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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 15 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Mentions of Blood/Miscarriage/Medical trauma. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: The ANGST is real, y'all, and I'm not letting you off the hook after Part 14, sorry! This one was a beast to get out of my brain and the block was real for so many reasons, but we made it! It's here! Just so y'all know, this part is very much a bridge to all the crazy stuff that is to come. Reader is going through it and taking all of us with her. And I promise that more smut is coming (if you are only here for that, you horny animals! LOL). Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics that carry over from Part 14!

Thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Unexpected life crap/emotions/writer's block killed me on this one, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me! I rewrote the beginning of this part no less than four times, and FINALLY it clicked so here we are! Hooray! Thanks for helping me get through this!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

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

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

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

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

No!

The scream catches in your throat as you wake with a start, clutching your belly in a panic, your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard you feel like it is attempting to flee your chest. It takes a moment to figure out where you are. The night is warm and the sky is vast, and you are so far up you feel like you’re still dreaming.

“Baby, are you okay?” Elvis sits up straight in his lounge chair and turns to you. You can see, or better sense, the concern in his eyes, even in the darkness. This sends a shiver of recognition down your spine as your dream (or is it a memory?) flashes back to you in fragments. His eyes are older now, but the look remains the same, feels the same.

“I..I..I…” you stutter, shaking your head, unable to be coherent. No, you are not okay. Looking down, you half expect to see blood pooling between your legs, but thankfully there is none. You feel stuck in the haze between reality and dreams, or reality and what you are afraid might actually be the past.

You feel like screaming, but the impulse sticks in your throat, strangling you.

There was a reason, you think, that you never remembered that horrible night from nearly a decade ago. That you’d only been able to piece together snippets of what really happened from vague accounts of the people you’d been with that night. Elvis, in particular, had been purposefully scarce on details.

And you had been fine with that, truly not wanting to relive your trauma in any way, shape, or form. You’d even been grateful when the doctor told you it was normal for your mind to protect you from your near-death experience, that you might never remember the details of that night, and you determined the memory loss a blessing.

When you’d woken in the sterile hospital, drugged and dazed, the doctor told you’d had an ectopic pregnancy, that the baby—no, the “fertilized egg,” he’d said—had gotten stuck in your fallopian tube instead of your uterus. Unfortunately, your fallopian tube ruptured as the baby grew, and you had massive hemorrhaging, nearly dying in that skating rink. They were able to do surgery and stop the bleeding, but the baby was gone, and you were told it never would have come to term.

It was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. The grief and heartache, the disappointment, the feeling like an utter failure that your body had betrayed you in such a way. No, you were fine not remembering the details. You’d wanted to forget all about it. It didn’t matter to you that the specifics weren’t there, that not everyone’s stories lined up or made complete sense. You just wanted to push it all away.

But now…this dream felt so incredibly real, at least the parts that you remembered. As dreams do, it begins to fade, leaving only a few missing puzzle pieces that start to slot into place. Desperately, you try to wipe it all away again, but it’s too late. You are trying to convince yourself it had to be a dream, that the flashes you are remembering (or more so feeling), couldn’t have possibly happened that way. Except many of the parts you do remember are true and really happened: Elvis’ coming home, how you’d been so inexplicably enamored with him, and how he'd been so concerned he’d done something to hurt you—all of that was real.

But the night of the Rollerdome is where things get choppy. Those parts of the dream are still but snippets and feelings, overwhelming ones at that, and you have no memories to compare them to. Could it be that you lost the baby and almost died in Elvis’ arms after he’d come to your rescue when…when…something else happened? You can’t grasp why he’d needed to come to your rescue or what led up to being in his arms on the floor—it all slips through your fingers like water through a sieve.

God, but the pain you are remembering right now…it is all so much worse than you’d imagined.

It’s like you can sense it happening all over again rather than simply remembering, your belly cramping and lightheadedness threatening your vision. The frantic panic of fearing the worst pours through your veins now almost as it did then. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

Then there was Elvis, pulling you into his lap; you can feel the terror he tried so unsuccessfully to hide, how obvious it was in the shaking stutter of his voice as he was doused in your blood. Then, it fades again, leaving you with the distinct feeling that something important (other than losing the baby) happened on the floor of that roller rink, but it disappears into the ether before you can lock on to it.

“…Oh, God, don’t—”

All of it is too much, all at once.

You are barely conscious of the tears pouring down your cheeks, and you awkwardly stagger up from the lounge chair you’d fallen asleep on while traveling to the moon and the stars. Just you and me and the moon and the stars…You feel dizzy from getting up too fast, from the physical memory of it all and you sway, but your body overrides it with the need to flee, as if you can outrun the past.

“Hey, hey, hey! Honey, what’s happenin’? What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, confused, leaping up, grabbing your shoulders.

You tear yourself from his grasp, staggering for the door that will lead you off the roof and hopefully out of this hell your mind has sought to drag you into. Nothing makes sense. You feel trapped in a daze of psychic and physical pain, none of which is helpful or wanted. All the peace from your moment with the moon and the stars has evaporated in an instant. You reach the door and yank it open.

“Y/n, stop! Wait just a damn minute!” he says firmly, pulling you back to him, his cold rings digging into your forearm like chains.

“Elvis, let me go! You have to let me go!” you shout, trying to break free, but his hold on you is fierce. “Oh, god, I can’t do this,” you gasp, barely able to look at him.

You know you are being unfair to him in your reaction, but you feel betrayed. Betrayed by your body, betrayed by your mind, and betrayed by him, all at once. All logic is lost.

“Can’t do what, honey? I don’t understand what you’re goin’ on about,” Elvis asks in confusion, and you can tell by the roughness in his tone that he is frustrated but is trying to be patient with you. You don’t blame him. You must seem out of your mind, having a breakdown every other minute you are with him.

A deep part of you feels absolutely mortified at the entire situation. You’d had no idea that it was Elvis who’d found you and that something so horribly personal and tragic, your worst failure, was laid out before him so vulnerably. And to think he never mentioned it again makes you both grateful and angry. How could an experience like that be brushed under the rug, like nothing ever happened?

Suddenly all the beautiful bouquets of flowers he sent from afar in those weeks after it happened start to make a bit more sense, as does the distance that started to grow between you two. You had originally blamed it solely on him having to leave right away for Florida (he hadn’t even been there when I’d woken up in the hospital), then it was all the recording he’d needed to get done, and then just like that, he was out in Hollywood filming again. And when he was home after that, you remembered, he did not seek you out to spend any one-on-one time together. Now you wonder if he’d been purposefully avoiding you, and that makes you feel both offended and embarrassed.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to breathe somehow while still feeling like the world is closing in on you. The way your heart beats so quickly drives you to escape, but Elvis’ grip is like a vise, anchoring you to the spot. Everything hurts—a long-buried grief radiating through you like a tidal wave that has been held back far too long. Its icy flood consumes you, tightening your chest, and the healed scar on your belly feels like it’s being ripped open.

Finally, you say with shaking breaths, “I had a terrible nightmare. Or…or a memory, I’m not quite sure which…It felt—feels—so real, like it’s happening all over again.”

“What? What’s happening all over again?” Elvis asks with concern in his azure eyes.

“The baby. The night I lost the baby…god, there was so much blood. It was awful,” you choke out. “Were you really there? Was it you who found me, who held onto me?” you ask frantically, looking up at him for answers, for confirmation.

If you weren’t so consumed by the overpowering feelings rolling over you, you might catch the fleeting panic that flashes across his face before that unreadable mask he’s so carefully crafted over the years takes its place.

“What do you remember?” he asks evenly, calmly.

“Well, I…it’s all jumbled, flashes really. Being at the rink. Then suddenly blinding, horrible pain,” you grimace, arms wrapping around your abdomen, “and then I’m in your arms, bleeding everywhere, and everything gets distant and cold and numb and terrifying. And then it all fades away,” you whisper, looking at him for any sign of the truth of it.

You almost think you see relief in his eyes (why?), but it’s only for a second and then is gone. “That’s what you remember?”

You nod.

He continues, “Yeah, it was like that. I found you, baby. I held you until help got there. It was…awful,” he shudders, those almond eyes of his clouding, the memory obviously affecting him in some way.

“I…almost died,” you breathe. Of course, you logically already knew this to be true, but that was before you remembered how it felt.

“Yes, you did,” Elvis replies solemnly, his eyes churning with emotion, bringing his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the tears you have forgotten are falling.

“It hurts. Here. Now. I don’t know why,” you whisper. Though the pain has ebbed some, it still is intense, overwhelming. Perhaps it is because something about it still feels unfinished and hidden from you, like you are still missing some integral piece. You look at him as though he can give you the relief you so desperately seek, and you can’t help but feel that he is keeping something from you based on the look in his eyes.

