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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

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554 notes · View notes

littlekohai77 · 10 months

Note

Yay!! I'll be going be 😁 anon!!!

My request is for Cain Luterain (Gahin), and Kartein. I just love them so much 😫

It's 'what dating them would be like' or 'dating them includes'.

Thank you very much. Praying for your success in your midterms.

Bye bye 👋🏾

Dating them includes

𝙷𝚎𝚢 😁 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 :) 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍. 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚏𝚕𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎.

𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚢. 𝙻𝚎𝚝'𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝!

🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶🅂: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗?? I whipped this up at 3am 💀

Characters: Kartein, Cain

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

🌸💊🅺🅰🆁🆃🅴🅸🅽:

Honestly... How did you bag this man?

He's so beautiful. Literally ethereal. Just how?

But that's for another days's discussion.

🄳🄰🅃🄸🄽🄶 🄷🄸🄼 🄸🄽🄲🄻🅄🄳🄴🅂,

🌸Having to adapt to his high maintenance life style. He's very high maintenance and he will push you to be too. As his partner, as the romantic partner of the Awakened world's most beautiful Awakener, you have some standards you need to keep up to.

At the beginning of the relationship, he doesn't really push you actively to be high maintenance like him. You guys have just began dating and he doesn't want to ruin it early by coming off as something he didn't intend.

He doesn't want to hurt your feelings or make you feel like your appearance isn't beautiful enough. He just wants the best for you. He wants to protect you from the words of others.

But as time passes by and you begin to understand him more. What makes him tick, what he likes, what he means when he uses a certain tone.

You start to pick up on the many ways he tries to encourage you to be more high maintenance like him.

And you know that it's coming from a place of good intentions.

It all starts with you using his shampoo one day. You've always wondered how his hair smells so nice and well you find out that day.

And he wasn't really having it.

He sat down with you, a pen and paper in hand. Taking notes as he asks you many many questions, from allergies to diet habits.

According to his notes he buys products that catter to your needs and sighs in relief that you won't be touching his stuff anymore... And well also won't harm your skin... BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO KNOW THAT. HE WASN'T WORRIED AT ALL. HE JUST DOESN'T LIKE YOU TOUCHING HIS THINGS. YES THAT'S ALL IT IS.

💳 Your manz is rich as fuck. And from the very beginning of the relationship no no, BEFORE y'all even got together and when he began to really like you, he would buy you gifts.

The size rather small but lavish nonetheless. The zeros on the price tag would make you dizzy.

And despite how much you tried you insist that you couldn't take it, he never backed down.

And now that you guys are together. It's full sugar daddy galore.

Do you have your own money? Yes.

Does he respect that? Yes, he thinks you're a baddie✨

But will that stop him from draining his bottomless wallet off every penny to buy you anything you look at for too long? Absolutely 🅝🅞.

He just wants to be the one taking care of you. He wants to be the person you go to when you need help. He wants to be the one you confide in.

He doesn't know how to say it. He doesn't know how to express just how much he loves you. The amount of love he has for you hurts. He can't bear it but he doesn't show it. He would die before he ever shows it.

He doesn't know how to utter the words. They get stuck in his throat. He manages to say the first words but the rest die in his throat.

So gifting giving is one of his love languages as he doesn't know how to express his appreciation of you.

He might come off as trying to buy your love but that's not what he intends behind his gifts. They are simply to show that he loves you and would do anything for you.

Even if he never says it.

🌸 Kartein doesn't like to be touched. At all.

If he could, he would actively hiss at people for touching him.

But with you it's different. He loves it when you touch him. When you hold his hand. When you wrap your arms around him... Even though it wrinkles up his shirt.

💊 Kartein is your own personal dietician, dermatologist and gynecologist.

And it can get pretty annoying to always have him nagging you but he means well and is only expressing concern.

And about being your personal gynecologist......

🌸 he does house chores a lot and helps you around quite a bit much. Even if you insist that you can handle it.

Kayden says you should relax too and riles up Kartein and it almost escalates into a fight but you thankfully stop it before it does.

🌸 you guy's dates ranges from going to high class restaurants and expensive shopping sprees to chilling at home cooking dinner together and having self care dates.

🐯 🅲🅰🅸🅽 🅻🆄🆃🅴🆁🅰🅸🅽:

🐈This man, if he's in a relationship with you, you can be 100% sure that he plans to marry you one day.

He's very intense. He sees his time as valuable and doesn't want to waste it on some who won't last.

So it takes him a while before you guys get together. Possibly years.

But when you do, he's very doting.

🐈 He can be oddly clingy. But not in a bad way. It just seems out of character for a person as stoic and cold as him.

🐈 you guys might be in a relationship but he's still very honest with you. About how he feels, how an outfit looks on you. And he's a bit blunt with his choice of words.

🐈 He loves physical contact and if he could, he would just wrap himself around you all day everyday but sadly he has an image to keep up.

🐈 When indoors and in your rooms, he's always on you. Touching you one way or another. He just loves the feeling of his skin on yours and your warmth.

🐈 You must've been expecting for dates with him to be lavish and glamorous and well.. . ✨EXPENSIVE ✨

But that's not really the case.

The first date you guys went on was indeed one in a lavish restaurant and then a little romantic night walk.

But as you guys progress further into the relationship, the dates become more indoors. They start to become more comfortable. More domestic.

And you both love it that way. He gets to relax and not be up tight for once. It's a win win. Lancelot lives for it. ✨

But you guys still go on lavish dates, just occasionally.

🐯 Being in a relationship with Cain means being with Lancelot too. They're a package deal. One comes with the other.

Lancelot follows you around the house.

Nudges you with his lil nose when he senses sad vibes.

Cuddles up to you every chance he gets.

It's honestly hard to tell who is Lancelot's master nowadays because, he likes you more than he likes Cain.

If both you and Cain were in danger, you would be the one he would save first.

He's like that first baby that takes away your attention from your husband.

He pushes himself in between you two and cuddles up to you.

And Cain can do nothing but suffer in silence because he knows you'll get upset if he pushes Lancelot away.

Whenever you're looking away they have little stare downs.. . But it's mostly just Cain intimidating Lancelot and trying to get him to move out of the way.

But one time Lancelot whimpered from how scared he was and that attracted your attention and you immediately began to dote on him and light heartedly berate Cain.

This builded up Lancelot's confidence so much that he started to face Cain fearlessly in the staring battles.

He's not afraid anymore.. . Well as long as you're around.

So for his safety please don't leave Cain.

Whenever you're mad at Cain, Lancelot slides in and comforts you. (He's trying to steal Cain's spot and he's confident that he's already halfway there)

🐯 Cain tries to warn you to be careful around Lancelot because at the end of the day, he's a mythical beast, not a house cat.

What if he bites you? What if he suffocates you with his weight? What if he eats you? (Ye the last one is an exaggeration. He's trying desperately to win his spot as your favorite back.)

🐯 He's kind of surprised by how dramaless, if you can call it that, your relationship is.

In all the soap operas he has watched, he always sees something go down. Tragedy, death, heroine goes missing yada yada. But at the same time he's grateful that none of those things have happened to you guys. He doesn't know what he would do with himself if something happened to you.

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*

𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 :𝙳

#eleceed #eleceed x reader #world academy #world academy arc #world awakened academy #cain luterain #cain #kartein #kartein x reader #kayden #eleceed manhwa #webtoon eleceed #eleceed fic #requested #what dating them is like #dating them includes

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fuckmymunson · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

♡ CW: Abusive relationship, toxic behaviours, heavy angst, miscarriage, verbal and physical abuse, destructive and intrusive thoughts. | Word count: 3.4k.

♡ a/n: trying the [y/n] format, lmk if y'all like and if I missed a tag pls.

♡ If you happen to be in an abusive relationship, please seek help! Take care and stay safe, xo.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He wasn't a monster, he was just a broken soul.

And she was a fool, trying desperately to fix the broken pieces of a doomed man.

The first signs were written in big, flashy red ink all over the walls, her body, and her eyes. But she believed, she hoped, and wished for a change. He was a good man, he loved her.

And if so, then why was she so afraid of him at that very moment?

"Remus, you're hurting me." She spoke weakly while a large scarred hand was wrapped around her wrist.

He looked at her, with wide, teary eyes, and his heart shattered for a second. Releasing her from his hold, Remus took a step back. She looked tiny and scared. Scared of him, of his words, his actions.

"Please answer my question." His voice was shaky, anxious.

"I already told you he is just a coworker, you don't need to worry." A soft hand caressed the now bruised wrist, and the guilt flooded his body, Remus took a step closer only to wrap her in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, feeling his own eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeated. "I got carried away, I was jealous." It wasn't an excuse, but the words came without hesitation. "I can't lose you."

"Remus." Her sweet voice was comforting, and it only fueled his regret. "I would never leave you."

"Never?" He asked with a slight sob.

"Never." She promised.

It was a promise.

Remus was insecure, he was conscious of it. He tried to push his intrusive thoughts instead of working with them, instead of healthily dealing with them, being so used to just bottling up his emotions. Years after years of not feeling enough for anyone, she made him feel worthy of being loved and cared for. He was selfish for keeping you up with him, he was also conscious of that, but after almost two years together, Remus was incapable of imagining life without her. She got him through every dark night, hugging and consoling him after every nightmare, kissing his tears away. Every full moon she was there, the only ray of hope he had in his life. The only one he truly cared for, and she was a dream come true.

She was his muse, for a long time. Remus wrote poems about her, songs, and books. Words scribbled down in messy writing just describing how much he loved her, recounting every happy memory, expressing the feelings his lips weren't able to pronounce. Remus adored her and treated her like a goddess. She was his goddess.

After almost two years, something changed, something snapped inside him. His insecurities returned, knocking him down. She noticed something was wrong, and started questioning herself; Wasn't she enough for him? Was he realizing she wasn't worth it? doubt after doubt, Remus failed to notice how his mood was affecting her, being too self-centered in his self-destruction to notice he was destroying the one he loved the most.

The first time he hit her, he cried.

He apologized, for what felt like hours. She cried, but in the end, he forgave him. She believed in him, he could change, and he was going to help him be better. They cried together and Remus did everything in his reach to comfort her the same way she comforted him every dark night and bad day. That night, when they fell asleep together, he kissed her. Kissed her pretty, soft lips and felt at ease once again, all the anger melted away. Why was he angered in the first place? Remus couldn't recall what was the issue. All he could focus on was the way their lips danced together, how his hand caressed her body and made her feel loved. Neither of them heard it, neither of them noticed, being too distracted in their heated embrace.

Too lost in a loving kiss, to hear the sound of breaking down.

Exhausted. If she had to summarize how she felt, it would be exhausted. She loved Remus, beyond everyone and everything, it was a love so intense and devoted that she forgot she was someone. She forgot to love herself. He was her priority. He was all she could think of. He wasn't a bad guy, he just had bad moments. She learned to hide the bruises, she learn to hold her tears, knowing that seeing her cry upset him. The warnings were still there, brighter than ever. But she ignored them because Remus needed her and she liked to be needed. She loved to be desired.

"It's so hot, [Y/N]." Sirius looked at her from behind his sunglasses. "Take that sweater off please, you're making me uncomfortable."

She quit her job, Remus told her it was for the best and she agreed, eager to please him. She loved to see how his eyes brightened every time he saw her after work, dressed in that lovely pink apron he bought just for her. She liked to stay at home, she liked the privacy, doing the chores, and taking care of their little love nest. Remus invited James and Sirius for dinner, and surprisingly, Sirius was the first one to arrive.

"It's not, stop being ridiculous." She replied while preparing the table, feeling a sudden wave of nervousness hit her. Her left arm had a giant bruise, and the fingerprints of Remus's hand on her forearm, it was an accident of course. Remus apologized and bought her a bouquet of her favorite flowers the next day, demonstrating how much he loved her.

[Y/N] was afraid, knowing that his friends might not understand it, Remus loved her, and that was all that mattered. Sirius would probably be really mad, especially towards Remus and she didn't want to be a breaking point to such an important friendship for her boyfriend. So it was better this way. Remus who walked out of their bedroom at that moment heard the conversation, feeling the same nervous feeling at Sirius's words. They would probably judge him, and they will try and take her away from him, and Remus couldn't allow that, not even from his best friends. They didn't know anything about their relationship. They were in love, they just had problems like every other couple.

James arrived half an hour later accompanied by Lily, who looked radiant, pregnancy suited her, making her glow brighter than the sun. Hearing the young couple talk so excitedly about their baby, made Remus wonder, would you be willing to have a family with someone like him? Would you put your life at risk for him?

"Moony and Mrs. Moony, I think it's your turn to have a lil' moon." Sirius joked. Remus remained silent at his words but she giggled.

"Speaking of which... I have an announcement." Her words were like an illusion, Remus refused to think it was real, but it was.

Sirius yelled, excited, James and Lily cheered with him, a baby. A baby.

"Earth calling Remus." Sirius waved a hand in his face. "Are you with us?"

"Yeah." He replied, blinking a few times.

"Aren't you happy?" James asked with a frown, the moment Lily announced her pregnancy, James cried with happiness, they knew Moony wasn't the expressive type, but the lack of reaction worried them.

"I am." Remus faked a smile, holding his girlfriend's hand. "I'm just really surprised." And he kissed her, noticing how happy she looked. Remus could only imagine how beautiful and brave she was for carrying his child.

His child.

