#how blessed i am to have the friends i do. every single one of them

[salsflore]

life is so tough actually but the fact i have angels in human bodies to call friends? makes it so worth it

[really-fanny-longbottom]

NEVER YOURS

Pairings: Azriel x Reader, Azriel x Elain, Lucien x Reader

Summary: Azriel never regretted his decisions so much like he does right now.

Warnings: Angst (like a lot), fluff (also a lot because we need a balance)

Words: 6.1k (I got carried away, hehe)

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I was supposed to post the prequel to Second Chance (where the batboys find the reader), but I started writing, and this is what came out! It's different from the other two fics I wrote, but I kinda liked it, anyways I made a little reference to Percy Jackson. Enjoy!

You were born in Day Court during the longest and the warmest day of the year: Summer Solstice. Even though it's not a custom to exchange gifts on that holiday, your parents always told you that you were their greatest gift and that the sun shined brighter that day like he knew that you would be entering this world very soon. 

Your father was Helion's best and longest friend, and he had a place in his Court as his second in command and advisor. Your mother was the lead healer of the Court. She was one of the most powerful and talented healers of Prythian, being a very close second to Madja. 

Due to your parents' jobs, you grew up in the Day Court Palace and close to Helion, who didn't just happen to be your High Lord but also your godfather. 

Your parents reconsider that maybe making Helion your godfather had been a mistake because of how much he spoiled you. On your 4th birthday, he gave you a black baby pegasus as a present, which you decided to name him Blackjack. When he discovered that you liked reading, he had a private library built in your room with all kinds of books. When you were seven and heard an old male saying that females should only wear dresses, you only wore pants for the next three months and of course, Helion made sure you had every type of pants at your disposal. 

When your parents tried to scold him, he just scoffed with his only response being, "She's my goddaughter. What else am I supposed to do?" with a big grin plastered in his face.

You weren't Helion's child, but he always treated you like one, and that never changed, especially after your parents' death. 

Your favorite thing about your parents was their mating bond. After you learned that mates are rare and a blessing, it made every single thing about your parents' love even more unique and pure.

You saw first hand what true love is really like. You saw how much they loved, cared, supported, and protected each other. You saw loyalty and honesty in their deepest forms. Seeing your parents' mating bond made you wish to the stars for a mate, and that one day, you would be blessed enough to find him. 

But you also saw how deep a mating bond could go. You saw it first hand, too.

You saw it when your mother died after getting infected by a rare disease while trying to help her patients. Her death destroyed your father. The pain and the grief of losing your mother, his mate, and the love of his life were so big that your father followed her into the next life a few days later, so they could start their next journey together.

Before he died, your father made Helion promise him that he would take care of you, which he agreed without hesitation. He became more protective of you. He couldn't stop thinking how unfair it was for you to lose your parents at such a young age, only eleven years old, when Helion had them for centuries.

Your godfather made sure to provide you with anything you needed from the best education to the best clothes and when your healing powers start manifesting and you decide to follow your mother's steps, Helion called in a favor to Thesan to see if he could teach you himself. The High Lord of Dawn was happy to accept, and so were you at the thought of having him as your teacher.

You moved to Dawn Court for a year where you learned everything about being a healer, not only with the High Lord himself but also with his best healers. 

You became one of the best: talented, powerful, gifted, and wise. Just like your mother.

Madja was looking for an apprentice at the time you returned to Day, and when she heard about your skills, she asked for you. Rhysand reached out to Helion with Madja's offer: you would be her apprentice, work in the clinic with her but you would also assist her if she ever needed to go to a patient's residence, and would learn everything she could teach you. 

It wasn't needed to convince you to agree. You had heard about Madja and her healing, after Thesan, she was the healer you wanted to work with the most, so of course you were more than happy to have a chance to have her as your mentor. Rhysand added that you would be welcome to stay in one of his personal residences, the House of Wind, during your time in Velaris.

You were only supposed to stay in the Night Court for a year, but that was before you met the Shadowsinger. 

However, despite wanting the apprenticeship more than anything, if you had known what would happen when you agreed to go to the Night Court, you would never have accepted the offer.

-

Azriel couldn't sleep.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't. Not with tomorrow so close, not when he knew what was waiting for him in the morning. 

The past was haunting him tonight, his thoughts hadn't stopped since he had been informed earlier of tomorrow's meeting. So now, here he was, trying to keep his eyes open even though his body was protesting for him to do the opposite.

But he was fighting that need because every time he closed his eyes, you were all he saw. Your beautiful face with your sparkling eyes, your smooth hair, your pointy ears, your sweet voice, and your soft laughter. You were haunting his thoughts like a punishment for all those years ago. 

So all he could do now was to sit on the edge of his balcony with his legs hanging off while waiting for the sun to be born, and remember how things used to be before he destroyed everything.

 -

Everything was perfect in the beginning. Velaris was beautiful, the people were kind, and the pastries were absolutely delicious. 

The only thing you actually missed, besides Helion, was the warmth of the sun like no other Court had but the Day Court. But that was just the Day citizen in you talking.

Your apprenticeship was going amazing. You and Madja had instantly connected, and you were learning so much. Two weeks later, you were already attending your own patients without supervision. You really had a gift, and every time Madja complimented your powers, you gave all the credits to your genes, to your mom. It warmed your heart knowing that the Mother had blessed you with this part of her. In this way, it felt like she was always with you.

The House of Wind felt just like home, and you adjusted perfectly. The Inner Circle had welcomed you with open arms, and you got along with everyone. They thought you and Morrigan would be the closest of all, but they got a big surprise when it turned out to be you and Azriel.

The Shadowsinger was different from everyone you ever met. Everyone in Day was so loud, open, and extroverted. But not him. He was calm, reserved, and difficult to read, but with time, you ended up finding out that the two of you were more alike than you thought. You were able to go through the shell that Azriel had so perfectly built around him over the centuries. 

A friendship was born. Every day, Azriel would fly you to the clinic and then back to the House. You explored Velaris together and made your personal mission to try every single restaurant and bakery from the City of Starlight. 

You walked along the Sidra and even stopped once in a while to dance along the melodies that the musicians were playing. You would read together whether that was in the library, in your room, or in his. You even started training with him and sometimes, Cassian.

You became each other's person. When a day at the clinic was hard or you would lose a patient, he was there to hug and comfort you, and you found yourself doing the same for him about his missions. So you decided to take the next step and spoke about your parents' death, how much still affected you losing them.

And in that moment, Azriel realized how much trust you put in him, so he decided to return it and opened about his past, his family, and his hands. You listened to every word, cleaned every tear, and held him for as long as he needed.

You found yourself falling in love with him a little more day by day, and it only took you a few months to realize that you were completely in love.

The day the bond snapped was one of the happiest days of your life. It happened during the most beautiful celebration in the Night Court: Starfall.

Your hair was tied in a long braid that reached down to your waist, decorating the braid were small yellow daylilies. You were wearing a golden dress that fit perfectly against your sun-kissed skin. The dress had a slit on the left side that went up to the top of your thigh, a single strap held the dress on your right shoulder and when you turned around, whoever was behind you could have a perfect view of your naked back. Golden jewels rested on your ears and neck. 

You looked like a goddess, one blessed by the sun itself. You were shining just like a Day Court citizen should.

Azriel standed next to you in the balcony while gazing at the spirits passing. Both of your hands rested on the stone of the balcony, and when you went to adjust your hand, it brushed against Azriel's. At the new feeling, you looked up to find his eyes, only to see the Shadowsinger already looking at you. In that moment, with the touching of your hands and the meeting of your eyes, the world stopped.

Your hands start interviewing, and everything else just disappeared.

It was just the two of you and the sound of your heartbeats. And then, a golden thread appeared and started tying your hearts and souls.

Azriel held your free hand and pressed it against his own chest, right where his heart laid. You followed his action, freeing your intertwined hands and putting his hand on your chest, above your heart. 

With the final loop of the golden thread around your hearts, Azriel bent down and kissed you. 

That moment couldn't be more beautiful and magical even if you tried. You had finally found the mate that you had wished to the stars all those years ago. 

Everything was perfect. You had everything you wanted and more. You lived in a beautiful city that you learned to love and were starting to call it home. You had the job of your life, working alongside one of your idols. Amazing friends that made you feel welcomed and part of a little family. And finally, your mate, the male you were in love with, long before that beautiful and sacred golden thread. Everything was perfect.

But of course, nothing lasts forever. And all of that disappeared when Elain Archeron came into the picture.

-

Ten years. He couldn't believe that much time had passed. All those years without you.

It had been ten years since the last time he saw you. Ten years since he had heard something regarding you. Ten years since he had broken your heart. And ten years since he had made the biggest mistake of his entire existence.

You had moved back to Day Court after that day, after what happened and after what he did. 

The High Lord of Day had forbidden Azriel from seeing you and from trying to contact you in any way. And months later, when the rumors of a certain Shadowsinger flying above the Palace in hopes to get a glimpse of you reached his ears, Helion banned him from his Court.

Helion had always been a very charismatic and loving person. He's kind, generous, and a very good friend. He gets along with almost everyone, always joking around and laughing.  Some people may say that he's the nicest and kindest High Lord that Prythian has ever seen. 

When problems arise, he always tries to find a solution to solve them or if a solution is not possible, a way to improve them. But not this time. Not when it comes to you and his son, Lucien.

Because your heart wasn't the only one to be shattered that day, no, Lucien's heart was a victim, too. So, from that moment, everything that Helion did was to protect you and Lucien, to make sure that you felt safe, that you had space and time to heal. You thought that was ironic, considering you were a healer yourself.

Azriel's banishment wasn't the only consequence from the events of that day.

That day also cost the alliance between the Day Court and the Night Court, and when the alliance fell apart, so did Helion and Rhysand's friendship.

But Azriel wasn't the only one to blame for all of this. Elain Archeron was guilty, too. She, too, was banished from the Day Court and forbidden to contact Lucien in any way.

But unlike Azriel, Elain's actions cause far more consequences than his. 

The Autumn Court followed the same decisions as the Day Court. The banishment of Azriel and Elain and the prohibition of any kind of contact with Lucien. Eris, now the new High Lord of the Autumn Court after Beron's death, didn't take lightly to what happened to his little brother. 

The two of them had reconnected after Eris became High Lord. They talked through everything that had happened in the last centuries, made peace with their past, and decided to move forward together. Now, the brothers were inseparable and had the kind of relationship they had always wanted since they were younger. So when Eris heard what had happened, he considered those actions as a personal attack. 

He went as far as to offer Lucien the opportunity to choose the Blood Duel, which his little brother refused, saying that all of this had already caused enough pain. Eris wasn't angry just because of Lucien. He was angry because of you, too. You were the first person to give him the benefit of the doubt, the first one to not judge him, unlike the others you tried to get to know him, to be his friend and he let you. 

You were the first one to know the real Eris, to know what he hid behind the mask. Therefore, you had a special place in his heart. Even if you didn't share the same blood, you were part of his family.

But that didn't stop with Day and Autumn.  Spring joined them, too. 

Despite everything that happened and the fact that they were still working on their friendship, Tamlin's loyalty remained with Lucien. Spring had been Lucien's home for decades, and with that came a brotherhood between the two of them. 

Needless to mention that Jurian and Vassa's loyalties also remained with Lucien.

To everyone outside the situation, all of this may seem overreacted and exaggerated. But to everyone involved, it's not.

After all, you and Lucien almost died. That's what happens when a mating bond is rejected.

-

Azriel couldn't believe things had turned out this way. He was so sure that the Cauldron was wrong, that he belonged with Elain. Three sisters for three brothers. How more poetic could it be?

There were signals everywhere: Feyre with Rhysand, Nesta with Cassian, and Elain with him. Elain wouldn't go close to Lucien or talk to him, but she would sit next to him whether during dinners or on the couch, she would talk to him, and requested his company when she went to the garden or to the city. Even his shadows disappeared every time he was with her.

Weren't those signals clear enough? They were meant to be. The Cauldron was wrong. 

So Azriel did what he thought was right. He rejected the mating bond with you, and Elain did the same with Lucien. 

He never thought that the rejection of the bond would've almost cost your life.