“I don’t know either, but you’re safe now,” Elvis says, pulling you into him. He thinks he is good at shielding his emotions from you, and maybe he used to be, but now, after everything that has happened this past week, you can sense the turmoil beneath the softness of his pretty features. It sets you on edge. Enough secrets have been kept from you at this point in your life to recognize the signs, even if only intuitively.

Standing there on the roof, he rocks you gently, and the burning pain in your abdomen begins to subside, but is quickly replaced by unease, a rock of it forming in the pit of your stomach. Something is amiss and you can’t put your finger on it, but it has something to do with that terrible night. And with Elvis.

You watch him carefully as he leads you to the stairs, gingerly, like you might shatter into a million pieces. While you indeed felt that way only moments ago, worry and curiosity wind their way through your mind as you grasp at pieces of quickly-fading memories, searching for something, anything, that supports this intuitive feeling in your gut. You do not find it.

However, as you come back into his darkened suite, you are reminded of the fact that you should not be here, that your husband must be wondering where you got off to. It is nearly dawn, and you aren’t in your room.

And, oh dear lord, all the yelling and the noise that you and Elvis made earlier must have been overheard. Suddenly you are nauseous.

“Elvis,” you say, clasping his forearm in a panic.

“What, baby?” he looks at you, confused, concerned.

“We made a lot of noise earlier…”

A slow, wide grin spreads over his face, but that almost predatory darkness from before lingers in his eyes. “Oh, honey, I sent everyone away after that little stunt of yours in the bathroom with Jack,” he laughs, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He still isn’t happy about that.

Relief washes over you at the fact that your escapades remained private, although, you don’t know exactly who “everyone” is because his Mafia members were never too far from their master.

The unease is back, snaking through your mind. “I have to get back,” you say, “Jack must be wondering where I am.”

“He’s likely in the casino, and you, my dear, went back to Sandy’s room and fell asleep there.” The lie falls off his tongue so easily, and while you are grateful for the excuse, this ability of his gives you pause as you find the remnants of your clothes strewn about the room.

Everything feels off. It’s as though your dream-memory has exposed something, but you cannot put your finger on what, only that something about Elvis is itching at you.

Something important.

Your mind and your insides are still reeling from everything this night has entailed and uncovered. You shakily dress and try to clean yourself up before having to face the world outside of Elvis’ private suite. Between the wildly intense sex and the jarring memories your sleep unlocked, you are exhausted and wonder how you can possibly process any of this and still present “things as usual” to the rest of the world.

Finally ready to head out the door, Elvis stops you. “Wait,” he says, spinning you back to him and pulling you close. His luscious lips brush yours so sweetly, with such yearning, as if he hasn’t had you in nearly every way already tonight. You melt into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of him solid and comforting. You forget all your doubts and questions for the moment, unable to focus on anything but the pillowy softness of his gentle kisses and the way his strong hands cup your jaw and pull you to him. The man has you fully under his spell, and right now, as his tongue laps at yours, you do not care about anything else.

When he pulls back, you whine at the loss of him, and being him, he senses your need, and gives you a cheeky smirk.

“Later, darlin’, I promise,” he says, brushing your cheek. “I want you backstage again tonight, okay?” It’s less of a question and more a gentle command.

You nod, getting lost in those endless blues of his. Then you shake yourself off and head out the door, shutting it quietly behind you in your best effort to sneak out, your mind beginning to whirl again the moment you are out of his presence.

Lost in a fog of thoughts, your focus is on the ground, so when you collide with another body in the hallway, you nearly jump out of your skin, flying backwards and catching yourself before you tumble to the ground.

“Well, shit,” a familiar voice intones slowly and with surprise as you look up.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

Red.

Your eyes go wide as saucers as your brain tries to scramble up an excuse of why you’d be coming out of Elvis’ suite at this hour looking as you do, and you quickly realize that there is no other plausible explanation. Your mouth opens then closes aimlessly. And the smirk on Red’s face makes it quite clear that he understands the situation fully.

Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you stand frozen like a dear in headlights. This is very, very bad. Jerry is one thing—you have no doubts of his loyalty to Elvis and keeping his secrets. But Red, he is quite a different situation. He is loyal to Elvis, to be sure, but for a price. And he is friends with Jack and has been since the beginning. You had never taken to Red—something about him always irked you, but it was never truly an issue before this moment.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n,” Red tsks at you, a nasty gleam in his eye, “Now what kind’a trouble you been gettin’ up to?” It’s obvious he knows exactly what kind.

You finally find your voice. “Red,” you say in what you hope is a warning but considerate tone, “I’m sure we can both just forget this ever happened. We wouldn’t want to upset anyone.” There’s no need to say their names, you both know who you mean. But your voice is too shaky and even you can’t take yourself seriously.

“Hmm, maybe,” Red ponders infuriatingly. You want to wipe that smug look right off his face.

You both stand there staring for a minute before you finally straighten yourself. You desperately want to turn and go back to Elvis to plead with him to drop Red off somewhere in the middle of the desert, but you know E needs his rest and this conversation can’t happen now. So instead, you square your shoulders, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Excuse me, I have to be going,” you say a little haughtily.

Red just laughs, “I bet you do, sweetheart.”

The endearment is anything but, coming out snide instead. A cold shiver runs down your spine. Finally, you break the tension and push past him, trying to keep your gait steady and unhurried, when all you want to do is to sprint to the door. But you make it without doing so, holding your breath the whole way. Once in the hall, you pound the elevator button multiple times as if that will make a difference in how fast it arrives. Then you feel like you can breathe again, once tucked safely and blissfully alone inside the car, heading down.

You don’t trust Red. Not one bit.

Panic rises up from your stomach, an acidic, bitter bile. This is exactly what you’ve been afraid of. You can feel the rickety foundation of your lies begin to sway under your feet. Not only are you feeling unmoored because of whatever your dream-memory unlocked about Elvis that you can’t pinpoint, but this hits you where it hurts. You reap what you sow, and you have been sowing quite a bit.

All the doubt that Elvis washed away with his gentle kisses mere minutes ago comes back to hit you full force. You must end this, you’ve got to, and you know, oh god, you know it will break your heart, but you cannot live anymore with this fear that is eating you from the inside out.

You were never meant to be this person. You are not special, certainly not special enough to warrant true love from Elvis Presley. You are just a housewife from Tennessee whose husband is a liar and a cheat. You were bored and now you’re in over your head.

Get out. Run, as far away and as fast as you can! your mind screams at you. God, you can’t breathe. For the second time today, you feel as though the air has been stolen from your lungs and like the ground is crumbling underneath your feet.

You are not strong enough for this. You were not made for lying and cheating and sneaking around. The weight of it all feels untenable as you knock on Sandy’s door.

When it opens, she doesn’t even say a word. One look at you and she’s yanking you inside.

“Red knows,” you eek out before she has a chance to say anything.

“Shit,” she curses and brings you to sit down on the bed. Then she steals away, and you hear water running.

You don’t realize you are shaking until she hands you the glass of water and it nearly spills all over your dress. You gulp it down, suddenly parched.

“What the hell happened last night?” she finally asks, after you’ve downed the glass of water and manage to take in some slow breaths. “You disappeared with Jack,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose, “and then Elvis looked like he was gonna lose his damn mind and kicked everyone out, but you were nowhere to be found. Then, Jerry called and told me that if anyone asked, you were with me all night.”

Setting the empty glass on the side table, you put your head in your hands. “Oh, Sandy, I feel like every decision I am making is insane. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Sandy just looks at you with expectation in her eyes, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Elvis and I had quite an…argument about me being with Jack. And then we had crazy, hot sex, like nothing I’ve ever experienced before,” you sigh and Sandy grins like an idiot. “Then he took me up on the roof to look at the moon, and I fell asleep and had this horrible—well, it was a nightmare, but I think it was actually a memory I repressed. Oh, it was awful.”

Sandy looks at you quizzically. “A repressed memory? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know I can’t have kids…but way back in ’60, I had an ectopic pregnancy that resulted in me miscarrying and almost bleeding to death on the floor of the Rollerdome,” you ramble out, the water you just drank making you feel sick to your stomach.

“Oh my god, hon, that’s terrible,” she says pulling you in for a hug.

“Obviously, there are reasons I don’t talk about it, but also, I didn’t remember any of it. The doc said my brain did it to protect me from the trauma. Until this morning, I didn’t have any idea of what really happened. But now…I had these flashes, these glimpses, of the horrible pain. It was like living it all over again. Like I could feel it happening, San,” you say, clutching your stomach. “And what I didn’t realize was that Elvis was there for all of it. He was holding me and watching me die. There was blood everywhere.”

