The angle of your body on the ship and Din holding your thighs in places is driving you nuts. The sensation of the cool metal ship on your back and the cool beskar between your thighs unlocks something within you, sending you closer to the edge. Din leans down so his torso is flush against yours, the T shaped visor practically burning a hole into you. It’s a mixture of intense pleasure but also nostalgia. He feels familiar to you but also so new too. So much has changed since you saw him last it’s almost like you’re fucking someone new. But you’re not. You’re fucking your ex on the planet where it all started.

He pulls back ever so slightly, just to slip his hand between you two and start rubbing your clit again. It sends you to the edge.

“Maker, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

“Please baby. Please cum for me.”

And then you do. And it’s pure bliss. Your pussy is fluttering and pulsing around Din’s cock, sending shockwaves all throughout your body.

The sensation of you cumming must’ve been too much for Din because suddenly he pulls out of you and cums on your thigh.

He looks back at you and says, “I, uh, would’ve came inside but I wasn’t sure if you still had the implant…”

“I do, but that’s alright.”

He leans over you and reaches for the cockpit, grabbing a rag. He hands it to you and you tell him thanks, saying nothing more because… the feeling of regret is starting to sink in…

You just had sex with your ex. The one you left over a year ago because he wasn’t letting you in emotionally.

This is too much. This is all too much.

You slip down off the ship and quickly pull up your pants.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, grabbing your arm.

“This was a mistake.”

“Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t have done this, okay?”

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” he presses further.

You bring your palm up to your face, “Ugh. Well yes but that’s not what I’m getting at right now, Din. We’re exes. And we’re exes for a good reason.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want to get back together?”

And he does?

You’re getting irritated now. “You can’t just come here with a new ship, tell me all about what happened since I left, fuck me and then expect me to come crawling back to you. I had my reasons for leaving and when I did leave you didn’t even put up a fight,” you snap at him.

“Cyar’ika… I’m sorry. I know, you deserved better.”

“Yeah, I did. And instead of realizing it sooner I stayed with you until I had finally had enough.”

He’s silent, helmet facing towards the ground.

“And all you did was tolerate me when we were together. You never appreciated my love. It felt pointless to put all of my time and energy into loving you and caring for you all for it to go to waste,” you say, your voice raising now.

He’s silent still. Just like the day you left him.

Of course he is. He didn’t fight for me then and he sure isn’t going to now.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” you say, feeling defeated.

You turn on your heel and start walking away, half hoping he’ll tell you to stop and come back. But he doesn’t. It feels exactly like the day you left him. Tears sting your eyes all the way back to the inn you’re staying at. You came to Nevarro to talk to Greef Karga about getting a job here but it’s certainly not the time for that now. The sun has set and you’re fully crying at this point. You just wanted to get back to where you were staying and take a shower, to wash him off of you.

You reach the inn and go inside the lobby, looking at the ground the whole time so no one can see your tear stained face. You power walk down the hallway until you get to your room, scan the key card and just collapse on the bed. The tears were flowing harder now. It’s hard to pinpoint what emotion you were feeling. It was a mixture of anger, sadness, longing, and almost a sense of betrayal. Betrayal in the sense that he can find you here, tell you what you want to hear so you’ll fuck him and then when the time comes for him to fight for you, he doesn’t.

You hop in the refresher and shower like you could wash away what happened. But you know you can’t. You step out, dry off and pull on your pajamas. You get in bed and try to forget about what happened today. But as you drift off to sleep you find yourself dreaming about what could’ve been…

End note: I was really close to giving them a happy ending but I didn't!🤭 Perhaps I'll do a part two where Din wins the reader over? Let me know your thoughts and send me any requests you have! Also, if you'd like to be part of my tag list, send me an ask or reply to this post!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian x you #no use of y/n #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #mandalorian x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando smut #din djarin smut #pedrostories

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jamneuromain · 5 months

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I have an idea omg. We need more of Lloyd and reader... What about a situation when Lloyd got injured, like he kicked someone's ass , got his knuckles bleeding, or maybe he got a cut or smth... and the reader though she's aware of her blood-seeing problem ofc decided to help him, trying to fight her hemophobia best she could because Lloyd needed her help. Or it can be quite the opposite, the reader got hurt in some way, bleeding a bit, and Lloyd decided to help her because he knows her reaction to seeing blood and all. What do you think?😬☺

Hi Elena😌❤️ （sorry that it took so long I accidentally deleted my draft ... and took very long to recover from the devastating fact :l

Your "Lloyd got hurt" idea certainly is very interesting....👀

So, what would happen if Lloyd got hurt and he has no one else to turn to but his secretary with hemophobia...🤔

Bleed Out

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader (Driver!Denny Carmicheal), Graphic Depiction of Blood and Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has hemophobia (fear of blood), a lot of cursing.

Summary: Lloyd is under your protection for now.

