#THAT MAN ALWAYS HAS A CHOKEHOLD ON ME AND I CREATED HIM

[colourfulmes]

ALALALALALALAYAUAUAUG

((The voices are telling me to draw my OCs))

[daddyricsdoll]

hi 💓 could you pls do “Do you ever shut up?” “Only when I’m eating you out.” w lando ? he's a yapper it just makes so much sense !!

His jpg photos and m0v video has me in a chokehold. And I decided to give you guys a sneak peek of what happened between me and Lando behind the scenes. 😉

1k ✭ Celebration!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I trusted my whole life with Lando, but if that meant he’d take me into random alleyways in Melbourne, oh… things could change. 

Leading me down graffiti adorned walls and no breaths of life. Getting lost in his words that he didn’t even realise where he was taking me, now astray, but still not registering the hints of fear in my voice as I asked him where we were going. Somehow ignoring my question until I finally grew annoyed. 

“Do you ever shut up?” I stop walking and question him, expecting his perfect lips to close and beautifully pigmented eyes to focus on me. But instead he smirked, taking a step closer to my still body.

“Only when I’m eating you out.” His words ticked me off and covered my vision in a haze to force me to forget whatever emotion I had before, and cover it in lust. Barely taking any steps back until my back hit a cold wall. Now becoming encased by Lando as he leaned further into my body. Nearly connecting my lips with his just until he decided to kneel down. Face inches from my body as he gets on his knees. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste you.”

“Only if that means you’ll shut up.”

“For you? Always.” Lando whispers as he parts my legs, lifting my skirt and taking my panties off, not throwing them onto the ground but stuffing them in his pocket. Gripping my thighs to bring one of my legs over his muscular shoulder. Pulling my hips forward and making it an easier job for him to latch his mouth onto my core. Soft lips, roughly abusing my cunt. Immediately hitting the right spots and being an expert at pleasing me with his mouth as if he spent years studying women- better yet me. 

Lando’s curls, a magnet to my hand, being impossible to not dig my fingers between them. And of course if it were anyone that were to eat me out in a public alleyway, it would be him. Not caring if someone found us, spectating the way my head falls back and I moan in endless notes. Thighs shaking as the man beneath my skirt and between my legs plays with my clit and tongue fucks me into a oblivion where words simply don’t exist. 

Licking a stripe up my core and between my folds, spreading them with his tongue and exposing me to his mouth and eyes even more than a few seconds ago. Tensing my stomach and legs quivering just the same as my lips. 

It was impossible to just focus on one sensation he created inside of me, because there were so many. Two fingers thrusting inside of my devastatingly desperate pussy and lips delicately kissing my clit before sucking it into intense pleasure. Other hand pushing against my lower abdomen and dragging up to grasp my breasts. Just knowing how he wished his large hands covered my neck. 

It was no secret that my climax crept closer, my thighs involuntarily closing around Lando’s head and fingers pulling against his locks. Leaning further back against the wall for stability as I released. Exploding around his fingers and clenching tighter than a virgin.

Allowing Lando to finger fuck me out of my high. Slowly gaining the courage to pull out and look up at me. 

Eyes glistening with a mix of hues of blues and greens, and blown out pupils. With compliments of my slick around his mouth. I stare back down at him, in awe of his beauty, waiting for him to stand up. But instead he welcomes himself back inside my pussy. Going at it like a lost and starved man, my core being a map and a feast.

[james-bucky-barnackle]

Froyo

Synopsis: During a premiere red carpet with Drew, an interviewer’s question accidentally reveals that a seemingly ordinary dinner was actually Drew’s attempt at a first date covered by two random tiktoks. Pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count A/N: I know I still owe you guys a Gwayne Hightower fanfic, but the chokehold Drew fucking Starkey has on me is insane. btw, I realized this is the second time I've created a fic based on real people vs the normal Marvel character thingy I do. And to be honest, there's gonna be a lot more... so maybe I should make this a series considering they're all triggered by an interview and Y/N's always an actress lol. ALSO at the end, there's a poll on what you think should happen next, and best believe I'll do my best to write that.

There’s an edit circulating on TikTok of you and your co-star Drew Starkey from your red carpet interview together. You’re both starring in an Amazon limited series about college classmates who become close after witnessing your professor’s murder and are now on a shared mission to solve the crime. You’ve known him closely for a year now, but have been following his career even before that. I mean, who wouldn’t? The man is gorgeous. But of course, you couldn’t let him know that.

As shooting began, the two of you grew closer, and you decided to be professional and put that whole fascination aside. You’ve both even dated other actors and celebrities, which have also been topics for gossip channels and paparazzi photos. Despite all that, you’ve hung out plenty, mostly in groups but also during breaks in filming—often grabbing lunch and coffee together.

Today, you and Drew are laughing as you finally see the edit that’s been at the top of both your PR’s nightmare list.

You’re dressed in an elegant beige gown, skin-tight and slightly sheer, which Carrie Bradshaw would definitely call the naked dress. Your hair is pulled back in a low bun, bangs effortlessly framing your face. You’ve just arrived at the red carpet, taking your time to chat with interviewers. The first few questions are light, mostly about how fun it was working on set and, of course, what you're wearing.

After a few minutes, Drew catches up to you. He’s in a baby blue suit, sepia shades covering his eyes, smelling incredible. His presence is like a tight, warm hug—well, a little tighter on your chest. His voice sends tingles down your spine as he whispers, one hand casually placed on the small of your back.

“What did I miss?” He smiles at you and the interviewer.

“Oh, nothing much, I was just telling Amelia how you’re always late to everything.” You smirk, shooting a playful look at the camera. Amelia, your interviewer, raises her eyebrows dramatically, playing along. Both of you laugh as Drew backs away, feigning offense.

“I’ve been here since like—” He starts to defend himself.

“Like five minutes ago,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Valid,” he agrees with a shrug, laughing.

Amelia continues her interview, moving on to ask about the possibility of a second season.

“I mean, yeah, I’d love to do a second season, for sure,” you nod, glancing at Drew, who’s nodding along, letting you take the lead. “But I’m not sure if it makes sense, since it was originally written as a one-season story. For that to happen, someone might have to die again so Kelsea and James can investigate something new.”

Kelsea and James are the names of the characters you play—who, of course, end up dating on the show.

“So you’re saying someone has to die for the two of you to get back together on set?” Amelia jokes, her deadpan delivery only making it funnier.

“I mean, I don’t know!” You laugh. “You’re twisting my words, Amelia!”

“I honestly think you just don’t want to hang out with me anymore, Y/N,” Drew chimes in, a playful pout on his face. “I’m hurt.”

“Is that why there wasn’t a second date?” Amelia asks, teasingly. Her tone is light, but the question lands hard. Drew’s eyes widen in surprise, his smile freezing as if even he didn’t see that one coming. He covers his mouth, trying not to laugh while you stand there, looking utterly confused.

“Second date? What?” You laugh, trying to figure out if this is some sort of red carpet joke you weren’t briefed on. You glance at Drew, who’s just shaking his head, still grinning but not offering any explanations.

You lower your voice, leaning towards him, “What is she—what date?” You chuckle awkwardly, trying to maintain your cool, though the confusion is clearly written all over your face. Drew glances at Amelia, then back at you, and you can tell he feels a little bad now.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of awkward silence, Drew admits, “When we got dinner and froyo.” He says it so nonchalantly that it takes you a second to process.

“That was a date?!” you whisper-yell, smacking his arm, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “You said it was just dinner!”

“I know!” Drew laughs, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I said that because I thought you didn’t like me back! I was sending out signals!”

“What signals?” you ask, still reeling from the shock. “That’s unfair, you said it was just dinner! I feel so bad—I didn’t know!” You place your hand on his arm, squeezing it apologetically. You’re both laughing now, but you’re also genuinely flustered.

“I did tell you!” Drew protests. “I said, ‘Do you want to have dinner with me?’ And you were like, ‘Are we bringing Madz along?’ And when I said no, you were like, ‘Why?’”

“That is not enough, Drew!” You laugh, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your PR team is probably dying, but at least this little moment might boost some publicity for the show. You actually remember the video Amelia might be referring to; your assistant had sent it to you a few months back. You found it interesting and even funny because you honestly thought it was just a fan shipping the two of you together—cutting together videos and photos of you and Drew when you were out to eat. You try to recall what that day was like and pick apart whatever signals Drew was referring to, but you really can’t remember anything different from the way he’s interacted with you since you two first met.

You realize the gag has gone on long enough and decide to wrap it up before the awkwardness can escalate further.

“Amelia, I’m so sorry about this,” you say with a dramatic sigh, trying to regain your composure. “Even while confessing his undying love for me, he’s still late. Men, what can you do?”