“Jesus,” Sandy breathes.

“And he never told me that he was there! How could we go through something like that together and him not say a damn word? And I swear something else happened, something he’s not telling me. I just feel like he’s hiding something about it, something I still can quite put my finger on,” you add rapidly.

“Well, honey, maybe it was traumatic for him, too. And I’m sure he didn’t want to make you relive all that,” Sandy says reasonably, patting your knee.

“That makes logical sense, San, I know it does, but it’s not just that, I’m telling you…I’ve been having these dreams, these memories, come up since being with him, things I am just now remembering. I don’t know,” you shake your head, frustrated. “It’s like a puzzle that is missing pieces and I just can’t quite put it all together.”

“How can I help, hon?” Sandy asks, her eyes comforting and kind.

“You’re doing it, babe, by just listening,” you say, squeezing her hand. “So, when I woke up from the dream, E seemed closed off about what I was telling him. I mean, he confirmed he was there, and that he’d held me, but I could just tell he wasn’t letting me in on everything. I feel like I’m noticing just how well and how easily he seems to bend the truth to suit his needs, and now I’m doing it, too,” you say, ashamed.

“And how does Red fit into all this?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, god, yeah. I literally ran into him coming out of Elvis’ room. You should have seen the smug look on his face, San. I am so fucking screwed,” you sigh, flinging yourself back on the bed.

“Just tell Elvis! He won’t let Red get away with anything,” Sandy points out.

“I won’t see him until tonight, and by then, everyone might already know!” You look at Sandy frantically, pleadingly. “I feel crazy, and I hate all these stupid emotions! Jesus, who even am I anymore? Am I this woman who lies and cheats and hides things, not just from everyone, but from herself, too?”

Sandy looks at you, pausing as she seems to gather her thoughts. “Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, you are finally breaking free of everything that’s been holding you back? That you are just scared of all of this because it’s new and different and a risk? Before this last week, when was the last time you even took a risk, y/n? When was the last time you actually allowed yourself to really feel anything? Hon, you’ve spent so much time pushing down everything that you are and could be because of Jack and what you think you have to be for him. Maybe all this is just you becoming…you. Making decisions for yourself, ones that make you happy,” Sandy says with the love only she could give you.

You choke back a sob, “But who I am is an awful person, Sandy. I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m a liar and a cheat, which is everything I hate about Jack. I’m stuck in this dysfunctional marriage that I’m dependent on, and I was the reason we couldn’t build the big family we both wanted. I’m in love with someone I have no business being in love with, a man who is so utterly beyond my reach, who could never love me the way I need him to. I…God, I can’t even trust my memories!” Your utter heartbreak at everything aches through your chest, a painful reminder of everything you lack. Shaking with tears, you curl into a ball.

“Oh, hon,” Sandy says gently. She grabs your shoulders and hauls you up. “Look at me.”

You force yourself to meet her gaze, tears leaking from your eyes.

“You have to stop beating yourself up, baby. You’re not perfect, none of us are, but you are certainly not an awful person, not one little bit. You are full of love and kindness and talent, and you’ve put yourself last for so damn long that putting yourself first feels wrong to you,” she says so matter-of-factly that you have no choice but to listen.

“But I’ve made such a mess of things,” you whimper.

“Yeah, well, Jack pushed you to it, hon. And Elvis, well, he’s Elvis, and resisting that man takes a fortitude of will that not many women possess. What I’m saying is, this is not all on you.”

But you still feel like a powder keg about to explode, all your anguish and self-doubt clawing its way out of you, ripping you to shreds along the way.

“No, no, no. I have to…I have to end this,” you shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. It feels like hell.”

Sandy purses her lips and gives you a look. “Did you even listen to a word I just said, hon? Let me make it clearer for you: You love Elvis. You don’t love Jack, not anymore. Leave the fucker and go be with the man you love, guilt free! Jack’s a big boy, he’ll survive.”

She makes it sound so easy, but it is anything but, at least to you, and you’re the one living it. “I can’t, Sandy, I can’t just do that! I’m dependent on Jack, who is dependent on Elvis. Without either of them, I have nothing. No job, no money, nothing. So tell me what happens when E gets tired of me, huh? Then I will literally be out on the street, Sandy!” you yell.

“God, you are just determined to be miserable, aren’t you? So determined that you are blind to the obvious!” Sandy shakes her head in frustration, then takes a deep, calming breath before lowering her voice to continue, “I can’t make you feel that you are enough—only you can do that, hon. But you are. You are enough for me, and certainly enough for Elvis.”

“You don’t know that, Sandy! Besides, Elvis is keeping shit from me, too! And I haven’t been enough for Jack for a long time!” you holler.

“Fuck Jack, y/n! Fuck him! He’s not worthy of you, not the other way around. You have to start to see that, hon!” she yells back, her cheeks reddening.

“None of that changes the situation! Red knows, and you and I both know he’s gonna make trouble, and it’s gonna all blow back on me. I’m trapped. I’m trapped in all of it, my marriage, this affair, the lies, this fucking insane world of Elvis’! I can’t…Fuck this shit,” you say, standing up, every nerve in your body flying on a horrible roller coaster than you can’t seem to get off of.

The only solution you can see is to remove yourself from the equation.

“I’m gonna say goodbye to Elvis, to Vegas, to all of it. I’m leaving on the first plane out of here tonight,” you say with finality, standing up. It makes you feel like you finally have some semblance of control over your life.

“Y/n. I don’t think this is the solution you think it is, hon—” Sandy starts.

“Look, I appreciate everything you are trying to do here, but I’m the one living this, not you, and it feels like hell right now. I need out. I’m going home,” you say harshly, swiping the tears off your face. It’s like you are pulling a steel door over all the turmoil you’ve been feeling, shutting out the pain so you can do what you should have done days ago.

You don’t want to relive the trauma of your miscarriage or remember all these fleeting and confusing moments with Elvis anymore. You don’t want to think about what Elvis is hiding from you, because you just know it’s something important and you can’t take another man you love lying to you. You don’t want to see Jack. You don’t want to completely upend everything you’ve known for the last fourteen years. You don’t want to be in love with a man who could never truly love you back the way you need him to. Because they never do.

And your heart aches in every way—for the baby you never met, for the man you used to love, and for the man you love now—it all radiates through you like poison, threatening to cripple you. You can’t stay like this. Anything to escape these horrible feelings, this seemingly unending wave of fear and uncertainty.

Sandy looks at you resigned and disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Fine. You do what you gotta do. But running away ain’t gonna solve anything.”

The hell it won’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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eartheats · 4 months

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hello hello! (again!)

been a bit since I did an updated one of these, huh??? but it's been about a year since i did my original one, so!!! time for a new introduction post!

(art made by the wonderful @professor-amaryllis's player!!!)

anyway, hello!!! my name is ren (they/them or ze/zir!!), i'm 24 years old and welcome to my silly lil blog! i mostly use this to reblog orthworm and orthworm accessories!!! i'm a pokemart worker who's on leave at the moment, and i'm currently sort of a student at the blueberry academy! i'm currently taking some researcher courses there, and i'm tryin' my hardest to become an authority in steel type pokemon! though, uh, most of my experience is with my favorite pokemon, who i'm guessin' y'all can tell who it is. heehee

but uh, what else...i've actually got a fair amount of experience as a steel type trainer, and most of my research is focused on orthworm! their environmental impact and their role in the ecosystem is just fascinatin' to me, especially livin' near 'em in zapapico for most of my life! that's actually how i befriended my big ol' lug of a partner, lulu, who you'll be hearin' about a LOT on this blog heehee. he's been my buddy since i was a tyke, and we've been trainin' together for almost two decades at this point!

arc, i'm probs gonna ramble forever if i keep this up. i guess i can basically summarize everythin' else!!! i used to be a student at the old uva academy, and it sucked! was a student at the new one too, but circumstances have made keepin' up with that and blueberry stuff a lil harder than expected. i got my foot in the door originally workin' at the montenevera chansey supply, so i know a lil bit about pokemon medicine too if ya ever need advice.

i'll leave y'all with a trainer card, if ya ever need to contact me please feel free to shoot me an ask!!! promise i won't bite. maybe i'll make one'a them faqs at some point...and maybe a page for my pokemon!! that'd be real neat heehee

((ooc info below the cut!))

HELLO ONE AND ALL my name is Sable (they/them exclusively), late 20s, nothing's really changed all that much but I needed to make an updated intro for Ren at some point anyway, so now seemed to be a good time!

guess to set some basic ground rules:

follows will come from @shinydracozolt! that is my main blog full of weird shit, so uh, don't be alarmed.