That memory still gave him nightmares to this day. How pale you turned, how you sank to your knees with your hand pressed against your chest, tears running free down your cheeks and muffled screams leaving your lips. How much pain you had suffered and how he had been the cause of it. How once, not that long ago, he had been the reason for your smiles, laughs, and giggles.

But that memory wasn't his. It was Rhysand's. Rhys, who had to go through your mind shields, and knock you unconscious so the pain would stop and that memory led him to another memory. 

The memory of that day and the things that had followed after he shattered your heart.

-

Azriel wasn't there the moment it happened. No, he was too busy kissing Elain after admitting how much they craved each other. 

And while he kissed Elain, he felt that golden thread tying the two of you breaking and start slowly to disappear.

Nothing could have prepared him for that last memory of you when he and Elain were summoned to the River House a few hours later.

Rhys had shown him not as a courtesy but as a lesson of how much his actions can affect others. But you weren't just some other. You were his mate. Former mate. Ex-mate.

Azriel made a move to go find you. He needed to explain it to you, and he needed you to understand, but you were already gone.

Rhys told him that after you regained consciousness, Lucien took you with him back to Day Court. 

Lucien. Who you had become instantly friends with since the male's arrival in Velaris. You had treated him just like you were when you moved to the Night Court. You showed him the city, the good restaurants and the best pastries, and also told him about Helion, now that he knew the High Lord was his father and he was his Heir. You wanted him to feel like home, just like you did. 

When Azriel made his intentions clear to go to Day and find you, Rhys showed him the letter Helion had sent. The one that forbidden him from seeing you and from trying to contact you in any way. The one that also had the same indications to Elain regarding Lucien. And that if any of them tried to disobey his orders, there would be consequences.

Azriel knew of protective the male was of you and that he would do anything to protect his family, so for a split second, Azriel found himself fearing the High Lord. 

Rhysand also ordered them to stay away from the two of you, stating that they had already created enough problems and the Night Court could not afford a war with Day. 

After they left his office, Rhys sat down on his chair, trying to think how he was gonna solve this. His mind kept going back to you and Lucien. 

He was there when Lucien came for you, the red headed male was also pale and every few minutes, his hand would press to his chest in pain, his eyes were still red, probably from the tears he had shed.

Rhys knew that Helion's letter wouldn't be the only one he would receive that day. And like he was right, three more letters arrived during it. First from Autumn, then Spring and the last one from the Band of Exiles. 

Rhys passed a hand through his black hair and released a long sigh, Azriel and Elain actions had just cost four allies to the Night Court.

-

When you and Lucien arrived in Day, Helion almost fell to his knees at your sight.

You were in Lucien's arms, your eyes half open with tears still following down your cheeks. One of your hands was against your chest, rubbing small circles in a way of trying to get rid of the pain. Lucien wasn't much better.

Helion headed towards you and started examining you for injuries, but he found nothing, and when confusion made his way to his features, Lucien told him everything.

The confusion was replaced by anger, but the anger wasn't just directed towards the Shadowsinger and the middle Archeron sister. Some of it was towards himself. 

Towards himself, because seeing you like that, Helion felt that he had broken the promise he made to your dad and that this was his fault.

Without giving time for any more thoughts to fill his mind, Helion led Lucien to your room, where the Heir laid you on the bed. You had fallen asleep in his arms with your cheeks still stained. 

Lucien sat on the chair by your desk that was placed in front of your bed and said to Helion that he would stay with you. Helion gave him a firm nod, remembering that Lucien didn't have a room yet in his Palace, but he was about to fix that.

Helion didn't waste any time after making sure that the two of you were okay for now. 

He called two of his servants to prepare a room for the young Heir and went straight to his office where he wrote the letter and sent it to Rhysand.

The next week's were a complicated ones but showed that time was the best healer. 

You no longer spend the days locked in your room alone. You started to eat properly again and went back to work. Day by day, you were smiling more and sometimes making jokes.

Lucien improved as well. He decided to live in the Day Court for the time being and took his place as Helion's second in command. His relationship with Helion was also getting stronger over time. They were making up for the lost time.

But that wasn't the only thing that changed. Your relationship with Lucien also changed.

You got closer than ever, due to the fact you were the only ones who knew what the other was going through.

You found comfort in each other's presence and started spending more time together to the point where you became each other's favorite person. 

Little by little, you start helping each other heal. You started putting back together the pieces that had been broken, and the pain started slowly fading until the day that it didn't hurt anymore.

You two mended your hearts and souls, and for the first time, in a long time, you were full again.

Your friendship grew, and so did your feelings for each other.

-

Azriel couldn't believe how wrong he had been. Because the Cauldron wasn't wrong, it had never been wrong. 

He was the one who was wrong. Right from the beginning.

He and Elain had tried a relationship after yours and Lucien's departure. It worked for six months until it didn't.

Azriel questioned himself why the relationship was starting to fail and why being with Elain was starting to feel wrong.

It didn't take him too long to understand the reason. It was because she wasn't you. He found out that the reason his shadows disappear every time he was with Elain wasn't because they were destined but because they were with you. 

His shadows would leave him and Elain to go find you, like they were stating that they wouldn't betray you, that they chose you. On the day he broke up with Elain, he found his shadows in your old room, which once was filled with colors, books, paintings, and light, and now was empty, dusty, and dark. The shadows were swimming around your Starfall dress, the one you wore on the day your bond had snapped. The sight of the dress was painful, and he understood why it had been left behind.

Azriel had tried to apologize, he flew to Day Court and around the Palace trying to find you but he never did and the next day Helion sent a letter with his and Elain's banishment, making Autumn and Spring to have the same decision. 

He understood why, they were trying to protect you and Lucien, and even though he didn't have the right, he just wanted to know if you were okay. Ironic, considering he was the reason you were suffering. 

He asked Rhys several times if he knew something about you, and Rhys revealed to him that you weren't talking to him or the other members of the Inner Circle either. You had stated that it was too early and still very painful. 

So they respected your decision and kept their distance. 

That had caused Azriel's guilt to grow even more. How he wished for Nesta to still have her powers so he could go back in time and repair all of this.

The light of the sun broke his thoughts. The sun was finally making its appearance in the orange and yellow sky. 

Azriel released a long breath and looked at the clock perched on his bedroom wall. 

The morning was here, and he was only two hours away from seeing you.

-

The Inner Circle stood at the entrance of the Day Court Palace. 

Helion had lifted the banishment for this meeting with yours and Lucien consent.

Both of you said that it had been a long time and that the past should stay in the past, but that didn't mean you would be accepting any apologies today.

Koschei was on the rise again, and Prythian needed to come together once more. Right now, your past didn't matter.

The doors swung open, and the Inner Circle made their way inside. A servant led them to the conference room located in the same hallway as Helion's office on the first floor of the Palace.

They sat at the marble table while the servant informed them, "The High Lord will be here in a few minutes." Receiving a nod and a 'Thank you' from Rhysand, the servant left.

Rhys started, "Y/N and Lucien will also be in this meeting. Now, Helion was nice enough to allow the two of you back here, so do not ruin this." He finished while looking at Azriel and Elain, making them both nod their heads.

Helion entered the room, and the Inner Circle raised from their seats. The High Lord of the Day Court made his way to the head of the table. He turned to the side where Rhys, Feyre, and his Inner Circle stood at his left before offering his hand to Rhys to shake it.

Taken by surprise, Rhys needed a few seconds to process what was happening before accepting his hand. Once they had shaken hands, everyone returned to their seats, but not before Helion sent a disapproving look in Azriel's and Elain's direction.

A few minutes into the meeting, the door to the conference room opened again. And there you were. 

You were dressed in Day attire, a beautiful white dress that hugged your body, with your hair loosen and golden jewelry adorned your neck and ears. Lucien was by your side also wearing Day attire, one that matched Helion's, with your hand in his.

The Inner Circle held their breaths at your sight. It had been ten years, but all the memories came flashing back to them. 

You looked the same, but when you two approached the table, that's when they saw it and shock spread all over their faces.

Azriel couldn't believe what he was seeing. He didn't know what he was expecting to see at this meeting, but it wasn't this.

It wasn't the golden ring that you and Lucien had matching on your left hands informing him that you were married that shocked him.

It was the small and round belly that your free hand was resting on and the sweet vanilla scent that was filling the air. The scent of yours and Lucien's baby. 

"Apologies for our delay," Lucien started, then looking in your direction with a smile continued "Someone had a big appetite this morning." He ended with a laugh.

You looked at his gaze, a genuine smile on your lips. "Shut up." You whispered.

Lucien grabs the back of your chair, pulling it to give you enough space to sit. "Thank you, my love." You said while watching him taking the seat at your right, making you stay seated between him and Helion.

For the first time since you entered the room, you looked at the people in front of you. "Night Court," you greeted with a small smile. 

Feyre was the first to say "Congratulations Y/N. And Lucien." 

Lucien spoke this time. "Thank you, Feyre." He rested his hand on your belly.

"How far long are you?" Rhysand's voice reached your ears.

Looking in his direction, you answered, "23 weeks. Lucien thinks it's a girl, but I think it's a boy," you added. That made Rhys smile.

"I always took you for a boy mom." Amren's voice surprised you and couldn't help but smile at her words. "Congratulations to you two, the Mother knows you deserve it." She finished with a genuine smile.

Lucien looked at Azriel and Elain before directing his eyes to the ancient one "Yes we do. Thank you, Amren." Lucien paused for a second before turning in Helion's direction and continuing. “Let's not keep holding on to the meeting. Please go on, dad." 

Helion proceeded with the meeting, but Azriel didn't listen to a word that was said. He couldn't tear his eyes from you and Lucien. 

There was no doubt of the love you two shared, not when it was written in both of your eyes. He didn't miss Lucien caresing your belly, and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, passing his thumb over your jaw and kissing your cheek after.

Or how you rested your right hand on top of his on your belly while your left passed through his long red hair before resting around his shoulders and your smile while doing it.

What bigger proof did he need of your love if not for the baby you were carrying? Lucien's baby, he kept telling himself. Not his. Lucien's.

Jealousy invaded his body, but there was nothing he could do. He made his decision ten years ago, and now he had to live with it.

Lost in his thoughts, he only realized the meeting was over when everyone started standing. Rhys and Helion were finishing talking, and when the doors opened one more time, Eris Vanserra walked in with a little ginger boy in his arms. He couldn't be more than five years old.

He looked exactly like Lucien, except for his eyes. Those were yours. 

Azriel's heart sank, and it sank even more a few seconds later, when the little boy spotted you and Lucien. You already had a baby and you were about to have your second.

With a big smile appearing on his sweet face, the little boy almost shouted, "Mommy! Daddy!" The boy jumped from his uncle's arms and ran to you.

You bend down and gather the happy boy in your arms before standing again and passing a hand through his ginger curls and saying, "Hi baby." You peppered his face with kisses making him laugh even more "I thought you were having fun with your uncle." You said looking at your brother in law.

Your son pouted “Uncle Eris doesn't know how to play. He onlys wants to do the boring stuff mommy.”

Everyone in the room chuckled, Eris gasped with fake hurt “Excuse me?”

“Elijah.” Lucien chuckled and said to your son after joining your side “Don't be rude to your uncle.” 

“But it’s the truth, daddy.” Elijah hid his face on your neck. 

Eris approached the little family with a smile directed to his nephew. "Sorry. I tried to keep him entertained, but he just kept asking about you two." 

Lucien noticed his older brother had paint and glitter on his white shirt and laughed at the thought of his son giving him a hard time before exclaiming, "It's alright, brother. We were about to leave anyway." 

The little boy settled in your arms and rested his head against yours, Lucien started rubbing his back when the little boy caught the sight of his grandfather and asked before anyone could stop him "Grandpa, how was the meeting with the idiots from the Night Court?" 

The room went quiet, and a few gasps escaped. At your son's words, you turned to look at Helion, now on mom's mood. "Helion! How many times do we have to tell you not to speak like that in front of him?" 

The room erupted in laughter at your statement.  The air became lighter, and Helion put his hands in surrender, promising you that it wouldn't happen again. 

You gave him an incredulous look, saying that you didn't believe him. Your son wrapped his tiny arms around your neck and rested his head on your shoulder with a yawn leaving his lips. 

You rubbed your son's back while speaking to him. "Cmon Elijah, let's leave before your grandpa comes up with a new bad word for you to learn." 