Drew, still chuckling, wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his way of apologizing. You feel a warmth settle over you, even as your mind is still catching up to everything.

The camera flashes pop around you, and suddenly, those TikTok edits of you looking perpetually confused start to make a little more sense.

When the premiere starts, halfway through the screening, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You check your makeup, but instead of heading straight back to the theater, you decide to take a moment. The whole "date reveal" situation has thrown you off more than you realized, and you need a second to process it. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, replaying the interview in your head. You haven't had the chance to talk to Drew about it since, and the thought lingers in the back of your mind. You don’t want another clueless moment to make it into the tabloids.

You wash your hands, fix your makeup, and prepare to head back out. But as you step through the door, you see Drew standing there, waiting.

“Well, look who it is—the jokester,” you say, crossing your arms with a mock grin. “Here to ask me out on another one-sided date?”

Drew smirks, stepping closer. “Huh? What are you talking about? I’m just here to pee,” he teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Not funny,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but feeling a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” His smile softens, and for the first time since the red carpet, you can tell he actually feels a little guilty. “I really am.”

“You should be!” You huff, but your tone is playful now, your annoyance melting away as you meet his eyes. "That was so long ago."

Drew takes a step closer, and you suddenly become very aware of the quietness around you. It’s just the two of you now, the noise of the premiere distant, almost forgotten. His gaze flickers to your lips for just a second, and your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N…” He hesitates, like he’s trying to find the right words. “About that second date…”

“You mean actual first date?” you correct him, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool.

Drew pauses, then chuckles softly. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actual first date. What do you think?”

You stare at him, caught off guard. You weren’t expecting him to just put it out there like that. His easygoing nature usually means he hides behind jokes or avoids direct confrontation. But now, with no cameras, no noise—just you and him—he’s being sincere.

“You know,” you say, your voice quieter now, “if you made it clear the first time, I still would’ve said yes.”

Drew’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. “Really.”

His grin widens, and there’s something boyishly excited about it, like you’ve just given him the best news of the day. “No froyo this time, I promise.”

“Good,” you laugh. “Because that wasn’t a date.”

“Duly noted.” He steps closer, his hand brushing yours, and this time it doesn’t feel accidental. His fingers curl around yours lightly, the touch sending a spark through you.

“You know, we could leave early,” he suggests, glancing back towards the theater. “Skip the rest of the screening, maybe grab some dinner… somewhere where I make it clear it’s a date.”

You bite your lip, considering it, but your eyes narrow playfully. “And deal with the wrath of our PR teams later? You must love living dangerously.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You make a good point. But I promise, after all the photos, after all the interviews... we’ll do this right.”

You nod, smiling at him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, you both walk back into the theater. His hand lingers on yours for a moment longer before he finally lets go, and even as you take your seats for the rest of the screening, the air between you has changed.

You glance at him once more, feeling that familiar warmth return, only this time, it’s not confusing or awkward.

The noise of the film dims around you, though you’re still hyper-aware of the room, the hundreds of eyes on the screen, and the occasional flash from the press in the back. Drew leans back in his seat, arms crossed loosely, but he’s not watching the movie either. Instead, he looks over at you, catching your eye.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly face forward, pretending to focus on the movie. But then, from the corner of your vision, you feel him move slightly closer. The tension that was always there, that you’d pushed aside so many times, is undeniable now.

After the premiere ends, there’s the usual round of applause and the hum of people slowly rising to leave. Drew stands up first, offering you his hand, and even though you can stand up just fine on your own, you take it. There’s something about that gesture that feels significant—like you’ve crossed a line you didn’t realize you were approaching until now.

You’re both still in work mode, nodding and smiling at the industry people you pass, but the moment you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your face, Drew turns to you, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Alright,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “How do you feel about grabbing that dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard by how fast he’s moving. “Tonight? We just got out of the premiere,” you laugh, though there’s excitement bubbling under the surface. “I know, but if I wait any longer, who knows what crazy schedules we’ll get caught up in again.” He steps closer, his smile genuine, warm. “I’ve waited this long to actually do it right. What’s a few more hours?"

“Alright,” you say, a grin breaking through. “Let’s do it. Dinner—our actual first date.”

His eyes light up. “Great. I know a place.”

The restaurant Drew takes you to is tucked away, quiet and intimate, and you laugh at how quaint it is, most of the other diners are old enough to be your grandparents. You feel comfort knowing most of them don't have phones let alone know who the both of you are. For all they care, you could be two kids coming home from a costume party just ending the night with a bite.

“So,” you say as you both sit down, menus in hand but neither of you really looking at them. “This is what a proper date feels like, huh?”

Drew leans back in his chair, grinning. “Better than froyo, right?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Significantly better.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, the kind where you both just look at each other and realize this is happening—really happening. You’re on a date with Drew, and it’s not some PR stunt or a casual hangout. It’s real. And for the first time, you’re letting yourself want it. "You think they're wondering why we're over dressed?" You hide behind a menu. "Overdressed? Excuse me? This is what I wear everyday." Drew retorts, making you chortle.

“So,” you say, resting your chin on your hand, “What’s the plan after this? Froyo?”

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He grins, eyes glinting with that same playful energy you’ve always liked. “Well, I’ll make sure tonight’s memorable enough that it overshadows that.”

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[literaila]

honestly- with peace and love- RESPECTFULLY- shut the fuck up (but actually, don’t). Why does the way you write Satoru have a chokehold on me? It’s not fair.

“because,” he says, making a careful path down your jaw. “i’m irresistible.”

his eyes are poison and his lips are cruel, vicious things, so soft and knowing as they follow the trail he’s laid out many times before.

as satoru does what satoru does best.

distracts you.

“says who?”

“you. right now.”

“i’m only allowing this because you were gone for eight days.”

you say it as if you’re scolding him for leaving, for being away and leaving you to deal with the kids.

but your voice is kind of… off. the stern, stone-like tone you’ve learned to take with satoru is softer than usual. maybe a bit broken.

it’s not your fault, though. satoru knows exactly what he’s doing—he knows the places where you’re malleable.

his hands and his lips and his entire being. they’re only there for him to use—against you, in particular.

“you missed me,” he murmurs, like it’s obvious.

and he’s kissing every inch of skin, probably leaving marks like some idiotic teenager, but your thoughts echo his words.

yeah, you did kind of miss him.

“i didn’t,” you say instead, tugging on his hair to pull him away from your skin. just for a moment to breathe. “i like having the bed all to myself.”

satoru is smiling. he’s always smiling. “do you?”

“yes. there was no one there to hog all of the blankets.”

he nuzzles his nose into your cheek—because he knows that it’ll make you giggle. “i don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“my mistress. you don’t know him.”

satoru leans back, a pout on his stupid pretty face. “that’s mean.”

you grin. your form of torture is different, but just as effective. you’ve always been better at words than satoru.

“take it back.”

“take what back?” you ask innocently, skin tingling.

instead of answering, satoru resumes his ministrations. but this time he starts at your forehead, the very beginning.

the kiss he leaves there is a homecoming.

but the next is an attack.

he’d just barely walked in the door when this started, dropping his suitcase on the floor without a care in the world.

you weren’t waiting for him, exactly. still, its a welcome coincidence that he was waiting there, crawling his way back to you.

some kind of synchronicity only fate can explain.

and he’s starting over now, pretending that he can re-do this moment, just so you’ll forget everything you’re supposed to remember.

which you probably will.

“satoru,” you breath out. you want your heart to be used to him by now, after this long. you want to feel calm and collected. to be stoic and easy like you usually are. “i have to go.”

your thoughts are mere wishes—suggestions—and you know they won’t come true.

“go where?” he asks, uncaring, indifferent. “you don’t need to go anywhere.”

“the kids get out of school soon.”

“they can walk.”

you laugh, leaning your head back to give him a better angle. you’ve always been terrible at pushing him away—it’s the entire reason you live here, the only reason your heart has survived this long.

“they can’t,” you whisper back, but it’s no arguement.

satoru hums and the vibration goes down your spine. it follows a different path, another one the very man pinning you against the wall created. “ten minutes.”

“two.”

“five,” he argues, voice wet, hands climbing. there’s no argument there.

your fingers lace through his hair as he sucks another mark into your neck, ever so gentle. it’s always like this when he gets home—there’s no desperation, never some heated make-out with torn clothes and broken gasps.

it’s slow. a calling from the both of you, a song to simply ease the yearning.

some sort of triumph over being together again. some stupid, unreasonable harmony. the only kind you’ve ever wanted to know.

one of his hand is around your waist, under your shirt, running up and down the length of skin there—like he can’t stop. the other is holding your head in place, keeping you where he wants.

it’s stupid, this entire thing.

but for whatever reason, you have no banter to offer him. no reality, no sense.

not that satoru really minds, of course. not that you really mind either.