Pelipper mail type things are on, but I can turn them off if I wish to. I will let everyone know if I decide to do this.

I have not Tumblr RP'd before, please be gentle with me.

Blog will occasionally dip feet into the High Stakes pool, especially with current plots going on in the background regarding Ren's mother, who's kind of a messy shitshow of a person. Ren's backstory in general is kind of a mess! Mom is evil with connections to Team Flare and dad is dead so uh. Whoops.

This blog will occasionally delve into sensitive topics, mostly with ask games and such. The ones that mostly pertain to Ren are: mental abuse by a parent, bullying at the old Uva, the massive shut in arc they had between ages 14-18, underage drinking (they still partake and aren't an alcoholic, but they and the bottom of a bottle go way back, so to speak), and occasional mentions of weed. (they themselves don't do it but a friend and coworker of theirs is a stoner. these posts will be tagged accordingly)

There will be occasional shenanigans with @ribesrubrum! Basically I had Ren befriend a canon character in their Kitakami arc and didn't want to potentially make things awkward, so they will interact occasionally. Don't be alarmed!

Lemme know if you need any trigger tags accommodated and I shall do my best! My memory is not the greatest thing in the world but I will do my best. <3

Would prefer no NSFW sent Ren's way, they are ace as hell. There may be occasional mentions of it from other blogs, but they'll be tagged accordingly.

Not exactly open to shipping with Ren because, once again, the whole ace deal, but if something starts to go that way feel free to let me know? But I am going to say no automatically if the player is a minor and the character in question is not 21+.

Can't really think of anything else I wanna say, but I mostly play fast and loose with shit and Ren's kind of off in their own little world sometimes lmao

#pokemon #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #rotomblr #ren talks

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ambeauty · 1 year

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A message to a particular person in a particular fandom...

Y'all can reblog this so they can see it. I blocked them because I got tired of seeing my takes in their mouth without them actually speaking to me about them. Also them creating content based on things that I said on my platform, only for them to have something to talk about on their platform because there's no original thoughts in that empty ass head has pissed me off for the last time.

People like this are the ones who make fandom toxic. Who make it not fun. Who takes everything someone says and turns in into something that it's not. All for MAKE BELIEVE CHARACTERS! These people are NOT REAL! We can do say, think, and FEEL however the fuck we want about them. And you are free to disagree. That's fine, but what is not ok is bringing up points you disagree with on other platforms and avoiding the actual smoke, and then making posts or tweets like you're some kind of tv fucking scholar and work in the writers room.

You bitches are draining and boring as hell and have the personality of raisin bran. You tote this air of superiority and confidence, when really you're hateful and lonely. This is internet and I can see how fucking miserable you are here, so there's no wonder people probably don't want to deal with you irl.

Anybody who has interacted with me privately and personally know that I am who I am and I say how I feel and I don't take issue with what anybody else has to say about things I disagree with. That's not why I am here. I create the positive, fun, and welcoming community that was introduced to me. And one thing about me, I'm a pretty tough person, so they aren't about to run me off the internet. I'll be here until I don't have anything left say. So y'all just gonna have to deal.

So yeah if you don't like what I have to say block me or shoot me a message. I respect people who actually want to have conversation in a respectful way. This whole subbing and quoting people and lying about people and misinterpreting people is childish as fuck and it should not be tolerated.

Miserable people are not allowed in my space.

#get a fucking life loser

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hikari-writes · 4 years

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❅A Love Letter I Have to My Lovely and Beloved Friends❅

(I just know that 30 july was a national friendship day and today is like 31 july already at where I am but,,, just pretend that this is also for National Friendship Day 🤡🔫)

As you all know, it's been confirmed that I'll be going on a hiatus two days from now that I really don't know how long it will go on. So, with that in mind, I wished to leave this message to all the wonderful friends I've made while I was active here on Tumblr during quarantine.

I've started this writing blog a few months ago, to be precise, on May where life in quarantine was starting to become a norm. In the few months until now, I did my best to start writing and drawing more using all the free times that I have.

I wouldn't have expected this blog to grow so much in such a short time. To me, it was really mind blowing, seeing that there's a lot of other great content creators here on Tumblr. Yet, the 300+ people who stumbled upon my blog still decided to follow me.

I was really happy to have made many contents that I'm actually proud of posting. And I still can't believe there are people out there who love them. Seeing every one of your comments and reblogs and likes really, really, squeezed my heart and I couldn't be more thankful for your support.

And during these fun times, I was able to make friends with many amazing, talented, fantastic and all the good words I could find in the dictionary people on here. You all are a real gift to me and I hold you guys close to my heart.

I still can't believe I was able to befriend you guys though, like, y'all are so amazing and I was just here like squeaking my name to you like a shy mice lmao. =///= Anyways, thank you for all the good and fun times. Thank you for being with me and helping me with lots of things. Just, thank you for everything. (I'm writing this at 1am like it's sad hours yall I'm crying :')))

If you are ever feeling down, do not ever forget that, even if it's only me, I'll support you to the end of the world because you're just so amazing and fantastic. I love you and never let any hate that's thrown at you let you down because they aren't worth your time.

The people I'll be mentioning below are my dear friends or just people that I have been interacting with during the times I was online, little or not, I still consider you guys to be my friends (very self-proclaimed here sorry)and I'm still honoured by that fact.

@your-local-bnha-writer -Bean, you and your posts are always so wholesome and cute and I love them. Keep being amazing, and we may not interact much, but I still appreciate every little convos we had. Also, wish you luck on tpn, that shit hurted :')

@identifybby -Liaaaa, omg im so v v grateful we became friends. You've helped me with a tons of things and I can't thank you enough for everything you've done to me. You're just so amazing and thank you for always putting up with me, i love you sm.

@minteasketches -Mintea! You're such an amazing artist and I rlly enjoyed our conversations! You might not see this since you're off socmed but just wanna let u know that thank u for being my friends.

@yandere-of-your-dreams -Heyyy sis,, you're always such a sweet bean to me and showering me w love and i appreciate them, stay amazing and I'm sure you'll become an amazing writer.

@shotobabe -Ren, wifey, ilysm thank u for always being with me. You're such an awesome person and keep on being yourself. You're perfect and talented, don't let others tell you otherwise. AND while I'm gone, don't forget to drink lots of water okay? I won't be able to remind you while I'm on a hiatus, but please always remember to drink water. That'd be the first thing I'll ask you once I'm able to be online. And please try to eat more okay bb? I love u.

@takumipineapplexd -Taku! Amazing writer and amazing editor, yes I'm talking about you. You're amazing and keep on making cursed content and being crackhead, i love them.

@bnhabadass -We might not talk much, but I just want to let you know that you're so amazing and I look up to u v much. Literally had a heart attack when u commented on angel wings lmao.

@tomomoni -Mon, love, soft bean, I LOVE U. You've always been so wholesome and cute to every one of your followers and seeing ur interactions literally heals my heart. Your art is amazing so continue being amazing ilysm thank u for being an amazing advisor and listener, I'm v grateful for that. You have no idea how blessed I am to have you as a friend. Meeting you through turn on your airdrop's fanart was F A T E.

@kamabukokompachiro -First time u asked my permission to read my fanfic, I legit teared up. Thank u sm for asking, I couldn't be happier to know that my fic is worthy to be read over for a yt channel. Keep on being amazing and ily.

@kaminii -Kamiiiii, sweet child, you're always so matured and calm and I really adore and respect that part of you (unlike me im v childish and rash) You're an amazing writer and editor and ur aesthetic? 100/10. Love it. You're so talented despite being so young and I'm just, WOW. Ily and thank u for being friends w me. And please fix your sleeping schedule bb. It's rlly not good for your health, like please? Ily.

@katsucutie -I love you and your writing so v much, and I rlly enjoyed talking to you, discussing about Burn Book was rlly fun. I might not be able to know the ending since im gonna go on a hiatus but I'll be sure to catch up to it once im back. Keep being amazing and awesome.

@isolshi -CHERIE, I LOVE YOU AND YOU'RE AMAZING. Don't be so insecure about your writing. They're amazing. And you're also one of the sweetest and cute person I've met here. I always love teasing you cause your reaction is always so funny and cute. Keep being awesome. And please, please, please get enough sleep and drink LOTS of water. I legit would cry if you don't drink more water cher.

@mirakeul -BIANCAAAAA LOVE YOU'RE SO AMAZING AND SWEET LiKE--- please, I love talking to you and thank you so much for always reminding me to eat. Your calligraphy and handwriting are awesome, shshh i don't take criticism. Never stop writing, I love them. And please never forget I love you and you're my best friend okay?