That night, Remus felt something change inside him, again. He felt at ease once again, he was going to be a father. Something that in his younger years he never thought possible, not even in his wildest dreams. He placed a pair of large hands over her stomach, earning a giggle from her.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier." Why was she apologizing? "I just wanted it to be a surprise."

"Thank you." He whispered, hiding in the crook of her neck. "Thank you."

"What for, love?"

"For staying."

Once again, he promised himself to be a better man. Not only for her, for him, but for the little one who was now growing inside her. A part of him, of her. A part of their love.

Life wasn't easy, and from here, it would only get harder. Remus's intrusive thoughts returned just a month later. Haunting him. That poor child was cursed, the poor child who had a werewolf father. A father incapable of loving without hurting. Remus was too consumed with his own life, consumed by his fears, and those fear started to take the best of him, to threaten his sanity. The goodnight kisses stopped, the morning routines felt monotone, and dinner felt empty. She started questioning, again. Feeling useless, feeling drained. The pregnancy was consuming, and she was barely hitting her third month. The distance that Remus was unconsciously placing between them only made things worst. Forced to watch her youth slip away every day that went by. She started to feel lonely, Remus was so close and yet so far. His presence felt like the sun itself, giving her all the energy and happiness, but draining her if they spent too much time together.

"Do you still love me?" She asked one night after he laid down away from her.

"You know I do," Remus replied feeling his heartbeat speeding up.

"Then why won't you show it?" She tried to suppress the sob, but it was too late. She started sharing her heart, she started tearing apart in front of him.

It hit him like a thousand concrete bricks. Remus hugged her, hugged for what felt like years. Too caught up in his emotional decay to notice his neglect towards his pregnant girlfriend. He kissed her tears away, just like he used to do. Whispering sweet nothings and empty promises. Promises that soon would be broken. For the following days, everything seemed to be going better, the kisses, the routine, and the love blossomed again.

But good things never last.

It was supposed to be a surprise, she bought a new dress, form-fitting and all. She walked to the little market down the street to gather all the supplies to cook his favorite food and bake his favorite cake, even taking time to stop by the local library and borrow some of his favorite books as well. Remus loved to lay on her lap while she read for him. She even called Sirius and asked him for that bottle of wine she knew Remus liked and was quite rare to get, who agreed, promising her he'll be at their apartment before her boyfriend returned from work.

Everything was going according to plan. Maybe that's why the moment she opened the apartment door, she was surprised to find a very startled Remus, his hair was a mess like when he runs his hand through it when he's nervous, his eyes were different, the usual loving honey eyes were looking at her with pure rage.

"Where were you?" He asks, his voice screaming danger. He had a very maul bouquet of flowers in his hand, her favorite flowers.

"I was at the market." Reassuring her statement, she placed the paper bags on the table.

"Don't lie to me [Y/N]," Remus spoke, looking almost disturbed.

"Remus, I'm not lying." She frowned, placing her slim hands on top of her belly in a protective manner. "I wanted to give you a surprise, cook your favorite dinner, and bake you that chocolate fudge cake you like."

"You're fucking lying." With quick steps, his hand pulled her by the arm in a bruising grip. "You were trying to leave me?"

"No!" She squeaked, panicked. "I promise!"

"Good." He breathed. "If you ever try to leave me..."

"Remus I would never, I love you..."

"If you ever try to." He continued, ignoring her. "I will fucking kill myself."

She tried to push him away, scared. Tears fell quickly with loud sobs, trying to place a distance between them, Remus interpreted it as a threat, she was trying to leave him. His emotions were too strong, too intense. Unbeknownst to both, the full moon was just around the corner. Making everything harder than it already was. Remus saw red. He pounced, and everything happened in a matter of seconds.

They were yelling at each other, screaming. She was crying, asking him to stop, to stop hurting her, to stop hurting their love. Remus tried to, but he wasn't conscious of his actions and for a moment he wondered if there was a time in his life when he was truly aware of what he was doing. Although that life seemed too far at that point. She pushed him, scratched him, kicked him. The bouquet was now forgotten on the kitchen floor, while the white linoleum was stained with blood.

Breaking down, breaking down, breaking down.

The front door swung open in a violent way. Sirius ran into the house just to find the most horrendous scene he had ever seen in his life. Blood, tears, pain. The bottle of wine in his hand fell to the ground, breaking and staining the floor as well. Remus hugged her unconscious body, his face bleeding from a few superficial scratches, his hands covered in blood. He was sobbing, clinging to her form desperately.

It took Sirius a few seconds to put the pieces together, and when he did, oh, he did.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He screamed, a crashing feeling of anger quickly taking control of his body.

"I didn't mean to." Remus cried, pressing his forehead against hers while his tears fell all over her face.

Breaking down, breaking down, breaking down.

The waiting was torture. The silent hospital hall was too loud, Remus felt his head pounding painfully, the blood that stained his clothes a constant reminder of his actions. On the other side of the waiting room, Sirius fixated his grey eyes on him, using every ounce of self-control he had left to not choke and murder the guy in front of him. His hands were also covered in her blood. He enjoyed watching him like that, looking like a guilty bastard, and Sirius wished he would feel that way the rest of his life. His black boot tapping anxiously against the white flooring, Sirius let out a shaky sigh. The tall, white walls felt suffocating, the bright lights felt pointed at Remus and only him, like big white arrows that screamed "culpable."

"Since when." He asks, after taking another deep breath, the bruises on her arms and legs caught his attention when the nurses were prompt to undress [Y/N] and cover her with a hospital gown. Remus only lowered his eyes, locking them with his leather shoes.

She gave him those shoes, for his birthday.

"Remus, since when." Sirius insisted, clenching his fists until the knuckles were white.

"I don't remember." The taller boy replied in a whisper.

The doors of the waiting room opened, and James walked in followed by Lily, who looked concerned and confused. They noticed the heavy atmosphere and the blood on their clothes and hands. Something was off, there was something in the air, something bad.

"What happened?" Lily asked, placing her hands on her swollen belly, just like she did a few hours ago, trying to protect her baby.

Their baby.

"Tell them." Sirius spat with irregular breathing, his chest rising in anger.

"Tell us what?" James inquired, while Lily grabbed his hand, something was really off. "Moony, what is he talking about?"

"If you don't tell them, I will." His dark curls framed his face, leaning down with narrowed eyes. Remus tensed, the shame and guilt were crushing his body, his soul, and his heart. Everything was too much, he felt heated, nauseous. He heard her cries inside his head on replay, asking him to stop. Please.

"It takes a different type of coward to hurt his girl, his pregnant girlfriend." Sirius's words clicked instantly. Remus bit his lip choking a sob, James's breath hitched and Lily gasped.

"Please tell me he's joking." James broke the silence, hands shaking. "Remus please tell me it's a lie."

Please.

"It's not a lie." He confessed, knowing there was no coming back.

A hand slapped him, all across his cheek. It stained, but he deserved it, he knew that for sure. Lily's face was as red as her hair, she screamed at him, the same words Sirius screamed at him, their words sinking deep down his chest, burning him. James hugged his fiance while she cried in his chest, trying with all his strength to maintain composure.

"Mrs. [L/N]?" A nurse walked in, with papers in hand and a gloomy look in her eyes.

Sirius and Remus stood up, expectantly, both fearing the worst.

"She's fine, just a couple of bruises and internal bleeding." She explained, unaware of the situation, or pretending to be, that it wasn't her place to opine or talk. She was just doing her work. "She was brought just in time."

"And the baby?" Sirius asked, snatching the words from Lupin's mouth.

"Unfortunately, it was a miscarriage." She lowered her head while saying those words, those mournful words. Lily pressed her face against James's chest even harder, muffling her sobs.

Remus felt his whole world-shattering, falling and breaking apart. He failed, again and again, he broke another promise and was now paying the consequences of his actions. His shoulders dropped and the tears streamed down freely. Sirius had a similar reaction, mixed with wrath, he blamed himself too, for not noticing it before, before it was too late.

"Can I?..." Remus spoke, raising his head, which gained him a piercing look from Sirius. "I'm... I'm the father."

He was.

Laying down in the white bed, [Y/N] had a dull expression. She looked extremely tired, with dark bags under her eyes and a melancholic aura surrounding her. She was still beautiful, the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

"I'm sorry." Remus kneeled next to her bed, burying his face in her covered thigh. "I'm so sorry." He repeated, over and over, crying.

A cold hand made its way through his hair, brushing it, comforting him.

"Stop apologizing." She spoke, softly, emotionless. "You don't mean it."

"I do." A whimper, a life filled with regret. "I swear I do."

"You broke every other promise we had." She closed her eyes, feeling the urge to cry, but no tears came out. "Why would this one be different?"

The worst thing was that he knew she was right.

"I gave you everything, and it still wasn't enough." She continued. "I left everything behind for you, I stopped living my life, to live yours."

It was a harsh realization, it was a nightmare.

"Aren't we too young for this?" She asked, letting out a bitter laugh, one that broke into a sob. "We were supposed to celebrate our child, not to mourn it."

He was done, his life was done.

"I wish I could hate you." Her fingers kept playing with a strand of his sand-colored hair. "I wish you could love me the way I did, now I'm wondering if you ever loved me. A part of me still wants you, but I can't. A part of me still wants to live our dreams, to accomplish our goals. Please, please tell me I'm wrong."

The sick feeling was too heavy, the burden was too strong. It was a dependency, it was a raged desire to be loved and cared for. It was two broken hearts trying to fix each other without noticing how empty they truly were. Remus knew he would miss her if he left, or if she left. But it was probably for the best. He felt caged, inside his own feeling and his actions. Knowing he still had the indecency to be next to her after what happened, he was far too selfish. She was the only thing he allowed himself to keep, to be happy, and he fucked it up.

He needed to leave, even if it meant his death of him. [Y/N] was better off without him, but without her, he was lost. He was a stray boat in the middle of an ocean, a dark ocean that threatened to drown him. Remus remembered all those times when she convinced him he wasn't a monster, all those times when he promised her, he promised her to love her, care for her, protect her. Failing miserably to protect her from himself.

Maybe he was a monster after all.

"I love you." That was all he could say.

"I'm afraid I love you too."

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. I appreciate any feedback!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Remember to take care of yourself and drink water! If you need to talk or vent, hit me up!<3

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #maraduers #modern marauders #omenhel'swrite<3 #marauder angst #remus x y/n #remus lupin angst

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svartalfhild · 4 months

Text

A Case for Jezri

Listen, I know how the DS9 fandom feels about Jezri, but I just wanted to take a moment to explain why I like it. I'm not asking people to agree; I just want to give it some love because there are things to enjoy and to explore in that ship that haven't gotten any discussion.

(Also why is 99.9% of the Jezri tag just people tagging their hate? Who raised y'all? Please be respectful towards your fellow fans who may not feel the same as you.)

I'm no stranger to finding my gold nuggets in the trash heap when it comes to Star Trek ships. I'm the type to find the things to love about something that was executed poorly by the writers. Datasha is my TNG OTP. Need I say more.

So don't think I don't understand some of the main objections people have to Jezri. I get it. I do. So with that out of the way, let's get into the good stuff.

Julian's personal story, particularly in the later parts of the show, has a strong motif of loneliness, which comes from two or three different aspects of his life. The first one is of course the fact that he's an augment. He's socially isolated by his mental and physical superiority. No one can keep up with him, and he has to diminish himself to fit in, especially before the truth comes out. The second is the evolving lives of the people closest to him. There reaches a point where nearly all of his closest friends are either married or in committed relationships, and he's the free floater who has to hope he can still fit into their lives somewhere. The third aspect is his own shit luck with relationships. No one sticks with him for very long for whatever reason. And there was the everything with Jadzia on top of it all. Poor man couldn't catch a break.

And then along comes Ezri. Quark is quick to treat her as same old Dax with a new coat of paint, for whose affections he immediately tries to generate competition with Julian, because he is a sexist little toad. Julian, to his great credit, is like "what the fuck, Quark" and makes it clear that he sees Ezri as a different person, not Jadzia 2.0 who he now has a chance with. Ezri is his new friend, and he's not going to be pulled into Quark's bullshit.

The writing is unfortunately rather uneven when it comes to showing us the establishment and development of that friendship, so we have to piece together the vibes from several disparate moments, some big and meaningful and others more incidental, but that's not too difficult for me. Fandom has done more with less.

Anyway! Through all of that, we kind of get to see that Ezri sees Julian differently than Jadzia did in a way that allows them to click very quickly. Jadzia sort of saw Julian as an adorable puppy excitedly wagging his tail at her (and by the time he matured into someone who was more her type, he'd stopped pursuing her and then she was with Worf). Ezri sees him as the charming guy who knows how to have a good time. It seems natural to me that Julian would quickly latch onto someone who thought his holosuite adventures were demonstrative of a healthy sense of fun and not a sign of immaturity. Ezri is literally the bad bitch he pulled by being autistic.

And they are such adorable awkward nerds with each other! The big eyes! The soft touches! The fumbling! The trying to keep things platonic because they just like each other so much that they're afraid of messing things up! The breaking down and making out anyway because they can't escape the vibes! *chef's kiss*

The thing that completely sold me on Jezri, though, was their moment together at the end of the last episode where Julian is mourning Miles' departure and feeling lonely and then Ezri rolls up like "Hey~!" and expresses the desire to have dinner and do holosuite adventures with him. That was so beautiful to me. Everything is changing and so many of his friends have left and it's the ultimate pit of loneliness for him, but then there's Ezri. He has her now and he's not alone and the war is over and there's hope and the start of something new and soft. I cried, y'all. Like maybe it's because I'm at a place in my life where I feel left behind while I watch all my friends move on with their lives, but man, the way Ezri represents the light at the end of a dark tunnel for Julian just got me so good.