“you’re so pretty,” he tells you, voice honey-like, smile completely lost. “i missed you.”

“i need—“ he interrupts you with a kiss. his happiness leaks into you like a toxin. “i need to go, satoru.”

“you need to stay.”

“megumi will know it’s your fault.”

“he thinks everything is my fault.”

satoru’s head is tilted down, your eyes on his face, reviewing the places you could draw from memory all over again. “because it is.”

he’s been smiling this whole time but somehow he smiles even more. the way only he can. some scientific fallacy.

isn’t strange that sharing his air is so much easier than breathing on your own?

“of course,” he tells you, lips puffy and pink, pulling you even closer. “i take full responsibility.”

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

The Blessing to Your Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

Hey y’all I’m back again so soon with another fic, Sukuna’s lover reincarnation (whatever you call it) has me in a chokehold right now and I thought I’d share this with the world. Would like to warn you there is a lot of strange jumping around/pov changes which are indicated by the change in pronouns, I would mark each change but it would get a bit messy after a while so I hope it’s not too hard to follow! ^-^

Reader’s powers involve something I like to call ‘blessed energy’ which is the opposite to cursed energy and is mostly used for healing (reverse blessed energy is used to harm in the same way reverse CE is used to heal) and it’s something I created to use with my writings in the JJK universe. (sometimes I write it a little op because im a self-indulgent piece of shit so for most of what I post I’ll probably dial it back if I use it hehe) The reader has a similar situation to Maki/Mai (MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD) where one twin is restricted and the other has all the energy, and when the one with the energy dies the living twin gains all the power, so I hope that makes sense in context of the story

(PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO SEND A REQUEST!!!! I'M ALWAYS IN NEED OF NEW PROMPTS AND CHARACTERS TO GO WITH THEM ❤)(I have a post which outlines characters I mostly write for but I'm open to adding to that list!!)

Warnings: mild description of mutilation (sukuna’s transformation), main character death (not described), fluff

Word count: 2.4k

“Ryomen!” You laugh, trying to keep a few steps ahead of the young man who chases after you. Your legs tire easily, body frail and sick despite the immense power flowing through your veins. “I’m coming for you!” He growls playfully, “Better run!” He’s holding back from his top speed, this you know well, but you refuse to let that stop you from trying to keep up with his childish play. Still young, 16 and 17 with him being the older one, you insist that you would rather spend the rest of your life here with him than being shepherded around in the village like a priestess.

This is your only escape from the temple on the hill, only solitude, your time with Ryomen Sukuna is precious and you treat it as such, thinking only of him and his rare smiles. You refuse to let the village’s words taint your view of him, as powerful as he is with his cursed energy there is good in him and you seek to nurture it, for both simple selfish gain and so he doesn’t turn on everyone like they did him. You reach the treeline and race out into the meadow, the grass tall and soft around your waist having stripped down from your daily ceremonial robes into just modest loose undergarments.

He does eventually catch up near the middle of the meadow, springing out of the grass and tackling you to the ground, making sure to roll so you land on top of him and he takes the full force of the fall. The last time you returned to the village after a long day of simple play with bruises and scrapes you weren’t allowed to leave the village for a few weeks.

He’s grown quite a lot larger than you during his time in exile, to be expected when you have to fend for yourself against wild animals and build your own shelter, “You’re getting stronger every day,” You smile, pushing yourself off him and laying in the grass, staring up at the beautiful pink of the sunset. “Well I have to, to be able protect you, I’m not the only thing out there you know,” He says, his tone almost too blasé for what he’s implying. You tilt your head and trace the lines of his tattoos with your eyes, “I know you’re not, but you’re not a thing to me Ryomen,” You murmur, “Please, you’re the closest thing I have to a friend, you’ve always been human to me,”

He meets your gaze, his eyes used to be brown, but the red no longer worries you like it used to, “One day I’ll get you out of that village,” He says softly, his words for your ears and the rustling grass only, “I will take you far away from here and we can live somewhere untouched by the rest of the world,” You sit up, looking down at him as you hug your knees to your chest, “I’d like that,” You say, smiling, “Just the two of us,” Nothing could touch you while you were together, the world stood still for you, not even the scathing remarks you sometimes got from the other young girls of the village could hurt you.

The world is volatile, things can change so quickly. Curses are still so new to the world of humans, sorcerers that act as protectors are only just starting to appear among humans and spread themselves between villages when the day finally comes. The wave of hatred and anguish that came with the curses suffocated everything in its path. You were outside the village when it happened, returning from a visit with Sukuna, and you returned to find nothing but death and destruction. More than half of the village had been killed with no discrimination towards age or gender, and it only soothed you a little to see your old family home empty when you wrenched the door open. No blood nor bodies of any kind. Your parents and sister had made it out alive, but the temple atop the hill that you resided in was completely engulfed.

You weren’t naïve, you did not attempt to return to the temple, but they came for you all the same because your energy was like a beacon for them, and they were programmed to destroy. Running with Ryomen had improved your strength over the time you spent together, you supposed that was one of the ways he took care of you in his silent brooding way, but it wasn’t enough to get you all the way to him. He must have sensed your fear as you grew nearer, your breaths shallow and your chest tight, his eyes are the last thing you remember seeing before your soul was harshly liberated from your flesh.

The smell of blood permeated through layers of warmth that held you in suspension beyond life, but you felt yourself being dragged back to the ground, standing over your own body as you watch the only person outside of your immediate family who ever truly cared for you cry. You had never seen him cry before, it was cathartic to know even he still felt human somewhere inside while holding your weak broken body to his bare tattooed chest.

You felt his cursed energy filling the air like smoke, almost able to see it in the purgatory state you’re trapped in, his body shaking and his muscles twitching. It was like watching someone turn themselves inside out when it finally happened, his body began changing before your eyes, an extra pair of arms sprout from the top of his ribcage just under the normal ones. His face contorts with an agonized cry and one half becomes unrecognisable, the flesh pink and hardened into some sort of twisted mask, and to finish the monstrous transformation a second pair of eyes open under his regular ones.

Drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as he cradles you, you hear him make one last promise, one that locks around what remains of your essence like chains and puts you into a deep sleep. “I will burn this world for taking you from me, I will become the King of Curses, and when you are reborn I shall make you remember, make you my Queen, I will bind myself to you to protect you,” It’s the final part that reassures you he isn’t losing himself as the darkness consumes you, “When I find you, the world will be right once again,”

Now it had been over a thousand years since the light in Sukuna’s life had gone out, reducing him to a killing machine that punished the world for snuffing it out, and he had returned once more in the body of a naive 15 year old boy with pink hair. Having been preserved as twenty separate cursed objects since his untimely death he was eager to resume his self-assigned purge, but the boy had more control over his body than Sukuna could break through, leaving him trapped within his innate domain watching through Yuji Itadori’s eyes like they’re windows.

“I had to do it at least once,” He grumbles to himself as the boy sits up, stark naked, on the morgue table, surprising the three sorcerers in the room with the formerly dead boy. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Yuji, come,” Gojo instructs as the boy slips on some clothes handed to him. “Another sorcerer?” He asks. “You’ll see when we get there,” The taller man beckons him and they make their way to a house on the furthest outskirts of the Jujutsu high campus, small in size and surrounded by forest on all sides except for the path leading up to the entrance.

A fire burns in the chimney and the house is warm when the pair steps inside, “L/n!” Gojo calls out. Sukuna’s attention is elsewhere as around the corner down the hall out walks a pure angel, her energy blinding and her form strong. “Gojo!” She smiles, “Who’s this?” “This is Yuji Itadori, Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel,” She bows politely, “Welcome to my home,” She looks back up into Yuji’s eyes as he smiles, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Enchain!” Sukuna shouts, and suddenly he’s thrown violently to the forefront of Yuji’s mind. His trump card, wasted. He hadn’t considered the potential consequences, it had been instinctual and foolish of him. The girl didn’t know who he was, but he wanted to speak to her all the same. He would make her know. He cannot stumble, he cannot falter, not when she’s right there and all he has to do is show her, “Y/n,” He murmurs. “That’s not Yuji,” She frowns, her voice soft, “That’s-” Before the two can react Sukuna is on his knees before her, holding her hands in his and hiding against her soft clothing. “I’ve…” Gojo trails off, “I’ve never seen that before,” The girl doesn’t let him go, and he feels her power reach into him, feeling around in the darkest parts of his soul, “My Queen,” He mutters, feeling the metaphysical chains around his heart tighten, “Please, remember,”

A fast surge of energy from Gojo causes the man on his knees before you to react just as quickly, pulling you tighter against him and then seemingly teleporting out the open door into the clearing, “It’s rude to attack ROYALTY!” He roars as Gojo steps out the door after the pair of you. Sukuna has planted himself firmly between the two of you, “You sorcerers never learn manners!” Something happens when your skin next touches his, his hand shooting out to catch you by your wrist as you fail to keep your balance.