A/N: This is the sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love to Mob!Lloyd<333

One thing, one particular feature you like about the apartment you're living in, is that this little condo - along with the rest of the building and five other blocks in the vicinity, belongs to a high-end resident community that has strict security guard patrol schedules and limited key-card access. These precautions resulted in rocket-high market prices and a rather wealthy neighborhood, as the owner of these buildings forbids renting, for every keycard that could access the front gate, elevators, and their matching apartments, accompanied by facial recognition embedded in the little chip. When you get home every night (or afternoon, if you are lucky), you have to press your keycard and stand before the camera before the gate grants you inside. This brings quite some comfort for you, working for a mob boss named Lloyd Hansen, and knowing that his associates are basically "wanted" by rival gangs for the valuable information they possess.

While it is impossible that you could afford such an exquisite apartment with your salary, though very well-paid, you are truly grateful because Lloyd signed this condo - his condo - to you without a word (or asking a dime from you) when you told him during your final interview that you will be needing a week to relocate before starting the job.

That's when you made up your mind that Lloyd Hansen is a boss worthy to work for.

It's not a big place. Having two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Decorated in white, black, and grey, clearly matching Lloyd's taste when he asked his lawyer to give you the key card and have you move in.

You've lived here for three years now. Adding soft cushions and light-colored sets to the tedious design here and there. Like the sunflower tablecloth and daisy plates and bowls. Like the pink polka dot sheets and duvet covers. And the fluffy slippers, taken out from the cabinets, ready to be put on as soon as fuzzy socks don't work their magic any more.

You are finishing washing the mug you just used. After putting it on the racks, you wipe your hands with a clean cloth. It is a workday tomorrow, and you intend to sleep early to wake up with a fresh spirit to deal with your (sometimes) moody boss. Treating yourself to a nice little read in the bedside lamp radiating yellow glow - another decoration that you feel much needed for this place, you reach out to turn off the lamp when there's a sudden rush of knock on your door.

You zip your mouth shut.

The news two weeks ago, about a woman who was curious about the baby crying at her door, was yanked out of her apartment as soon as she opened the door, being raped and killed in her own bed.

You are smart enough not to ask "Who is it", letting this unexpected guest learn that a young female is at home.

When the unexpected visitor doesn't hear your reply, they knock on the door more fiercely, nearly knocking your heart out of your throat.

You remember the tutorial online: Approach the door with caution, and check the surveillance camera. If there's no one in sight, call the cops. If there's anything out of the ordinary, like a baby or a kitten by the door, call the cops.

In summary, call the cops.

Your fingers hover above your phone, having the police number on speed dial, when you turn on the surveillance camera monitor by the door.

A very bruised, cut, and tired Lloyd, having a gun in his hand, banging on your door as he winces in pain.

"Goodness gracious-" Your gasp gets stuck in your throat. Opening the door in an instant, there's nothing else in your mind than keeping him alive. Your goosebumps on high alert as Lloyd's eyes scan over you. You pull him in, checking that the hallway is secure, before closing the heavy door as quietly as possible.

You turn to him, "Mr. Han-" Your words stop mid-sentence as you feel the need to fight the bile down your throat.

Yes. Mr. Hansen is very much covered in the one thing you hate most in the world.

Blood.

Blood splattered on his chest, his ridiculous choice of the blue-white striped polo shirt and cuts littered over his face and bare arms. His pants are dripping. Some crimson-colored liquid will stick permanently onto your floor and your beloved carpet.

Redness, some stained into near-brown, all over his figure.

You hold your breath, not letting the iron taste linger to make matters worse.

Lloyd walks, more like limps to each of your rooms - now that you can breathe a little while the blood smell is gone temporarily, and convince yourself that it's just ketchup on your boss (though you doubt that trick works) - and inspects each of them with his finger on the gun's trigger.

Taking in the whole situation, three things pop into your mind.

Lloyd is in desperate need of medical attention.

You are most likely to faint as soon as he returns, seeing this amount of blood.

Lloyd wouldn't knock on your door if this isn't desperate for him as well.

As Lloyd approaches, you are wrecking every brain cell to work a way out of this.

" 'S anyone here?" He asks, pulling the safe of his gun back on, before plopping down on your couch and groaning because he most definitely pulls one or two, if not a few of his wounds.

However, one of THE most brilliant ideas comes to you when you are holding your breath.

You shake your head, raising one finger to tell him you need a moment - or you hope that your running off conveys the message, and dash towards your bathroom.

Lloyd sags down on the couch, not even bothering to get up or turn his head to watch whether you've pulled out a gun pointing at him. You probably wouldn't do so, since you chose to pull him in, instead of letting him bleed out by your door.

When you appear in front of him again, his body briefly stuns a moment, before emerging in a burst of full-blown laughter. He laughs so hard that his laughter turns into coughs, which leads to him pressing his hand over his chest in case he tears his wounds further.

You place your hands on your hips. Compared to him, you are least amused by your idea.