Here are some of the headcanons I have to supplement the sparse canon material and give further depth and enjoyment to my shipping experience:

They're both bisexual.

Since they're both healthcare professionals, they have a lot to talk about where their fields intersect. They make a great team when they're working, but this also results in them developing a shorthand with each other that is somewhat infuriating for others.

Ezri's closeness with Julian allows her to better develop her friendship with Garak, and there are several times when all three of them get up to shenanigans together.

They sometimes get each other new tea blends to try as a fun little surprise.

Ezri tries to teach Julian some of the gymnastics stuff she remembers at least once with mixed results.

Julian particularly loves hugging Ezri, and she particularly loves holding his hand.

Julian persuades Ezri to read Lord of the Rings, and she gets really into it, so they end up doing a holosuite adaptation as Legolas and Gimli. Ezri plays with her beard a lot.

Quark fucking hates how cute they are and Kira makes a point to tell him about every sweet moment she sees between them just to fuck with him.

Ezri very much gets in on the Fuck With Section 31 train and helps Julian do spy shit. The criminal psychology knowledge comes in handy.

Anyway, these are my feels. Please don't air your grievances here. I just want to sail on my dinghy and hope someone out there is sailing with me.

#Star Trek #DS9 #Julian Bashir #Ezri Dax #Jezri #if you're gonna comment just please don't be an asshole I'm so tired

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bengiyo · 1 year

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Moonlight Chicken Ep 6 Stray Thoughts

Yesterday we focused on broken love from one person changing and the other staying the same. Wen and Alan built a romance out of college that Wen eventually grew beyond. Heart lost his hearing and learned a new way to speak, but his parents didn't go through the difficulty of learning to speak. As a result, everyone suffered, but the performances were spectacular.

Jim and Wen are going to make me revive the #they are literally always flirting tag. Still, I'm glad Wen clarified again that Jim didn't cause him to fall out of love with Alan.

Chapter 6: The Walk to Forget and Forgive

I had hoped that Wen's presence would enable Jim and Li Ming to speak to each other properly, but it's going to take time.

Sui Pornnapa is a good actress, y'all. Don't get too caught up in looking for villains to miss a good performance. The way she carries her unease about Li Ming before sitting down with him to realize that he really cares about her son. Because Fourth has such a joyous face, you can't help but feel her own pain and embarrassment that this boy knows things about her son she's never realized.

Okay, the note under the door was cute. You knew Heart was going to recognize the handwriting even if he didn't catch the tone of the message. Gemini, y'all. He's got great instincts about physically embodying his characters.

Saleng seems like he's on the side of whoever melts the ice prison Jim has locked himself within.

Earth and Mix have phenomenal chemistry. You can feel the easy desire between them, and the restraint never feels like internalized homophobia. Instead, it always feels exactly like an age gap tinged with a sense of responsibility.

You know, I had a feeling Beam had died. Something about the way Jim's grief felt like it was in stasis said that Beam died before they could reconcile or get closure.

In my feelings about older queers. We don't deal with this in BL often, but if you have older queer friends you'll be able to ask them about what it's like when one of us dies. Sometimes you have to rush to the apartment and remove all the gay content so their families don't know. Sometimes the families will refuse to tell us anything. It's a special kind of loneliness to not be able to mourn with people because they refuse to love everything about someone you care about and shun you.

Curious why Jim is determined to get the loan from this bank.

Holy shit, Khaotung. I have replayed his facial expressions as Jim finally crushes his hopes five times. You can see his wide eyed hope as he musters all of his bravery to ask directly, and then has to suppress his deep disappointment even as he can't withhold the tears. He even has to try to set his own feelings aside over the title deed.

I like cutting immediately to Saleng. I'm glad Gaipa still has that connection.

Love that Wen is determined to put a door in Jim's wall.

In my feelongs about how our Facebook pages become memorials.

This entire scene with Beam's girlfriend was so captivating. This is the kind of mess I expected from Aof. Two people loved a man and it made them both feel lesser. Then he died suddenly. No one can ever get closure with him, and instead must choose to live. I like seeing people near 40, because they have had time and realize the other isn't an enemy.

"People only go to the beach to get hot or get healed." I see you, Aof.

Oh, I think Heart is the first person to call Li Ming smart in this show.

Heart and Li Ming really are just so adorable.

I think I will accept the camera angle for their kiss because it's their first, and much of their dynamic feels private. Also, not sure I like Jim's dismay at witnessing it.

Alan wearing both of their rings as he goes on a bender says a lot about what his intentions were.

Lookwa gets to play Fourth's mom twice! Also wtf, Jim. I'm choosing not to read too much into a GMMTV preview.

#midnight series: moonlight chicken #Moonlight Chicken #moonlight chicken meta #thai bl #bl series #thai drama #Ben watches

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verysmallcyborg · 3 months

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What color sky are you?

Renee - stormy sky

"you don't shy away from expressing yourself. your emotions can be unpredictable, but you try not to stifle them. you're passionate to a fault. you are fiercely loyal and won't hesitate to defend and protect the people and things you care about. but you can be impatient at times - with yourself and with others. sometimes you turn to "easier" emotions like anger when you don't know how to handle things like guilt, grief, or helplessness"

Fornax - sunset

"you are wistful goodbyes and unspoken promises. you are warmth and comfort for others. but sometimes you give so much of yourself that it leaves you cold inside. it's bittersweet, offering other people the care and affection you crave for yourself as well, but you wouldn't do any less if it means the people you love are content. you're very grounded, but you long for things you can't quite name - perhaps a time when your heart was full and your spirit free."

oh man. these are SPOT ON for myself and fornax LOL (extremely fitting that fornax was given sunset, since i love those colors with them & gposing them in sunsets)

thank you for the tag @chadhunkler!!! <3

uuuhhh i'mma tag @oneiroy and @sae-mian (if y'all haven't done this already :3c) the quiz is here!

#about fornax #KINDA? [does not know how to tag these things but i love doing lil tag games]

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insanityisdivine · 3 months

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Get to Know Me and My Obsession with KISS 🎸

Thanks for the tag @starry-eyed-never-satisfied

1. Who is your favourite member?

Okay. Paul is my first love but sexy Ace is competing with him but god I have to say Paul.

2. Who is your least favourite member?

Everyone saying Mark. I know nothing bout him

3. Best album?

RARO ...I'm assuming studio albums and live albums don't count???

4. Worst album?

I didn't listen to their last two albums and have no intention to do so ATM

5. Favourite song?

THIS IS TOO HARD TO CHOOSE. Guess I gotta say Love Gun Though But I love C'mon and Love Me!

6. Say one nice thing about each member.

Paul- He's the STAR of KISS. I probably wouldn't have gotten into KISS if it weren't for him. Everything I adore and want to be

Gene- I wanna listen to him talk while we share milk and chocolate chip cookies together

Peter- I have a soft spot for him. I think he can be really sweet and cute

Ace- Sexy, trashy, baby girl, sexy girl in hooker boots. Wanna bend over and smack that ass. He and Paul are my bisexual fantasies. BUT SERIOUSLY, The first guitar player that made me go WOW. Never got the hype about lead guitarists before but then I was thinking of 80s rock and 80's rock solos never resonated with me. His solos are iconic, not just shredding/mindless noodling. As someone who never learned how to read music, I think it's amazing he influenced many to learn. I'd love to learn how to play. Not to be in a band but I've always wanted to play a guitar. Also, I'd love to hang out with him. He's funny and bright. I think there's softness to him and I'd like to believe (coming from a fan, of course) that he's a good person. He also reminds me of my ex early 90s era....so I guess I have a soft spot for him

Eric C- I wish I could meet him. If I had to pick one member I could meet it would be him because I know he'd be super sweet

Vinnie- talented songwriter and amazing voice. Gorgeous

Mark- He did his job on Animalize

Bruce- Super sweet. He was the cutie of the group during revenge era ngl. Paul had competition.

Eric S- Seems really funny. got a nice tight body. seems every KISS drummer has a nice bod.

Tommy- Loyal and hard working. I can see why KISS kept him. Honestly he'd the kind of guy you want in your group.

7. What do you dislike about each member?

Gene- Condescending. I can see he has some views on things that I'd butt heads with him on

Paul- Overly critical of others, may come across cold. He scares me. y'all see his posts for new years???? He can come across very hurtful in his choice of words

Peter- Bitter (in the past it seems) and tbh some of the shit I read and heard that unfortunately was allowed to slide (sometimes even passed off as "funny" stories). It's a sensitive topic for me.

Ace- like Peter, awful things said and done that cannot be solely blamed on addiction which I'm very glad he recovered from btw. I'm honestly glad I never put this man on a pedestal and it's not just because "he's human like the rest of us". lol I love him but I'm glad I've been exposed to the bad early on this obsession so I don't have any unrealistic ideas about ppl, you know? I think I need to sleep with him to sort out these feelings lol

Eric C- I don't know that much to comment and feels almost unfair because he was taken away from us much too soon

Vinnie- stop scamming people omg. the insanity and charging ppl for memberships and you haven't released shit???

Mark- don't know about him. can't comment

Bruce- Maybe too nice for his own good.

Eric S- I don't know. Should have created a sex tape with Gene

Tommy- Kinda weird seeing him try to mimic Ace's facial expressions. One thing to imitate solos and his space persona but his mannerisms? I dunno just weird to see someone mimic what Ace's face naturally does? Kissy pouty lips only work for Ace

8. How did you get into KISS?

years ago, just bombarded with their imagery and sound on TV shows

9. Have you been to a concert?

Their last show. Crushing, I know

10. Do you have any merch?

I have a shirt

11. Unique thing you have related to KISS?

None, sadly. Like I have nothing solid if that's what you mean. anything that may have in common? sure but feels too personal to share here

12. Who is/are your favourite lineup?

This is hard because early 90s KISS was TIGHT. but I'll always love the original 4, but sweet Foxy and Brucie is so precious

13. What's your favourite era?

FUCCKKK....see this is hard. I have a big soft spot for Dynasty/Unmasked but I also love DTK and HTH

14. What are your opinions on Tommy and Eric?

They did their job. If they hadn't stepped in I wouldn't have seen KISS final show and for that I am grateful. I enjoyed their participation.

15. A question you would ask the band if you could?

I'd ask if I could suck their dick. That's tough. What haven't they've been asked before? Honestly I got some questions for Ace that's been bugging me and I know I'd never get them answered unless I knew him personally and had a real heart-to-heart conversion. I dunno I can only go off from a fan's perspective about how that'll go

16. What other bands/artists are you into?

Led Zeppelin, Madonna, Kylie Minogue, Lady Gaga, Stromae, used to really like Adam Ant, The Sweet, OLP, Franz Ferdinand, Daft Punk. I listen to all kinds of genres and artists so I like what I like

17. Do you have a KISSona?

Don't have one. I'm assuming like a fursona? lol

18. Who are some of your favourite blogs?

@ladyshandioftheendless @elrohare @silverstarfoxx (thank you for tolerating all my pestering! never hesitate to reach out to me for more Ace goodies!) @notpaulsguitar @ohblackdiamond (though tbh I swear you have answered this lol) @space-frehley-22 @spacefoxy (resident eric carr connoisseur) @speckster (you have crazy ass edits) and same goes for @bangbangyou love your funny memes. the IP address as a response always gets me lol @starry-eyed-never-satisfied (you already did this but adding you here anyway fellow Paulie enjoyer!) There's many more I wish I could just mass tag KISS blogs lol. There are blogs that are no longer active but I am glad they are still around

19. If you could spend a day with one member who would it be?

Hard because I love Paul but he scares me. I think I'd need more than a day to get comfortable with him. I'd love to spend a day with Eric C or Bruce because they seem the nicest. Maybe I'd love to hang with Peter now. Gene, may be fun. He's a good talker. Though it be fun to get one-on-one time with Ace. I'd love a tour of all his tech and then we can compare and just geek out on technology.

20. How would you explain the band to someone who isn't familiar with KISS?

I don't know. Honestly the other people who answered this already gave greats explanations. So many pass judgment on them without giving them a chance. They're a one-of-a-kind experience. There will never be a band like them.

#mykissposts #kiss #kiss ramblings #sorry if you didn't like my answers #tried not to put my true personal feelings because I enjoy this space a lot. I trimmed down my responses to keep it vague as possible #The only true fandom space for me tbh #I just come here to share my love for KISS #you will still see me posts silly dumb shit because I can't get enough lol #so yeah pls don't come at me trying to “defend” anybody i mean no harm and i love these guys lol

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hyunsuks-beanie · 2 years

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Don't Mind

Pairing: Hyunsuk x gn. reader

Genre: Fluff; suggestive

Content Warnings: Just a makeout

Word Count: ~0.5k words

Mellow speaks: My first Hyunsuk fic I'm gonna cry huhu. And that too, my forte of writing makeouts lmao, it was honestly such a treat!! Enjoy y'all! PS. Not me giggling at the title because it reminds me of Kento's dialogue from one of his old dramas xD.

Tagging: @ivyvesisi @yedammi @sweethyuka @hyunsukswhore (thank you so much for the request love but I somehow can't tag you) @hyunsuksmygod (since you wanted something Treasure bestie)

Hip lips lazily dragging across your own, Hyunsuk's hands slither down your arms, making goosebumps rise in their wake. He tastes of candies and pizza, the only hints to the binge-eating session the two of you shared. Some random movie plays on the screen, nothing more than background noise as your legs rest over his, your knees brushing his.