A flood of memories that don’t belong to you, in fact, ones that belong to him. You see yourself, weak and frail but smiling widely, Sukuna as he is in front of you now not as he is described in sorcerer texts. A regular human man with an abnormal amount of tattoos, fiercely protective and full of love for the only person who still sees him as human. You vaguely feel yourself fall to your knees as everything from the day he was exiled to the day you died returned to your mind. You knew that despite the life you had lived for twenty years, you were in fact over a thousand years old.

This wasn’t your life, this wasn’t your body, it was hers, but you are her. You can feel the chains, too, the ones he put there the day you died to ensure that you would return. “The world took her from me, and the world paid the price, now BACK OFF!” His words shake you out of your visions, his hand still clutching your wrist as your head hangs weakly.

“Come now, Sukuna, taking hostages isn’t your style, you know that,” Gojo bargains, “Let her go, and we can fight like men,” You shake your head, “No,” You murmur, “No, Gojo,” You finally look up into his eyes, slightly uncovered as he prepares to fight, “He’s right, I know who I am, I know where my clan comes from,” He doesn’t make a move towards you and you take the opportunity to speak again, “My mother was blessed, her child would calm the beast, but she had two and one was weak in body strong in energy, the other was lacking in energy but strong of body,” Your sister had been the one the clan records mentioned, nobody remembered the girl who died alone in Ryomen Sukuna’s arms.

“I am the Queen to Ryomen Sukuna’s King,” You breathe, feeling his grip on your wrist go lax. His energy dies away and he falls to his hands and knees, but the tattoos are gone. “Yuji!” Gojo’s shoulders finally relax and he recovers his eyes, “What happened? How did he get through?” “Don’t ignore me, Satoru,” You state firmly, “Sukuna will not be a threat while I am alive,” “Can you guarantee that?” He’s always been intimidating, but this man was a part of your training as a sorcerer, and he can be rational when he wants to be.

“You’re an imbecile if you think I’m going to go back on a binding vow,” Sukuna spits from Yuji’s cheek, the boy not even having a chance to get a word in, “She is the only thing in this forsaken world I care about and you’re not about to take that away from me just so you can pretend like you’re the saviour of humanity,” You don’t remember ever being as harsh as Sukuna is right now, but his rage fills you with confidence and admiration, “I can guarantee humans will not fall as long as I am alive, his vow makes sure of it, though I’m sure he would not need it either way,”

The secondary eye on Yuji’s cheek closest to you locks its gaze onto you, “Ever so cunning, I wish I’d had the chance to nurture your hatred towards the village, maybe you’d be more open to killing,” He sounds almost wistful, “But alas, I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter how idiotic I think you sorcerers are,” You finally move to stand back on your feet, helping Yuji up with a tentative smile, “It’s nice to meet you Itadori,” You murmur, “I’m sorry you have to listen to that punk, you come to me if he gives you trouble alright?” The boy nods, his previously cheery demeanour replaced with something mellower and he seems deep in thought as he looks into your eyes.

“He really loves you,” He murmurs in disbelief, “I didn’t… I didn’t think he was truly capable of love, after what he did to me,” You shrug, “It’ll make sense one day, but I’ll let him be the one who opens up, it’s not my place to air out thousand year old dirty laundry with people who are long dead anyway,” Your words hang in the air as Gojo finally sighs. The discussion and conclusion are finalised when he leaves, Yuji will live with you and you will suppress Sukuna’s energy. You will keep the world safe by preserving your life, lest another binding vow come down upon your departing soul and the King of curses be forced to unleash his merciless fury once more.

Sukuna is a little shit and out of character because it’s my fic and I get to write the male love interest however I want (I tried besties :( I don’t like mean Sukuna but I do love “I hate everyone but you” so that’s what you get) also I wrote this instead of sleeping at 2am, the brainrot is real and this will probably end up being a series because I can’t control myself

Part 2 here!

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

[antlered-prince]

The brain worms got to me 😔

(disclaimer: my crusty writing skills that I haven't touched in 84 years, english, grammar, faeu has me on a chokehold)

Fae!Dream always gets what he wants. I mean, why wouldn't he? With a smile that will tug your heartstrings and a voice that seems to sing endless love songs to you (even if he's insulting you), it won't be long before a human flies far too close to the sun and think to themselves, "I'm in love!" and he'll snatch them away to their new forever home.

So one day, when Dream was looking for a human to scurry away to the fae realm, he meets you. At first you didn't seem interesting to him. You were like any other human, you look plain, you sound plain, even the way you go up and about is also plain to him. He never saw you smile, you also didn't carry much elegance in the way you walk or carry yourself, not that you seem to care, nor did you have that puppy-like cheer that others possesses, much like those who swarmed over to him when they heard a handsome young man visited their village. Too busy to care, nor to notice him.

And yet in the endless sea of humans, you're the only one he sees.

A smile crept to his face. You're an interesting blend. You would make a good addition to his collection. He wasn't in a rush anyway. You'd be fun to break.

And he did. But it took longer than he expected. His advances became fruitless with a stone cold heart like yours. It's either his praises went over your head, you're oblivious, or is blatantly ignoring him. He assumed you were just playing hard-to-get at first, but you were actually a challenge he hasn't had in a long while.

But as time went on, he finds that you have a quick wit that never fails to make him laugh and momentarily forget about the conversation you two (or just him, seeing as you rarely speak, just quietly listening) were talking about.

And when he does strike a chord. You two get to have deep conversations on topics you are interested in. And, he can't help but admit it, he likes the way your eyes light up whenever you ramble on, then abruptly stop before sheepishly jesting how you must've talked his ear off.

...but he will always let you continue either way. He doesn't know why, but your voice tastes like the sweetest of honeys that ever laced his tastebuds.

You were addicting.

He doesn't know what he's feeling—no wait, he knows, he just never expected for him to fall first before you. He's still in denial. And as he should! Dream couldn't believe it! That wasn't how the plan was supposed to be! You were the one who's supposed to fall! Not him!

...those thoughts kept lingering at the back of his head.

The days pushed on. Everyday, he feels that you're slowly trusting him. Slowly opening up. Slowly blooming into the flower that you were supposed to be. He underestimated you, and he slightly cringes to the thought that he thought of you as some plain human.

It's almost as if he doesn't want to break that heart he just opened.

At the back of his head, he almost wanted to bail with this idea of his. Almost. He finally brings you to the forest, masked as a little trip to a hidden garden in the woods for a picnic. A garden, an entrance. This is the day. Yet he still feels conflicted, his soul sinks to the thought of how you'd react to the revelation that he was never human. He was a fae. A fae who had an ulterior motive. A fae who chipped through the ice that surrounded your heart just so he can bring you his world. To become one of them.

But wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't you like to be with him? Wouldn't you like to spend the rest of eternity cracking jokes and finally be able to do the things you've always wanted to do but couldn't because of your miserable human life?

Wouldn't you like that?

Wouldn't you like to be with him? Forever?

...you love him.

His conflicted thoughts seemed to have died down after that.

You take a bite of the pie he created. It was divine. It effortlessly melts in your mouth, the flavor bursts like endless fireworks, each one tastes distinctly different yet the same with every bite and every gulp. It was sublime. You've never tasted anything like this. It almost felt like something such as this would never exist.

You turn to Peiskos to sing praises to the pie he baked but... He's not there.

You dropped the fork that he handed to you. You didn't see Peiskos. You see a skeleton. He was dressed in silks and satins that you've never seen in your world before. He was bejeweled with gold-like bangles (you couldn't seem to tell if it was gold or not for some reason. Like it was shifting differently every once in a while) and a brilliant crown perched on his head.

...there were also wings. Wings that were attached to his back. Wonderful golden-hued wings that seems to flutter with pride and glory as you focus your attention to it. You hear the skeleton chuckle. You think he said something. But you were to distracted, your eyes bulged in horror. It gazes towards the pie you ate and back to him.

You should have known.

"...What have you done to me?"

The process of getting you settled in was quick. You didn't give a peep since. Dream understands. You were still in shock (A small part of him felt as though it was withering with how lifeless your eyes look like), but he digresses. You'll be back to your blooming-self before you knew it.

Like a flower, he will keep you from withering away. Like a bird, he will keep you safe and happy and well fed. And in his garden, you'll never be alone ever again. You love him. He can feel it. He knows it. He knows the meaning behind your gaze when you look at him, the way your laughter sang differently when you first met, and the wrinkles that form at the corner of your eyes whenever he makes you smile. Humans have fallen in love with him. He's seen it all. He can never be wrong. And won't you be happy here with him? Eternally?