You smoothed your hair back and put on your scuba diving goggles from a paid leave last year. Lloyd personally oversaw your two-week vacation, paying from your hotel suite to your travel expenses, and even ordering you full scuba diving equipment for your one-hour scuba lesson.

Of course, you weren't actually interested in becoming an expert, but the scuba equipment was too nice to be thrown away.

"Not funny." You breathe through your mouth. Even though the orange plastic - or glass, you don't quite know which - changes how the bloody Lloyd looks in your eyes, it still doesn't completely change the idea that Lloyd is, in fact, covered in blood, as much as you don't want to think about it. And it definitely doesn't block the smell of blood, which probes the nerves at the back of your nose whenever you breathe through your mouth.

Lloyd scans your "outfit", his laughter slowly dials down, eventually turns into a lazy smile ghosting his lips, "You're right. It's not."

It's over 10:30 pm, and you usually would have been sleeping, or lying on your bed, at least. But no, you are stuck in the living room with your boss who's about to die any minute, and you are only able to stand in front of him, alive and thinking, with a fucking scuba mask on.

So, fuck this.

You roll your eyes at your cold-blooded boss. "Should I call your doctor? Or send you to the hospital?"

The smirk disappears.

Although he didn't say "no" to the hospital, by now you've realized the hospital choice was crossed off the board, as he chose you instead of ringing the police - which will no doubt lead to an investigation since Lloyd is the most notorious mob in Los Angles.

You search for the first aid bag that you stocked away when you moved in. It has rarely been used.

"Doc's dead." He murmurs, but loud enough for you to understand. He spoke with a sadness that only appears when he has lost one of his people. "I took Jared to his clinic."

You know Jared, he is one of the muscles working for Lloyd. He helped take care of one of Lloyd's rivals, Brewer.

"The deal with the Russian mobs tonight went wrong, but we got out in one piece." Lloyd explains curtly, "I got him to Doc's place to get stitched up. But we were attacked... Doc died, so did Jared."

So... two of his people.

Medical alcohol and Q-tips were picked from the bag, then a roll of gauze. You place those on the coffee table.

"I think you need something bigger than a Q-tip." He chuckles, unbuckling his belt, removing his pants. You open your mouth wanting to argue it's probably best that he doesn't move right now, but you silence yourself when you see a flesh wound -

Blood trickles down his thigh, leaving a scorched round hole on his leg. You turn your head to the other side as soon you feel the need to hurl. Even with your goggles on, deep down, you know that it's blood, not ketchup, nor some red paint oozing from his body.

“Don’t puke on my shoes. Crocodiles died for it.” A strangled grunt comes out of his mouth when he finished speaking, having your heart tug in the slightest of agony.

The belt he took off just now is turned into an instant tourniquet on his thigh. The blood drips slower than it did, but it keeps ruining your carpet.

“Yeah, I bet the crocodile spirits hate you right now.” You mutter under your breath, snatching a face mask from the first-aid kit, taking a small inhale after you put it over your face.

Much, much better now.

Lloyd snorts out a short laugh, “You look like one of those bird-man in the Middle Ages when they are battling the plague.”

“Yeah well,” You place your hand on your hips, feeling somewhat braver to deal with this bloody mess all over your living room, “You’re about to bleed out on my couch, so let’s start with you telling me what else I can help with.”

Lloyd spares a glance at you when he’s busy rolling the gauze and pressing it onto his gunshot wound, his expression uninterpretable. Though you would guess that he is mildly impressed.

“Got any liquor? Something strong?” He raises his brows almost challengingly, “I don’t see any painkillers here, so … Bourbon? Whiskey? Scotch? Anything?”

You do have a bottle of whiskey that your cousin gave to you when you moved in. He’d come to visit and lend a helping hand from time to time. You take two glasses from the cupboard and half a bottle of whiskey.

You could use some liquid courage with a murder scene and your psycho boss in the middle of this lovely condo.

With the aid of whiskey and your patching and cleaning of the rest of the wounds, Lloyd is able to sleep through the night soundly without worrying about being a rigid corpse in the morning.

Yawning, and accidentally stretching his patched-up wounds, he allows a string of curses to flow out of his lips. Judging by the sunlight peeking through your curtains, he’d say it’s 9 or 10 in the morning. Last night, he was tired when the adrenaline gradually faded away, and he did not have the chance to take a close look at your – used to be his – place.

You did not put this place through any major changes, just some minor traces, reminding him that he is, in a sense, invading this cozy little apartment with his banged-up body.

With a decent set of fresh suit, shirt, and tie on the chair beside the bed.

Faint murmurs come from the other side of the door, Lloyd tenses up immediately, pulling his gun under the pillow, where he stocked last night, and turns the doorknob slowly.

“… shut up.” He hears you smack someone’s arm jokingly.