Subtle as it makes its way into your mouth, his tongue soon draws your own out, the pair dancing around in a rhythm of their own, making you let out a soft hum. The sound causes your boyfriend to pull you even closer, his lips curving up into a satisfied smile as your nose rubs against his.

Stolen moments like this, when neither of you has anything to worry about, no deadlines to bet met and no songs to be made, are what help you through your days, the feeling of his body, warm against yours making your heart flutter. You love the man that's wrapped around you with everything you've got, and sometimes, kissing him is the only way you can actually express what you feel for him.

And so, you let your hands wander across his body too, running along his chest and biceps, your arms getting looped around his neck. His own hands move to your waist and thighs, rubbing the skin towards the inside of your legs as he continues to explore your mouth. You don't know how or when, but soon enough, you find yourself straddling his lap, his head resting easily on the armrest of the sofa, his hands now holding you in place.

Your lips keep meeting his, the kiss sweet and hot at the same time, your body feeling all warm and fuzzy as Hyunsuk's breath gets mingled with yours. "I love you so damn much," he whispers against your mouth, making you let out a giggle as you shush him by kissing him again. Hyunsuk's fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, drumming against your skin as you rest your forehead on his.

It goes on for heaven knows how long, your tongues meeting in a love-filled display as you continue to make-out. Not even oxygen can make you pull away for long, your faces inching closer again every time you stop kissing. What does make you stop though, is the sound of a snicker coming from the door, causing your eyes to go wide as you scramble away from each other.

"Don't mind us, we're just passing by," Jihoon smirks, pulling a disgusted looking Mashiho along with him to the kitchen. You can only shake your head at that, a pout forming at your lips as you look down at your boyfriend. But to your surprise, instead of chuckling like you had expected him to, all Hyunsuk does is pull you closer once more, the last thing you hear being "He told us to not mind them" before he catches you in yet another kiss.

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xplrvibes · 6 months

Note

So another TikTok came up on my fyp about Colby having a gf, lol and they even showed the pictures of them looking like they’re holding hands, I’m sure you know the one, but they also attached her Insta account and also attached a post of what she’s wearing in the pic, which was dated all the way back in March (I did a little stalking myself) regardless if this was recent as the comments are saying, then I don’t think it’s her. Or these pictures are only surfacing now, but why would the creator say that they met them and said they were flirting all night etc, sounds to me it’s all for attention.

I'm aware.

And honestly- and this is not against you, anon, this is against the people that will not stop spreading this all over the platforms Colby and this girl are on and tagging them in this drama- but this is the entire problem with this situation, wrapped up in a neat little bow.

Colby went on what was possibly ONE CASUAL DATE; a date he did NOT in any way, shape or form make public, advertise or- and this is the important part, here, the part that flies over everyone's head for whatever reason- CONSENT to having made public. A "fan" (and boy do I use this term loosely) saw him out with this girl and thought, "Oh man, everyone needs to know that I know that he has a girlfriend!" and took a sneaky ass photo behind his back and without his or this girl's permission and spread it around everywhere, while simultaneously telling every that they saw him holding hands, flirting and kissing this girl.

Within hours, the alleged girl's instagram was found and dissected, her followers suddenly included a whole lot of accounts with "xplr" or "colby" in the handle, and she suddenly started getting inundated with people on her live streams asking her personal questions about her age, her intentions with Colby Brock, and demanding more info from her as if they have the right to know this shit.

At the same time, I saw people expressing disappointment in Colby for being with this girl instead of Shea/Stas/Kris/Amber etc (I saw them all, don't worry). One commenter was upset that he broke Kris' heart with this. Several commenters and people on here started with the "see? Colby's a tramp" routine that some of y'all just sit on pins and needles waiting to be thrown around. Others started in with everyone's other favorite Broadway musical "How Dare Colby Make it Public That he's Hooking Up (Why Must He Throw This in Our Face)?"

Meanwhile- COLBY. DID. NOT. CONSENT. TO. THIS.

He did not make this alleged date public information himself; nor did the girl allegedly in the photo. He did not ask for this "fan" to do this either. And this started the SAME FUCKING DAY that a podcast came out where he expressed having a breakdown because he can't handle social media consistently interfering in his life, and now he values his privacy so much more because of this.

And still, this is where we are at.

By the way? This "fan" confirmed Sam was also there on a date, and was flirting and kissing the girl he was with. Guess who I haven't seen a single sneaky non-consentual photo of, disparaging comment about, or any drama over?

Wanna know why? Cause the "fan" states they were protecting Sam's privacy cause they didn't want him to get hate.

Think about that. Really sit with it. Let that sink in.

Let this entire situation and all the nuances of it sink and paint you all a picture. And then come tell me what that picture is.

First person to guess correctly wins a prize.

To your point, anon, this was all done for attention. It is continuing to get spread for attention. But the attention is coming at the expense of the mental health of a man that every claims they love so much (they don't, or they would just gossip about this shit quietly and behind closed doors like everyone else with sensitive knowledge), and therein lies at least 50% of the problem.

#asks

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 14 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

TW: Blood. Assault in various forms. Miscarriage. Death/Mourning. Pregnancy. 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: 7.6k

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance, y'all, cuz this one might knock you on your ass with its dramatic angst and give you whiplash after the last few chapters. Honestly, I hurt myself a bit with this one! *sob* Needless to say, the tone is a bit different here. Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics!

While I hesitated to make a part all in flashback, I couldn't seem to avoid it without creating a ridiculously giant chapter, and I also didn't want to make you wait that long, so here it is, complete with a cliffhanger!

Speaking of that, thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Life is kicking my butt a bit, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me!

Also, look out for some fun 1960 Elvis posts/reblogs later so you can get the full visual of his March 1960 glory, in case I haven't described it well enough LOL. I included a Rollerdome pic at the end as well.

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 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 Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate 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, though it's not all updated yet!)

March 1960

You shouldn’t feel nervous. It’s just Elvis. But having not seen him in person in over 18 months, or even really being able to talk on the phone, you wonder if too much time has passed, if too much has changed, if the man who went into the Army two years ago is still the friend you cherished.

You wait in front of Graceland in the icy March air with Jack and a multitude of other close friends and relations for Elvis to arrive, shivering in your heavy coat. It’s a strange limbo you all are in, this energy of the end of one thing and the start of something new and unknown. You can’t help feeling that everything is different somehow, that a new era has begun.

This feeling is compounded by the secret you are keeping. You had been wary to accept that your greatest hope is finally coming true, but after your appointment yesterday afternoon, you are finally starting to settle into the fact that new life is growing inside you. You haven’t told anyone yet, not even Jack, since Elvis’ imminent arrival has taken over everyone’s minds. While you have no need to be the center of attention, you also know that the news would get lost in Elvis’ return. No one could compete with Elvis for any sort of attention. It would be a losing battle.

Honestly, you are glad to sit with the knowledge on your own for a moment, to give yourself a minute to adjust to your new reality. And part of you is still quite scared that this could all be over in a flash. It’s still early, the doctor said, even though you were further along than you’d originally thought. But after two years of nothing, there is a piece of you that doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

Perhaps that is truly why you’re feeling nervous and it’s nothing to do with Elvis at all.

Everyone around you starts to buzz, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the police cruiser, lights and sirens and all, coming up the long drive. When it finally pulls up in front of the house and Elvis gets out, everyone explodes with liveliness.

It takes a moment for the small crowd to clear enough for you to see him fully. When his tall frame comes completely into view, you feel like all the air has been knocked out of your body. You have to stop yourself from gasping out loud.

He looks beyond incredible. So incredible, in fact, that your heart is suddenly fluttering in your chest like a schoolgirl’s. You have seen him in his uniform before, of course, but the last time, he was so miserable after the death of his mother that the uniform seemed like a prison, an unforgiving punishment almost. Of course, you’d also seen pictures for publicity and ones he sent home which would occasionally show him in his uniform. He always was handsome, to be sure, but now…now, something was different.

You try to put your finger on it because it really has thrown you for a loop. You aren’t some fawning, adoring fan, for god’s sake. But you cannot help but openly stare at the man in front of you. He positively glows. His blue eyes sparkle with the happiness of being home, but it’s not only that. Taking off his cap and tucking it under his arm, he surveys the small crowd and his home with joy. The blue of his dress uniform brings out the reddish-blonde of his natural hair color and the blush on his cheeks. His hair is long again on top, grown out and curled up and mussed from his hat. Compared to the Army buzz cut, it is more reminiscent of his signature coiffed 50’s style, but somehow more mature yet rebellious at the same time. It suits him very well, you think, highlighting high cheekbones, long face, and his now quite chiseled jaw.

Elvis’ whole face is lit up with happiness, that signature grin white and wide, as friends and family gather around him. You can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy to see that smile again in person. When you finally catch his eye, you feel like the whole world stops. It’s ridiculous really, the way your heart throbs in your ears, but you swear his face changes almost imperceptibly when he sees you. You’re not exactly sure how, but it softens somehow, imbued with just a little more warmth than he’s already exuding. His eyes travel over you only briefly before Jack reaches out to embrace him, but in that short moment, you suddenly feel self-conscious.

Once his eyes leave you, you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. You look down, clasping your hands in front of you, but when you look up again, Elvis is looking at you from over Jack’s shoulder. You are absolutely caught in his blue-eyed gaze.

Stop being stupid, it’s just Elvis.

Perhaps your sudden intimidation by your dear friend is that he left Graceland a boy but has returned a man. Even though he’s thin, it’s in a leaner, more carved, more refined way than before. He still retains a bit of his baby face, but his countenance is different, settled, more worldly.

After exchanging words with Jack that you are too overcome to hear, Elvis steps around him and comes towards you, his attentions focused completely on you.

“Hey there, y/n darlin’,” he says gently, his voice still heavily accented, high and bright.

“Welcome home, Elvis,” you say. It barely sounds like you, you think, too quiet and soft and breathless. You ring your hands nervously.

He begins to open his arms and you know he means to embrace you, and all of a sudden, you are certain you are going to faint. It’s as if you know that if he touches you, right here and now, looking as he does and with the way his essence is radiating around you, something will be irrevocably changed. Your heart flutters and your breath rate increases, and you almost panic as he closes the gap, those eyes of his looking at you in such a way that you feel completely, utterly exposed. You want to run away, but you are frozen to the spot.

Just as he steps up to you, he’s attacked from the side by his young cousin. The moment between you is thankfully interrupted, and you instantly step back and behind Jack as the boy wrestles Elvis.

“Jesus, kid, a little warning next time!” he shouts playfully, putting the kid in a headlock and rubbing his knuckle into his head. He catches your eye for a fraction of a second, his face somewhere between regret and chagrin at not being able to hug you. You manage a small smile, but practically hide behind Jack, grabbing his hand as you warily look on.

The horde gratefully moves inside, out of the cold late winter chill. The look that flashes over Elvis’ face as he crosses the threshold is one of trepidation, grief. You realize being home must come with mixed emotions; after all, the last time he was here was when his dear mama passed, and this was the home he’d gotten for her.

You’re not sure that anyone else catches how his breath hitches and how those pretty eyes become anxious. In that moment, you forget all about the strange reaction you had to him not a minute ago and you ache to go to him, to pull him into your arms and tell him it’ll all be okay.

It seems like both forever and just yesterday that he wept in your arms on the stairs, bereft and inconsolable, as his mother lay in the other room in her casket. He had refused to leave her, petting her, and talking their baby talk to her for so long that they had finally placed glass over her to dissuade him. Even then, he had sat vigil by her side and as you all looked on in collective grief, as the concern for him and his deteriorating state was palpable. Almost no one was able to get him away for longer than a few minutes—first it was the Colonel near shoving him and Vernon out the door and into the arms of the vultures with the cameras outside. Then, Sam Phillips was able to console him for a bit. Jack and the boys and Anita all tried to pull him away, but they were only swept up by him to go see Gladys, and his tearful ramblings continued about how beautiful she looked and her tiny little “sooties,” and then his wailing and sobbing would commence once again.

His mama had always been more than kind to you, and you cried for her loss, but it was truly Elvis’ grief that had the tears rolling down your cheeks. But you hadn’t wanted to overstep your bounds. However, he’d stopped eating and drinking, and looked positively exhausted, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Eventually, you could stand it no more.

“Elvis, honey, I need you…” you’d said, putting your hand on his shoulder gently. He’d looked up at you sharply, eyes so bloodshot and filled with tears that the blue of his irises seemed unnaturally bright, his innocence and grief leeching out of them. You faltered then at the state of him, stumbling over your words, wanting to be as kind as possible. You cleared your throat, continuing, “I need you to come with me, sweetie.”

And somehow, against all odds, he listened to you, of all people. Wordlessly, he’d stood, drawing you tightly to him, his arm gripping your waist and his tall frame leaning on you for support, nearly knocking you over. You’d stumbled with him to the stairs, and he’d just collapsed into you, his head buried into your neck, clinging to you as if drowning in his grief and you were his life preserver. His heart wrenching sobs had silent tears flowing down your own cheeks, and you’d held him, petting him, cooing at him, your protective gaze shooing the onlookers away.

Eventually, after some time, he quieted. You could feel the heat of his head through the now-soaked top of your dress. “Oh, E, you’re burning up,” you’d said, feeling his face with your hands. He’d worked himself into such a state that his body was rebelling against him, and you’d whispered to someone nearby to call the doctor.