“Bad grandpa” your son agreed with you while earning new chuckles from the Night Court. 

Even though he was trying to hold his smile, Azriel failed, your son was too adorable.

You turned your gaze to the Inner Circle and gave them a smile. "It was good to see you all." 

"You too, Y/N. I missed you." Cassian replied.

Your smile stretched before telling him, "I missed you too, Cass." 

The nickname made his heart ache. Maybe there's still a chance for you to reconnect.

You turned to look behind you, meeting your husband's eyes "You're coming Lu?" 

A pink blush made its way to Lucien's cheeks "Of course, my love" The Heir looked at his father "We'll see you at dinner, dad. Night Court." He said giving the Inner Circle a small nod before joining you and wrapping his arm around your waist and giving a kiss to your now sleeping son.

Amren spoke again “See I told you were a boy mom.” A smile never leaving her face.

“You're right. If this baby happens to be a boy as well, I'm gonna be in trouble.” You replied with a arm holding your son and while the other made it's way to your belly.

“No your not, you're gonna be great.” Nesta spoke, a genuine smile on her lips “We already can see you are.” She gestured to the little boy sleeping in your arms. 

“Thank you, Nes.” You were grateful for her words.

On your way out, you met Azriel's eyes but you couldn't find the words so you simply gave him a nod with a small smile and Azriel returned the gesture.

When the door closed, Amren was the first to break the silence "Well, the Mother has a sense of humor." 

Everyone turned to look at her but she focused her gaze on Azriel and Elain "You rejected them because you believed you belonged with one another only for your relationship to fail six months later. And now," she released a laugh "your former mates found their way towards each other. Fell in love, got married, had a son and have another baby on the way. Ironic isn't it?" She said with the feline smile returning to her lips. 

It was Helion who spoke next, amusement all over his face "Indeed. I guess karma is a bitch." He sent a disapproving look one more time in the direction of the two people who almost cost him his family before exiting the room.

Amren's and Helion's words stung but Azriel knew it was nothing but the truth. He realized in that moment, that despite your life now and how things turned out, you would never forgive him.

He had lost you forever and now he had to live with regret for the rest of his life. After all, you were no longer his. 

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I wasn't sure if someone wanted to be tag on this fic so I didn't do it. But I'm thinking in making a general taglist so if you wish to be added let me know. The next fic I'm gonna post will be the prequel of Second Chance. 😊

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[hanjisungslag]

attack on titan headcanons #10

synopsis: how the characters react when you, their s/o, gets hurt. 🩹

characters involved: eren, mikasa, armin, jean, connie, sasha, reiner, bertolt, annie, levi, erwin and hange

notes: i am cooking up a storm, so watch out for that & also hit double digits!!

☆ eren jaeger

bro is INFURIATED

“WHO DID IT HUH?! ILL KILL THEM WITH MY BARE HANDS-”

oh.. you got injured in training? poor babyyy☹️

he’s super sweet and gentle with you.

if anyone tries to go near you though.. he’s super scared they’re gonna accidentally hurt you😭.

so he’s always at the edge of his seat ready to rescue you if needs be.

he gets all of your food, water, clothes, bandages etc.

then the nurses catch him doing it and have to YANK him off of you, once again.

☆ mikasa ackerman

so incredibly caring and concerned 🤍

she was the one who found you on the expedition with a broken leg

she refuses you to the hospital

lets the nurses do their jobs (thank god)

she really wants to be able to help nurse you back to health as well though..

she gives you the next best thing aka massages.

she literally comes in everyday and gives you 3 massages minimum a day

she’ll also sleep in the hospital with you most days.

☆ armin arlert

nothing less than an angel.

for however long you’re in the hospital, he’ll bring you flowers

in there for 3 weeks? new flowers every week.

in there for a week? new flowers every other day.

reads you books every night to help you sleep

sleeps there EVERY single night

always gives good morning and good night kisses

keeps you updated with what’s going on with everyone and training to make sure you don’t miss out.

makes sure to surprise you by bringing your friends there too!! it was a super sweet surprise.

when you’re sleeping, he goes around asking nurses if they need help😖.

☆ jean kirstein

UGH TERRIFIED FOR YOUUU

he has to hype himself up before going to see you in hospital because it just breaks his heart.

but being able to see you, hug you, know that you’re being taken care of makes him feel wayy better.

he’s just happy to see that you’re not too badly injured.

just a sprain from training!

he likes to draw things for you from the outside

or you guys draw together.

yk that cute game where one person draws a squiggle and the other person has to make into a drawing?

yeah, you guys do that. and it’s frickin adorbs😡

☆ connie springer

you went to do some late night training by yourself

and cornelius found you on the ground. in a lot of pain.

he rushed you to the first aid

fastest anyone has EVER seen that man run

you got cleaned up but had to take a break from training until you were better.

definitely tries to make you laugh all the time

even with your injury, he still wants to see you happy and smiling 🤍

☆ sasha braus

aw bless her cotton socks.

your injury wasn’t fatal enough to warrant a hospital stay

but the nurses said to stay home and rest up!

you had to take care of your scar

in her own time, sasha headed over to first aid to ask the nurses how to help you properly☹️.

you literally do not lift a finger!!

she does everything for you, like cleaning it up, wrapping it up etc.

and she’s really good at it and all…

☆ reiner braun

he’s like a scared little boy.

he’ll sit by your side and tell you it’s all okay

but when he’s alone.. HE GETS SO UPSET

sometimes he’ll take ‘bathroom breaks’ just to pull himself together because he hates seeing you in this state :(.

really affects his everyday life

but he hides it well.

BIGG celebrations as soon as you’re out of hospital

is literally like a servant, will get you everything and anything you want.

☆ bertolt hoover

GAH SO ANXIOUS!!

he bakes you cookies for being so brave☹️.

he stays with you all day long until the nurse finally tells him he has to go.

it breaks his heart leaving you but he gets up bright and bloody early to see you in the morning

like i’m talking the second the hospital opens up.

☆ annie leonhart

she’s not nervous,

your injury wasn’t fatal or anything.

she’ll still visit you, of course ;)

she also makes sure to tell you how brave you are

since you are scared of hospitals.

she’ll giggle at your wimpy-ness though.

like you were getting patched up and you were just like trying not to scream

and she was just standing there chuckling at you.

☆ levi ackerman

so so so scared, secretly.

he has lost one too many people

but to lose you? that would completely and utterly BREAK him.

it was a pretty gnarly injury as well…

which was rather terrifying for both you and him

but he’ll keep a cool persona around you.

if he’s unable to visit due to work, he’ll ring the hospital and asks how you are.

he’ll always make time to come see you though, no matter what!!

☆ erwin smith

he hears from his assistant that you’ve been put into hospital

he runs STRAIGHT over and makes sure to comfort you.

he’ll stay till dark when you’re asleep and pay the nurses a visit too

he asks them to take extra good care of you.

if he’s unable to see you, he makes sure to call you up every single day

or at least have SOMEONE come check on you.

☆ hange zoë

GAH!! FREAKS OUT!

hange has seen it all at this rate

but doesn’t seem to heavily affected.

they’ve never really had anyone close to them be extremely injured

they were sooo scared though :(.

it was really sad for everyone to see hange’s energy so low but

they couldn’t help it!!

all they could think about was their poor love in hospital :(.

when they’re around you though, they try to stay positive! and tells you all about their work to keep you both distracted.

[saint-vagrant]

greatest person in my life best friend and partner ANKA @kingfisher-cove was born this blessed day of fools so i'm shining a big spotlight on their fool ass. there's so much i could and want to say and none of it would be enough. us meeting and living together and hanging out was a series of powerful coincidences and then we just never stopped hanging out. the funniest kindest most clever, most generous, steadfast and curious, they deserve every good thing in the world— the world is so much better with them in it. i've loved every single day we spend together. we haven't been able to go on many adventures since the pandemic, but everything, no matter how small, is so exciting to experience, even nothing at all. imagine being comfortable with someone in any setting, no matter what. yes. it's so good.

Anka does half of all the work required for SUPERPOSE. they write and draw it with me, and they're responsible for most of the snail mail we send out. unbelievable skill.

they totally expanded and exploded what i thought art could be, and making projects together is the biggest motivator for doing it at all. i love making them laugh and yell when i/we come up with something new and they're ALWAYS making me laugh and yell.

i can't begin to predict what i'd be doing now if things shook out differently, but it was one of those crossroad moments where i thought my life was set up to be one thing and then i realised... it didn't have to be. i can at the very least say i wouldn't be close to the artist i am now, with all this passion and excitement for discovery, in great part because i get to live that— as a verb, as a language— with them. life's been the opposite of easy for a long time now, as we just try to secure something quiet and calm. and i wouldn't be anywhere else. i wish everything be gentle, and the world give in kind even some of what Anka's put into it. i mean what a crazy gift to ME, that i get to love them. everyone should.

[honeybeejam]

be my mistake: lorenzo berkshire x reader

pairing: guitarist!lorenzo berkshire x gn!hufflepuff!reader, drummer!ex!mattheo riddle x reader

reader’s physical body is never described! there are a few slightly feminine leaning nicknames

synopsis: cruciatus' lead singer ends their relationship with drummer mattheo riddle. In a moment of desperation, the hufflepuff ends up crashing into none other than their best friend (and guitarist) lorenzo berkshire.

warnings: language, 18+, MDNI, smut, praise kink, penetration, m orgasm, reader orgasm, dom! enzo, slight exhibitionism

word count: 2.5k

part of the cruciatus au: nihilist! ep (masterlist coming soon)

“save all the jokes you’re going to make

while i see how much drink i can take

then be my mistake.”

It took six excruciatingly painful days to leave the Hufflepuff dormitories. Susan Bones was the only living soul to see your swollen eyes and tangled hair. She stopped by to drop off meals, water, and occasionally a box of jellybeans or a Dreamless Sleep Potion for comfort. She told you that the Slytherin table was unusually silent at meals and that she hadn’t seen Riddle at all: but it still seemed too soon to leave the comfort of your bed. Too vulnerable.

Rehearsal had gone on without you (with Pansy on vocals for the time being). Cruciatus didn’t have any scheduled performances until the silly Muggle love holiday, so it didn’t really bother the rest of the band. Besides, Pansy told them that you write better lyrics under pressure. The boys were looking to release a new album at the same performance. Perhaps the breakup would be a blessing in disguise.

You, of course, hadn’t written a single thing. You longed to be void of emotion, to enter a state of numbness where those molasses eyes didn’t haunt every beat of your heart. Every breath ached with the phantom pain of bruised ribs - it was more likely pain from heaving. Susan took to turning in your schoolwork when you had the energy to complete it. Being two weeks ahead in every subject had its perks in the long run. Your tear-stained parchment assignments were on par with your grades, but that didn’t mean it was easy.

Venturing into the Hufflepuff Common Room proved a more daunting task than originally anticipated due to the nerves. You only needed to make it to the kitchens. Winky promised a favor last time you comforted her, and you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. A quick sprint from the barrels to the portrait of the ticklish pear leaves you vulnerable from all directions, but the hall seemed empty.

Worth the risk, you mused and broke out into a run.

A flash of green. A pained hiss. Two large hands around your waist, and then a familiar groan. Your head hit something firm but comfortable as you let out an abnormally high-pitched squeak. When everything stopped moving, you moved to a sitting position on your fall-breaker, wincing as you saw the familiar deep brown of his eyes and the pain painted across his features.

“Oh, Enzo! I am so so sorry, Merlin’s sake!” you gasped out, scrambling off of him and standing up as you reached out to assess the damage to his head. Your fingers threaded through his silky hair to spot a bump, only pausing when he let out a sigh.

“You’re alright, love. I should be the one apologizing. Now, I need to get off the ground before the others leave the Great Hall. I told them I was too busy to rehearse tonight.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, accepting your now extended hand. He paused for a moment.

“Would you like to come to the dorms? It would do you well to have some company, and you know we get our own rooms. You could make sure I’m not concussed as well, darling.” He brushed the debris off of his slacks and smiled at you gently.

You pushed aside any feelings of guilt. You no longer “belonged” to Mattheo Riddle. You had every right to spend time with a mutual friend. Especially a mutual band member.

“Sure,” you replied apprehensively, relaxing when you remembered that the others were gone. He grabbed your wrist with ease and led you down the staircase.