Your voice blends in with the voice in his memory of last night, when he winced in pain as you tried to take out glass shards from his forehead with a pair of tweezers, when he swung another gulp of whiskey from the bottle.

“Fucking hell, woman, I swear you’re trying to scoop my brains out rather than finding the glass pieces.” He grumbled.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out, Mr. Hansen. Now I’m kindly asking you to shut up so I can take care of your wounds before it could get any worse.” You said impatiently, having struggled between the discomfort in your stomach and your determination to get him patched up, but adjusted your attitude soon after, keeping your mouth shut and pushing his upper body so he would lean on the couch and be still, while you turned on the flashlight to search the little glass piece on his forehead.

The warm and shallow breath fell on the ridge of his nose. It was broken, sure, tingling and itching, but it also meant that you were close, close enough to kiss-

“Cuz, are you sure that-”

The male voice is cut off when Lloyd in a black suit appears in front of you and a young man. One of his hands behind his back, you know far too well he’s holding the gun and will shoot your cousin’s brain out if you don’t explain quickly.

“Morning Mr. Hansen. This is my cousin, Connor Ashborne, studying at UCLA Med School.” You smile politely towards your boss, “I called for him to check up on you, since you refused to go to any doctor with a gunshot wound. He’s here to provide professional medical assistance.”

“Mr. Hansen,” the young man extends his hand for Lloyd to shake, “I’ve heard of a lot of things about you.”

“Lots of bad things, I hope.” Lloyd throws in a comment half-sarcastically, plopping himself down on the couch, ignoring your cousin’s extending hand, “Shit.” When he stretches his wounds again, the gauze must have clotted with his flesh for this level of pain.

“Cuz?” Conner turns his choice to your hand, “It’s your call. I can’t force your boss to do anything.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You mutter, “He’s more stubborn than a bull with eyes on the red flag.”

“Careful there, sunshine.” Lloyd gulps down some whiskey, numbing the pain in his thigh, “I can hear ya’ loud and clear.”

You silently shrugged towards your cousin, letting him know that you could not be of help any more than he did. “You should probably head to your classes.” You speak softly towards Connor, “Say hi to your sister for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, cuz. Remember those antibiotics and pain meds for the... patient in the kit.” He pulls you into a hug, “No need to thank me, I know, I'm one of a kind.”

Yeah, he's a one-of-a-kind dick when he wants to be. You can't help but smile knowing that his ego bloated after coming to your aid.

“I’ll see you around Christmas, yeah?”He asks.

“Around Christmas.” You confirm, patting his back.

Connor shoots you a wink and a “Bye, cuz”, grabbing the bicycle helmet on the kitchen counter and rushing out of your apartment like a gust of wind.

"A-hem." Lloyd clears his throat.

You let out a long exhale, realizing the big problem-o is still sitting on the couch like he owns this place – he indeed still does, as you have helped combing through his real estate. He owns the whole residential community – more specifically, has a lot of shares in the company which runs this residence, at the very least. Putting your best, and most professional courtesy on, you ask Lloyd, “I’ve called Denny earlier this morning. He’s now driving around the block. Denny has driven to your place and picked up the usual breakfast from your cook. Should I call him and tell him to come up? Or you’d like to head to the office right now?”

“Tell him to come up. I’ve been shot. It seems fair to skip work this morning.” Lloyd has the usual smug smile on his face. Stepping into his crocodile shoes onto the floor, spreading his arms over the couch, he looks down at the ground before narrowing his eyes and raising a sharp question: “You’ve had the carpet thrown out?”

Of course, you’ve had the carpet thrown out. Or you would throw up five times per hour.

You thought so when carrying the blood-soaked carpet downstairs, after making sure Lloyd was asleep around midnight. As his secretary, it is your job to make sure he doesn’t have to worry about anything besides his business.

You carried the carpet downstairs, avoiding cameras as carefully as possible, with your ridiculous scuba goggles and face mask on, and dumped the carpet, into another residence trash can two blocks further. With his blood and his scent on it, it is easy to lure those henchmen away if they bring hounds to search for Lloyd.

Lloyd does not go down without a fight, that you were certain. You were also certain of the fact that the transaction gone wrong would make relative parties involved less than happy, hence the ambush at Doc’s place. If they struck once, it seemed possible that they would strike again, knowing that Lloyd was hurt.

Also packing hydrogen peroxide, a powerful bleach, and a pack of Q-tips with you, you carefully erased the traces of Lloyd’s blood from the street to your residence building, and inside the elevator.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The security guard exclaimed on seeing you back inside the building. He was smart enough not to comment on you pulling your scuba goggles and face mask off, but smiled warmly, “A rough night?”

You smile back, “Hi Henry. I hate to pull ranks on you, Henry, I really do. But in less than ten minutes you are going to get a call from your boss, who has gotten a call from his boss, asking you to do exactly what I tell you to, which is to make a copy of the surveillance footage of the security cameras, and delete the original copy stored in the computers stored somewhere in this building. You are also going to tell me whether anyone has dropped by when your shift ends this morning, who looks suspicious, asking questions even though they don’t live here.”