Right?

...right?

Originally, this was supposed to be about nightmare. What came to me aaaaaaaaaaa

aaaaaa this was so gooooood

i've been travelling so i've been pondering it throughout the day, thank you for this lovely lil drabble (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠)

[brainrotgoverner]

Giving Klarion a supportive and actually paternal stepfather in SSOV comics who seems to actually care about him like his own son, wants progress, (created a parliament and supports steam-driven machines), tells him to hold his tongue around the submissioneries yet never snuffs out his curiosities and rebel spirit and always indulges in his doubts instead of the classic abusive parent trope is...

It was a choice.

And by choice I mean I am compeletly OBSESSED with that side-character that appeared in like 2 issues and was never mentioned again.

He has white hair while everyone else has black hair he is the pure white lamb amongst the sinner this man has me in a chokehold why do I always get obsessed with side characters

[j0kers-light]

🥁anon here!

Do you think the Joker would ever let his light do his face paint on day? I can’t help but smile at the thought; Joker sitting still with his eyes closed like those kids who’re getting painted as a tiger at the fair, patiently waiting. Everything would be done with precision: sharp smile, blacked out eyes (don’t even think about one of the dark circles being slightly bigger/wonkier than the other- we gotta start from scratch!). I doubt he’d let his light use setting powder, eyeliner and/or lip liner before going out to wreak havoc, but oh boy- all it takes is one evening before Joker is strutting around with a glam look💃🕺

Get in here 🥁 anon!!

Ah yes my summer love let’s talk about this!! 🖤✨

Absolutely!! You already know the man behind the makeup so applying it is a piece of cake.

You break out your makeup brushes, create a playlist, and get to work beating Joker’s face. He needed this.

If J has time to spare, he’ll let you do a full face application but time is short so stick to foundation and eyeshadow to keep him moving. Boooooo

Ohhhhh but full coverage nights are your favorite. Joker lets you cleanse his face with masks and serums before pushing his hair back with a cute headband. You giggle as he sits there so patiently, almost like a kid.

“Uh… Bunny? You gonna doll me up or what?”

That gets you moving to prime his face with only the best products on the market and you talk about which products you’re using as you create your masterpiece.

His foundation ain’t budging you hear me? Those black circles are immaculate! Symmetrical and darker than the moon. You ate that 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

And his signature red smile? Never looked better. Yes, yes he makes you smear it along the edges of his scars for that ‘sinister look’ but you get a little too carried away while kissing him I mean smudging the lipstick.

Joker doesn’t mind your odd method of applying lipstick. He loves the shade better on you anyway and he loves your lips on his even more.

You pull away to hide your flustered cheeks and tell J to close his eyes.

You go a little heavy on the setting powder but it gives him that haunting look he’s going for. No more runny makeup after two hours on the town. (See below)

Like what is this???? No baby. Not with Y/n doing J’s makeup we ain’t. Don’t get me wrong, 🤤 it’s hot but heh… give me a minute. This pic always gets me in a chokehold… wow. Those lips tho..

MOVING RIGHT ALONG! 👀 You love doing Joker’s makeup just as much as you love taking it off when he comes home.

[zeno-zero]

Avatar Roku rant/rambles:

I love him, I love him in such an insane amount. Had me on chokehold since 10 years old like goodness me! What the fuck H-E-🏑🏑 !!

Nobody understood his character and that would've been greatly fine with me but the amount of mischaracterizations, misinterepations, and wishes that he's more like Kyoshi has always made me upset. Roku is a good man whose position as an avatar is poor in terms of writing and expanding his story further.

Roku outside of being Aang's mentor and guide - he was nothing more than just being kindhearted, wise, and pleasant while also acknowledging his indecisiveness, and faults. He even has a flawed perspective on the four nations, that the four nations should always be remained seperated, and still. Yet, I still continue to adore him a LOT. He have so much potential, there are rooms that people could always explore his character than just on the surface/visual level. His airbending and waterbending teachers weren't even named in the late 2010's until some informations were finally out !!

The gene yang comics are not my cup of tea but Roku telling Aang that he should end Zuko's life because he couldn't bare the thought of seeing Sozin? WOW. His friendship with Sozin has always mean something to Roku - so much so, he trusted him to the point it was his downfall. The thought of Sozin's redemption after he left him with the rubble is definitely what Roku had in his mind. But we're talking about the conflict between the Avatar and the Fire Lord, never Roku and Sozin.

His bending abilities are fucking awesome too !! Destroyed an entire palace with airbending + avatar state alone? Created a massive wave in one single move that sent his teacher flying up all the way on top of the chief's palace? He can even be quiet and and silently burrow to the ground to suprise attack enemies with earthbending? Lets not forget that the entire island that Roku was in used to be a huge one until he cut it into a cresent island !! There used to be two super volcanoes !! There's only one remaining !! His firebending shown on the show is also interesting! His fire made Zhao's crew literally run away while incinerating thd metal chains that Katara, Sokka, Shyu, and Zuko were wrapped around with,, unharmed. Him simultaneously bending all four elements at once without the use of the avatar state? Gosh,, people underestimate him sooooo much !!

"But Roku died to a volcano! He should've evacuated-" He was minimizing the effects of it! He died as a hero in that night because no other people held power his power just like he has. The citizens and his wife would've died if it weren't for him, because while it isn't explicitly explained in his wiki and show -  Lava entering the ocean creates a distinctive set of hazards that have seriously injured or killed unsuspecting people eager to see up close the interaction of hot lava and cool seawater. As hot lava boils cool seawater, a series of chemical and physical reactions create a mixture of condensed, acidic steam, hydrochloric acid gas, and tiny shards of volcanic glass. Blown by wind, this plume creates a noticeable downwind haze, known as "laze" (short for lava haze) <- [From "Lava entering ocean" | U.S Geological Survey - USGS.gov] ||And to also answer the dragon part that died with him? I have no answer for that other than the plot has to move on /or the dragon relies on his orders, and to Roku's dying breath, he would rather stay with him.

And nobody talks about how painful and traumatizing Roku's death is - pyroclastic flow is apart of volcano, he either died burning alive, suffocated, or even buried alive! On the margins of pyroclastic flows, death and serious injury to people and animals may result from burns and inhalation of hot ash and gases. Archaeologists have found that some people perished in a pyroclastic surge, a wave of superheated gas and hot ash that literally boiled their blood and caused their skulls to explode, reports Neel V. Patel at Popular Science. <- [Pyroclastic Flows move fast and destroying everything in their path" | U.S Geological survey] AND ["Mount Vesuvius Boiled Its Victims’ Blood and Caused Their Skulls to Explode" by Jason Delay]

But in a summary, I love Roku and I would die to honor his name. Thank you for reading through all of this. Love you guys !! /platonically 

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 14 (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: 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! 👀💋

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, 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

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

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

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

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

[lloydasspound]

Um Pokemon brainrot came back for the 7299292th time. Lloyd edition

Insane person ramblings below cut^_^

I think there are two major routes you can take when attempting to Pokemonize Lloyd. The first is just making him Colress. They are functionally the same character- similar interests, motivations, and morals. AKA generic mad scientist who wishes to create "the strongest machine/weapon/i dont even know", who doesn't care about the violence or sacrifice, arguably works for the wrong side, and remains friendly to the main characters anyway. Like, there genuinely is not much to expand upon there. Just pop out Colress and snap Lloyd into his place and there you go I guess.

(BTW Colress was one of the first characters I was ever deeply obsessed with as a kid. This does not mean anything)

The second route is trying to replace Lloyd's interests with machines into something canon typical that also reflects his role in the series. Unsubtle way of looking you in the eyes and telling you I want him to be a Pokemon Regional Professor so bad because I said so.

(Colress was my original but the chokehold Professor Sycamore has had on me for over a year now......I am not biased at all umm)

While a Pokemon Professor is probably a littleee too goody two shoes and social for Lloyd, it is The role that always implies extreme amounts of research in some dedicated niche. Lloyd can exclusively research man-made/object inspired Pokemon or something! Close enough to robots. Either way, the whole plot of the game is that the Professor chooses a small batch of kids, gives them a strong Pokemon to start off, and then tells them to go collect data, while the kids usually end up changing the world instead. Lloyd's whole role in Code Geass is he gives a strong weapon to Suzaku in exchange for him collecting data, and then Suzaku goes and does fuck whatever with it until the planet is fixed I don't know. Literally the same! And honestly, we just deserve a Pokemon Professor who is a bit of an unlikeable freak.

I do not think Lloyd would care about battling much and I do not think he really cares about Pokemon themselves a whole lot either! But their abilities and possibilities would probably interest him similarly to how he is invested in Knightmares. And even if he acts like he doesn't care, he definitely has a little litter of Aron sleeping in his house.