At that point, he’d had little fight left in him, and Jack and Sam had helped get him up to bed once the doctor had come. But he’d still clung to you, not letting you leave him once in his ornate, darkened cave of a bedroom. Elvis wouldn’t settle or let the doctor administer the much-needed sedative until you were in the huge bed with him and he was curled in your lap. You had looked to Jack wide-eyed for some sort of support, part of you feeling a little scandalized by being invited into Elvis’ bed, but none of the men knew what to do, and you were the only one so far that had been able to get him away from Gladys. You just got harried looks of bewilderment from everyone, and the doctor had just nodded to you, as if giving you permission to climb up in with him, doctor’s orders. Anything to calm Elvis down.

So you had, your heart breaking for him, confused as to why it was you who he needed, not Anita or Vernon or Jack. Regardless of how strange it was, you were his friend, and you’d do anything to help, no matter your own comfort. You’d stayed with him through the night, back leaning up against the headboard awkwardly, staying even after the sedative took hold because when you’d tried to leave, he’d still clung to you, heavy and feverish.

For hours you’d held vigil over him, hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, eventually drifting in and out of sleep, though any movement from him had you startling awake. And when you woke in the morning, stiff as hell, and Elvis blinked up at you with those huge, grieving puppy dog eyes, the pang in your heart was evident and confusing.

After those few horrid days, you never spoke of it again. You never asked him why it was you who’d been able to reach him through his grief, and beyond a whispered “thank you” in your ear before he left for Germany, he never mentioned it again. Not that you’d seen him for him to do so. Maybe that is why you are nervous, you think, because the last time you saw him, he was so utterly lost, and for whatever reason, you had been a lifeline in one of his worst moments. And that feels significant somehow, though you aren’t sure exactly how.

That look you see in his eyes now reminds you too much of that look from 18 months ago. But there are a bunch of family and friends between the two of you, crowded in the entryway, bustling with excitement, all seemingly oblivious to Elvis’ distress.

It angers you a bit, the way they all clamor over him without truly seeing him. You stand as rooted as he is, as if your being able to move is tied to him somehow. He looks at you then, sensing your gaze or your thoughts in that almost preternatural way of his, and you see the overwhelm in his eyes. The way the endless blue of them seems clouded over with pain and grief. The way they almost beg you to save him.

This, out of everything, gets you in motion, stepping towards him in the crowded space, but there are so many damn people that you can’t get to him. By the time you sidestep cousins and friends, you’ve watched as his face changes, a mask slipping over those handsome features so seamlessly that it takes you aback. You stop short, amazed at the way he now smiles and laughs at the antics around him, as if nothing happened.

You realize he must’ve had to do this to survive over there. There was no way he could show that kind of vulnerability during tank maneuvers or whatever they had him doing. He’s protecting himself, you think.

But it still rubs you the wrong way. The ease with which he switched emotions was disconcerting to you. Somewhat bitterly, you think that he certainly didn’t need your help through his pain this time.

Oh, stop, you chide yourself. He’s been home all of five minutes and first you wanted to run away from him and now you’re mad his grief isn’t crippling him? What’s wrong with you?

“Okay, okay, y’all, I need to go get changed! The press is gonna be here any minute,” Elvis chuckles and waves you all off, climbing the stairs. His eyes catch yours in the briefest of moments and you swear there is something unsaid in them. And then he’s gone, up into his room.

A shiver passes over you, your stomach flipping, and then a wave of nausea comes.

Jack sees you and comes over with concern in his eyes, cupping your cheek. “You alright, treasure? You look a little green in the gills,” he says.

“I…uh…my stomach is upset, sweetie. Excuse me,” you say quickly, the bile rising, and you make quickly for the bathroom down the hall. Once safely locked away, you rush to the toilet, sick. Luckily, once out, the queasiness passes quickly.

The doctor said this could happen, you think, looking at the reflection of your red face in the mirror. You rinse your mouth out and splash your face with cold water. It certainly has nothing to do with Elvis. That would be absurd.

It’s just the look in his eyes is haunting you and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s just your hormones being in overdrive. Yes, that makes sense. You are on edge and not seeing things clearly. Or maybe too clearly.

After a multitude of deep breaths, you straighten your dress and hair, then head back out into the fray. You find yourself in an empty house. You wander about to find that most everyone has gone back outside to witness Elvis’ triumphant return to Graceland as procured by the press.

They have arrived, littering the snow-dusted lawn and taking photographs and recordings of Elvis as he sits in front of a huge guitar shaped cake. You peek over someone’s shoulder and your jaw nearly drops at the sight. Clad now in all black, his wool coat is appropriate for the chill, but his black shirt is open halfway down his torso, a large gold medallion resting on his bare chest. If he’d looked like the All-American boy getting out of that car not 30 minutes ago, now he looks like the perfect combination of sweet and sinful.

Oh, dear lord.

His chestnut hair is perfectly imperfect, a rogue lock falling over his forehead. You think perhaps he’s added a little shadow and mascara to his eyes, or maybe he’s just exhausted from the long journey home, but whichever it is, the slight darkness on his lids gives him a stunningly beautiful look, his blue eyes popping and dancing with a combination of mischievousness, aloofness, and candor. Somehow, he has retained the youthful swell of his cheeks while also now having a jawline that could cut glass.

As you watch Elvis pick at the cake, deftly putting pieces of it in his mouth with his fingers, the innocent gesture seems almost obscene and that lightheaded feeling comes over you again, this time with a swell of warmth.

You want to look away, you really do, but you’ve forgotten your friend’s natural charm, how his essence pulls even the most unwilling into his orbit. His beauty is one thing, but the feeling that surrounds him is another thing all together. It’s not just you caught in the pull, however. Friends and family gather around, too, though they are likely not experiencing the same type of reaction as you.

Oh, this is utterly ridiculous, you think. Elvis has always been pretty and alluring. Get ahold of yourself.

You think it must be the pregnancy hormones, the way your body flushes from head to toe just watching him eat his cake and play to the camera. You force yourself not to follow as they direct Elvis towards Vernon’s office for the press conference, his tall frame gliding across the lawn in the most confident and nonchalant of ways. He commands his audience as though he’d never left, born to be at the forefront of everything. Focused on the cameras, he does not see you, or so you think, until he catches you staring and quirks his brow.

This finally prompts you to move, turning away quickly and heading back into the warmth of the house. You are glad for the cold, as it gives a reason for your cheeks to be as red as they are, and it douses your heated body with a much-needed chill.

You are embarrassed by your behavior. Elvis is not some idol to be gawked at, not by you. Perhaps it is because you feel so removed from him in his absence, or it is the unasked questions that linger in your mind from before he’d left, but your nerves buzz annoyingly.

You manage to avoid him after the press conference, as he’s utterly exhausted from his trip back home and all it had entailed and sends everyone on their way with the promise of a party the next evening.

Later, lying in bed, you wonder what in the hell came over you. It’s got to be the nerves and excitement about the life growing inside you colliding with the trepidation of your friend’s return all at once. You also know that pregnant women have a multitude of strange physical symptoms, especially in the early days, which would explain nearly everything.

That must be it. It’s not about Elvis at all. It’s your body telling you that you are pregnant.

Finally.

The thought sends a flutter of a different kind through your chest. It’s one of excitement and hope and a little fear. You place your hands on your belly, imbued with a sense of motherly responsibility. You drift to sleep thinking of holding your child in your arms.

The party the next night has Graceland lit up in a way it hasn’t been in years. An air of celebration surrounds the place, chasing away any of the leftover morbidity from Gladys’ passing. You hold Jack’s hand tightly as you enter the mansion, that strange anxiousness from yesterday threatening to ruin your night.

Maybe you should have told Jack about the baby before you came, but no moment seemed quite right. Telling him before work would have distracted him and telling him before the party still seemed to be stepping on the toes of Elvis’ return. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him for sure tomorrow, you think pointedly.

The warm air of the house nearly overwhelms you, and the two of you strip your heavy coats and head towards the sound of Elvis’ boisterous laughter. Your dress is fitted only at the waist and not over the belly, which you are glad for, even though you are hardly showing yet.

You manage to find a seat in the corner with Jack far enough from Elvis that you can breathe, as the fact that he still looks incredible has not changed in the last 24 hours. Why you are so completely stuck on his shocking handsomeness and consumed by whatever prowess he is exuding, you still do not quite know, but it continues to affect you and keep you wary. Shaking off your unhelpful thoughts, you busy yourself talking with Anita, Pat, and the other girls as the men joke and play. After a while, this finally settles your nerves, but you are very conscious of not letting yourself get too close to Elvis as the night goes on, as if being too near will disrupt the tenuous equilibrium you are trying to maintain.

Later in the evening, you excuse yourself and head to the restroom. You can’t help but look in the mirror, rubbing your belly even though it’s impossible to tell yet. This puts a smile on your face, your sweet little secret. And this is how you exit, smiling, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Shit!” you gasp, jumping out of your skin at Elvis leaning casually against the wall across from you. Your heart gallops against your ribcage, one hand flying to your heart and the other to your belly in a protective gesture. “Elvis, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, y/n,” he says, pushing off the wall, eyes remorseful but watching you carefully.

You find yourself barely able to look at him with him being this close. You will your heart to slow, will yourself to act normal, but it’s like you can’t. You can’t quite meet his eyes, you can’t quite breathe and escape is all you can think of. You awkwardly gesture to the bathroom, thinking that it’s why he’s lurking in the hallway, and then you step away from him without another word.

“Hey, now,” he says from behind you, perturbed, “You wait just a damn minute.”

Elvis’ long fingers circle around your wrist, grabbing you, and it feels like fire. Startled, you turn back and look down at how he holds you firm. You hardly have a moment to process that he’s touching you before he’s pulling you into a room across the hallway. Yelping, you have no choice but to follow—he’s much stronger than you—and he holds fast as flips on the lamp and then shuts the door behind the two of you. He releases you, then folds his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Elvis…” you start, confused and shocked and trying to process whatever is going on.

“Did I make you mad or do something to offend you?” he interrupts, his voice laced with hurt. Those intense blue eyes of his lock you in place, betraying his churning emotions.

“What? No, what are you—?” you sputter out, faltering under his gaze and needing to look away.

“That! That right there. You can’t even hardly look at me!” he points, voice raising angrily. “You barely said three words to me since I been home!” He steps towards you and instinctually you step back, a hand flying to your belly, as the intensity of being this close to him has you completely overwhelmed.

His eyes widen. “Look at you, you can’t even be in the same room as me without skittering away like a little bird. I thought I was imaginin’ it for a minute.” Elvis pauses, looking you over. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly, the hurt palpable in both his body and voice.

Your heart aches at the sight of him like, forcing you to relax and be more mindful of your actions. “No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Elvis,” you breathe. You aren’t, truly.

“Then what did I do?” he asks with such childlike innocence, such hurt, that your heart breaks for causing it.

“Nothing, E, you didn’t do anything, I swear,” you insist, going to him, unable to bear the look on his cherubic face. You force yourself to get close, pushing through your silly fears.

“Why ya bein’ so strange then, baby?” Elvis asks, eyes scanning your face. This close, you realize you could fall and drown in their oceanic blue intensity.

How can you answer that? You certainly cannot say, “Yes, Elvis, I’m being strange because you came back too handsome and your charming presence overwhelms me, and I don’t know where I stand with you, and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant.”

Your brain scrambles for an answer as the tension between the two of you increases to a level that has you sweating, and you blink up at him, flustered. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that…I guess I am afraid that you’re different, or that things have changed too much while you were gone, or that it’s been too long and that you might not, I don’t know, you might not see me as your friend anymore?” you prattle on, the honesty in your words surprising you. The idea and the truth of it brings tears to your eyes.

His beautiful face softens, his mouth popping open as emotions flash over his features so quickly that you cannot grasp them completely. You feel utterly caught up in him, the loss of control and your feelings frightening you.

“Never,” Elvis whispers finally, “Never in a million years could that happen, baby.” The way he looks down at you is charged, confusing, intense.

Your heart flips. A rogue tear slips down your cheek. Stupid hormones.

You are close enough now that you can feel the energy of him pulsate around you. It makes your breath catch when he brushes the tear off your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. You’re not sure if you can bear him touching you more than that because it sends a shockwave through your body.

“So, you missed me?” he asks, a sideways grin beginning to widen on his face.

“’Course I missed you, you idiot,” you sniffle.

“Some way of showin’ it,” he jokes now, breaking some of the tension.

“Well, I’ve had some things on my mind,” you say pointedly. “Life didn’t stop just cuz you were in Germany, ya know.”

You don’t realize that your arm has been wrapped over your belly all this time. Elvis narrows his eyes at you, steps back, and then looks you over very deliberately. Self-conscious and confused under the scrutiny, you blush.

“What?” you ask nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A huge smile spreads over his features and his eyes light up. “Congratulations, doll,” he grins at you.

He knows. Elvis, of all people, knows your secret after spending less than five minutes with you.

You are shocked enough that you don’t try to deny it. “I…How…?” you stutter out.

“You bein’ so skittish and protective, and the way you been holdin’ yourself this whole time is different. Explains that real pretty glow about ya, too,” he says, booping your nose playfully.

You blush harder. “Elvis, I just found out. No one knows yet, not even Jack, so don’t you dare go saying anything yet. It’s still real early,” you say in a warning tone.