The smile froze on Henry’s face, “Miss Y/L/N, it’s against the company orders…”

Just then, the phone on Henry’s desk rang, which Henry took the minute it made a sound.

The smile turned to a serious frown.

“…Yes. Yes, Sir. I’ll see to it.” He hung up the phone after a polite “Good night”, straightening his security guard uniform, and moved around the desk, “This way, Ma’am.”

After burying your head in the toilet bowl and throwing up almost half an hour ago, you had used your cell phone and called Lloyd's business partner up ahead, told him that Lloyd had issued a command to erase surveillance camera footage of a specific building and asked to keep a copy.

His business partner, hauled up from his bed because of this phone call in the middle of the night, knew better than to refuse.

… and that was why the Russian mob drove through the block later that morning at 1 a.m. and did not find a trace of Lloyd taking shelter in your condo after circling the area for quite some time.

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading

Find A Whiff of Blood Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen #the grey man #mob!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen angst

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co-sharkie · 1 month

Text

WWE’s Himbo BFs + the one bed trope

Grayson Waller

You two decided to take a trip. As besties, of course.

Was supposed to be just a quick trip to another state for a national park, but you two got there too late in the day.

You picked a hotel and as you’re checking in, the only room available is a one bed suite.

He tells the receptionist to give him a minute. “There’s only one room with one bed, do you want to go to a different hotel?”

“There’s not another hotel for like another 10 minutes. Just get this room, I’m exhausted.”

Books the room for you two. Has to hold back his joy tho.

Says he’ll sleep on the futon but you tell him no, it’s fine.

“We’ve slept in the same bed before, Gray. It’s fine. I don’t want you sleeping somewhere uncomfortable when you have a show later this week.” Makes him all giddy.

As he crawls into bed with you, he thinks back to when you both slept in the same bed together…. It was over 20 years ago.

Gives you plenty of space but eventually he just can’t hold it in anymore.

He rolls over to face you and you do the same.

“Whats wrong, Gray?”

“Can we snuggle?” Puppy eyes.

You laugh and pull him in. He lays with his head on your chest and the sound of your heartbeat makes him fall asleep.

Thank goodness you didn’t lay on him cause his heart would sound like a fucking rave.

He won’t let you get up in the morning. Says he’s too comfortable.

Wraps his arms and legs around you like a koala so you can’t get up.

Totally doesn’t confess in the morning… 👀

Austin Theory

WWE fucked up booking rooms for the hotel. Or the hotel took one of their rooms. Either way, he starts the night pissed off.

He calls Hunter to complain that his room was taken for the weekend.

“I’m sorry, man. Is there someone you can just room with?”

“All of the room are one bed. We’ve never booked otherwise.”

“Do you want me to book you for a different hotel? I can make some calls real quick?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Then he pulls up your contact. “Can I room with you? My room got taken somehow.”

You give him your room number and tell him you guys can watch ghost hunting shows when he gets there.

Obviously, he’s hella nervous. You may be his best friend, but you two have never ever shared a room or a bed for the night.

You insist he sleeps in the bed with you, not on the floor like he suggested.

He’s super jittery. From nerves? Yes. Also because he’s sharing an intimate moment with his all time biggest crush? YES.

You two lay there and make fun of ghost hunting shows.

When he doesn’t get a laugh from one of his comments, he looks over to see you sleeping. He smiles and turns off the tv.

He faces away from you when he sleeps but somehow he ends up right next to you when you wake up.

You guys are spooning when you wake up and Austin is too scared to do anything so he just acts like he’s asleep.

Luckily, he played it off well.

Since he’s sharing a room with you all weekend, it took him until the last night to confess his feeling to you.

#wwe x reader #grayson waller x reader #wwe fanfiction #austin theory x reader

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mbappebby · 10 months

Text

Little Leclerc || Five

Ollie Bearman x Madelyn Leclerc (OC)

Summary: Even if it’s not the full picture, people can work out anything online..

Requested: Yes, by anonymous: Hii! Can I request something for the Little Leclerc series where Madelyn posts for their 1 year anniversary and it might not be the whole picture but the fans can figure out that it is Ollie? That leads to their relationship being basically leaked to the media and Charles and Arthur find out and are not happy. Thank youuu xx

Words: 1.2K +

Series

Taglist: @christianpulisic10 @callsignwidow @honethatty12 @sebscore @lorarri @shamelesspotatos @formulas-bitch

(let me know if you want to be added)

Madelyn and Ollie were in London, they both had a week break before the next race and decided to spend a few days in London for their anniversary.

“Can you believe it’s been a year?” Madelyn asked. “Time flies by, that’s all I got to say” Ollie replied. “It really does, we were in F3 and F2 and now I’m in F1 and your in F2” Madelyn added.