Anyway code geass pokemon crossover is NEVER going to happen but I think it is silly. There an an Alcremie sitting on his table

[turtletaubwrites]

I need to be real with you I've actually very recently been figuring out I probably have EDS(no proper diagnosis/medical care yet bc. Well I'm sure you get it lmao) and your fic is doing things to my brain. My god. Law is a freak and his shit would absolutely work on me. You know what yeah I DO want to be taken on an ethically dubious impromptu submarine adventure if it means no manual labor, thank you SO much sir.

Thank you so much, this cracked me up 😅 This man has me in a fucking chokehold, and I would 100% let him kidnap me with no complaints.

And yeah, I've basically created the ultimate hEDS fantasy, lol. We all deserve a sexy doctor to take care of our every need, and to actually fucking LISTEN and offer real fucking help.

I hope your journey goes smoothly, and that you are blessed with the best doctors! Physical therapists are amazing, so if you can find one they should have some real advice for you. Plus they can actually read the pain in your body while working on you, so they've always believed me right away, and had a lot of compassion. The issue is that they can't diagnose hEDS, even though they can walk you through the diagnostic criteria and go "Oh yeah, you fucking have that. Go get your doctor to diagnose you."

If only it was that easy. (I've had 3 different physical therapists say that to me 🙃)

Don't lose hope though. The best thing that happened when I figured it out was that I started being kinder to my body. I listen to it. I have a shit ton of various braces, heating pads, ice packs, and a wonderful cane that folds into a stool because standing fucking hurts.

It's still a struggle to feel confident using aids in public because people suck, but I'm working on it.

I wish you the best of luck with your process, and that you have people in your life that care and support you.

Probably not as much as Law would though 😅

[rin-varga-illo]

⚜️“Are you alright?” He had asked, sounding genuinely worried. It was the only thing he had said the entire night, before his proverbial mask slipped back into place once I had nodded and confirmed that I was fine. And with his voice in my mind I’d let him corner me before he chased me back to the beginning of the game, back to where the older man and his cane were waiting, back to where I got transported back to the castle. Back to where my driver was waiting to take me home for the holidays. His voice stayed in my mind."⚜️ Oh my goodness, do I love Alexandre and Olivier so much!!💜 In general, I tend to adore prickly introvert×persistent extrovert dynamics, so these two had me pulled in from the start. This illustration has had me in a chokehold for the last two weeks and would not let me go until I finished it or died trying!!🙃 This summer I've been getting happily pulled into the dark little world Lola Malone has created for a secret society at St. Laurent's Monterrey Castle, and I recently had the honor of being an ARC reader for her third novella, ⚜️HUNTED⚜️ in "The Wicked Chase" series in which we learn the story of the student librarian who has been nominated not once, not twice, but three times now--eliminations should be final, so why does he keep coming back? Queer dark academia & mystery thrillers are two of my guilty pleasure genres, and Lola Malone has such a talent for creating atmosphere and suspense in her stories!👌 "The Wicked Chase" series and its ongoing predecessor series, "Initiation," are on the spicier side of my reading spectrum--just be warned--but they're not short on mystery, suspense or aww-worthy moments, either!😉 I genuinely enjoy these characters, appreciate the sweetness that balances out the spiciness of their relationships, and love seeing how they break the expectations of their first impressions! (That being said, it does have some pretty heavy trigger warnings! 🌶🌶🌶 You can check out Lola's page @lolamalonebooks for the specific trigger warnings of each book, and remember to take care of your mental/emotional health while reading! You are always in control of your reading experience 🫶)

[punkshort]

Your Marcus Acacius… let me tell you, when I say my life hasn’t been the same since, I’m not even exaggerating. I mean literally. That man is so swoonable it hurts!!😫 it is impossible not to fall madly in love (and lust😉) with him! The way you described both his inner and outer beauty and his irresistible personality and riz and confidence and raw masculinity is just *CHEFS KISS!! You leave such a visceral sense of who he is he has me in a chokehold and Im just mad that he’s not reeeeeal!!😭😭

your world building is so beautiful! it’s so vivid and delightful it makes me wanna live there. (And I live in NYC😆)

The side characters Iizard and the brother are hilarious! I love them AND I wanna throw an oven mitt at them😂

Your protagonist: I like your protagonist so much she’s so endearing. She’s so sweet and kind even when she’s ready to kick Danny’s ass you can tell she still loves him and will always look out for him. She’s not perfect and struggles at work (and with life) like most of us do but she’s smart and strong and resilient like we all try/want to be so she’s very relatable. It’s easy to see how a man like Acacius would fall in love with her. And even when she’s angry and annoyed she’s still very lovable (in contrast to Kate and Leopold). And that Matt guy. Well… he deserves everything he got lol And the smut… oh the smut. It’s so fluffy and sweet and SO HOTTT🥵🥵 I melted on the floor like your protagonist said🫠🫠

TW: I don’t wanna make this weird I swear. you don’t have to reply at all it’s totally fine. I just want you to know that your art has literally changed my life. I don’t mean to overshare but… being able to take refuge in the world you’ve created got me through weeks of PTSD flashback hell. And I’ve had this one difficulty all my life and decades of expensive therapy couldn’t make a dent but In Another Life cured it. I’m excited to live again🥹. I just wanna say from the bottom of my heart how grateful I am that you shared your beautiful writing with us!❣️❣️💝💖💝💖

Sincerely,

A Marcus Acacius Girly

PS I did reblog your work but I was too embarrassed to leave all this in my comments so I had to go anon in your inbox😅

This was so beautiful to read it took me a minute to figure out how to answer it - I can't really put into words what this means to me but I'll try 🥹

Firstly, thank you so much for pointing out all your favorite parts because that's my favorite part! I absolutely adore hearing what struck you the most as a reader and I like to hear if what I've written came across the way it intended and how I imagined it, etc, so this was and always is so wonderful to hear. It just gave me that extra motivation I needed to work on part 3 later 🤭 (I've already started it but didn't get very far)

Secondly, thank you for sharing a bit about your personal struggles. I know that has to be so hard for you to share and I appreciate that you felt impacted enough by something I wrote to want to say something about it. I don't think I know how to describe the way my chest literally tightened when I read that part but I'm floored something I wrote could help anybody in the world the way you described. It makes me so happy I could help you in that way, it really truly does. I really hope things are looking better for you now ❤️

Lastly, thank you for reblogging! Don't feel obligated to write anything when you do, I appreciate it all the same!

I'm very grateful you reached out to me and trusted me enough to share a piece of yourself. I sincerely hope the rest of the story meets your expectations and continues to bring a little light into your life ❤️ I also rely heavily on this platform (and my own writing) as a form of therapy (and maybe a little escapism, sure) so we certainly have that in common 😘

[mery-cm99]

Vixen ~ Nikolai Lantsov (Chapter 6)

Masterlist

Description: Vixen is one of the Crows. Kaz saved her a long time ago. He’s the only one who knows the truth about Vixen. He’s the only one who knows her past, her secret. That’s until a certain privateer shows up in Ketterdam looking for a living Saint.

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x fem!OC

Warnings: Mention of trauma, blood, war and sad stuff in general. English is not my first language, so sorry in advance for any grammar or spelling errors. The sign language used in this story is made up and does not correspond with any official one. The story is based on the series, not the books.

Rating: Teens and up

Chapter 6/6

Word Count: 1,722 words

Writer’s note: Ugh. This man has me on chokehold.

Last one in a while... (at list for this fic. If you want more OS from him or any other topic. Just ask :))

__________________________

Vixen was standing next to Kaz when Alina, Mal, Nina and Inej returned to the fort with the news that Kirigan was dead. So she saw firsthand how her boss's gaze was fixed on the Wraith. Vixen knew that there was something much stronger between the two of them than there was between two comrades. She had seen them look at each other that way on too many occasions. Vixen and Jesper had a bet to see which of them would confess first. She claimed it would be Inej.

Seeing that Kaz wasn't going to say anything, Vixen approached Inej when Jesper stopped hugging her excitedly. Inej gave her a smile which Vixen returned.

<<I'm glad to see you, Inej>> she assured, placing special emphasis on her name. It was formed by her thumb and forefinger crossed in the shape of a cross over her lips. Vixen was the one who decided the sign that represented the names and only the people most important to her were given the honor of having their own sign. Inej's was for her belief in the Saints. She was the reason Vixen still believed in them. That was why Inej hugged her when she saw her signing hers.

“Thank you. My country might have been sunk if you haven't arrived," Nikolai spoke, drawing the crows' attention. Vixen looked at him. He still had dried blood on one side of his face. His weight was not resting on his injured leg and there was blood on his left shoulder. He looked bad, but it could have been worse. If she hadn't created the whirlwind of water... She didn't want to think about it.