Elvis nods, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Seriously, E, not a freakin’ word, promise me!” you say. He is a terrible secret keeper.

“Okay, okay, I promise!” he grins.

“Lord, with the way you’re buzzing, you’d think I was having your baby!” you laugh.

Something changes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quick that you can’t put your finger on it. He does still a bit, though, and you look at him quizzically. He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you openly. The air has shifted once again.

“Well, we should probably get back out there. Everybody must be missing the man of the hour,” you say, clearing your throat and turning to leave.

Before you can go far, Elvis’ fingers dance over yours, reaching, as if wanting to hold your hand and pull you back but hesitating as if he shouldn’t. Your breath catches, an odd feeling blooming in your chest, like you are falling. You look back and down, seeing and feeling his fingers graze yours in such a strangely much-too-intimate way. He doesn’t stop, fingers brushing and winding through yours. You can’t help the way yours start to move around his in the now heavy silence. Your eyes raise to meet his, heart racing.

“Y/n, I—” he starts to say, voice low and gaze intense.

“EP!! Where the hell you at, man?” Red shouts from the hallway, startling you both, causing you to drop your hands as though they were suddenly on fire. As if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Elvis visibly shakes himself off and crosses in front of you to open the door. It opens a crack and then he stops, turning back to you quickly, mouth open as if he wants to finish what he was trying to say. He must think better of it, though, because he just shakes his head again and sucks in his cheeks before heading out the door without another word.

You pause, frozen to the spot, as your heart thunders in your ears. Befuddled, you try and process the last few minutes, try to piece out what the hell just happened. Your hand splays on your belly, your face hot and your body warm.

You were right, you think, a lot has changed. Everything and nothing, all at once.

After that, things move quickly. With Elvis’ new knowledge, you tell Jack immediately about the baby, pulling him aside at the party. He is thrilled.

A few blissful weeks pass. You’ve been feeling okay physically, just some nausea and lightheadedness, but your nerves are still a bit on edge. The strange moment between you and Elvis the night of the party lingers in your mind, just under the surface, and every time you see him, that odd falling feeling comes over you for a moment. It doesn’t help that when he sees you, something in him changes. It’s so subtle that you doubt anyone notices; in fact, you think you could be imagining it if not for the charged, unreadable look in his eyes. But to you he seems overly attentive to your every move, protective even.

You try and chalk this weird intuition and the way your body feels up to the pregnancy. Your body is changing a little each day, and maybe this is just a part of it.

Elvis has been enjoying his few weeks at home before everything starts up for him again, and consequently, so have all of you, finding yourselves pulled back into his orbit easily. He’s travelling down to Miami soon to be on Frank Sinatra’s show and then he starts filming his next movie in April. You have mixed feelings about this, dreading him leaving so soon again, but you also think perhaps it is a good thing to be away from him considering the tricks your mind seems to be playing on you.

Tonight, he rents out the Rainbow Rollerdome for an evening of what he dubs the “Roller Skating Wars.” You, of course, will not be skating in your condition, but that certainly doesn’t stop you from putting on a cute polka dotted dress and going to observe the chaos you know will ensue.

Jack, unfortunately, stays home, struck suddenly in the afternoon with a sore throat and fever. You tell him you will stay home and take care of him, but he brushes you off and tells you he’s just going to be sleeping anyway, that you should go and have fun. He practically pushes you out the door.

When you arrive at the Rollerdome, you quickly find the girls and plant yourself in one of the big booths with a coke, some popcorn, and some candy. Your cravings for sweets have been intense this last week, and you pick delightfully at the confections as you watch everyone skate around.

Elvis has a silly grin plastered on his face as he wheels up to your table, his hair so long and fluffy on top that it bounces with him, product keeping it standing nearly straight up. On anyone else, it would look absolutely ridiculous, but with Elvis being Elvis, it just seems to highlight how incredibly handsome he’s become. Honestly, he nearly takes your breath away in his dark polo with the popped collar, his eyes electric and dancing, his face long and jaw chiseled.

At least you know that you aren’t the only one noticing the change in his looks, because the other girls seem to blush and smile more as he looms over you all, the skates putting him nearly six and a half feet tall.

“Ladies, everybody got their skates?” he drawls charmingly.

Everyone giggles and there’s a chorus of “Yes, Elvis!” as they show off their skates. For a moment, you are a bit upset that you can’t skate, but that is quickly banished by the excitement of the life growing inside you.

“Well, go on then!” he motions, and the ladies scurry, happy to be summoned.

After they clamor out of the booth, Elvis looks at you more seriously.

“No skating for you tonight, right?” he asks protectively, cobalt eyes narrowing.

Your heart does that falling thing for a moment before you respond. “Nope, feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much!” you smile.

He nods, pleased by this. “Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him,” he asks, looking around.

“Oh, he’s at home, sick. Booted me out of there. I think he was annoyed at me hovering, to be honest,” you chuckle.

“You gonna be okay over here? I don’t want you to be by yourself,” Elvis says, concerned.

“Oh, I’ll come and watch you all here in a minute. My back’s bothering me a bit, so I’m fine to sit for a spell.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, brow furrowing, as if sensing something about you that you couldn’t sense yourself.

“Yes, E, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Now, shoo, and go have some fun, but for god’s sake don’t go killin’ yourself or anyone else out there!” you laugh.

Elvis looks at you in that unreadable way of his for a moment, then a wide grin spreads across his face. “No promises!” he shouts as he skates away.

You let out a breath after he leaves. His presence is still overwhelming to you, no matter how much you try to logic it away, so for now you are just accepting it. Such is living a life with Elvis in it.

Your back really is starting to bother you, which you attribute to the obvious, and after a few minutes alone, you realize you would rather be around people than not. You get up from the booth, then a wave of dizziness overtakes you and you grab the edge of the table for support as you blink away the spots in your eyes.

You wonder for a moment if you might be coming down with whatever Jack has, but your throat is fine. After a moment, the wave mostly passes, so you make your way to the skating rink to watch the group from the sidelines. There are a few people on the sidelines, and you have fun making small talk and watching the antics in the rink. After a bit, most of the girls come back out as Elvis and the boys are getting pretty rough, and part of you is a little glad Jack isn’t here to get injured.

You ignore the ache in your back (it’s just something you’ll have to get used to, after all) and another wave of lightheadedness hits you as you all head back to the table. You are starting to feel distracted, your stomach churning now a bit, too, and you remind yourself that being pregnant isn’t necessarily a picnic. You feel a bit claustrophobic now, shoved in the booth with the other ladies, and excuse yourself to the restroom, thinking it might be time to go home.

Something’s wrong, you think, a feeling of dread coming over you. Forcing yourself to breathe, you remind yourself again and again that you are just pregnant and these are symptoms of that. You pause at the water fountain to drink, hoping the water might settle your stomach.

As you are bent over, someone zips behind you on skates, then suddenly you feel a hand groping your backside.

Yelping, you choke on the water and jump, turning around.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” a man you don’t recognize leers at you, way too close for comfort.

“Excuse me,” you say haughtily, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, making your lightheadedness even worse. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Naw, you’re the prettiest girl in here. Why ya all by your lonesome?” he purrs at you, the sound setting off every warning bell in your body, adrenaline clashing with your dizziness and churning stomach. He leans down, as if to try and kiss you and you push him back.

“Leave me alone!” you say, your voice raising in both volume and pitch. You try to sidestep him, but he grabs you hard and presses you into the wall. You think you might vomit all over him.

“Don’t be like that! All I want is a little kiss,” he says, one wandering hand groping your chest as his lips come at you.

“Don’t touch me! Stop it!” you shriek, trying to squirm out of his grasp as his disgusting mouth roams over your face and neck. Your body betrays you, though, your back throbbing, weakness overcoming your limbs, and you can’t fight him off. You curse the fact that the bathrooms are so far back from the rest of the group, and you pray that someone hears you.

“Get off of me!” you try to scream, but he’s trying to silence you with his hand. Panic overtakes you now as you realize this man is going to hurt you, but in your current state, you are unable to fight.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!” You hear the low growl before the horrible man boxing you in is yanked backwards and sideways, his eyes bulging in surprise. You gasp as you watch Elvis collide with the man, his momentum from how fast he must have been skating sending the man flying.

The man stumbles and rolls, flailing and falling, and Elvis looks like you’ve never seen him before as he spins around. His eyes are dark and lethal, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his chest heaves with his breath. He looks terrifying, his focus singular, and you are almost afraid for the man. Almost.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Elvis growls again, pulling the dazed man upright by his shirt. “What the fuck were you doin’ to her?!” he yells, pulling back his arm and then socking the man in the jaw so hard you can hear the crack. The man is stunned for a moment, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth, but he recovers, taking a swing at Elvis.

It barely grazes him and doesn’t even phase Elvis, who seems possessed. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch her!” Elvis shouts, then punches the man in the face again, hard, sending him flying.

Things are happening so fast, you can barely process it. You can hardly breathe, the waves of dizziness pouring over you, making it hard to focus.

Elvis goes for the man again, and suddenly you are fearful he might kill him because he seems so blacked out with rage. Elvis hits him again and the man falls to the floor in a heap, bloody and bruised.

“Elvis, Elvis, stop!” you try to call out, but your voice is too quiet, wavering, and he is too far gone. You need to stop him before he does something he cannot take back, and you know something is wrong with you because you can’t get your body to move the way you need it to.

It’s then that a sharp, searing pain burns in your abdomen, and a primal scream bursts from your lungs. A shockwave of agony rolls through you, knocking the breath from your body. It’s so sudden and all-encompassing that you see red, and you clutch at your belly, your head spinning, fearing the worst.

The baby.

Your cry finally snaps Elvis back to reality because he’s with you in a flash, fear and concern flashing over his features, replacing the fury that was there mere seconds ago.

“Y/n! Y/n, what is it? Did he hurt you?” he gasps, looking you over as tears stream down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath, and your heart is beating too fast. Then, you feel hot liquid spread from your belly downwards, life spilling out of you, running down your legs. You feel sick as you look down, Elvis’ gaze following your own. That’s when you see the dark red begin to stain your dress and your stockings.

It’s over, it’s over, the baby, oh god, runs through your head, a dismal chant in your mind. You look at Elvis with resigned horror, but you are feeling so lightheaded, you can barely focus on anything. Even the pain starts to wane and feel distant. You know this isn’t normal, even for a miscarriage. Something is terribly wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you hear him beg, his hands on your face, your shoulders, his eyes wild with terror now. “We need help over here!” he bellows, never taking his eyes off you.

They are so beautiful, those crystalline eyes, those dark lashes, you think absently as you begin to slump over.

You are somewhat aware of his strong arms catching you as he slides down with you to the floor. They feel so warm and comforting, you think. You blink up at him, your vision starting to dim.

“Y/n, no, don’t you dare, you stay w-w-with me, b-baby,” Elvis says in a panic, shaking you, pulling you into his lap. A sharp metallic smell permeates the air. “Somebody c-call a damn ambulance!” you hear him shout. You can hear the terror in his voice, in his stutter, and you wonder why he’s so scared. You’ve never heard him this scared.

“Elvis?” you whisper. You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard.

“Yeah, b-b-baby?” his voice shudders. You can feel his chest heaving as he presses you into him, rocking you, tucking your head under his. He always has to be moving, his energy always vibrating around him.

“I feel so strange…” you say, and you do. You’re aware of the pain but it feels so far away. Everything feels far away except for the heat of Elvis, which feels like a blanket around you. With the warmth pouring out of you, you start to feel cold.

“I-I-I know, baby. Come on, you stay awake, now,” he says in your ear as your eyes start to close. He shakes you again. You force them to flutter open. You think whatever is happening must be really bad if he’s so scared.

“Tell Jack I…I love him,” you breathe quietly, just in case.

“You tell him yourself, damnit,” Elvis chokes out, pulling you in closer.

“Thanks for…being…my friend…so good to me,” you say, but it’s not enough. You can’t seem to get the right words out, your mouth filling with cotton. You bring your shaking fingers up to his cheek, your face is buried in his neck, his smell surrounding you. He smells so nice. He feels so good wrapped around you. You’re not nervous to be near him anymore, all of that seems so silly now. Your hand drifts and you feel his full lips under your fingertips. They really are as soft as they look.

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore and blackness starts to swallow you, your hand falling onto his chest, but you feel unusually calm.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I love you, y/n, please, I love y…” Elvis whispers pleadingly in your ear.

His quiet, startling confession fades away and is the last thing you hear before the world goes completely dark and silent.

Elvis at the Rainbow Rollerdome, March 19th, 1960

Taglist:

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

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

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

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

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld

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

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 1 year

Text

I posted 808 times in 2022

That's 808 more posts than 2021!

504 posts created (62%)

304 posts reblogged (38%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@whatudowhennooneseesyou

@ateezreactionsandscenarios

@mischiefsmind

@chvnnie

@whatsk-poppinhomies

I tagged 632 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#ateez smut - 287 posts

#ateez hard hours - 203 posts

#kpop smut - 194 posts

#stray kids smut - 130 posts

#whatudowhennooneseesyou anon asks - 125 posts

#whatudowhennooneseesyou - 118 posts

#mommytober 2022 - 117 posts

#ateez - 109 posts

#skz smut - 102 posts

#seonghwa smut - 96 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#i have them both on the universe app and i squeal when i receive a notification from them and mum's like do you have a bf and i'm like no

My Top Posts in 2022:

Mommy!December: Day 2

Request: 'HEYYY ITS ME. I need a Mommy!Seonghwa, marking and Hella possessiveness PLEASE. Oh how I want that man to make me turn into a puddle of mess'

Yeah, I know I'm starting a little early but I just got too excited because y'all know how much I love writing Mommy! Seonghwa.