@roxybefab -You've always been the first to ask me to be on my taglist and I'm so v happy because of that. Thank you for everything, and keep on being awesome. You can do this, ily.

@princessofdawn718 -Talking to you about Hamefura has been so fun! I haven't talked w many ppl about isekai so im rlly glad I could talk about them w you. Katarina x nicol ftw! Thanks for talking to me, it was such a pleasure rlly.

@softkodzuken -Maam your writing is A M A Z I N G. I love anon sm and you're rlly so sweet for always replying to every single comment on them. Don't be so insecure about them, they're amazing and i will always stand by that point. Wishing you the best of luck for Undercover!

@lolitsleia -Your art is *chef's kiss* i love them so much, I still can't believe you hadn't had more recognition like why?? Ur oc alex is the cutest thing ever and i love her. Thank you again for drawing Yuki. She looked really beautiful and cute in your drawing.

@samanthaa-leanne -We may not talk much, but when you first followed me back, my heart goes B O O M. You're so amazing and keep being like that. And uh,, good luck with Violet Evergarden if you ever plan to watch it. Prepare a couple of tissue boxes....or dozens.

@miyumtwins -Fellow android users! I first saw you through Bean's post about a tag game and i was like *gasp* another androiders..! I swear that one time i was interacting w you, I didn't actually meant to go off anon,, yes im dumb lmao. Anyways, you're rlly amazing and I'm rlly honoured to be followed by you.

@kawasuno -Your smau? 100/10. Your sense of humour 100/10. They're just so perfect *chef's kiss* I love every one of your updates and they always managed to put a smile on my face, i was like, how did you do that? My sense of humour is nonexistant, teach me your ways sensei. But anyways, you're rlly amazing and awesome. Keep up w that.

@kukusbabe -Tsu, I've never said this, but it's you. It's always been you all along. What i mean is, I've followed you first (i knew u through zara's flopping server yeah!) And when i looked at my dash and saw all your interactions w your moots, despite me haven't legally started haikyuu yet, i decided to follow all of them, soooo if it's not for you, we may not have met each other. Everyone in the kita family, Tsu is the MVP here muah. Also your aesthethic and writing and everything is so kajsjhendnd amazing i LOvE---

@iwaixiumi -King Nami, you're so awesome and amazing,, and I'm really glad to be able to interact w you. All those songs you recommend? Yeah, I'm going to listen and love all of them, thank u so much for the recs. Keep being amazing and to everyone reading this, PLEASE INTERACT WITH KING NAMI MORE SHE DOESN'T BITE---

@shoutodoki -Hello, you're so amazing and talented and im just,,, kekkdjfjdj when you followed me--- and when u figured out i was the anon talking about oboro i was OAKSJEJDDJ please, i was so honoured u know, like ???? Anyways, keep on writing what you love and your art maam? THEY'RE AMAZING LIKE BOTH YOUR ART AND WRITING IS SO KAJSJDJDN pliS im so v honoured to be able to talk to you.

@lisarillia -Please excuse me while I go shout in the corner of how much i LOVE your arts. They're amazing and being able to talk to you was a real pleasure. Keep on doing what you love. They'll be amazing no matter what i swear.

@cutiedrawsbnha -Cutie, honey, you're amazing and your art is so cute! Don't let what haters said get to you. You're going to grow into an amazing artist. If you give in and listen to what they said, you're going to end up like what they said so ignore them honey! I believe in you so keep shipping izuocha, todomomo, and kamijirou and making arts. Lotsa love!

@lilikags -Heeyyyy you sweet cute innocent bean! Don't ever stop writing what you love, you'll grow into a big blog soon enough, before you know it. Just keep making what you love, and as time pass by, I'm sure there will be many people who will find appreciate everything you do. I'm always supporting you.

@baeshijima -SOPHHHHH YOU SWEET CUTE CINNAMON ROLL WAKATOSHI'S WIFE EYE--- You have NO idea how much i love you,, you're so sweet and I honestly don't know what did i do to deserve you. Srsly you're a blessing to me. Thank you for the sweet daily reminder in my inbox, i love each and every one of them. Keep being so cute and wholesome, love you.

@shinsuque -ANAAAAA Thanks again for the Bakugou's memes! I may not be able to do it before i go on a hiatus though *sobbing* Keep being so awesome! I love seeing all your interactions and you're so amazing i honestly don't know why you followed me----

@semiluvr -LYDIA *SOBBING* THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR INVITING ME TO THE KITA FAMILY. Even though we've known each other in less than a week, it already felt like I had known you guys for so long like whotttt. Keep being an amazing and sweet person ily muah

@dumbass-lev -MOMMY, MUI, ILY THANK U FOR ALWAYS BEING SO SWEET YOU'RE AMAZING,,, u have no idea how happy (and also flustered) I am when i saw you asking you want to adopt me like,,, whot I've never been asked to be adopted online b4 so you asking that was a big surprise to me and just,,, remember that i love you and you're an amazing mommy. Hope i wasn't too much too handle as your child lol and thank u, for asking to invite me to the server. It has been a real pleasure to me to be there.

@pudding-head-kenma -DANIE!! We haven't talked much and I've only known you for a short time but I really love your detailed analysis. They're amazing and you're amazing. Thank you for being so sweet and cute. Ily.

@/🦋 nonoi -🦋 NONOIIII!!! IF YOU'RE SEEING THIS, I JUST WANNA TELL YOU THANK YOU FOR BEING MY EMOJI ANON! I love you you're so sweet and bb please please please don't forget me id cry,,,

@astereim -Rein!!! I know we just talked and all but you seem to be a reaally cool and amazing person,, we might not be able to interact much since I need to go prepare things b4 i go on my hiatus though, but just wanna let u know that ily!

@tokoyamis-luv -please don't come for my neck i haven't been active on the server Lol but anyways, zara, you're amazing and your simping for Kurapika is always fun to watxh. Also all the lin manuel edits are *chef's kiss* we may not talk much but i was rlly honoured to be able to interact w you, even a little bit.

@engel-hageshii - YOU, MAAM are a literal angel, and your comments on my fics always managed to make me smile so much. I love you, please never stop being such a sweetheart.

@laylahoran -I've always loved and appreciate every comments you make. I'm v happy I was able to create a content that you can love. You and engel has been some of my firsts followers and I'm really blessed to have you two.

@oyasenpai -Diemmy! You're so sweet and cute and seeing your interaction w my moots (kami) was what made me follow you. Don't let what others said bring you down, okay? Just do what you want because there're always many people supporting you for it.

Special message to the kita family server;

Meanwhile while you guys were talking about me there, I was just innocently scrolling through Tumblr, not knowing what kind of fate I'll be receiving 👁👄👁 No wonder I was sneezing so much 🤧🤧🤧

So, I was just scrolling through the pinned messages and I saw tsu said "mui: can we invite hikari? Everyone here: kakskejdjdjdn" and i was just like,,, ??????? I wasn't expecting u guys to have that kind of reaction i--- yall have no idea how much i was grinning while I scroll through those messages. Thank you so much for inviting and accepting me, it's really fun to be with you guys and your crackhead energy 🥰🥰 Thank you to mui for suggesting you had no idea I was really really happy. 😭 Y'all are so amazing and sweet and cute and beautiful kakjdjdd

To all of my dear friends that I've mentioned above, I LOVE YOU LOTS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GRATEFUL I AM TO MET YOU GUYS. Quarantine time has been stressful for a lot of people, and Tumblr can sometimes (a lot of times) be kinda whack but I was really happy to met you guys during my time here. Our time together may have been short, but i feel like we've known each other for more than a year, no caps. I love you all very very much. Thank you for talking to me and befriending me. Remember to get enough sleep, drink lots of water, stay safe and healthy, eat enough meals and, take care of yourself. I love you guys.

And lastly, to everyone reading this, whether i know you or not, or interacted with you or not, or follow you or not, or you follow me or not, just REMEMBER that you are worth it and I love you. Keep on being awesome, and always remember to smile, laugh and live. Don't forget to always DRINK LOTS OF WATER, GET ENOUGH SLEEP, and EAT ENOUGH MEALS.

Signing off,

Hikari.

#amazing talented people #sweet nice people 💕#a message #my dear friends

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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Broken Glass Chapter 3 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life).

TW: Sexual assault (not described in too much detail). Dissociation. Mentions of physical abuse. Coercion. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: R (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹 I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 2 and I'm so glad people are finding the premise and E's health to be as fascinating as I do!