“We'll settle those thanks in gold," Kaz spoke, eliciting a sideways smile from the prince.

“Of course. And if any of you want to stay in Ravka. You're welcome," he added, looking at each one of them. Vixen felt his gaze burn into her as he turned it towards her. It was clear he meant her. She was the only one of the Crows -apart from Nina- who was ravkan.

Kaz nodded for all of them and the prince left with the help of Tamar and Tolya, not without the latter giving Vixen a smile and a nod. She returned it. She had ended up growing fond of the shu man after all.

“Are you going to stay or come back to ketterdam with us?” Kaz asked when the two of them were alone. He knew her well enough to know she was thinking about it.

“I don't know what to do, Kaz. The Crows are the best thing that has happened to me since I lost my parents. I am the way I am now because of you. But I'm a grisha. I have to understand what that means," she explained.

“Then you must stay. The Crows will always have a place for you. When you think it's time to come back.”

Vixen nodded. She wanted to hug him, or shake his hand, in a way to thank him, but she restrained herself, assuming it would not be to his liking.

“Thank you, Kaz," she said, signing his name. The Crows leader’s name was the index finger curved over her forehead. As if it were a hook that would draw out an idea. She had put it on for his brilliant mind. “For all you've done for me over the years.”

Kaz nodded. He didn't say anything, but Vixen didn't need him to.

The farewell with the rest of the crows was somewhat emotional. After three years and as much as she had avoided having ties in Ketterdam, Vixen had grown fond of them. The first one she said goodbye to was Jesper, who hugged her tightly.

“Now who's going to make fun of the rest of Ketterdam with me, and who am I going to gossip with about the rumors of the Barrel?” he complained, eliciting a giggle from the girl. “I'm going to miss you, Vix. Even when you barely spoke," Vixen smacked his arm, as usual. “And your punches. I'm going to miss you hitting me. I never thought I'd say that.”

<<I'm going to miss you too, Jesper>> She assured. His name was two guns firing.

“Who's going to defend me from the bullies now? I can't lose my guardian angel.”

Then she moved on to Wylan, who was standing next to the gunslinger and trying not to cry.

<<You don't need it, Wylan. You're stronger than you think>> she assured him, remarking the W of his name over her heart. Wylan hugged her tightly.

Inej offered her one of her knives.

“Remember me when you wield it. Though I hope you don't have to.”

Vixen pocketed the knife and handed Inej one of her daggers.

<<Keep it, until we meet again. And tell Tolya that I will never forget his words>> she asked. She had heard that Inej was leaving on Sturmhond's ship with Tolya, Tamar and Mal. The latter being the new Sturmhond now that Nikolai was the new king of Ravka.

When she reached Nina she used her voice, though she was still speaking by signs. The heartrender did not yet know the language.

“Get your man out of Hellgate. I'd like to go with you, but I have to learn to control my power first.”

“I will, Vixen. Thank you. “

She managed to hold back tears until she saw them board the ship back to Ketterdam. She hadn't finished understanding what it meant to stay there until she saw them leave without her. Now that she was back in Ravka, where her mother was more present, it was harder for her to keep Anya hidden. Vixen was the offspring of Silverfox. She was the result of mixing the world's greatest thief with a past full of pain and death. But Anya was her mother's daughter. She had a kind heart and a grisha power that she had to learn to control before someone got hurt because of it. And although they were two completely different versions, the girl had understood that she was both, and that she had to learn to combine them. So, when she could no longer see the crows on the horizon, she returned to the castle to talk to Zoya.

A couple of days later, on the morning of King Nikolai's coronation, Vixen was in the palace courtyards with Zoya. The Squaller was teaching her how to control her grisha power.

“Little science is just that, science. Water is the essence of life. It is in everything around us. You just have to feel at one with it," Zoya was saying as Vixen concentrated on controlling the whirlpool of water she had created. It was not too big, but it was more controllable that way.

The grisha's speech was cut off, which caught the girl's attention. Seeing who was approaching, Vixen lost all her concentration and the whirlwind came to a screeching halt, drenching Zoya and herself. The squaller gave her a nasty look, so Vixen shrugged, trying to hide a smile. Nikolai seemed to find it amusing, because by the time he reached them he was laughing.

“Classes are over for the day," Zoya declared, pulling on her soaked kefta. “Moi Tsar," she saluted with a bow before walking off and leaving them alone.

“Vixen. I didn't think you would consider my offer," Nikolai spoke. Vixen kept her gaze on the king's hands.

Although it had been a couple of days since everything had ended, she hadn't seen him since. Nikolai had been very busy with preparations for his coronation and reigning a country that was once again united. And she had spent most of her time with Zoya, Genya and Alina, learning everything the three grisha could teach her.

“Actually it’s Anya, Moi Tsar. Anya Makarov," she indicated with a small bow, accompanied by signs out of habit.

It was the first time he had heard her speak, and Nikolai was captivated by her voice. That's why it took him a moment to understand her words. Vixen dared to look at him and saw the moment when Nikolai understood the truth.

“You are the daughter of Sonya Makarov, the old king's official Tidemaker," he guessed aloud. Vixen nodded.

Nikolai tried to remember everything he knew about the woman. He was barely twelve when the woman had left the palace. But he remembered the conmotion when they realized that the grisha had fled the country with her husband and daughter. The king had felt deeply betrayed and had sent a group of grisha, Heartrenders, to track her down and capture her. Nikolai had never heard the end of the story, but he could guess from what Tolya had told him: Vixen had confessed to him that Heartrenders had killed her mother.

“I'm deeply sorry, Anya. I had no idea," he apologized sincerely. Vixen felt heat flood her cheeks as she heard him refer to her by her real name. It was the first time anyone had used it in far too long. And she had to admit it sounded very sweet in his voice.

“Don't apologise, Moi Tsar. It wasn't your fault," she assured.

“Call me Nikolai, please," he asked, a little uncomfortable with the fact that the girl kept referring to him that way, as if he was an unreachable being. “Why do you prefer to use sign language instead of speaking with your voice?” he asked curiously. He had been wondering that since Tolya had told him that she was indeed not mute.

“My father was deaf, so I learned sign language when I was very young. When my mother died I only communicated with him, so I stopped relying on my voice and got used to using my hands. I guess after he died too I kept up the habit so I didn't lose him altogether.”

“A deaf thief. I've never heard anything like that before. And a very good one, if I’m well informed" the blond man commented in amusement. Vixen let a small smile break out on her lips. Nikolai thought it was the prettiest one he had ever seen. Maybe because it was the first one he'd get from the girl, like seeing the sun after hundreds of years hidden in the Fold.

____________________

I really want to continue with the story. I love Vixen and how her character has turned out. But there is no more content with the series and I haven't read the books (yet). I had thought about continuing on my own, moving away from canon. What do you think? Maybe I'll do single chapters without continuity between them so I don't stray too far from the canon. Leave me feedback in the coments, please.

Taglist:

1.@going-through-shit

[halsinshoneypot]

You Are More Than Her Lies pt.3

To the girls, the gays, and the theys. I'm on my period and it's fucking awful - instead of 2 chapter uploads I'm gonna write a long one and hope you guys enjoy my literary waffle. I'm a heavy fantasy-romance reader (the Maas universe has me in a chokehold and I'm foaming at the mouth waiting for flame and shadow) so do not be surprised that there is a lot of inner dialogue and scene description over character dialogue. Now. Time to binge eat Reese's while escaping reality by writing <3

Sanji 

“I killed an official of the capital...” Zoro mumbled, looking away with a painful grin on his face. 

“Huh?!” Sanji shouted, watching as his unlit cigarette went flying to the sand.  

Sanji’s mind broke. Mosshead was supposed to lay low, LAY LOW, not KILL an OFFICIAL of Wano. Just... what the fuck?! For the love of God, I hope none of the other’s followed his stupidity. The blond didn’t know what to say, what to do, what to even think ahead for. Was Zoro being chased? Were the others with him? Where are they? Why did he kill the city official? The question’s kept piling up and Sanji was too worried for the other crewmates to ask for the answers, if he didn’t acknowledge the bad, the bad didn’t exist – a hands over eyes kind of situation. But he needed to face the truth, because the possible consequences of mossheads actions could have the crew in deep shit and if they were, well, the two men needed to form a rescue plan. Maybe I can get mosshead to figure out where we are first and then sneak back to the capital? No, that man can’t navigate for shit. We’d just get eaten by a wild tiger or drown in quicksa- 

“The others are fine. It was just me. Their covers aren’t blown, and they had no idea anything was happening for them to intervene – I made sure of it. They are always my priority, so stop worrying.” The feeling of confidence and reassurance trickles down the bond, this answers Sanji’s worries, and he is surprised that the swordsman had the brains to not include the other crew in his fuck up. But Zoro has always been protective over the crew, even over Sanji – Luffy the most, who isn’t though? – so it shouldn’t be surprising he didn’t risk the others. Maybe the blond was being a little harsh. On that note, Sanji lets go of the swordsman and sits opposite of him, deciding to gather their baring's to avoid the intense staring Zoro was adamant on.  