Enzo weaved through the crowded Slytherin common room, shooting a glare to anyone who stared a little too hard. It was comforting to see Enzo act protective, since he was such an easygoing person most of the time. He never failed to make you laugh. You wrapped your arms around your center further, ignoring the concern etched into the creases of his glowing skin.

Once you were seated on his four poster, he asked you the long awaited question.

“How are you?”

“That obvious, Enz?” You replied, sighing and spreading out to cover his mattress with every part of your body. “I’m bloody miserable. If Susan reminds me of Slughorn’s essay one more time I might transfigure myself into a giant squid and take over terrorizing the Black Lake. I don’t give a rat’s ass what my Amortentia smells like. Not to mention, I couldn’t write a lyric if I read it from a textbook. I’m supposed to be writing songs about love!” The mattress creaked under your dramatic flailing and created a cacophonous sound. It sounded familiar to how you felt.

“I think you need a nightcap, darling.” Enzo reached under his mattress, coming up with a nearly full bottle of Firewhiskey. “Nott said you haven’t talked to anyone, even Pansy. We know you haven’t been in the Room of Requirement because we practice there, and Susan Bones won’t speak to me. I know you two aren’t together, but what happened?” He passed you the bottle with a grin.

You briefly lifted your head to take a drink, leaning back again as the alcohol burned your throat. You grimaced.

Enzo’s golden brown eyes lit up with pride. “Good job, darling. The first one is always the most difficult. Now tell me.”

A warm feeling crept up from the base of your neck to the tips of your ears, spreading to your chest and causing you to stutter.

“I-uh. I was tired of a-always being - fuck. I was tired of always being.. second choice. He had his toys and his, uh, escapades with you guys. I never got that freedom.”

“Escapades? I don’t recall any escapades.” That head tilt was adorable. Enzo reminded you of a confused puppy.

You sat up fully and took another burning sip of the golden liquid, pausing as it slid down your throat. “Mattheo grew up that beautiful, Enz. Everybody wonders what it’d be like to love him. He must’ve been curious about the other people here. And they’re all practically throwing themselves at him. Something about drummers, I guess.” You automatically assumed he was a cheat. A liar. It was in his blood, was it not?

“I was always jealous of him, you know.”

“To feel so wanted, so seen? I can’t imagine it’s easy. It’s all lust. I’d take that over having his father any day, though,” you babbled to fill the silence, not expecting to be interrupted.

“I was jealous because he had you.”

Oh. You chose to remain quiet at that, waiting for him to speak up again.

“I think I was angry because Riddle never considered how lucky he was,” Enzo said quietly. “That git lost something special.”

You scoffed at that, hiding behind the bottle in your hands as defense.

“Hilarious, Lorenzo. Save the jokes though, please?”

“I’m not joking.” He grabbed your chin, tilting it up as he took the bottle out of your hands. He placed it up to your mouth, tipping it to encourage you to drink. You did, stopping after a few gulps to hiccup violently. You giggled at yourself and looked to Enzo for a reaction. He seemed dazed, distracted almost. Then he spoke quickly, like he was trying to push something out of his mind.

“Let’s fuck things up.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Riddle fucked up the friend group, so let’s make it worse. Be my mistake, darling.”

You took another drink. It couldn’t hurt. It could destroy several friendships and relationships. It would definitely tear the band apart. It was irrational, irresponsible. Childish, even.

In the moment, though, Lorenzo Berkshire had never looked more enticing. You decided to test the waters.

“He’s always so busy, Enz. I get so lonely.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, tears threatening to spill. “His eyes were always so dark and so empty. I never knew what he was feeling. I just wanted him to want me.” Honesty, vulnerability. You trusted Enzo with everything, and he held that trust close to his heart.

“I want you,” he whispered, looking at you with those same glazed over eyes.

“I need you,” you whispered back. He watched you set down the bottle of Firewhiskey.

“Nox.” The room went dark, and you felt a hand on the small of your back. He used his other hand to grasp the back of your neck, guiding your lips toward his.

You hummed with content at the feeling of his plush lips, hearing him harmonize with a deeper groan as he broke away to breathe. He pressed on your chest lightly to encourage you to lie down.

⚠️ smut below

“So pretty, little songbird. Look at you, all cute and needy,” he placed his hand on your cheek, cupping lightly. “Open.”

As if you were locked in a trance, your lips parted. Your tongue slid out to catch his pointer and middle finger, swirling around the digits. You bobbed your head slightly, watching his smile brighten and the tips of his ears turn red. Even with his fingers in your mouth, he was still nervous.

“I have you baby,” he spoke gently as you tried to get his attention. His fingers left your mouth with a ‘pop’. He traced them down your chin and past your neck to your collar. His arms lifted to gently push your sleeves aside.

Lorenzo laughed at your squirming figure below him. If he were truly a bad person, your scantily clad image would already be in Mattheo’s text messages. Not only was Lorenzo a good person, he was also a possessive person. And Mattheo had forfeited the gentle Hufflepuff as soon as she had ended things. “I would show you off, you know. You deserve that.” He helped you remove the rest of your outfit, leaving you in underwear. You tugged at his shirt needily, breathing heavy. He chuckled. “Can I make you feel good?”

You could only respond with frantic nods, beginning to get frustrated at his amused expression. He traced his long fingers along your waist, stopping to push and pull fabric until your lower half was exposed. The dark green bedsheets below you had deepened several shades, and your face followed suit.

“Out of breath, pretty baby? … This early? It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you. You’re so wet for me.”

He quickly removed his shirt and dived back in to you, pulling your underwear past your ankles. He traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, his breath hitting your lower stomach.

You were more of a lyricist than a musician. Although you could play a few instruments, Draco and Theo had melodies pouring from their wands with ease.

You think, however, that a song about pure bliss would feel like this moment.

Nothing but the sound of you panting as your best friend plays you like his guitar. Every twitch of his fingers made your breath halt for a moment.

“All mine. I’m gonna treat you so well, show you off to everyone.” He whispered into your skin. “Make you moan my name so loud that you can’t go on stage.”

You whimpered desperately, bucking your hips up toward him. He finally gave in. You felt the pressure of his tongue as you closed your eyes, stars exploding in your vision. You lost control of your voice, blacking out slightly.

When you came down from your high, you noticed a heavy feeling on your tongue. Although slightly dazed from cumming so hard, you could still tell what it was. You felt Lorenzo push his cock further into your mouth. You looked up at him sweetly, compliantly. If he made you feel so good, it was only fair that you returned the favor. He fucked your throat gently, careful not to hurt you. He might have deemed you his toy, but you couldn’t afford to lose your voice.

“Look at you, all cock drunk. Gonna write a song about how much better I fuck your throat than your little drummer boyfriend?” He stilled at the vibrations from your moans, feeling you twitch beneath him. He pulled his cock out of your throat and positioned himself above you.

“Look at me, Y/N.” You met his syrupy sweet eyes. “Can you tell me what you need from me, darling?”

“Need you to fuck me, Enz,” you replied immediately. “Wanna feel you inside me, want you to fuck some good ideas into my head.”

That was all he needed to push into you with force, letting out a loud and drawn out moan as he bottomed out. He took hold of your hands as he began to thrust.

“So good,” He gripped both sides of your waist firmly as he fucked into you, lifting your hips into the air. You felt yourself slipping again. He never let up pace as you approached climax. He was practically manhandling you as he pulled your hips back repeatedly, watching your eyes roll back. You could never get there by yourself, but by some divine power, Lorenzo Berkshire had you screaming and jerking violently. You felt him shudder as he slowed to a stop, his own release spilling into you. He let you ride out your orgasm before he dropped you onto the bed, curling up to you and wrapping him arms around your limp figure. He faced you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You did so good for me.” He watched you smile lazily, barely noticing footsteps until the doorknob was twisting and he was whispering the Disillusionment Charm on your body shoved under the duvet.

Mattheo and Theo walked into the dorm, both clearly intoxicated. They walked over to the opposite side of the room in search of something. If they noticed Enzo at all, they didn’t acknowledge it.

You pressed a kiss to Enzo’s inner thigh, listening to his breathing change as you brought your mouth closer to him.

Mistakes were more fun than you thought.

[bowieandqueen11]

Dating Dream of the Endless Would Include...

Thank you all so much for being so sweet about my last two Dream headcanons, here are the dating ones to complete the set (and also the longest ones)!

Also shock horror I know, but I still have about three episodes of the show left so sorry if this is suddenly very out of character lmao I just love him to the moon and back my petty king

This got much longer than I thought it would oops, so any and all comments are much appreciated!! Thank you ily guys I hope you liked my silly similes lmaoooo

(I do not own the Sandman or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @thekingofkawaii.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Since people seem to love these opening sentences so much and I adore writing them lmao... Dream you pathetic ass cape draping eyeliner scrungle of a wet hissing cat, living for the drama dumbass with the smile of a brick I literally love you in every single way you are impeccable. He’s so stupid bless I want to bonk him with a baguette and give him a big ‘ol hug until he awkwardly shoves me off and mopes away. Well guess what sir, this time you are NOT running away from your feelings you’re happy and in love now biss so guess what you’re getting ALL the fluff ‘cause it’s what y’all deserve.

Dream introduced you to everyone as fellow ruler of his realm pretty much straight after your first kiss (my man intense). As soon as he took you by the hand and led you back to the throne room, his hands settled on your shoulders and turned you to face the erratic shards of the stained glass windows. ‘Everything I have’, you feel him whisper against your ear as soft as mist, ‘everything I am... it is also yours.’ He reaches round to tilt your cheek up, until the back of your head is flush against his chest and he’s able to run his finger down the curve of your neck. ‘If you so wish. I will be yours forever... in both dreams and the waking world. Wherever you need me, or want me. I will be there.’ 

To be completely honest, too many times he’s been afraid that you’ve still left him, so overwhelmed by everything. All that panic twisting in his gut, only to find you talking over Rose Walker’s dream journal in the library. You’re standing near ear to ear with Lucienne, the two of you bumping fingers and pouring over the contents to understand where exactly her poor brother is, the whole time Mervyn yapping at your side. I mean, they all adore you from the get go: they’ve seen over the last few decades how the mere thought of you has been the only thing stopping Morpheus from spiralling too far into despair. As soon as your feet stepped down onto the whirling sand, you were marked as a pretty integral part of the dreaming, human or not.

Plus, all the ravens that you’ve found encroaching on your roof and landing to hop on your shoulders in the waking world finally make sense. Lucienne was under strict orders to keep an eye on you, to make sure you were safe at all times.

Or you’ll wander off, and Dream will come sauntering away from the palace and down the winding path towards the House of Secrets, knowing from instinct that it’s where he'll find you. That same tide tugs him forwards forward into the suffocating mists, until he emerges in front of a pile of crumbling dirt and sees your smile alight the dusk, as piercing and ruinous as the sun. Goldie is perched upon your shoulder, squawking and sneezing into your eyes from time to time. You just laugh, and the sound is enough to double Dream over in grievous endearment. Abel is sitting by your right, still half-leaning in the pit as he giggles and continues his wild story about the King of Dreams from long ago. You turn around only when you hear a rare chuckle, finally spotting Dream standing with his eyes crossed behind you, and an amused eyebrow raised at you and your friends’ antics. 

You expect him to ask you to leave, or to at least lead you inside, but to your surprise he sweeps his coat behind him and takes a seat on the squishing dirt beside you. He doesn’t settle until he feels his knee rest against your own, doesn’t feel comfortable while Abel continues spouting his story, until you take his hand and cradle it in your lap. It’s cold, almost contorted like the first dawn’s mist against your skin, but even now it shakes in your hold. It almost makes you laugh: the mystical, awe-striking, beyond marvel King of Dreams so terrified of loving you that he’s shaking like a barn mouse hiding from the overwhelming world around it. The same man who had spent over one hundred years locked like a Greek statue behind solid glass, only to be finally brought to his knees by the one thing he could never escape: his soul’s serendipity. 