Please read the trigger warnings for this chapter. While not super graphic or in detail, this chapter delves into some dark things related to both sexual and physical assaults that are the catalysts for Dolores' decisions going forward and could definitely be triggering to some readers. It's not the whole chapter by any means--the actual moment is very short, but it is referenced in her desperation to forget what has happened to her and to escape her situation.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

I imagined it 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’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences!

Usually, the subway threatens to rock you to sleep after your night shifts. It is rather quiet in comparison to the trains headed into Manhattan, filled to the brim with workers of all kinds who are headed in from the boroughs. A bonus of working nights has been the less crowded and frenzied rides as you are heading out of the city while everyone else is going in. But this morning, every time you close your eyes, those brilliant yet stormy sapphires stare back at you with amusement. You can’t even focus on the book you’ve brought without your mind wandering back to the strange encounter with Elvis, wondering why he’d chosen you of all people to bother.

Heat flares through you again at how maddening he was in such a short amount of time, but you are self-aware to recognize that while the heat is mostly frustration at his actions and the repercussions they caused you, it also speaks the tiniest bit of how his pointed, beautiful gaze made you feel a little off kilter. You are annoyed that you can’t seem to forget how lovely he looked asleep in the bed.

Not asleep. Unconscious.

And that reminder strikes dread in your heart. The words in his chart (which I shouldn’t have looked at in the first place) make you feel uneasy because this secret is likely to cause untold repercussions if discovered. Considering the fervor surrounding his draft into the Army, you can only imagine the emotions of the female populace if they learn the truth about their beloved idol’s health.

You shift in your seat uncomfortably, the weight of your knowledge an unwelcome pressure on your psyche. It’s your own fault of course. But the empathy that serves you well in the hospital also has you feeling sad for the poor man, despite your annoyance. You may not be a fan, but you can’t deny the man’s talent and impact on the world. Thousands, millions even, will be devastated when…

No. It’s none of your business. You shouldn’t even know who the VIP is, much less be worrying about the man’s future. You have much more pressing things to worry about.

Those worries take hold with each step towards the house where you live. It’s certainly not a home, not anymore, and hasn’t been for a very, very long time. Your mother’s untimely death assured that.

Part of the excitement of getting into nursing school, even one as close as Bellevue, was that you were required to live in the dormitory. Four whole years in a tiny closet of a room, clad with only a single bed and a tiny desk and a small sink. For many of the girls it was torture but for you it was sweet relief. Peace. Safety.

But the day after graduation, you’d been forced right back into the viper’s nest, unable to find a place to share with anyone else, certainly not before you’d secured the job you now are desperate to hang onto, the one thing that will hopefully secure that freedom for you.

A heaviness settles over you the moment you hit the doorway and you say a silent prayer that you are late enough to have missed breakfast. Another bonus to nights is the fact that you have a viable excuse to not interact with your volatile father, Pop, because he, along with your younger brothers, are often gone by the time you trudge through the door.

But said door is unlocked, a sure sign that you’re too early and the dread you’d felt on the train about a man you barely know is nothing compared to the fear that settles in your stomach at the sounds of breakfast in the dining room.

You tiptoe down the hall in an attempt to remain unseen, your breath held as though it will somehow make you invisible. It’s only two big steps past the open door of the dining room but those steps might as well be a ravine. You make a break for it all the same.

“Dolores!” Pop’s voice sends you ramrod straight, but the tone of it is not the usual gruffness and distain. No, this is the voice for company, the one that covers all the dirty little secrets that permeate the walls of this house.

“Look who stopped by! Aren’t you glad to see our old friend?” Pop says in that saccharine voice.

You pull your gaze up and right into the black eyes of another man you don’t want to see but have to act as though you do.

“Hello, Gianni,” you force out of your mouth as neutrally as possible, but you grip your purse tight enough that your knuckles turn white.

“My beautiful Dolores! It’s been too long, bella,” Gianni coos at you, rounding the table to press an unwanted kiss to your cheek. He lingers too long, his hands like heavy weights on your biceps. Every ounce of you wants to push the snake away but you cannot, not here in front of Pop and your brothers. Gianni is too important in the community and disrespecting him would have consequences.

“You are a hard woman to get ahold of, Lori,” he purrs in your ear, using the nickname that is reserved for close relations and friends. This angers you but you are tired and weary and correcting him would only spell trouble.

“I was just telling Gianni how that hospital is working you to the bone, keeping you up nights, and that’s why you haven’t returned his calls,” Pop says pointedly, the clear message underneath being “Why the hell haven’t you called him back?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You hadn’t called him back because you are avoiding him like the plague. Because you know he’s going to ask you out on a date and the result will be him asking you a question you do not want to answer.

Gianni has had his sights set on you since you’d hit puberty. Thankfully your youth saved you, as the seven years between you two was a great enough span that even your father did not approve of it in those early years. Then, nursing school kept you out of the fray, beyond a few well-chaperoned dates. But now that you’ve come of age and are back home, you’ve felt the crawl of him under your skin, getting closer and closer.

The fact that he wants you at all is crazy. Gianni’s father Salvatore is one of the “pillars of the community,” the Consigliere—the right-hand man of the boss of this crime family. He’s one of the most important figures in this dysfunctional community you live in. Being a woman, you aren’t supposed to know any details, of course, but it is impossible not to know at least some of what goes on in the famiglia. Especially when your father has been coming home covered in blood and bruises and smelling of gunpowder since you were a small child.

You aren’t supposed to know your father is a soldier, a violent underling sent to do all the dirty work for the boss. It’s hard to deny, though, since his temper and aggressiveness are never just left at “work.” Unfortunately for you, Pop’s somewhat lower position in the hierarchy has not disqualified you from being courted by Gianni; in fact, with approval from his father and the boss, Gianni has every right to pursue you.

However, to the dismay of all parties, you do not want to be pursued. Not by Gianni. He is handsome with his dark hair and olive skin, yes, but ruthless, set to devour anything in his path. He wants to possess you. Own you.

His near-black eyes shine with it even now, this need of his to collect what he believes is his due. You are well aware that he has intentions to marry you—the beauty and intelligence you inherited from your mother has seen to that. And since it’ll raise Pop’s stature in the famiglia, he has been pushing you towards Gianni one way or another since Gianni took an interest. Only your mother had been hesitant, but when she died, all hope was lost.

An arranged marriage in a modern world.

So, no, you haven’t returned Gianni’s calls because once you do, he’ll take you out and then he will propose, and you’ll be expected to accept. That has been made crystal clear by your father. Once that happens your life is over. Nursing will be over. Any independence you’ve gained will be gone, and you’ll be shackled for eternity to another cruel man and forced to bear his children and look pretty and happy while you do it.

Which means the fact that Gianni is here, now, is very bad news indeed.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with so many shifts. The new nurses get nights,” you say, as though you didn’t love the night shift.

“Of course, of course,” he tuts, “which is why I am here to take you to breakfast.”

It is not a question.

Your heart drops so quickly it makes your stomach queasy, like you are on a roller coaster you cannot get off. The trapped feeling has panic swelling in your throat. Pop looks at you expectantly, with both warning and excitement flashing on his face.

You cannot refuse the invitation.

“I-I’m a mess, Gianni, and I haven’t slept,” you sputter out in a last-ditch effort to escape this.

The way his hand trails down your arm to grasp your hand makes your skin itch and you resist the urge to yank away from his grip. “You have to eat, bella. Go fix yourself up real quick, I’ll wait. And I’ll have you home at a decent hour,” he finishes with a wink.

You don’t trust yourself to speak because the bile rising behind your panic threatens to give your feelings away. Instead, you just nod and smile before heading up the narrow stairs to your room.

A quick change into a nicer dress, along with a wash-up and unpinning your hair is all it takes to make yourself presentable, but you find yourself stalling for as long as possible. You wish you could be tittering with the excitement that every woman deserves when they get engaged, but Gianni is a man you do not and will not ever love. You can barely stand to be in his presence, much less marry the man.

The walk down the stairs is more like marching to your funeral rather than a date. You manage to plaster a half-pleasant look on your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Gianni is the picture of patience standing next to your father in the foyer in his expensive suit, reeking of Acqua di Parma cologne. It makes you nauseous.

“Oooh, Lori’s going on a date!” your youngest brother Paul teases as you walk by him. This sad spectacle has gathered a crowd of your 18-year-old twin brothers, Tony and John, and 16-year-old Paul.

“Stai zitto, and get outta here! Go get ready for school!” Pop hisses at the boys and they scatter, but not before Tony gives you a knowing look that only you catch. The glance is as full of trepidation as you are.

Pop practically pushes you into Gianni’s waiting arms with that deferential, schmoozing smile and betrayal boils in your blood. A father is supposed to protect his daughter, not serve her to the wolves on a silver platter.