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was projecting. My Robin-chwan is safe! But where are we? Do you at least know that?” There was the beach, a light and delicate sand that got darker the more contact it had with the deep blue of the sea. The shipwrecks were an ugly contrast to the stunning day that Wano was experiencing, the harsh view making reality that much more apparent. A cooling wind rushed between the wreckage’s, creating a whistling sound. Shadows of exotic trees native to Wano were towering over the beach but only slightly touching the two men, a sweet relief from the blaring sun made the cook want to reside in the full shade rather than fight in the sun. All Sanji could gather was that the climate of Wano was exotic, desert like in their current location, but he could see greenery in the distance. and he wasn’t sure if that would change the further inland they travelled. The cook could see some towers with smoke pollution in the far distance, the heat of the land and wind causing the sights to dance. If that was a factory then they must be close to a town. “I know we are in Wano”, the cook deadpans at the swordsman who only gives back a cheeky grin, “You were wondering around lost weren’t you?” This doesn’t surprise Sanji, it’s expected of the swordsman, Sanji had to ask in case the universe decided to be kind and give Zoro a sense of direction – but Sanji new not to hope for the impossible.  

“I’m not wondering around lost... I’m just making sure Wano is fully explored, if there are any undiscovered societies or islands! How did you get here? Where’s the rest of the WCI crew?” Zoro’s tanned neck and tips of his ears started to turn pink, ignoring the fact that the two men shared a bond, his anatomy couldn’t hide his embarrassment from his directional challenges. Once again, because apparently the poor cook doesn’t a break, panic rises again “I don’t know! We travelled UP a waterfall with some koi that Luffy had a hold of”. As the cook rattled on about the events that led up to him being washed ashore an abandoned shipwrecked beach, Zoro tried his best to keep the cook from passing out – reminding the cook to “Take a breath shitty brow”, “Okay repeat that part but slower”, “Will you just slow down”. Sanji found it rather rude of Zoro, but the swordsman knew how the cook got when retelling events, he started to speed up and blame himself, claiming that if he was stronger than the event wouldn’t of went the way it did. The blond never catches onto Zoro’s reassuring looks; his comments that focusing on the past would hinder the cook's future growth, that Zoro would always have the crews back, and especially Sanji’s.  

Sanji thought Zoro’s comments were because the swordsman was too stupid to keep up, of course the stupid muscle head didn’t understand Sanji, of course he didn’t have to worry about being strong enough to protect the crew, of course he would always come to Sanji's aid. It infuriates when the mosshead tells Sanji to take a breath or slow down; what if while informing the mosshead what happened just means the crew get injured further, get taken further away from their current location or possibly killed! Zoro is always calm, showing anger but in a controlled manner and then giving a short but quick speech to rescue or avenge the crew that were blackmailed or taken – as much as Sanji hated Zoro for being everything he couldn’t, Sanji also liked that about Zoro. The consideration and comforting words the swordsman has an uncanny way with, the bond that he doesn’t need to use to silently communicate to Sanji with and how it always works. Just like now, the frustration that Sanji felt was being wrapped and lulled to determination, changing the need to kick something into the need to wrap his arms around Zoro and thank him.  

“You have no clue where they are, it’s fine. Knowing Luffy he’s made friends, ate some food and promised to beat up some corrupt person terrorizing his new friend's life. Since we are in Wano, that corrupt person is most likely Kaido and Luffy knows he needs his crew with him – needs his two strongest by his side. Nami is crafty, she’ll bat her eyelashes and scam her way to Usopp or someone already in Wano and get safe. The rest of them will either follow Nami or Luffy so we don’t have to worry. It’s okay, take a smoke and calm a little, use that smart brain of yours”. Zoro ranted, his hands on the blond's shoulders, grounding his thoughts from running further. Sanji listened and wondered why he didn’t think those things, but Zoro did. This moment solidifies why Zoro is first mate and Sanji the second. Zoro’s words are why Sanji can never be fully committed to the bit of hating each other, so Sanji does as the mosshead says.  

Getting up from the sitting position the two are in, Sanji starts to walk towards the trunk of a large tree, “Follow me will you, this heat makes me more agitated than calm” Sanji explains to the mosshead – who lets out a gruff and follows Sanji to the tree, feeling the same way about the heat. The cook is the first to and rest against the tree, the swordsman sits next to him, their shoulder’s touching “You don’t need to sit so close mosshead, I’m not going to run off on a single man rescue mission!”. “I know, but this helps me; I’ve missed the crew, even the ones I see around the FC. I feel more myself when I’m around you lot, and I’ve been walking for days in this heat. So, deal with it.” Zoro says, eyes closed, and head tilted back on the tree. 

Sanji blushes a little, he implied my presence is relaxing, didn’t he? Or the whole crews? Or each of us in our own way maybe. “Are you saying I’m relaxing to be around?” Sanji had to get clarification, Zoro acted like this with Nami and Luffy after the 2years they were separated. What’s changed for Sanji to become one of those people? “You are the first one I’ve seen from the WCI mission, and I’m exhausted. If you were Luffy I’d be on the floor suffocating from his crushing hugs. Plus, you are strong enough to have my back so I’m comfortable relaxing around you. I’m assuming I’m not making you uncomfortable cause you would’ve kicked me away by now” the exhaustion was clear in the swordsman voice. “You taking a nap isn’t gonna help us find the other’s ya’know, but if you insist on some photosynthesis then who am I to stop you.”, the blond quips up, hoping it’ll help the slight awkwardness he felt. 

“I would need sun for that, not shade.”, of course he tries to be smart now. A sleepy feeling slithered down the bond, like getting in a warmed-up bath after being out in the snow all day, but no feeling of bracing for a threat like there usually is. Turning to get a proper view of Zoro’s head, Sanji sees how at peace Zoro is; his head tilted back, a slight smile to his usual scowl, the shade meant he didn’t need to squint his eyes leading him to look more youthful, and his chest was rising in a steady pace. It’s been a while since Sanji last got to see or even feel Zoro like this, possibly the trip from Punk Hazard to Dressrosa, even then there were certain stressors (like their multiple guests) so maybe before that? Then again, it’s been a while since their lives have had any semblance of calm. The rise and fall of the mossheads shoulder against Sanji's felt nice, the physical touch should’ve repelled him, burnt him, had him hissing like a cat at some tinfoil. Instead, the feeling was welcomed, and Sanji spent some of Zoro’s light nap wondering why they don’t behave like this around each other – the answer is Sanji and his embarrassment. Finding that answer led to memories of Momoiro Island and Ivankov’s teaching’s which helped Sanji grow both physically and personally.  

Ivankov gave Sanji a lot of insight on how to learn new fighting styles and grow the ones he currently used. The revolutionary also noticed something new of Sanji that few others have, Sanji shared a bond, a soulmate bond. The soulmate aspect of the bond was news to the cook. He didn’t mean for Ivankov to find out about the strange power linking the two crewmates to each other, but on one particular training day Sanji felt immense pain. Pain so strong that he also felt where on Zoro it originated from, his left eye. Sanji reacted to the pain, screaming until he felt Zoro close off his emotions to the bond. Ivankov wouldn’t let go of what happened, the queen thought it was a side effect from training and wanted to lessen the blond's load. The truth finally came out at the idea of not being able to improve, to catch up to the others, to get strong enough to protect Zoro from that kind of pain in the future.  

Learning the bond was due to the two men being soulmates was an even bigger shock than the fact Skypiea existed. Sanji knew there was some attraction to men, but he got confused quite often – thinking his attraction was more to the other male powers, wishing he had said powers to impress ladies with. When he started to find certain men attractive when they didn’t have desirable powers that’s when the blond started questioning. It was a rough journey and Ivankov didn’t help the acceptance of the newly dug up attractions. Learning Zoro (of all the people in the world, that shitty mosshead?!) was his soulmate only made Sanji’s feelings towards the man more turbulent. Even now, watching Zoro nap peacefully and knowing it was due to Sanji’s presence made his heart beat that little bit quicker, but would he admit that to the swordsman first? No, he needs to know if the swordsman felt the same way, then he would do something about their entwined fate.  

“I hope you figure it out soon, I don’t know how much longer I can pretend.” Sanji muttered, feeling a bit more at peace with their situation then he did a few minutes ago.  

“Hm? Figure out what?” Zoro mused; I should’ve kept my mouth shut, Sanji thought.