Word Count: circa 600 words.

Content includes: Dom!Seonghwa x sub!fem reader, praise, possessiveness, marking, thigh-biting, humiliation, edging, nipple-biting, just a lot of biting in general (I mean, what do you expect?), kissing, cum play, fingering, rough sex, slight choking, hickeys, use of the word c*nt & c*m.

And everyone should know if you've read my fics:

How do you know it's Mommy!Seonghwa?

Because of the term 'precious, little star'.

'You thought you were being sneaky on Mommy weren't you?' Seonghwa cooed at you, his voice edged with a mocking tone.

You watched as Seonghwa propped your right ankle over his shoulder, anticipation pooling in your stomach.

'I guess Mommy needs to teach you a lesson' He smirked, leaning down and pressing a few kisses to the inside of your thigh, he watched you sigh in pleasure.

And then he suddenly bit down on the skin, causing you to jolt and whine under Seonghwa's touch.

'What was that for?' You huffed, trying to move your leg but Seonghwa only gripped your ankle tighter.

'What were you doing?' Seonghwa's eyebrow quirked, expecting an answer.

'I-I don't know' You responded, feeling confused.

You jolted again with a yelp as Seonghwa bit again, next to the other reddening hickey this time and lapped at the skin.

'Don't lie to me precious, you know Mommy watches everything' His voice raspy, his eyes accusing you for what you committed.

Your pride fell to the floor and you turned your head away from him,

'I don't want to say it-AHHH!' Seonghwa's teeth bit into the flesh of your other thigh, you could hear the suction of his teeth as he pulled away.

'Mommy will just keep biting you unless you say' He rested his head on your crotch, hands sliding up the outside of your thighs.

'And to think I was going to be nice and prep you, slip my fingers in, taste you' Seonghwa's ran his thumb up the seam as he mentioned this, you could feel his breath against your clit.

'I was quite looking forward to it too' He huffed dramatically, his expression almost comical 'But I guess..'

'No-wait! I' The teasing was too much, his breath against your cunt was already making you ache.

A murmur left your throat 'I was playing with myself' you sighed out.

Seonghwa pressed a soft kiss of reassurance over the hickey that had formed on your inner thigh.

'And?' Seonghwa dropped your ankle off his shoulder, using your hips as support as he crawled up your body.

'I'm not allowed to do that' You responded meekly, feeling Seonghwa's cold fingers pull your t-shirt up around your collarbones.

'And why is that?' Seonghwa's voice was curt and authoritative, his gaze focused on your exposed chest.

'Because-AHH!' You cried out in surprise as Seonghwa's teeth bit into the skin right next to your nipple 'B-because it's Mommy's'

See the full post

307 notes - Posted November 24, 2022

Why Seonghwa is Secretly A Fuckboi- Pt.3

I jus-I can't.

That's muscle memory right there.

Look at the smirk in his eyes.

He totally know what he's doing 🔥🔥

308 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

Can I get all the attention of the Stays please?

Lee Know sent a pic on Bubble.

Is this Lee Know or Bang Chan?

Because Lee Know wears that Apple Watch.

But the outfit is very Bang Chan-esque.

And they both have similar body types.

I'm sure there's someone on here who has a better eye than me & is able to figure it out.

316 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

Man got me drooling and frothing on a fucking train right now

It's anything he wants

ITS ANYTHING HE WANTS

The fuck he knows how to play up the female gaze with the hand placement.

He knows what women find sexy.

My sunnies are getting steamy oml.

Bang chan, please.

I don't what you want but I'll give it to you.

325 notes - Posted October 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Mommytober Series 2022- Day 22

Sugar!Daddy w Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Dom!Hongjoong x Sub!Fem Reader

Content includes: aged up Hongjoong (he's 35), corruption kink (duh it's fucking Hongjoong), praise, virgin!reader, first time, body worship, clingy and needy sex, tattooed Hongjoong (it should be a warning in itself because I am expecting Hongjoong to be covered in tattoos when he's 35 and I will be thoroughly disappointed if he doesn't.)

This is probably the most vanilla fic thus far in the series and I won't even apologise for it because I cried while writing it.

Why you may ask? Because Hongjoong is the most clingy, needy, romantic and loving partner out of Ateez and he would actually be like this and I'm now in a glass case full of emotion.

Also, this fic includes possessiveness (DUH! It's fucking Hongjoong) and hand-holding.

This is pure filth and does not portray an accurate representation of the stated Kpop idol.

18+ Only.

Requested By: @hongthoven

You didn't expect to still be a virgin at 24.

It's not like you were waiting for marriage or wore your virginity with pride.

There just simply hadn't been anyone that had entered your life that you wanted to share the experience with.

You either had bad luck, bad timing, no game or all three.

'My baby, don't be shy. You have a beautiful body okay?' Hongjoong cooed at you, the slight crow's feet around his eyes adding warmth to his gaze, his hands slowly pulling the bra strap from your shoulders.

That was until Hongjoong unexpectedly entered your life.

'Mmm, you make the most beautiful sounds' he groaned out, voice muffled as his tongue flicked around the tip of your nipple and his fingers gently tweaking the other one.

He was 35 and unbelievably gorgeous with crow's feet peeking around the edges of his eyes and a few random grey streaks shining through his black hair.

'I can't believe I'm the only one who's seen you like this' Hongjoong threw your panties on the floor, hands rubbing gently up the sides of your thighs, tracing kisses on your hips as he settled his face in between your thighs.

'And now. I'll be the only fucking one'.

Hongjoong wasn't married and he didn't have any children, instead opting to choose a career-based lifestyle.

You were both so different.

But yet it always felt so fucking right.

Hongjoong nuzzled his face into the side of your thigh, feeling your thighs shake from the multiple orgasms he had just given you with his tongue and fingers alone.

Your chest heaving up and down, nipples hard, bitten lips and cunt dripping wet.

Why would he chase the world for more gold when the best treasure in his life was you?

Hongjoong stood up from the edge of the bed, discarding the clothes off his body as he watched you gain composure.

He was just about to pull down his briefs when he saw you sit up, 'Wait' you told him as you swung your legs so you were sitting at the edge of the bed.

'I want to see you' you outstretched a hand for him to come closer and he walked forward and stood between your legs, breathing against his stomach.

See the full post

335 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Thank you to all the Hongjoong Stan's

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11h36 · 2 years

Text

Spending the holidays with them

An: You know I had to drop one last thing before the year ended, we're just gonna act like this isn't late as hell 🥲

Shoko

First of all Shoko is secretly such an attentive gift giver you'd swear she read your mind. Even if she seems like she's not really paying all that much attention to you, She's definitely listening. She's had all year to pick up on what you're into this time around, along with some things you didn't even know you wanted. She's so grateful if you check up on her often even if she doesn't say it. Shoko can tend to get in a melancholy mood around this time of year, especially if shes stuck working late. Your presence is a welcome distraction from work and would definitely do her some good.

Gojo

Now you already KNOW this man is getting you the most over the top gifts, and if you're the type that hates receiving presents he'll wanna do it even more 😭 he's actually pretty good at choosing them but he can't stop himself from at least getting you one tacky gift (he gets you a big ass blanket with his face on it pls don't even acknowledge it) He's busy as hell but he'll make time to see you no matter what, even if its just for a couple hours. If you're going to see your fam he's tagging along with no prior notice (dw tho he'll try to be on his best behavior) but his corny ass wins them over somehow 🥴

Nanami

Like with most holidays he doesn't wanna do anything too public, not that he doesn't have the energy to but he'd rather keep it simple and focus on you 👀 he's definitely a quality over quantity person so he'd rather get you a couple useful, timeless gifts that you'll really love rather than a bunch of smaller ones (hell, he might just do both tbh). You already know mans likes to travel, but he knows how stressful it can be around the end of the year so he plans for everything far in advance. If you do go anywhere it'll be scenic and peaceful, and whether you want it to be somewhere hot to take your mind off winter or go to a cozy cabin is totally up to you.

Choso

With him the focus is mostly on experiencing new things like he's so curious about everything so be ready to answer tons of questions. For example, he wants to know why people eat these specific foods during this time of year, or what difference does it snowing make, why so many people seem to either love or hate it and so on. Everything is just so new and intriguing to him and he doesn't wanna miss a single thing so the more detailed you are the better. He's so emotional if you invite him to chill w your friends/family 🥺 like wow you'd let him in on such a family oriented event? He may be blowing it out of proportion but he appreciates it more than he can express.

Mei Mei

Mei Mei likes to buy you gifts leading up to the main event (really its because she can't wait to see the look on your face) because she says it builds your excitement. She's absolutely spoiling you and she doesn't wanna hear a single complaint cause you know she has the funds 😏 As for you, knowing her she'll appreciate money straight up just as much as any thoughtful gift so if you're stressing about what to get her you always have a plan B. On top of getting you someone's rents worth in gifts she'll wanna take you out to dinner and let you pick whatever else you'd like to do. If for whatever reason she can't do everything y'all had planned to, she's definitely making it up to you however she can when she isn't on her grind working.

Geto

That one mf that SWEARS he's not going crazy w the gifts and then the day comes and you see him w all these wrapped presents and a big ass smile on his face like

And he does this every single year can you really be shocked atp? He definitely keeps your tastes in mind tho and and a lot of his gifts are subtle and practical but with everyday uses. Like Nanami, I feel like he'd wanna keep the festivities low-key, just the two of y'all if possible. He'll try to spend the whole day with you because its not often that he gets the chance to. Would honestly not mind whatsoever if you wanted to stay in and cook together, he can throw down otl 👀

#this came to me after a food coma #how yall's doin #I'm so sorry for being M.I.A for like 3 months but it'd be so sick to promise consistency when i know damn well I'm lying 😭#jjk hcs #jujutsu headcanons #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #ieri shoko #gojo satoru #nanami kento #mei mei #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jjk x black reader #black reader

206 notes · View notes

nightswithkookmin · 2 years

Note

Hi goldy. hope you are enjoying tar tae's birthday 🎂 hehe anyways I just came across some tweets lol and tuktukers were saying that "hybe" and "members" didn't allowed jk to post 'ily' to tae lmao !! They are bashing jimin because jk posted tae's picture and 'cropped' himself because it was sus? Then Tae himself posted to show The World that his "baby" was also there ..I mean say whatever uh want but LEAVE JM.

Why bringing him in your mess or between T@ekook ? Can't we just enjoy his birthday?

😔😔😔😔😔😔

I just want an open fight so I can beat these people ass with my bare hands. Pull their hair and bite their nipples.

Physical violence is the way to go. Said I, me. Goldy. Signed and approved.

First of all, NO. I COMMAND AND DECREE WE STOP INFANTILIZING JK HERE AND NOW!

The members posting love you is a perfect opportunity for JK or anyone else to slip a very gay I love you post in there. SO HOW ABOUT THE FUCK NO TO THIS SILY ASS CONSPIRACY THEORY.

HOW ABOUT WE GIVE JUNGKOOK AGENCY? HOW ABOUT THAT?

HE CAN TALK OPENLY ABOUT A MAN GIVING HIM A HICKEY BUT OH NO HE CAN'T POST SOMETHING EVERYONE ELSE IS POSTING BECAUSE- Y'ALL HATE SO MUCH THAT HE IS AN ADULT CAPABLE OF MAKING CHOICES FOR HIMSELF

I WILL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU IF YOU DON'T STOP THIS NONSENSE RIGHT NOW

See this is why JK be minding his own business not posting for any one.

THIS IS WHY.

how about he didn't post that Taekook photo himself because he didn't want to make Tae's birthday about some stupid ship theory?

HE CROPPED THAT IMAGE DELIBERATELY.

Hobi posted him and Tae. Jk could have posted that too but he chose not to- HE CHOSE NOT TO.

How about we respect that??

Hybe asked JK not to post Tae Kook but Tae posted it didn't he?? Is Tae less contractually bound to Hybe than JK?

THEY ARE BASHING JIMIN???

SIS TAG ME. I'LL DRAW BLOOD.

TAG ME!

I WON'T TAKE THIS NONSENSE GOING INTO 2022. I WILL NOT.

JK COULD HAVE ASKED TAE NOT TO POST THAT FULL PHOTO THOUGH- it's a matter of whether or not Tae would respect that decision because again it all comes down to 'boundaries.'

Did he ask Jk why he didn't post that full photo himself? I'm sure he had his reasons just as he had his reasons for not signing his name to that post.

I really hope Tae didn't get carried away in the moment and he posted and 'outed' Jk for posting out of consideration for him. For a guy who once told Jin he didn't want Jin letting fans know what he did for his birthday surely he must find this relatable.

Jungkook is an autonomous human being. I know some people grow up in households where boundaries aren't a thing so they don't know a thing about boundaries nor know how to respect it.

I hate when jokers question Jk's right to have and exercise boundaries within the group even against Jimin and i certainly hate when Tuktukkers dismiss his expressions of boundaries as a dictate from hybe. He is not a child. Hybe is not making him have boundaries. THE FUCK?!

Theorize away. Or whatever but if it's that deep I think Jk could have utilized his IG since we know hybe don't control that outlet as much and he has been posting whatever he wants there.

Why subject yourself to so much censorship? They give Kook so much props and then in the same breath invalidate his whole existence.