Eventually the clouds begin to roll over the stars, as if the sky’s painter had thrown buckets of brown paint over her canvas and left the streaks of ribbed sand to sparkle across the gloominess. Yet the King of Dreams just sits there, still as stone, not even daring to look down at you despite how much fondness tugs him too. Sometime during the night your head has fallen against his shoulder and you’ve fallen asleep against the warmth of his coat. He doesn’t want to move you, until eventually he leans down to kiss your head. He joins you in some of the sweetest dreams he can muster: the two of you lounging out amidst a field of flowers on the eve of spring. The firecracker reds and warm sugar plum violets frame his smiling face and the glimmer in his eyes as he lies admits the reeds, gazing up at you. He begrudgingly allows you to weave daisy petals into his hair, after a while of him running after you through the meadows and picking you up, holding you hostage in his arms until you promise not to tell his family about it.

Speaking of, when you eventually get to meet his sister Death, she loves you just as much (or even more) than her brother does straight away!!! She just immediately wraps you up in a big, excited, squealing, full body hug before tugging you off by the arm and leading you off towards the coastal market. She leaves a very confused and huffy Dream to fend for himself for a while, or perhaps gives him the time to visit his old friend Hob at the New Inn. She leads you to her favourite quaint ice cream parlour, where the two of you spend the afternoon sharing a sundae as siblings do, out on the arching thatch seats. Eventually she squints through the sunlight to look at you a little more seriously. ‘That’s the happiest I’ve ever seen my brother, like... ever I think! Thank you. No, seriously, thank you. He’s had enough time to sulk about, it’s good to see him look himself again.’

You and Dream reconvene in the square and spend the rest of the day feeding his treasured pigeons. He keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eyes with that twitching-lip smirk, with all the stars and constellations in the universe burning in them. He tries to be smooth, stealing a pinch of your baguette and throwing the crumbs at you, just to be able to wipe them off. His slender fingers brush over the pulse point on your neck like butterfly wings flitting over the dawning petals of a blooming rose. Then up to your chin, then gliding upwards till they’re hunched, tracing over the outline of your lips. Your heart fizzes as he leans down to kiss you for the first time ever in public, his frame shadowing you, yet bottom lip so welcoming and caressing as he brushes between your own. 

Too often has Lucienne walked into the throne room, only to have to clear her throat to try and get Morpheus’ attention. He has his coat wrapped around the two of you like an inky bat like cocoon, sitting together on his throne as you read through the latest census. He stops every so often out of wild amusement when you gasp and point out a new entity. In pride at how well accustomed you’re becoming to his work that he carefully kisses your forehead and leans his own against it. 

When it’s raining he’s the type to look confused at first as to why you’re shivering under your jacket and trying to run under London arches. Eventually it finally clocks in his head and he takes his coat off, holding it over your head during the whole journey to your destination, getting soaked himself by the smacking downpour nonchalantly. It’s a kind of second nature, to protect you, that he doesn’t even bat an eyeliner lined eyelid anymore. It’s innate and as natural, easy to him as dreaming.

Sometimes you’ll find Dream skulking around the palace steps like a disgruntled skunk recently kicked out of a bin, still upset after the events with John Dee. Lucienne and Matthew have attempted every possible solution to talk him out of it, but you’re the only one who can bring him back round. The only presence in any realm that feels more like himself than he does. The only one that understand his every idiosyncrasy, every twitch of his face, until you’re sitting by his side as one entity.  He’s too stubborn to ever admit it, but he does indeed like it when you trace your pointer finger down the tip of his nose before tapping twice against his lips as if mockingly chiding him. He always peers down above his bottom lashes with wide, almost crossed eyes as he tries to follow you, but it does ground him again. Eventually, without anything even being said, he groans and jumps up to a stand with a ‘thank you, you’re right... of course... my dream’, and then saunters off again as if he owns the catwalk.

He tries to take you out to visit other dreams, even though you’re still terrified of the waters. He slides his fingers between your own, pulling them up to rest above his heart on the docks. He carefully and calmly talks you through everything that’s about to happen, and how he will be in control of every whiff and whim that could occur. He’s still a dramatic ass though, so before he’s even finished counting down to one he’s pulled you off the decking and into the swirling depths. In the darkness, you grasp onto him like a lifeline as he pulls you further down into the macrocosm than you ever thought possible. 

It is worth it though... perhaps after a lot of snuggling and apologies from Dream. You end up in the dreams of young Irish man: one who hopes to become a zoologist after his time at university. You get to enjoy a peaceful night in a canopy beneath the stars, lying side by side with Dream as he points out the constellations that swirl gold like koi fish in the grand pond of the sky. He’s still not quite used to physical touch, which is why he seems to start and flinch back when you wind your arm to rest and rub above his abdomen. He’s spent so long... so so long never really getting much attention, or care from his family, so you’ll have to coax him into realising he can trust and relax in your presence. He does eventually let his guard down after a few hours of cuddles, until he eventually slides to sit up and falls dramatically over your knees. It’s the first time he’s ever allowed you to play with his hair, lying there in the darkness as normal lovers set alight do.

I mean, you’re family, right??? Dream begs you to come along to the family get together dinner (mainly so he can have a sparring partner of equal wit and finally get one up on his sibling Desire). He swaps the placards said sibling placed around the fire-lit table so you’re sitting next to him instead of Delirium. Between meals Dream takes your hand under the table and places it on his knee, stroking his thumb over your palm to try and calm himself down. Desire catches wind (thanks to an eagle eyed Despair), and makes some bitter laced remark with a growl of their lips, flick of their hand and sip of their red wine. This ends up with you lunging for him over the candelabra, with Death barely holding you back and Dream leaning back in his seat with a grin so wide on his face he looks like a smug, satisfied cat lmao

[thecherrytarot]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲.

pick a line to read a channeled message from your person.

listen to : like crazy by park jimin

pile 1 "I think we could last forever"

pile 2 "I'm afraid that everything will disappear"

pile 3 "Just trust me"

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏 "𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫"

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐 "𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫"

if you felt drawn to pile 3 make sure to check it out as well!

"hey there! don't you know it? I'm the one for you, your lover, your other half, your reflection, your king. I will come to save you, I know this sounds so filmy and cheesy but I will come and save you from that locked tower that feels like is always on fire, don't worry I won't let those flames hurt you ever again. I'll help you with every single thing you worry about and fix them for you, oh wait you don't want me do to that? Alright, I understand that you need to grow on your own but I will help you cause that's what friends and lovers do. They help the people that they care about. Don't feel afraid that you might fall back down through this journey, I'm right behind you, I'll catch you. Let's go ride bicycles and don't worry I'll teach you how to do that properly. My friends call me a simp and say that I am down bad for you they are correct about that no lie but they are wrong about how 'cold' you are towards them. They do not know you as I do, they do not know that you just have your guard up but because you have doubts about trusting your gut instinct, they don't know about your anxiety or how shaky your hands get when talking to strangers but fear not I am here, I'll rub your hands when they shiver, ill do the talking and encourage you to do that, I know you don't feel confident about the language that I speak but dont worry ill help you with that too and im good at correcting peoples grammar lol. Something about our connection makes me feel that this was meant to be, the decisions we made were made for us to meet that day or in your words 'god brought us together as a blessing and an apology for the things that we went through.'"

𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑 "𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞"

i feel like many of you thought of your crush/ partner instead of your future spouse, then take however it resonates.

"I have so much to say, you are my favourite topic and also cause I have ADHD and I get hyperactive very easily. Anyway, I feel like you doubt our connection, you doubt if I am the one for you or are you the one for me and heck I even think you were doubting if this pile was for you aha got you, sorry I love teasing you and bothering you, you are just so cute and I love it when your eyes get big when you are surprised because of me, are they big now hehe let me take a picture fake clicking noises see? this is what happens when you date an introvert lol anyway back to the message I have so many doubts, they are filling my head and I can't sleep because of them no no don't worry they aren't always negative they are random but not the point sorry I keep getting distracted but what is the rating of this cause sometimes my thoughts get wild iykwim. I love the way you care for me, ask me in your sweet voice if I slept well or not and when I say no, I love how you let me rest my head on your chest and play with my hair cause you know that relaxes me. I had the best naps of my life in your arms. Please don't leave me, I am afraid that you will someday and I won't get to marry you as I have planned and no i don't wanna marry my games i want to marry you (not my games lol) sometimes i wonder if you feel like this too, these doubts of overthinking and our possible marriage. i feel like you do, so let's hopefully meet and talk about this topic and get it out of our system cause a little birdie told me that it helps."

" 'Just trust me' what a beautiful line, that's me saying that to you just trust me also look for pile 1, there are also messages for us there. I am a mess. I am losing my courage please come find me. I don't know what to do, I thought I would be fine but I am not. I have everything I wanted but this emptiness…it doesn't go away. I have been lonely for so long that I thought I would get used to it but I am not. I don't mind being alone but I mind not having someone to share my happiness, my sadness, my random fun facts, or just anything. I want to have my own family with you and maybe even kids but at the same time, I am afraid. I am so scared that our kids will end up like me and I don't want that to happen, I want our kids to love me and I want them to talk to me about their lives too, I had to cut off contact with my folks and I will never be able to live myself if our kids do the same with me. I am sorry I know I'm only talking about myself when this is supposed to be about you but what can I do? now that I have a chance to talk I'll say what I want to say in real life but am too scared to do so. When I am with you, you are all I can think of. I forget about my worries, my problems and these thoughts and just focus on you explaining something new that you learned today, it is so cute that you get so eager to tell me about it and I love it so much when you say things like 'oh i thought of you when i read/saw this and couldn't wait to tell you about it' it makes me feel so many things and i have never felt so happy. But when you leave those dark thoughts come back to me and haunt me. I feel scared to show you this part of me, you have an image of me being stable in your head and I don't want to taint it by showing you signs of weakness, I was never allowed to do that was i was young. I am sure you are aware that i struggle with my own shit, and i love that you don't force me to open up and patiently wait for me to do so cause you don't like it either when people force you to talk about your problems. Don't worry that day will come sooner than you think and our love will only grow stronger just trust me"

[helloaugustmoon]

Michael Jackson x gn!reader

·˚ ◌༘͙[how he loves you…] ! ˊ

Michael is the most loving person; this is never clearer than when he’s with you, both privately and in the presence of others. Your friends and family are forever in awe of just how sincerely, how obviously Michael adores you in every possible way. Of course, he is a gentleman through and through: your hand has not touched a door since meeting him because he has held every one open for you, every shoe you own with a buckle or lace has been secured by him after he’s lowered himself to one knee, and he has not missed a single opportunity of rising to his feet whenever you have entered a room.

He is forever creating the most beautiful petnames just for you, that are so personable to you, pertaining to the color of your eyes, your hair, your skin; Michael often refers to you as the smile on his face, because that is precisely what you are.

“Oh, but where is the smile on my face? I am lost! My baby’s left me-“

“Standing alone, when I’m only a few feet away from you? Michael, please.”

The most dramatic lover you have ever had. It isn’t a contest. If he doesn’t receive enough of your attention and affection to borderline suffocate him, you can expect a screenplay.

Naturally, you are serenaded on a regular basis, and are his favored dance partner (regardless of whether you have any dancing talent yourself). He constantly surprises you with your favorite things - all of which he remembers effortlessly, even if you have only mentioned them once - and the most extravagant gifts you can think of. He finds every possible way to love you in your own love language; you are forever showered in the sweetest compliments and kisses, and Michael makes it his mission to have you smiling for as much of the day, everyday, as humanly possible. In fact, every morning that he wakes in your arms is a morning in which he wakes you with his kisses.

He gushes about you to absolutely everyone - people he has just met, those that know you well, it doesn’t matter. If they have a pair of working ears, Michael will talk them right off by singing your praises. Figuratively and literally. And if whoever it is doesn’t have a pair of working ears, Michael will write pages upon pages of the very same praises to you, because according to him, “nobody should be without the knowledge that I have the sweetest love to ever live”.