“Your 18 and in F1! That’s a better achievement than me!” Ollie replied. “Hey! It won’t be long before you get up here too!” Madelyn said.

“It’s the dream to” Ollie mumbled. “And you will achieve that dream” Maddie said with a smile. “I love you” Ollie replied.

“I love you too” Madelyn said as they kissed. The couple spend the whole day together to celebrate their 1 year.

“What picture do you want me to post?” Maddie asked. “What about the one when we hiked up that mountain and took a timed photo in front of some flowers?” Ollie suggested.

“Ooo! I love that one! You can’t see your face in it, but fans will probably catch on. That’s basically announcing our relationship, you okay with that?” Maddie said.

“I am, but what about Charles and Arthur? They don’t know” Ollie told her. “Oh, it’s fine I’ll deal with them” Madelyn replied as she posted the photo.

madelynleclerc

Liked by olliebearman, charles_leclerc and 2,447,992 others

madelynleclerc: 1 year, je t’aime🐻❤️

view all 43,738 comments

username Has to be Ollie!! Look at the emoji!!

username Awhhh, Mads and Ollie🥹

username 1 year?!?!

charles_leclerc MADELYN JULES LECLERC!! Qui est-ce ?! (who is this)

arthur_leclerc Répondez à nos textes! (Answer our texts)

username Oh no, Mads is trouble👀

username I mean I think Charles and Arthur were the only ones who couldn’t see it..

username Overprotective brothers incoming…

username Awh, you guys are so cute!!!🥰

olliebearman 🤍🫶🏼

arthur_leclerc My sister mate, really?!

username Uh no..Arthur ain’t happy..

username You guys are cute!!

username Still can’t believe Maddie don’t tell Charles or Arthur..

username A year already?!?

“I don’t think that was a good idea to post that..” Madelyn mumbled. “I mean, at least it’s out now? I mean your brothers will be annoyed..” Ollie added.

“I know, they are just so overprotective that’s why I never told them. I didn’t even tell Enzo or maman either they just figured it out..” Madelyn replied.

“I mean nearly everyone could see something was going on in the end, except for Charles and Arthur. I don’t wanna go back into the F2 paddock as I know they will be there waiting for me..” Ollie said.

“Well, lucky you don’t have a race while I will have to end up going over to Monaco just to get yelled at by them” Madelyn told him.

“Are they that overprotective of you?” Ollie asked. “Yeah, ever since papa died. Enzo ain’t even that bad bad he is the oldest! Even maman has told them to try and calm down but they don’t..” Madelyn replied.

Ollie was just about to say something when his girlfriend’s phone started the blow up with messages from two certain brothers..

Charlie🫶🏼

MADELYN!

We find out your dating via social media?!

Why didn’t you ever tell us?!

Your dating a driver!!

A whole year you hid it from us?!

You better be in Monaco tomorrow.

ThurThur🫶🏼

Really Madelyn?!

My old teammate Mads?!

To make it worse you were dating him when we were teammates!

A whole year you hid it from us!!

I bet Enzo and Maman know as well!

Better be in Monaco tomorrow.

“That’s just great..” Madelyn mumbled as Ollie wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I was the one that wanted you to post that photo..” Ollie said.

“Baby, don’t blame yourself. Please, but I really do need to get to Monaco..” Madelyn replied. “If you want to come back, you know where I am” Ollie added.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be back. I’ll probably walk in there have an argument with them and walk straight back out” Madelyn replied.

Madelyn started to pack a little bag, they made their way to the airport. “Let me know how it goes okay? You can easily come back here whenever” Ollie said.

Madelyn nodded as they hugged tightly and kissed. “I love you, I’ll be back soon” Maddie told him. “I’ll be here waiting for you” Ollie said.

Madelyn broke away from the hug and she made her way to her gate, soon enough she got on the plane and was on the way to Monaco.

#f1 #f1 imagines #formula 1 #ollie bearman imagines #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman #ollie bearman x leclerc!sister #charles leclerc x sister #arthur leclerc x sister

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queercontrarian · 4 months

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obsessed with how the only way amarantha's plan could have worked is if the tamsand murders and revenge happened right before she came to prythian

imagine it happened, say 5-10ish years before amarantha started her mission. that's a short time for fae, right?

all the courts are extremely wary of each other because two ancient high lords and most of their families were just wiped out and no one except rhys and tamlin really knows what happened

there are so many rumors and everyone thinks someone is out to get them

on top of that both the spring court and the night court are not moving, which is a problem because they were kind of the driving forces in prythian. imagine it like if at the height of the cold war both the US and the soviet union imploded at the same moment and all the other countries are now like "well where the fuck does that leave us??"