But your betrayal is quickly replaced by repulsion when the heat of Gianni’s hand resting on your lower back bleeds through your dress. He leads you outside and into the back of the waiting car, then slides in next to you, too close. Ignoring the driver, he makes small talk on the way to the restaurant, one that should be closed at this hour, but for the son of the Consigliere, it is open and staffed, though you are the only customers.

You resist the urge to balk when he orders for you and are monumentally uncomfortable being alone with him like this. His predatory eyes are focused solely on your every movement, so you attempt to be the picture of congeniality, as your culture has trained you to be since birth: pleasant, polite, demure. Underneath the façade, your heart pounds against your ribcage because you are unable to stop the collision you know is coming.

Barely able to eat the food in front of you, you resort to tiny bites and pushing the rest around the plate as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t need to be nervous, bella,” he states, seeming almost amused by your anxiousness. He flicks his wrist and the waiter appears out of nowhere to clear the plates. “And I know you are tired from slaving away all night at that hospital, but soon you won’t need to worry about any of that.”

The surety of that statement makes your stomach roll. Gianni pulls a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his coat and places it in front of you on the table. Your heart is a jackhammer against your sternum. You think you might pass out.

“My bella,” he purrs, getting up, then sliding into the booth next to you, trapping you in, “I think you know I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now. Of course, I had to let you finish your schooling, let you grow up into the lovely woman you are now…”

Let me? you bristle internally, as if it were ever up to him, as if you ever needed his permission in the first place.

“But now it is time to let me take care of you and give you the life you deserve,” he finishes, opening the box in front of you to reveal a ridiculously large and gaudy diamond ring.

You are frozen, wanting so badly to tell him where to shove his ring and flee as fast and as far as possible. But instead, you can’t seem to move to stop Gianni from grabbing your shaking hand and placing it upon your trembling ring finger.

“Be my wife,” he says.

A command, not a question. One to which you don’t respond. Gianni takes your silence as acceptance, however, taking the single tear that spills down your cheek as one of happiness and not distress. He brushes it off your face with the backs of his fingers and you want to flinch, scream, anything that will tear you away from this union, but all you do is give him a tight smile and try not to sob outright.

Fight, goddamnit! your mind screams. But you can’t. You are imprisoned in your fear and despair, trapped by propriety, shackled by the responsibility to your family, to your brothers. Because a refusal would blow back on them as much as it would on you.

So, you don’t pull away when Gianni’s hand grips your chin or when he presses a kiss onto your lips. You’ve only been kissed once, by the boy who took you to the prom. You’ve been far too busy to date these past few years, much less kiss anyone, but at least that experience was enjoyable and coupled with butterflies. This kiss is devoid of anything other than a feeling of disgust. It seems to mark you as his possession, his cold lips making your stomach turn once again.

The rest is a blur as he brings you home, inviting himself inside. For once, you wish your father was home because the hungry look in Gianni’s eyes promises nothing good for you as he walks in behind you, into the too-silent house.

You fumble for the right words, the words that will make him leave so you can mourn the loss of your freedom in peace, but once he realizes the house is empty, he turns to you and pushes you into the wall. He is much taller than you, his muscular limbs so much stronger than your flailing ones as he pens you in.

The next kiss is hard and rough, all teeth and tongue. You press your arms against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it does nothing but urge him on. Dizzy from the effort and drowning in the heaviness of his cologne, you barely make a dent in defending yourself against the assault of his lips on yours.

“Gianni, stop,” you finally breathe out, but he seems to take this as encouragement, nuzzling into your neck, his lips pulling and nipping at your skin. You can’t find the strength to push him off, to scream, to do anything other than whimper while his hands grope and wander places on your body that no man’s have gone before.

You pray for it to end. And when he grabs your hand and forces it down, down, down to feel the hardened length in his slacks, you go far, far away. You disappear into the same fog that takes you every time Pop goes ballistic, only realizing the truth of what happened when you come back into yourself later, feeling the pain of the bruises on your ribs, or seeing them on Mama, back when she was still alive to take them for you.

So, it shouldn’t be a surprise when you wake up much later in your bed, on top of the covers, your clothes in disarray. It’s not until you register the heaviness on your ring finger that you remember your engagement and the feel of Gianni’s meaty hands on you.

Barely making it across the hall to the bathroom, you vomit up what little you managed to eat for breakfast at the restaurant. Once the heaving stops, the shaking begins.

But you do not cry.

Rinsing out your mouth and splashing water on your face, you don’t, no, can’t, think about what may have happened once you faded away. You push away the thoughts of why your body feels sore and bruised in places it shouldn’t and why you can still smell the stink of his expensive cologne lingering on your dress and your skin.

No, no, no.

Disorientation makes you blink slowly as you come back into yourself and into the present, and you make your way back into your room. Your eye catches the clock and suddenly you feel wide awake.

Dammit!

You slept too long and are close to missing your train into the city for work, which today starts earlier than normal due to the fact you stupidly agreed to cover the end of your friend Sally’s shift so she could go on a date.

There is no time, then, to linger in despair. You race to rip off your dress and throw on a clean uniform, one thankfully already pressed and ready to go, pushing away the dark thoughts threatening to consume you. A pass of a comb through your messy locks and a few pins help you look somewhat put together and you slip on your white shoes, grabbing your bag.

The sparkling on your finger makes you pause long enough to tear the ring from your hand and throw it onto your vanity. If anyone asks, you don’t want to wear a ring like that into the city.

Flying down the stairs, you avoid the questions budding in Pop’s mouth with a “I’m late!” as you rush out the door. By the time you reach the station, you are breathless, but are just in time to make your train.

Exhaustion weighs on you as the adrenaline in your blood wanes. You slept today, but do not feel rested, and you pretend you don’t know why that is. It’s the last thing you want to think about.

Engaged. I’m engaged. To a monster. And he hurt me.

Your breath hitches in time with the rocking of the train, panic creeping its way back in.

No. Not now.

The urge to climb out of your skin, or at least scrub it raw under the locker room showers at work, must wait. You are grateful that you have to hit the ground running as soon as you step through the front doors of the bustling hospital. One emergency leads into the next and you barely have time to think past the next crisis, much less worry about what happened earlier today or the terror your future holds once you leave this hospital tomorrow morning.

“Nurse Cannava!” Nurse Hunt calls for you, her voice dropping once you approach, “Dr. Paulson is in with our VIP patient, and he is needed urgently. Go get him for me, and don’t get distracted by our patient this time, will you?”

“Yes, Nurse Hunt,” you say quickly, the dig not even bothering you. You’d take a lifetime of them in lieu of what waits for you outside this hospital. Fingers tittering nervously, you find yourself hoping that Elvis does not blame you for what happened last night. Though the way this day is going, you wouldn’t be surprised to find him combative towards you. And perhaps you deserve it after the way you treated him (even if he was being an ass).

The scene you are met with when you arrive at Elvis’ room is not what you are expecting, however.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis stutters, but it is not with the air of confidence he exuded last night. It is not aloofness or displeasure.

Your annoyance at the nickname, along with the smallest bit of relief that he is up and talking, quickly turns to apprehension. Much to your confusion, Elvis seems almost reverent as he stares at you, like you’d descended from the heavens or something.

Must be the head injury, you think, trying to make sense of him.

The other three men crammed into the tiny room all turn to stare at you at once, eyes wandering over you far longer than necessary, as though you are both interrupting something important yet are expected at the same time.

Why in God’s name are they all looking at me like that?

Elvis’ churning oceanic eyes lock onto yours and are loaded with such emotion that you can’t begin to sort through it, and you have to tear your gaze away. You manage to sputter out Nurse Hunt’s request to the doctor and instead of replying, the lot of them turn to Elvis, as though he has any say in it.

The silence sits heavy, and Elvis’ pale cheeks turn a little pink, almost bashfully, as you look at him again. He stares at you in an unreadable way, as though taking in every bit of you, as though seeing you for the first time. Confusion rushes over you in a self-conscious wave.

Have I done something wrong? Is this about snapping at him last night?

You shift uncomfortably, trying to piece together what is going on. But with everything that has happened in the last 24 hours, your brain can’t seem to put anything together other than that this group of men have lost their minds.

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally states, looking back at you almost regretfully but you don’t take the time to try and figure out why. You are just grateful to be dismissed and leave the strange scene. In fact, with one crisis after another on the ward this shift, you put it out of your mind completely.

Until Dr. Paulson pulls you aside in the early morning hours, that is.

The doctor looks uncomfortable, his face in a grimace, when he leads you into a quiet corner.