It melts his heart every time you ask him if he can sing to you, because of course he can, but the fact you ask ‘if’ - as though Michael would ever entertain the notion of doing less than lassoing the moon right out of the sky for you - because you don’t ever want him to feel pressured into putting on any kind of show for you, warms him from his head to his toes. The amount that you care about such intricate details of loving him right only serves as continual reminders to Michael that he’s the luckiest man in the whole world to have you, and he never forgets to thank his lucky star each night for the blessing that is you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i told my friend to, essentially, count their blessings?

sorry for possibly bad english

CONTEXT: me (19 they/them) and my online friend (18 they/them). years ago we bonded over not having friends IRL. they were being bullied and i have some mental issues that make social things difficult (social anxiety, low social battery, tendency to isolate)

then things changed. i got therapy and started talking to some classmates. my friend now has an entire IRL friend group they're very close to.

but this past year was a nightmare for me. i'm not in school anymore and my mental health hit a new low. i can't stay in touch with people, everything is exhausting, i'm back to zero. i'm still in therapy but i'm seriously struggling.

silver lining: talking to people online is a little easier. i don't have online friends aside from this person. but i'm very friendly in videogames (i jump around, spam a little, TBH i'm annoying but it works) and i'm active online and open about my interests, some are crazy popular. basically i have small exchanges with people here and there, very brief and or casual. it looks like nothing but where i'm at RN it means the world to me.

PROBLEM: my friend. every. single. time. they see a mutual commenting on my post, or i tell them i had a nice interaction in a videogame, they say "wow, you're a magnet, everyone always talks to you, nobody ever talks to me, haha, i don't know how you do it since no one even looks at me". seriously, EVERY TIME.

they've been doing this for years. it didn't bother me as much before but things are different now. they have a wonderful IRL friend group, a girlfriend, many online friends they're close to. they literally DO befriend people the same way i do, i don't understand what they're envious of. meanwhile this is all i have and they're fully aware of my situation.

BTW it's okay to feel jealousy and envy, i'm a little envious too, but it's how you act on it that can be rude or insensitive. i keep it to myself because i know my issues aren't their fault. also over the years i reassured them when they acted this way and a few times i introduced them to some of these people i meet. apparently it didn't change anything.

i want to tell them to start thinking about how many friends they have and to stop complaining. kindly. i probably sound irritated because i am. but if i say this i don't want to be mean to them, i'll try to be respectful. i just don't know if i'm in the right to even be annoyed

[desultory-novice]

Kirby Characters + Poker

:guilty look: I, uh, completely and unrepentantly stole this ask from @stardustshimmer because I love card games so so very much! (Even though I myself am not all that great at them.)

Anyway, I just really wanted an excuse to write a about the Dream Team + Dream Friends various competitive poker abilities so I did. >.>

-

Kirby: Knows the basic rules but not much else. Has no poker face and plays absolutely no mind games but is blessed with amazing luck and will pull off hands that don't seem physically possible and as a result, they do decently in spite of everything. Whenever they're playing with Dedede, everyone tends to gather around to watch because without fail Dedede will lose. It's completely uncanny.

Bandanna Waddle Dee: Doesn't like to play mind games or bluff but always maintains a level head so he usually never ends up the biggest loser at the table. When he wins, it's almost always an honest win.

Meta Knight: Ostensibly has a great poker face, given his mask, but it's the rest of his body and posture that gives him away in the end. And while he always maintains his cool in the first half of the game, making wise decisions and analytical judgements about the deck, as the night goes on, he slowly begins giving away every.single.hand.

King Dedede: Competitive games are his thing! His poker face is to be SMUG CONSTANTLY. Great player who runs into problems only because it is monstrously easy to bait him. Also addicted to getting high card combos and will never settle for the "smaller" win. ("High card pair? HA! I bet I can get a straight flush!" :gets dealt nothing:)

Rick, Coo, Kine: These three are exactly your uncles / your dad's friends that you'll always find playing poker after dinner. They're very good on a casual level but generally speaking too relaxed to provide a lasting challenge for the best players. None of them has managed to take a significant lead over the other in all their years of play.

Gooey: No idea how to play. Likes the colorful cards though.

Marx: Insanely good at mind games. To the level that it's not fair. Even when you think you know all his tricks, he STILL manages to get you eating out of his hand. And that stupid, ever-constant GRIN of his! RGH! Bad loser though and if his luck runs out or if you see through his games, he'll be the first to leave the table with a "Tch."

Adeleine: Zero poker face. Smiles or blushes every time she gets a good hand. Gets nervous and bites her lip if she's got a bad hand. Like Bandee but less interested in challenging her friends. Tends to fold. Often the first out of the table unless you're playing with one of the more protective members of her found family, in which case, they will hand her a few wins just so she's not disappointed.

Ribbon: When she's playing alongside Adeleine, provides her with helpful advice and keeps her mood up. Calm, sweet, big sis vibes. If Adeleine ever has to leave the table for a game, she gets surprisingly vicious and Adeleine will come back to find her winnings doubled?!

Dark Meta Knight: Significantly worse poker face than Meta Knight. On the positive side, the fact that he only seems to have one single mood, that being aggression, means that he's got shockingly good immunity to several of the other players' mind games. Pulls out all the stops whenever Meta Knight is playing at the same table.

Daroach: No one can beat him. NO ONE CAN BEAT HIM?! They swear he's cheating. Is he? He must be! But no one's been able to prove it so far. How can he hide cards if he doesn't have any sleeves?! Also, Daroach is forbidden from dealing. His little rat hands aren't allowed to touch the deck anymore. Cards are handed TO him. Will do this infuriating thing where after the cards are dealt, he leaves his face down on the table and just taps the ones he's exchanging.

Magolor: Has a really good poker face - as long as he's somewhere comfortably in the middle. If he's at either extreme, his tells become more obvious. It's the laughter. The hand-wringing. He's a smart player, but he almost always has to rely on mind games because for some reason no one can figure out, he has the worst luck.

Taranza: Always everyone's preference for dealer when playing together. Everyone also loves playing with Taranza because you can always score a win off him as, at least once a night without fail, he will completely bungle a fairly easy play. He's just as confused as everyone else. At least he laughs it off good-naturedly!

Susie: It always takes a little extra effort to convince Susie to play with everyone as she claims to have no interest in the game, but as soon as she sits down at the table, it is on. Acts like the queen of the universe whenever she has even a slight lead on her fellow players. Not as easy to bait as Dedede, but her confidence is her undoing.

Sisters: The inverse of the animal friends, as one of them has always bankrupted the other every weekend and it's usually Zan or Flam with the empty wallet. Fran plays her cards close to her chest and gets very tight-fisted with her bets when she's ahead. Flamberge doesn't have much of a poker face but her bluffs are still hard to decipher because she gets excited about even small hands. On the off chance that Zan is actually winning, all you need to do is casually mention Hyness's name, then peek at her hand while she has her head turned.

[respectthepetty]

I think Mark is like… a vampire or something, does he ever sleep?

He is on every GMMTV SHOW!! I just keep thinking of that clip of him in school president when am he says “ I’m playing the vicar, the father and every other character” (or something like that! I forget!

so……. Would you like to Rate the shows Mark has been in? 👀

Anon, I cannot rate the shows Mark has been in because if Mark is in them, they have to be good, but I will rank them based on how much I loved Mark in them because I think he is beautiful AND talented (which is why this badminton world champion is on my list of GMMTV's best actors).

Ranked - Mark Pakin's Series

Honorable Mention - Cooking Crush - Dynamite

I think Aungpao is doing a great job as Dynamite in Cooking Crush, but I can't help but think what it would have been to see Mark in that role as originally intended. It sucks that Mark is overbooked, which I'm assuming was the reason he couldn't commit to Cooking Crush since he was filming Last Twilight, but it's a good problem to have for such a talented man, so I hope he continues to stay booked and blessing me with his face on my screen each and every year.

#8 - High School Frenemy - Chatjen

This show was barely announced, so it's possible it might not even make it to air, but that's not why it's last. The show is a remake of a Korean series, and word on the street is the original was not gay, like at all, which is wild since the entire pilot trailer for the Thai version seemed very homosexual to me! There was a rooftop and everything! But it also looks like our boy is about to be bullied, and I'm not here for it. Therefore, LAST!

#7 - Bad Buddy - Chang

Mark played in Bad Buddy? Notice that is a question and not a statement because, although I don't remember a lot of Bad Buddy because we have beef, I truly only remember Drake and Jimmy as friends since I wanted them to be a couple (Korn x Wai ghost ship!). I wasn't aware of either Marc or Mark playing Pat and Pran's friends. Mark was there when Pat got shot. Mark was there when they told Pran that Pat got shot. He is in the photo outside of the hospital room because Pat got shot, and I still am like, "Was Mark really in the show?"! I even had to look up what his character's name was on MDL. I still don't believe he was in it. I don't care what Our Skyy said. This is the Mandela Effect.

#6 - I Promised You the Moon - Mek

I do remember Mark in I Promised You the Moon, so this ranking is purely because I'm petty and got beef with this series, specifically Teh, which means Mark has to suffer too. Mark played Mek who was Teh's roommate. After Teh FUCKED UP, Mek was nice to him when he really didn't have to be because Teh was being an ASSHOLE to him, but that's why I loved Mek. He could've thrown hands with Teh in that room, but instead gave Teh some tough love by telling him his crying was annoying, and he needed to get it together. Then, he invited Teh to go eat with him. He still could've smacked Teh though and cemented this as Mark's number one role.

#5 - Last Twilight - Night

The only reason this is ranked this low is because I haven't had enough of him in the show. He is not the lead. He is a supporting character (AS USUAL, GMMTV!), so I can't expect him on my screen every single second, but I need far more of him in the last quarter of this series. Also, the show is setting up Night to be the cause of Day's accident, but it's too late for me to feel bad about any of this. I needed to know that information by episode three. Now we are over halfway done, Mork and Day are fulfilling the gay agenda, Phojai is about to get a rich husband, and Night is going to inherit a beautiful family, so let bygones be bygones, and GIVE MARK A LEADING ROLE ALREADY!

#4 - Only Friends - Nick

If I was really petty, this wouldn't have even been on the list because Nick should have been so much worse. He recorded Boston and Top having sex. He told Mew about Boston's non-consensual sex tape. He lied to Boston. And yet . . . I wanted him to do more! Nick could have blackmailed Top. Nick could've ruined Mew's life. Nick could've hurt Ray via Sand! Nick could've been a baddie, but instead he was a saddie. Mark finally got to kiss a homie, but at what cost? I feel Mark could've done so much more in this role. Honestly, all the actors could have, but they were held back, so here Nick sits in the middle. Not good. Not bad. Just average.

#3 - My School President - Thiu

This 'fit alone deserves our recognition because Mark was playing a high schooler yet looking too fine in this top. He needed to put that hotness away around those children. But in regards to his character, as you mentioned in the ask, he was EVERYTHING! He was trying to keep the student council solid since Tinn was too busy crushing on Gun. He was playing matchmaker. He was dating Por all season, and this is not up for debate. He was a director for the band's music video and was basically their manager. Homie was doing it all and still had time to look fine. What a guy!

#2 - Moonlight Chicken - Saleng

I wrote an ode to Saleng being my Thai primo. He lived for the chisme and was the biggest shit starter in the family, yet Li Meng called him first after the accident, and he was right there when their community mother passed away. Aof, who is behind Moonlight Chicken and Last Twilight, really let all the characters shine in this series, but Mark did amazing with the little amount of screen time he had, which gives me hope that his Last Twilight character will rise in the rankings as that series comes to a close. This role was so good that I was torn between this and the one I ultimately selected as number one, but honestly, both roles could be number one depending on my mood. Do I want family-oriented fun times Saleng or do I want . . .

#1 - The Warp Effect - Jedi

The entire cast of The Warp Effect was elite status. Every character was great. Every storyline was good. Every discussion about sex was outstanding. But Mark as Jedi lives rent free in my head, specifically the scene where after working out, he fucks his girlfriend from behind over the kitchen counter! Then, he experiences pain because he has a STI! This leads to an entire education about open relationships, sexual health, communication, and trans healthcare since his girlfriend is trans. Jojo was the screenwriter and director for both Only Friends and The Warp Effect, so I like that both of Mark's sexier roles are due to Jojo's vision, and I hope Mark gets to work again with either Aof or Jojo because Mark is at his best when he is allowed to play an adult man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

And believe me, he could get it.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - Part 20 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: SEXXXXXXXX. Dom/sub stuff. Angst (as always). Fluff (finally)? Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 15.2k (CUZ Y'ALL DESERVE IT)

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

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

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

I sincerely hope y'all will stick around for my next projects as I try to get my writing career off the ground. Y'all are the OG's and the best fans a girl could ask for! 💗

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, he’s cared too much.

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

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

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

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

He’s too late.

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

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

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll always be alone.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

**

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

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

You can’t seem to escape him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him and Sandy both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

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

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

 At all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

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

He’s loved you all along.