rhysand isolates his court. he's grieving, he's dealing with the con and illyria, he's too busy with his own stuff to really care about the rest of prythian

half of tamlin's court is deserting, his father's men are leaving the government or they're being kicked out for their allegiance to his father and/or hybern

no one except tamlin likes seeing this because it makes everyone with power very nervous that lords and ladies with power are just getting kicked off their land like that

the other high lords don't trust tamlin because they think he is literally insane for doing what he's doing and also they don't know him because he wasn't who they thought would be high lord

they also don't trust rhysand because he's isolated himself to everyone and is also letting everyone run with the villain era assumptions

the nobles who were kicked out of the spring court seek refuge in hybern and tell the king what's going on over there hoping that he'll help them get back their land

he's like "i'll do you one better" and sends amarantha

she goes to all the high lords and is like "no totally the other courts are really untrustworthy and what happened with spring and night is crazy"

"we would totally never do this to you"

"and also if you wanted to become the new superpower in prythian now that night and spring are out we would totally back you 👀"

and because the high lords are all stupid and power hungry they believe her

and no one listens to tamlin when he voices concerns about amarantha because he only tells them what they already know (the war) and what is long in the past (how she creeped on him when he was a kid) and they already don't like him so who cares what he has to say

rhysand isn't saying anything either way, but everyone knows that he doesn't want to talk about tamlin, even less talk with him or be in the same room

while he's busy with velaris and illyria he kinda leaves the con to keir who immediately invites amarantha because he does not want to lose the night court superpower status by missing out on hybern's support

and rhys thinks he can kinda use amarantha's reputation to craft his own mask as "the evil guy" (which we know ends up backfiring spectacularly)

lucien also just came to the spring court

he's like 100something years old, he's just lost everything and tamlin just saved his life so of course he's young and stupid and very loyal to him and very loud about voicing his opinions about people he and tamlin don't like

also it makes sense that the former emissary would have deserted and instead of putting some guy in the position who might have already worked for his father tamlin just looks at lucien and is like "you know people, right? you need a job?"

and then when the masquerade ball comes around it's literally the first time tamlin and rhys are in the same room since the murders

and half of the reason why rhys doesn't bring the ic is that he doesn't trust amarantha but the other half is he thinks azriel and cassian might actually just try to kill tamlin if they got anywhere near him

so he goes alone

and is immediately distracted when he sees tamlin, and he doesn't pay enough attention to his surroundings, and he can't do this sober and oh my fucking god he underestimated how terrible this was going to be and oops

now they're all cursed

this would also explain how rhys and tamlin haven't gotten very far with changing their courts (tamlin falling back on his father's methods in acomaf and rhysand only having formally forbidden wing clipping and minimal training for females in illyria without any actual measures to back it up). change would be slow if they've only been in power for like, 60ish years (minus the 50 years utm)

#and yk if it was me maybe i wouldn't go to a party that is all about humiliating my friend who stood up for me #even if they just went to make a point #why?? just stay home #timeline stuff #tamsand #acotar #prythian politics and stuff

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accio-victuuri · 4 months

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12/28 ( love bo ) day sweets! 🤍

i thought we can get some rest before tomorrow’s busy content day, but i guess i was wrong cause the cpns won’t let up. lol. we are definitely ending this year with being busy! we will get more once we have the full experience of yibo’s new EP and i’m waiting for XZ’s marie claire magazine interview.

let’s start with the most obvious thing we all observed from the teaser, the 🦴 necklace being front and center. this just tells me how personal this project is for him. tho his yearly song is as personal as it gets and is his yearly commitment to his fans as well. but he could have easily worn something chanel for promotion sake since he is their ambassador, but he still chose to use something of his own. this necklace that he always wears. i am usually open to interpretations of cpns, but there are very few that i’m stubborn about and this is one of those. this necklace is connected to xz, i accept no other explanations. i’m sure we will notice more clues but this one has made a lot of us happy 😋

some are also pointing out that scene in the train, the people on it are all bundled up and cold. however, wyb’s character has his neck exposed like that so you can see the necklace. he is also wearing a shirt with shoes printed on it xie zi = xz.

this bit is the one making a lot of cpfs scream. the similarity in the question asked from an xzs video to to the untamed. 🤯

so, have you thought of a name?

we have already takes about everything is lovely that was cued before in xz’s birthday, and now this. it’s like him asking, have you thought of the name for the song? the same way wwx asked lwj about wuji. and this song, everything is lovely is the answer to that. we are very much aware that wwx/lwj is different from xz/wyb but these parallels are hard to ignore. and what if they also think of themselves as somewhat these two soulmates? i think that makes sense too. and oh, if you wanna go more galaxy brained - the date difference between 10/5 to the release of the new song 12/29 is 85 days. are they counting??? we all questioned the new release date and why it’s 12/30. maybe this seemed more like an auspicious date based on that. who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️

I also forgot to add this when i first discussed the lyric that talks about white hair. this part of the fanmeet where they had to act out seeing each other after a long time. WYB mentioned pulling out XZ’s white hair for him. 🥹🥹🥹

at the time (2019) it seemed like he was being a gremlin and the subject of white hair was for a joke. now, years later (2023) he uses it in a new way. i will love you till your hair turns white. I will love you forever.