Oh, Madone, I’m going to be fired. As if this day can get any worse. Your heart pounds and you fight back the tears that prickle behind your eyes.

“Nurse Cannava, I know this is going to be unorthodox…” he begins, and suddenly your mind jumps to another, equally disturbing place. The man is wearing a wedding ring, for God’s sake. And is old enough to be your father. You’d never taken the doctor to be that kind of man, but he interrupts your thoughts by continuing, “…but are you interested in private nursing?”

Now that is not what you were expecting. Relief floods through you, followed quickly by bewilderment.

“Excuse me, Doctor, private nursing? What do you mean?”

“Well, um, you see, Mr. Presley is going to need some discreet and rather specific care going forward,” he whispers, “and it seems as though you, um, fit the bill, so to speak, to take care of him exclusively.”

You fight to hold back the laugh that wants to escape your mouth at the pure absurdity of the situation. Elvis wants you of all people, the nurse who nearly took his head off last night, who sent him into respiratory distress, to take care of him exclusively? A day ago, you would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don’t shine.

But things have changed dramatically for you in the last day.

“I know it sounds strange, and certainly you’ve done great work here, but might you be willing to discuss this with his manager?

You cross your arms and worry your lip in between your teeth. The words fall out of your mouth before you can think too much on it.

“Yes, I’ll speak to him.”

Dr. Paulson sighs and nods, walking you down the corridor to a small waiting room. Your heart pounds in your ears as you are led inside.

“Colonel Parker, this is Nurse Cannava,” Dr. Paulson says, in a bristled tone that insinuates he doesn’t particularly care for the portly, balding man standing near the window you assume is Elvis’ manager. Colonel Parker turns to you, and you immediately get the sense the man is not to be trusted. Being around criminals who pretend they aren’t ones your whole life has given you a sixth sense for this sort of thing.

“Ah, Nurse Cannava, how lovely to meet you. We have much to discuss. I’m Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ manager.” Colonel Parker motions for you to sit in the chair across from him. He attempts to wave off Dr. Paulson, but the doctor does not go, choosing to stand in the doorway instead, seemingly wary to leave you alone with this stranger, and for that you are silently appreciative.

“And of course, this conversation must remain completely private, no matter what you decide. I’m sure a smart girl like you can understand the sensitivity of the situation,” he continues, leaning back in his chair, his casual position in direct contrast of his words.

“Of course,” you nod.

“Good. Now I’ll get right to it. After speaking with your supervisor, I know you are already aware that Elvis is quite…unwell.”

An understatement, to say the least.

“Yet I’m sure you also know how important Elvis is to so many people like yourself. Are you a fan, Miss Cannava?” he asks suddenly.

“Um, not especially, Mr. Parker,” but you rush to add, “It’s not as though I dislike his music, I’m just not one of those girls who, uh, fawns over him, sir.” You try and remain as neutral as possible because you get the feeling this question is some sort of test.

“Hmm,” is all he gives you in response. He looks you up and down with a careful beady eye and you resist squirming in your seat. Instead, you straighten your spine and lift your chin, your only tell being the way you tightly grasp your hands in your lap. His look is not a leer so much as an assessment as he takes in every inch of you.

After a moment he nods—you seem to have passed muster.

“This is an incredibly unique situation, my girl, which I’m sure you can appreciate. Elvis needs discreet, around-the-clock care, according to Dr. Paulson here,” he says with distain, “but we can’t have the world knowing that Elvis is ill. It would do irreparable harm to both his career and his fans.”

He is talking as if Elvis will have a career with his diagnosis, you think in surprise.

Colonel Parker must read this on your face. “You must understand, he loves his work, my dear, and nothing will keep him from it. Or his fans. Which is where you come in.”

“I assume I would just be there to take care of Elvis when he needs it, and to make sure he takes his medications and such?” you say.

“Well, it’ll be much more involved than that, my dear.”

You look at Dr. Paulson, who’s mouth is set in a line, as though he’s attempting not to add something to that statement.

“What do you mean, involved?” you ask.

“Firstly, you will need to live and travel with him,” he starts.

You nod. You figured as much, which is honestly why you are even considering this in the first place.

“But you see, no one can know you are his nurse. Elvis must appear, for all intents and purposes, the picture of health.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m understanding, sir. How am I supposed to live and travel with the man to administer medical care without anyone knowing?”

Colonel Parker looks at Dr. Paulson, and then at you, a strange smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll be his girlfriend, of course.”

You choke at that. You can’t have heard him correctly. “Excuse me? I’ll be his what?”

“You will play the roleof his doting girlfriend, while secretly being his nurse. It was love at first sight, you see. Our handsome soldier comes to from a simple bump on the head and falls instantly in love with a beautiful young nurse, sweeping her right off her feet and into his life. Quite the storybook fairytale, wouldn’t you say?” he smiles that shifty smile.

Your heart flutters as fast as a hummingbird’s. “You…you can’t be serious. I—he—” you stutter.

“Oh, I couldn’t be more serious,” he says, the smile falling from his face. “I’ve been told this situation is life and death, my dear, and Elvis needs someone like you to help keep him alive.”

Silence falls and you can’t help but gape. But your mind whirls with the possible implications and how they might get you out of your current situation. If you weren’t desperate, you’d laugh in this man’s face, but your situation, and Elvis’ for that matter, are both quite dire.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Of course, you would be extremely well compensated for your trouble. That’s in addition to room and board, since you will be staying with Elvis. But you will have to leave your current life behind to sell your relationship both to the public at large and to both his and your friends and families for this to work,” he adds.

It’s completely, utterly insane. You don’t even like Elvis, so you’re not sure how you’re supposed to pretend to be in love with him, while at the same time having to secretly tend to his medical needs. You can’t in your right mind see how this will work. You are no actress.

But that fraught voice in your head is thinking about your survival, about that engagement ring sitting on your vanity and the expectations that go with it. About what has already been taken from you because of it. You push those thoughts as far back as they will go, but the fear remains because you know that if you stay, any scrap of independence you have will be gone, and you will live the rest of your life with a horrible snake of a man.

You’ve been wrestling with a way to escape since Gianni put that ring on your finger, claiming you as his, against your will. But as a single woman with hardly any money and nowhere to go, your options to run are limited. And if you run, with the resources of the famiglia, you know you would be found quickly and your punishment would be painful, if not deadly.

But with Elvis, you’d be cared for—you’d have money, you’d be travelling, and you assume that with his fame, Elvis has a wealth of protection at his disposal. As long as you are close to him, and with the relationship being so public, you realize Elvis might be the only one who can protect you from Gianni and your father.

They wouldn’t dare do something to me if I’m Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. They won’t be able to touch me.

You choose not to think too much on how you still would be giving up some of your freedom. How you will still be tied to and at the mercy of a man. You don’t think about how long you might need to keep up this act and what might happen if you decide to leave. No, all you know is that as much as Elvis might annoy you, he seems like a decent man. He does not seem the type to hurt you, and you’ll be his employee, not his true girlfriend, anyway. You will still be nursing and earning money while doing so.

I can figure out the rest later.

“Perhaps it is asking too much. I know not every woman would be up for the task—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt Colonel Parker.

His eyes widen with surprise, which you get the impression is hard to do with this man. “You will?”

“As long as Elvis approves and that we have a contract with established rules and such. I think I’m safe in assuming I won’t be required to, well, beyond playing it up in front of others I won’t be required to…to do anything untoward,” you say, not being able to keep yourself from blushing at the implication.

“Of course not, of course not, my dear!” Colonel Parker hurries to say once he picks up on your meaning. “It’ll all be on the up and up and respectable. We would never ask you to compromise yourself like that.”

You nod, trying to still your shaking hands. You don’t trust Colonel Parker as a person, but if there is a legal contract, he can’t force you to do anything you don’t agree to.

“Then I will do it. When do I start?” You hope it’s as soon as possible. Frankly, you’d leave this hospital with the lot of them right now if it meant you didn’t have to go back to that house again.

The smile that spreads across his face unnerves you but does not scare you. Not like the other men in your life.

“Excellent, my dear. I will get that contract set up for you immediately, while Dr. Paulson apprises you of your medical duties. You’ll begin as soon as you sign on the dotted line,” he says. “Then we will get you in with Elvis. You both will have a lot to talk about, I am sure.”

You gulp and your heart flips in your chest. Part of you fears all the things you don’t know about what you are walking into: about Elvis, his lifestyle, and what you will have to do to convince the world you are Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. But it will all be worth it if you can get away from marrying Gianni or staying with your father.

Mother Mary, they will be furious.

But by then you’ll be long gone, safely tucked away by Elvis’ side.

And, strangely, that gives you more comfort than you could have ever hoped for.

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