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

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

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

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

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

When it’s time, I’ll know.

**

Four Weeks Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d called her last night.

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On your knees,” you command.

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

“Did I stutter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me,” you command.

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words,” you order.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s all yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on your back,” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Completely,” he nods back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

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

He can only manage a whimper in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still sensitive, you think.

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

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

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

“I love you,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

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

Here, with Elvis.

*

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*

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[ughgoaway]

first anon so I'm a bit nervous 😭, but I've been thinking about this all day

teacher girlie and annie making matty a valentine's day card (or some sort of craft)!! I'm thinking it would be something very cutesy pinterest diy because teacher girlie is a teacher (obviously), and she probably has pinterest boards FULL of cute little holiday crafts she wants to do with the kids!! - 🎸

omg welcome!!! first anon?? please, I am BLESSED! welcome to the chaos that is my blog, I am very happy to have you contributing to it :))))

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

now... I'm feeling emo today, and I love a bit of pining SO, I'm thinking pre-dating here. as you said, you're a teacher, so you always do holiday crafts for the kids, and valentines is no different! for today, the kids have a few options, they can make a card, make some paper chain hearts, and they all get a rock that they can make a heart out of their fingerprints on!

(this is the vibe with the rock craft lol)

you have separate Pinterest boards for every holiday, and each one is filled with little activities. (Once you and matty do get together, he does make fun of you slightly for this... but he also has the time of his life when you practice them at home and rope him into it.)

but back to pre-dating time, you are mopey all day. you try to be upbeat for the kids, but it's hard when you're in love with a person who you absolutely can not date, and who has no feelings for you. (or so you think...)

most of the kids are oblivious to your feelings but not Annie, so she ends up dragging you around with her all day and doing the crafts as your co-teacher handles the rest of them. now, she's trying to be thoughtful, which you appreciate endlessly, but it's agony sitting with her all day.

little Annie healy is a carbon copy of her father. the same curly hair, mischievous smile, and cheeky laugh. so instead of distracting you from thinking about matty, it only makes it 100 x worse. especially because she won't stop chattering away about him and telling you about how she's going to give alllll of this to her dad.

you help her with the paper chains first, she folds them up and you glue them together, and she is quite happily nattering away.

"my daddy is going to hang these in the studio i think. he would put them over his bed, but he has too many pictures hanging over it already." she nods assuredly, which only makes you daydream about what mattys bed looks like. (and what he looks like in it)

"oh that's nice! Will your daddy's friends like them too?" it pains you to even talk about Matty today, so you're hoping she'll start talking about the boys and their partners.

"Oh yeah! my auntie charli and uncle George are going to really like them. They're having a posh dinner, not McDonald's or anything!" she then chatters on about the Hann's plans (dropping baby hann of with their mum and going to the cinema) and uncle Ross and his girlfriends valentines day (going to the theatre and then more fancy dinner.)

then, she goes onto matty, "but my daddy doesn't have a girlfriend, so he's not doing anything. but uncle George says he should "get over himself and ask her out" so I think he likes a girllllll" she drops her voice as low as it can go when she imitates George, and giggles when she mentions her dad having a crush.

to say you feel fucking heartbroken is an understatement. she really got your hopes up there by mentioning he was single, only to shoot them back down by saying he has a crush. and you'd swear you could almost see her face if you thought hard enough; young blonde model, 5"10 and 90% legs, wears beautiful clothes and laughs slightly too hard at all of his jokes. and they're both fucking smitten with each other, totally in awe of their collective beauty.

you do the rock craft next, and annie insits that one of the fingerprints is yours, so you do it. but it does feel like a dagger to the chest. Yet, it somehow gets even worse when she demands you sign the card too, "but you helped me miss y/n! you have to put your name too!"

so you scribble down your name with a strained smile and tuck it away in the envelope, trying to not let your soul die in the process.

soon enough, it's pickup time, and annie is the last one. Matty is usually late, but you can't stop thinking of why he's late today. did he ask the girl he likes out? did she say yes? maybe they're planning a date right now. or kissing and being all stupid and happy.

ugh.

but matty rocks up, thankfully alone and with a small gift bag in his hands. probably for his beautiful girlfriend you think briefly, but you manage to plaster on a fake smile and greet him.

"hi matty!" you smile, watching Annie run over and give him a hug.

"oof, hi peanut! you have a good day?" he flicks his eyes up to you and mouths "sorry" he knew he was a few minutes late, but you waved him off and gave him an gentle grin.

"yeah! I made you sooo many things today, daddy. miss y/n helped too!" Annie is scooped up into matty's arms as she chatters away, describing everything she did in detail.

"Right, Munchkin, we've got to go to Uncle Adam's house and get your cousin! his grandma can't look after him anymore, so we're having a sleepover!" Annie squeals quite happily at this information, and you feel like you could too. you highly doubt mattys got a hot date whilst baby sitting two children under 10, so any image of a hot model falling off his arm is wiped from your mind.

"oh here you go by the way y/n, happy valentines" matty says with a smile, handing over the small bag with a nervous grin on his face.

you try to act slightly cooler than you feel when you accept it, and if it was any one else they would see right through you, but matty was so blinded by nerves he didn't notice anything.

"Wow! thank you so much, that's really kind of you. " Your heart is racing in your chest, as is Matty's. if anyone were around you and saw the lovesick look in both your eyes, they would know exactly what you were both thinking. but you were alone, so it stayed unspoken and unnoticed.

matty gives you a shy wave, and walks off with Annie in his arms. leaving you shell-shocked and holding that little bag full of mystery.

[topguncortez]

Court of Thieves || Chapter 2

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: The Lady Mitchell has traveled to Landing Center to meet her new husband. Prince Jake returns from war and comes face to face with his father's ailing condition

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mentions of death, language, era-related misogyny, talks of pregnancy, arranged marriage, mentions of infidelity.

You wanted to put up a fight. You wanted to scream and yell and throw things and curse at your father for signing you away before you even had a chance. From a young age, you knew that you wouldn’t have much say in the matter of who you married. Your father was part of the King’s guard, a trusted swordsman in his younger days. Whatever marriage you were to spawn was going to be for a political alliance, but your father promised you that it was going to be with your blessing. 

“I hear that the Prince isn’t so bad,” Bradley said, interrupting your reading. You peered over your book at him and he just shrugged, “It could be worse.” 

You closed your book. You had to travel through the night via ship to the mainland of Brinefell. Now you were in a carriage to take you to Landing Center, where the King resided. . . your new home, “How could it be worse? I am betrothed to a man who’s called the Crown Whore Prince.” 

The rumors of the Prince of Brinefell’s escapades were vast. He surrounded himself with pretty women, tearing through them like a man on a hunt. He didn’t care that he sullied their maidenheads, and had no intention of wedding them. The Prince was a smooth talker and had a pretty face to back it up. 

“Those are just stories, you know that,” Bradley said, reaching across the small carriage cabin to grab your hand. 

“And my sister’s stories? Those are just rumors?” 

Bradley sucked in a breath. Pete had sent his eldest daughter Allison to be a part of the Queen’s court. The Queen was friends with Pete’s late wife, Penelope, and did him a favor by inviting Allison. Allison was a beautiful young girl, with dark hair and striking green eyes. Her fair skin had many guards falling for her and pleading with Pete for his daughter’s hand in marriage. However, Pete turned them down, knowing that his wild daughter needed to calm down before she became a wife. What he didn’t know was that Allison had been caught entertaining the Prince in his chambers late at night. 

“Try and think positive, ducky,” Bradley said, “You won’t have to do a single thing. No chores, no studies, no filling glasses of wine. You’ll be sitting at high tables with fancy cheeses and wines.” 

That part of the deal did sound appealing to you. You had always envied the ladies of the Queen’s court when you’d go to balls with your father. They always had the fanciest dresses, their hair done in neat updos and stylings. You had heard a rumor that they have a feast every night of roasted pig and quail eggs. The King had hired a personal cook from France to make every meal for him and his family. 

But even with all the good points Bradley was giving, you were thinking of at least two negatives to each one. The biggest one was losing the person who knew you best. You and Allison were never as close as you and Bradley are. You knew that the second the carriage stopped on the Castle grounds, Bradley would be stopped from following you. He would be pushed away and possibly into the arms of another. 

You weren’t sure when the crush on Bradley had started, you think it was around the time that you became a woman. Bradley had always been a dashing man, and he grew into his looks as he got older. He now supported a beard, that helped define his prominent cheekbones. His hair color was lighter now that it was summer, a mix of different color brown curls. You loved his curls, they were always so soft. Your favorite thing was running your fingers through his hair as his head lay in your lap while you read him poetry under the sycamore tree. 

And now, those days of laying in the sun with Bradley were gone. 

Bradley liked this whole situation almost as much as you did, maybe even a little less. He knew you well enough that you wouldn’t put up a fight. You weren’t as strong-willed as Allison or your father, you were much like your mother. Quiet, and respectful, but could still stand up for yourself when needed. Bradley knew that Pete would try and marry you off if you weren’t already promised to another. He had asked your father for your hand on multiple occasions, telling him that there was no one better than himself to protect and care for you. Pete knew that Bradley was probably right, but he had already made the promise of your hand to the King. 

“Bradley,” You said softly, “W-what if I can’t produce an heir?” 

Bradley’s eyebrows furrowed at your question, “What do you mean? Don’t you cycle?” 

You blushed and nodded, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. What if I can not successfully give the King an heir? A son. . . What if he casts me aside like my poor cousins were by their King.” 

You were broken when you received the news about your dear cousins and the fate of their marriage. The accusations of witchcraft, incest, and adultery made your stomach turn. Then knowing of the brutal end they both received, their heads separating from their bodies, kept you awake at night. Bradley had held you as you woke up screaming in terror as the replay of your cousin’s execution played over and over behind your eyes. 

“I assure you, ducky, no one will let that happen to you,” Bradley said, squeezing your hand, “No queen has ever-” 

“No queen had ever been put to death before Anne either,” You swallowed. 

“Y/N,” Bradley said sternly, “The people of Brinefell are fair and just. They won’t allow the King to do something. . . so barbaric. Olivia the Great’s ghost would reign down on him if he did.” 

You gave him a small smile as the carriage came to a stop. You felt bile rise in your throat as you peered out and saw the entrance of the Castle. Bradley got out of the carriage first and walked around to your side, opening the door and giving you his arm to help you out. You squeezed his hand as you walked towards the entrance. The castle in real life looked more magnificent than the paintings had depicted. Beautiful white limestone stood at least three stories tall, with black framed windows nearly every three feet. The points of the steeples ascended high into the sky. 

A guard had led you and Bradley through the castle, and it was even more gorgeous on the inside. Marble floors where you swore you could see your reflection. High above you were candle chandeliers, the steel made into intricate patterns. Magnificent oil paintings of past rulers are on the wall. The most notable one was that of Queen Olivia, the Great. You felt as though her green eyes were following you as you walked by it. The large windows let in natural light, making the castle look even bigger on the inside. 

The guard pushed open a set of doors to a rather large meeting room. You sucked in a breath as you came face to face with nobles, lords, and priests. Your hand squeezed Bradley’s, and he set his free hand on top of your hand. The two of you shared a brief look, and he smiled at you. 

In the back of the room, stood two large thrones. You knew what the room was without having to be told. A gorgeous woman was sitting in one of the thrones, clad in the most beautiful purple dress that you had ever seen, and a beautiful crown sat upon her head. The seat next to her was empty, but you still felt the King’s presence in the room. 

“Your Majesty, Lady Y/N Mitchell of North Island,” The guard said, introducing you. 

You let go of Bradley’s arm and took a step forward, curtseying in front of the Queen, “Your Majesty.” 

You kept your head down as you heard the Queen rise from her seat. She stepped down from the throne and walked up to you. You lifted your head and stood to your height. The Queen was even prettier in person; perfectly pale skin, big brown eyes, and dark brown hair that went straight down her back. Even though she was one of the most important women in Brinefell, all your fear had washed away as she smiled at you. 

“Y/N,” The Queen said softly, “You are an image of your mother.” 

“You knew my mother?” 

The Queen gave a soft nod, “That I did. She was a dear friend of mine. The news of her passing upset me, I am so sorry.”  