• THEIR EYES 👀

• In the behind the scenes video shared by shunan laoshi, who worked with WYB last year, we can see the card case. HAHAHAHAHAHA! I can’t believe this simple thing is one of the strongest cpns we have.

• GQ shared this photo taken by WYB and it reminds us of an effect also used by XZ and XZS. I know this is not some effect that is unique to them and that other people can do it too, but the point is the similarity. you have WYB who has been into photography lately and he is using a trick that XZ and his team have used before.

• a video has been shared from 10c night in 2019 and it really proved one of the things we’ve been saying before, that their dressing/waiting rooms were right next to each other.

• WYB is allegedly listening to this song on QQ. I wonder who comes to mind when he listens to it 😏

youtube

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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no-see-um-incorrect · 4 months

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How the rest of the Yuurivoice boys are spending their New Year’s Eve

The bittersweet trio and big red already have new year’s specials, so they will not be included

No proofread

——————————————————

Charlie 🐀🍕

He’s sitting on the couch with the little guy in his lap, Charlie is covering lil dudes coon ears with his hands. Casper comes around and sits behind him, laying their head on his shoulder.

“little dudes getting spooked from the fireworks, so he can sit in my lap so he doesn’t get scared, and I can sit in the lap of my Casper. to ring in the new year with the person who made this year Fucking incredible”

————————————————————————

Finn🌻

A little tipsy. Finn makes his way to the Hamic and crawls into the arms of his sunflower. watching the fireworks irrupt in the sky illuminating their faces with a variety of different colors.

“you OK baby?”

“Yea. Just a little too much wassail. i think…”

“Tipsy pink is a good look on you”

“oh, is that so~ well, the light from these fireworks is a very good look on you”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Soaking in yet another year of what they’ve built with each other

“Happy new year Finn”

“happy new year My love”

————————————————————————

Faust✨🎮

He’s on call with Star. They talked about a lot of things.

Life, Sex, trauma, how unbelievably sexy Arthur Morgan is.

Faust doesn’t really like alcohol. So he chugged a buzz ball at like 7:30 and shook his ass to Old FNAF Fan Songs for an hour. But now they were just chilling. waiting for the ball to drop.

“thanks for making the silence a little less silent starshine”

“thanks for being the friendly face that helps me bring in the new year”

“I would totally make out with you at midnight if you weren’t across the country”

“Yea Same”

————————————————————————

Auron 📚🖌️

Looking through the window of his office, Auron has an almost perfect view of town Square. He can see the people cheering hear the singers performing. but something or more accurately someone was missing. But just as the thought started to linger, he heard an all familiar knock.

“Hello Rook~ come to ask me why I’m in the office so late..especially on New Year’s Eve”

“Actually. I was going to ask if you wanted me to show you a lot better off of a view than that office window of yours”

“what did you have in mind?”

Rook extends their hands gesturing for him to follow them. He reluctantly takes their hand before he is quickly pulled down the hallway. many objections from him along the way. things like.

“why are you running so fast?”

“Where are we going?”

Met with answers like

“Thats not important”

“You’ll see”

They stop at the end of an obscure hallway to a door.

“This is the door to the roof…”

“…..👀”

“OH! Where going to the roof!…why are wE-”

Rook swings open the door grabs his hand and runs up the stairs all the way to the rooftop

“…..” he looks at the city below him.

All of the lights, the people, the music

“I also got this bottle of really tasty strawberry champagne if w-…..Auron?…You ok?”

“Sorry i…I’ve never seen the city from up here…”

“Well now you know there’s a better view then that stuffy office of yours”

“……”

“Thank you for being with me this year Rookie. You’ve actually made this year enjoyable”

“you’ve made it easy”

Auron turns towards Rook and wraps his arms around them, and pulls them into a soft slow kiss

“happy new year…lover”

“Your never gonna let me live down that break room whisper. are you?”

“Nope. Not for a second”

————————————————————————

Happy new year’s guys

Love y’all to pieces

#yuurivoice

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 18.2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Sex. SO MUCH ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose. Dub con (sort of?). References to medical trauma, miscarriage, infertility. Blood. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 16.3k (LOLOLOLOLOL)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Stop that shit right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You taste so sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

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

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

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

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

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

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

His prayers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clings to this.

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

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

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

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

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a mother knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you knew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

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

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

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

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

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

March 1960

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

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

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

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

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

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, anything for you.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for his friend, right?

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

That is the bargain.

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

But you are not his, you never really were.

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

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

Especially Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are his. You’ve always been his.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

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

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

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

Not again, not again, not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

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

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack flinches.

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

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

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

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

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

“How long, Elvis?”

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

“Opening night.”

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

The room goes silent yet again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

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

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

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

Elvis releases him.

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

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

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

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

No one does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

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

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