FREE JUNGKOOK

Tae is doing nothing JM hasn't done before and yet when Jm did it he was 'clingy' disrespecting boundaries and seeking attention. When Tae does it it is love uWu.

ASSHOLES

#does

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laequiem · 3 years

Text

Careful whispers

/ Elain notices shadows moving in her room, so she decides to see if they report back to Azriel. They do. It's porn, y'all. 2.5k words.

this was... supposed to be short... and not angsty. oops.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Azriel / Elain Archeron

Rating: Explicit (see ao3 for more specific tags)

Word count: 2,739

These days, Elain's thoughts keep spiraling to the brush of a wing against her neck as she kneels gardening and the soft touch of scarred fingers against hers when he hands her a glass of wine over dinner.

read on ao3 • masterlist

What has gotten into her? She who was so against the idea of a male is now longing for a fae's blood-stained hands.

As her hand travels south towards her aching core, she does not think of Graysen's noble fingers. Even with her gardening calluses, she finds she needs more to scratch the itch. She runs her hand over a heavy breast, angling her finger to run a jagged nail over its peak.

A soft moan escapes her. The effect definitely works, she can imagine his fingers instead of hers as her hand dips lower, under her nightgown.

As Elain circles the bud at the apex of her thighs with two fingers, she curses herself for her inexperience. A centuries-old fae male would surely know what to do better than she can. As she spent most of her teenage years at the cottage, sharing a bed with her sisters, she did not have the opportunity to explore self-pleasure. Only when she met Graysen did she entertain the idea, once her family had moved to the house Tamlin paid for.

Graysen, who had taken her maidenhead.

Graysen, whom she was supposed to now be married to.

She does think about him, sometimes, but it has become rarer. Nowadays, her thoughts are mostly consumed by cold hazel eyes and muscled brown skin.

Her fingers—too small, too delicate—travel southwards still as her thumb lingers on the bundle of nerves.

As she dips two fingers in her heat, she whimpers his name.

Azriel.

She knows it is wrong, but in all her virtue, even Elain is not immune to the call of forbiddenness.

Eyes closed, her other hand clamped over her mouth, Elain rides her hand with vehemence.

In the darkest corner of the room, shadows shift excitedly before disappearing, running to their master.

With Nesta and Cassian rutting in the House day in, day out, Azriel has a lot of trouble sleeping. He tried earlier, when his shadows had gone to sleep, but all he could think about was the stench of their lust. So he resolved himself to work until exhaustion drags him to sleep.

Maaaaas~ter.

His shadows should not be here at this hour. He would be worried something had happened, if not for the way they singsong their title to him. They had been his only friends for years. Just like he learned to hear them, he learned to read their mood. And this tone only means one thing: mischief.

Maaaaaaster!

Two of the shadows are curling around his neck, writhing with delight as they try to get his attention. Farther away, spread in all the dark corners of his room, others are snickering.

What.

You should go to the seer.

He straightens and gets up. Alone with his shadows is the only time he would let his fears show so blatantly. Did something happen to Elain?

The shadows curling around him giggle together.

No.

More shadows approach him, crowding at his shoulders. Some start pulling at his hair, snickering as they dance around the strands.

The fawn sings your name in the dark.

Go to her.

You will thank us later.

That's enough. I told you to never spy on her.

Come with us.

Before he can protest any more, shadows crowd him, casting him in total darkness.

In the blink of an eye, he finds himself transported to the River House, standing in Elain's room in only his underwear.

Busybodies.

His shadows did not even bother to hide him—they winnowed him right to the only light source in the room, in a ray of moonlight coming through the window.

Azriel is immediately hit by the musky scent of arousal, mixed with Elain's usual scent of jasmine and fresh bread.

Cauldron boil him alive.

Now that he is here, Elain has lost all bravado she previously felt when she noticed the shadows moving in the corner of the room.

Her hand stills. The idea of putting on a show had turned her on earlier, but now that it's real, now that she can hear his breath catch as he notices her, she flushes.

She pulls her nightgown back into place.

How long has passed since he appeared? Seconds? Minutes? Neither of them speaks.

Finally, Elain looks at him. Her blood rushes downwards as she takes in his toned body, the mighty wings, and, through his silken underwear, the… attentiveness of him.

Her whole face warms up, cheeks tingling with the telltale sign of a blush. Get it together, Elain, this isn't the first naked man you've seen.

No, but it is the first naked male.

She gathers her courage enough to finally drawl, "do you always send your friends to spy on me?"

"No." She swears she can see his throat bob. "They disobeyed. There will be consequences."

Her toes curl at his tone and, even if they're hidden under the blankets, he chuckles. He knows—of course he knows. He might be the quietest member of Rhysand's court, but he notices everything. It's no wonder that, when she sits up, his eyes track the strap of her nightgown hanging off her shoulder.

"Everyone is asleep," she says simply, letting him gather the meaning from her obvious statement.

"Your mate is—"

"I don't care."

"He might… hear."

Elain grabbed the hem of her nightgown and slowly lifted if, baring herself to him.

"Then, I suppose you'll have to silence me."

Azriel holds himself with preternatural stillness, gifted by his fae heritage and honed by centuries of training. His eyes follow one leg, savouring every inch of the skin she usually hides away. When his gaze reaches her mons, his chest rises in a deep breath.

He takes a careful step towards her. Maybe he is giving her time to reconsider, but Elain feels more like a cornered animal—he walks to her like a predator approaching prey, moving as though she would flee at the first sound.

Elain shifts on the bed and opens her legs for him. At the sight of her, bare and swollen with want, Azriel pounces.

Elain's only other experience with sex had been quick and to the point. It had been magical, in a way that having your first time with your first love can be. It had been soft, with a lot of kissing and grabbing until he positioned himself on top of her and entered. After a couple of minutes of inexperienced thrusts, Graysen had finished and Elain fell asleep in his arms.

And so, when Azriel dives straight between her legs, she gasps. Azriel lets out a primal groan as he parts her with a broad stroke of his tongue. Elain cannot get herself to look at him and the depravity of seeing his dark locks between her legs.

He devours her like a starving man, his skilled tongue swirling around her bundle of nerves in tight circles. It quickly becomes too much and she bucks her hips, unconsciously denying herself release. A strong hand pins her back down to the mattress, holding her there as his tongue quickens its ministrations.

Elain looks down at him only to find those gorgeous hazel eyes staring right at her. He is all tousled hair and dilated pupils, no expression on his perfect face. His other hand slowly trails up her thigh, raising her leg towards her torso as it goes. Soon enough, his hand reaches her center and a broad finger teases at her entrance. As he swirls the tip of his finger slowly, stretching the tight skin, Elain wimpers.

Slowly, Az works his finger inside her. The sound is positively obscene, her wetness mixed with the lapping and sucking of his mouth. Azriel's finger finally bottoms out, and he angles it up. The feeling is strange, but not unwelcome—and before she can even understand what is happening, mind-numbing pleasure ripples through her. Her body jerks, held in place only by Azriel's hand on her abdomen. His trained tongue escorts her through her orgasm, slowing as the wave dies down. To her surprise, however, he does not stop.

Elain is panting, her vision filled with stars, but Azriel continues his work. With every flick of his tongue on her nub, Elain's hips jerk and her legs twitch. The sensation is overwhelming, almost painful.

"Azriel," she whimpers, "I can't—"

Azriel pulls away from her and shifts on the bed to lay on his side next to her.

Bringing his mouth to her ear, he whispers, barely more than a breath, "you can."

"It's too much," she cries in response.

"You can," he raises the hand that was resting against her abdomen, bringing a finger to her lips, "but you have to stay quiet."

The rasp of his voice combined with the lust in his eyes set her body ablaze. She nods shallowly, trailing her gaze down his body. He looks like a work of art, a carved statue of marble—his muscles glistening in sweat, his perfectly carved face and the length of him straining against his silken underwear.

Azriel's hand starts rubbing her again, gently, and Elain parts her lips at the renewed contact. She hears him sigh, clearly restraining a groan, when his fingers find their way to her entrance again. This time, he teases her with two fingers. With his other hand, he mirrors the movement to her mouth. As if by instinct, Elain parts her lips around his fingers and takes them in her mouth, twirling her tongue around the callused pads.

"Good girl," he purrs.

Azriel rewards her by plunging two fingers in her, curling once again towards that spot she cannot comfortably reach on her own. His thumb circles her bud in tandem.

Soon enough, Elain feels the coil inside her tighten, and she tumbles off the edge again. Her back arches as she comes violently—she might have accidentally bitten down on Azriel's fingers—, her hands desperately clawing at the sheets to anchor herself to reality.

When Elain's head stops spinning and she lays on her bed panting, she sees Azriel get up.

Elain narrows her eyes in confusion as his shadows start to appear around him, preparing to winnow him into the night. Suddenly, she is filled with insecurity. Is she not what he was expecting? She has been wanting him for weeks, months, and she thought… well, she would never assume to know what he wanted, but it had seemed that they wanted the same thing. From the stolen glances and the rare jokes they shared only with each other, she had presumed he felt for her like she did for him. Yet now he was readying to leave without a word.

"Wait—"

The shadows dissipate again, the sound of her voice enough to send them away.

If this was all he wanted, Elain could live with that, but something about his demeanor made her stop him. The way his eyes dart away from her, the way they stare blankly at nothing instead, the droop of his wings.

"What about you?" she asks softly.

"Don't worry about me."

"It's not fair. For you."

"I can take care of myself." His voice is cold and detached. "You've gifted me plenty to do so."

Gifted.

It hits her then. Ever since he winnowed in, his eyes have been filled with lust. He stared at her mouth, but he never kissed her and barely even touched her. It felt as if it was a piece of himself he was not yet ready to give—or a piece of her he felt unworthy to take.

He plans to go back to the House of Wind and take care of himself in private.

"Can I… watch?"

Azriel was not one to care about religion, but thinking of Elain always made him feel like the filthiest heretic. And so, tasting her felt like spitting on the Mother herself. Touching her, with the same hands he used to torture a Hybern rebel just hours ago, surely tainted her with his sins. Even in his most indulgent fantasies, he never let himself go further than tasting and touching her.

He would not dare think himself worthy of being in her.

But neither was that pathetic waste of breath Graysen.

And Lucien.

Lucien.

Just the thought of him watching impassively as Feyre wasted away in that manor—

"Can I… watch?" Elain murmurs.

Azriel's eyes widen. He feels his cheeks heating, and by the smile appearing on Elain's beautiful face, he knows he must be blushing brightly.

She is not yours. The Cauldron does not want you together.

The Cauldron never gave him anything, only pain.

Her mate is here. He will know.

Her mate did nothing to deserve her.

She does not want her mate.

It does not matter what Lucien wants, Elain has made it clear she wants nothing to do with him.

She wants this. Indulge her.

She shouldn’t want this. She deserves so much more. Yet...

Azriel nods once, barely visible, then sits on the edge of her bed.

Tentatively, he runs a hand over his clothed length. His calluses catch against the silk, but he keeps going. With Elain looking at him, the familiar shame that rises in him whenever he touches himself multiplies ten folds. He shuts his eyes tight against her gaze and immediately his other senses seem to pick up her presence even more. The smell of her arousal and floral perfume, the sound of her heart thundering in her chest, the taste of her that lingers in his mouth.

Az squeezes his cock, the fabric acting as a buffer between the scars of his hands and himself, and strokes it from base to tip. Images swirl in his mind, more vivid than ever before. One light stroke, she is on her bed with her legs spread, so utterly unaware of how many times he had imagined this exact scene. He strokes himself firmly as he remembers her soaking sex, the taste of it as he drank his fill.

As his mind plays out the view he had from between her legs, his hips buck. The mattress shifts next to him, but he pays it no mind. He sees the way her breasts heaved as she restrained herself from making a sound, feels her legs twitch around his head. He rubs his thumb over his glans, feeling the moisture seep through his underwear. The way Elain had sucked on his fingers, her warm mouth surrounding him, is sure to be his main fantasy from now on. The way her lips parted for him, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

With his eyes closed, lost in his fantasies, he had completely forgotten Elain’s presence until he felt something brushing the inside of his right wing. His eyes snap open, immediately turning his head to see Elain, kneeling inches away from him. How far gone had he been, to not notice her? She is so close, he can feel her breath on his wing.

Elain looks at him guiltily, as if his reaction made her regret touching him.

“Lower,” he tells her. He hisses quietly as she lets her hand brush against the thin membrane of his wing. “Trace the scar.”

Azriel shudders as Elain runs her fingers over the scar, once, twice. The pace of his hand is punishing now, and when Elain scratches her nails against the sensitive scar, Az erupts. He keeps stroking himself as he spends in his underwear, the oversensitive pain punishing him for his depravity. He keeps going until tears prick at the corners of his eyes and overstimulation threatens to make him whimper.

For a long moment, they sit there in silence; Azriel with his eyes staring right ahead, and Elain looking at him. There is still no sound in the house, thank the Mother.

“We should… do this again,” Elain says tentatively.

“We can’t.”

Az gets up. He calls his shadows and they quickly come, gathering around him.

“But—”

“Good night, Elain.”

The room disappears and Azriel is back at his room in the House of Wind. He lets himself fall face-first on his bed and groans.

How can he possibly stay away now?

#tbh I don't really like most of this #hope you can't tell!!! rip #A court of thorns and roses #A court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of silver flames #acosf #acotar #acomaf #acowar #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #pwp

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