You hardly remembered your mother. She had died in childbirth when you were three. You weren’t sure if the memories you had of her were your own, or if they were adapted from the stories your father and grandparents had told you. But what you did know about your mother, Penelope, was that she was a vision. 

Penelope had inherited a century-old gene with beautiful silver-like hair, light blue eyes, and skin that made her look sunkissed. Her beauty went further than just on the outside. She had a heart of gold, spending her time raising her children without the help of nannies (which was rather unheard of), studying philosophy, and writing poetry. Your father had gifted you a couple of her journals when you left for the Landing. 

“But let us not dwell on sad times,” The Queen smiled, “We have much to celebrate,” She looked around the room, “Lady Y/N is engaged to my son, The Prince!” The room filled with cheers and applause as you blushed and nodded your head. The Queen held her arm out to you, and you took it, “Come now, child, we have much to discuss.” 

You looked over your shoulder at Bradley, who gave you a small nod, “It is okay. I have an appointment with an old friend.” 

The Queen looked between the two of you, “Join us for dinner tonight. . .” 

“Oh, my regards, your majesty,” Bradley said and bowed to the Queen, “Sir Bradley Bradshaw, of the House Bradshaw.” 

“I thought you looked familiar,” The Queen said, “Your father was a brave swordsman. Please, do us the honor and join us for dinner.” 

“As the Queen insists. Farwell for now,” Bradley said and took his leave from the room. 

You walked arm and arm with the Queen through the halls of the castle. You half listened as she rambled on about certain paintings, or gifts that lined the walls. She talked about her two daughters; Saera and Margeret. Jane was off studying in Earthmoor and Margeret had just had her first child. The Queen also explained a bit more about your impending wedding to her son. 

Years ago, when the first battle of the Rebellion started, your father headed the King’s army out of North Island.  He took his soldiers to Bearhaven to try and control the rebels. It was supposed to be an easy-fought battle, but the battle had quickly turned bloody. Desperate and out of options, your father wrote to the King begging for his intervention. Brinefell had been in a time of peace & serenity, The King wanted to keep the fighting out of his city as much as he could. Your father knew that writing him would only cause the rebellion to grow if the crown got involved, so your father offered the King your hand in return for help. 

“Your wedding was supposed to happen long ago,” The Queen said, as you sat in her chambers, “But the rebellion has expanded and now Argerus is at odds with us.” 

“But isn’t the Prince fighting in Argerus? How will he have time to come back and wed?” You asked. 

The Queen’s smile fell as she looked down at the cup in her hand, “I’m afraid the rush of the marriage is because of my husband, The King. He is ill, and dying. Because Jake is so young, and because of the past history of young, unwed rulers, the council passed a law that the heir must be wed before they take the throne.” 

You knew of the stories of the disastrous reign of King Francis, the current King’s older brother. The council had found King Francis incompetent in his job and removed him. King George was quickly instated and took over the ruling of Brinefell. 

“I believe the King wanted to see you,” The Queen said, “He is usually awake at this time. Shall we go see?” You nodded and stood from your chair. The Queen, again, hooked her arm through yours and walked down the hall to the King’s chambers, “Do not let him alarm you, child, his sickness has taken over his body, but his mind is still intact.” 

“Yes, your majesty,” You said. 

The Queen pushed the door open to her husband’s chambers and the two of you walked inside. The King was laid in bed, a curtain of sheer white cloth surrounding the bed. You could remember that your mother’s bed looked like this only days before her death. It was traditional to have curtains covering the bed of a dying person. A physician had once told you, that dying was hard, brutal work. It wasn’t easy for family members to see their loved one dying, and they believed that the dying deserved some privacy. 

“Your majesty,” A man bowed to the Queen as he stood from the side of the bed. 

“Sir Cromwell,” The Queen greeted, “How is my dear husband?” 

“Awake,” Sir Cromwell said, “He just received morphine, and will retire soon.” 

“Is that-” A rumble of a voice sounded out from behind the curtain. Even ill, his voice was still strong and powerful. 

You took a step forward and curtseyed for the King, though you knew he probably could not see you, “Your Majesty, it is I, the Lady Mitchell.” 

The King let out a small gasp, followed by coughing. Sir Cromwell was right by his side, helping him sit up. He then drew back the white curtains, allowing you to see the King’s face for the first time. The King looked pale, his blonde hair was thin on top. But his eyes, oh those eyes, ever so powerful and green, just like Queen Olivia’s were in her painting. 

“Please, Sir Cromwell, help me out of bed,” The King said. Both Sir Cromwell and the Queen rushed to his side. She grabbed her husband’s legs and helped swing them over the side of the bed, while Sir Cromwell helped the King sit up. You stood back and watched as they helped the ailing King stand to his feet. The Queen wrapped her arm around his waist and put one of his around her shoulders. 

“Where to, my King?” The Queen asked. 

“Anywhere you lead me, my love,” The King said to his wife. The Queen blushed and patted his chest, before leading him to a chair in the sitting area of his chambers. Once the King was sat in his chair, the Queen moved about, fixing his pillows and putting a blanket over his lap. She lifted his feet so Sir Cromwell could slide a footrest underneath them. 

“My Queen, you do too much for me,” The King grabbed her hand to stop her fretting. 

“My job is to serve you, my King,” The Queen kissed her husband’s forehead, before taking a step back and curtseying for him, “I will leave you to do your business, your majesty,” She stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward and sit in the chair beside the King. 

The King shifted in his chair, and you turned your head towards him, “She worries too much.” 

“A good wife ought to worry,” You said and the King nodded in agreement, “My mother used to worry for my father when he was away at battle. I remember her praying and writing all the time. She waited on him even on her death bed.”

“A wife’s job is never easy,” The King said, “I find her job more strenuous than mine. A King is nothing without his Queen. She is the true bearer of the Crown and its legacy. I can not continue on without her, and my son without you.” 

You let the King’s words wash over you. The realization of what your role meant finally hit you. Your marriage to the Prince went further than just repaying a debt to the Crown. You were needed to create a legacy not only for the Prince but for your family as well. Your father had no sons, his legacy ends when he dies. A son would mean the house Mitchell lives on after your father dies. A son would mean the crown carries on. 

“I understand, your majesty,” You said and took the King’s hand, “I promise I will do all I can to assure the Crown stays with your kin. I promise to do my role for you and your Prince, as well as my father.” 

The King nodded his head, “I know you will, Princess.” A flash of pride filled your chest at the mention of your new title, “Now, I hear you are skilled with a bow and arrow, tell me about it.” You chuckled and started in on your training with the weapon. 

— — — 

Jake was tired. As soon as Master Brook left his tent the other night, he packed up his saddlebags and travel all the way back to Landing Center. He had hoped that he wasn’t too late, that his father hadn’t passed before he could come and speak to him. Jake felt relief when he rode into Landing Center and saw his father’s colors still flying in the wind. 

When he arrived, he was met with his father’s most trusted confidants at the gate. Master Moore was his brother-in-law, the King’s hand, and Lord Floyd. Jake didn’t really care for Master Moore. The man had been trying to get Jake removed from the line of succession and reinstate his uncle, Francis instead. 

“Robert!” Jake shouts as he dismounts his horse, “Oh how I missed you!” Bob rolls his eyes as he took a step forward and greeted the Prince, “Where is the cake and party? The Prince has returned!” 

“Our apologies, your majesty,” Master Moore said, “Maybe if you weren’t returning to see your dying father, we would’ve had cake and whores.” Jake glared at the man as he took off his riding gloves and handed the reigns of his horse to one of the keepers. Bob could sense the tension between the two of them and stepped in the middle. 

“Your mother would like to see you,” Bob said, “In her chambers.” Jake nodded and headed to her, but not before sending another glare toward Master Moore. The man returned Jake’s icy stare before turning to Lord Floyd. 

Jake smiled politely at his mother’s ladies as he walked into her room. The Queen was by the fireplace, sewing probably a new shirt for the King. One of the ladies whispered in her ear, and she turned to see her only son standing in her room. She smiled and rose from her seat, going to hug him, but stopped short. 

“My dear son,” The Queen frowned, licking her thumb and wiping away some dirt on Jake’s cheek, “Do you ever take a bath?” 

Jake smirked, “Yes, but cleansing myself is not what I do in them.” 

“Oh Gods,” The Queen shook her head. She walked back over to her chair by the fireplace and took a seat, Jake took one across from her. A servant placed a tray of fruits and cheeses in between them, as well as two cups of wine. The Queen thanked the servant and picked up one of the glasses, taking a sip of the red liquid. “Have you seen your father?” 

“No,” Jake answered, “Was met at the gate by Robert and that cunt Moore-” 

“Master,” The Queen corrected, “Master Moore.” 

“He is a cunt,” Jake said, “He has only one loyalty and that is to the bastard Francis-” 

“Prince!” The Queen corrected again, “Act as though you are the son of the King, please.” 

Jake rolled his eyes, “Yes mother.” 

“You must see him, but please, take a bath first, you smell of blood and shit,” The Queen cursed and Jake laughed. The only time he ever heard her curse was when he was with her. She held herself to the highest standard, being the Queen consort. It was refreshing to drop her facade and be herself with her children. Not many can say they’ve seen the Queen drunk and racing knights in the garden, “You also will be meeting your new wife tonight.” 

“Ah, so it is true,” Jake sat back in his chair, spreading his legs. The Queen scoffed and kicked his knee. He laughed as he crossed his leg over the other, “Betrothed to Mistress Mitchell? Doesn’t she lay in bed with Lord Bradshaw.” 

His mother gasped, “Jacob,” He shrugged and looked over at her, “It is unbecoming of a prince to talk about his future bride in such a way.”

“She will not be a true Queen if she comes from the bed of another man. All the heirs spawned will be true bas-” He was cut off by a sharp kick to his knee, “Ow!” 

“You should be glad I didn’t strike you with my hand,” The Queen pointed. Jake suddenly remembered why they called her the ‘Fire Queen’. She could get quite the temper sometimes, “The Lady Mitchell is untouched and does not lay in the bed of another. You will marry her and make strong heirs to the throne.” 

Jake grumbled and picked up a cherry, biting it off the stem and popping it in his mouth, “I have something I must admit though,” He said, a smirk on his lips as he sat up, sticking the stem in his mouth, “I know her sister.”

The Queen narrowed her eyes at her son, “In what regards?” 

“Intimately,” He pulled the now-knotted cherry stem out of his mouth. 

“Oh Gods,” The Queen shook her head. She stood up from her chair and grabbed her bible. She didn’t say another word as she left her chambers but Jake knew she was more than likely going to the chapel to pray. 

— — — 

Jake had listened to his mother and took a bath as she had asked. It felt good to finally bathe in warm water instead of having to find a creak. He washed his hair with sweet-smelling soaps and oils. He made sure to scrub his hands, getting all traces of blood off of them. In battle, Jake tried his best to not get his hands bloody, but sometimes it was inevitable. 

His green eyes trained on the reddened skin as memories of battle flooded his mind. The screams of brave men, scared women and terrified children filtered into his mind. He told his men to try and leave the women and children unharmed, but occasionally they would get in the way. Jake had held one too many wives back as their husband’s heads were cut off for disobeying the crown. 

Leaning back in the bathtub, Jake looked at the ceiling. Could he even be a good husband with all the things he had seen? His father had never been to war, he had never seen the terrors that were out there. Could Jake be the husband that he was supposed to be when he has killed? Could someone even look at him and want to lay in bed with him? Jake was a murderer, he was not a good man. How was he supposed to raise sons to be good men? 

“Your grace,” His servant called for him. Jake looked over the side of the tub, “It is time to dress you.” Jake sighed and nodded, climbing out of the tub. 

He got dressed in his traditional evening dinner wear; a black and gold tunic, black pants, and boots. He made sure to shave his face, knowing how his mother hated facial hair. Jake chuckled to himself as he shaved in the mirror his servant held. 

“First rule I am making as King; I get to have a beard,” Jake said, rinsing the shaving blade. 

“Yes, your grace,” The servant said. 

When Jake was shaved, dressed and the formal crown had been placed on his head, he grabbed his sword and headed to his father’s chambers. Various lords, ladies, and noblemen bowed to him as he passed through the halls. The great hall was going to be full as a crowd was gathering to celebrate the Prince’s new engagement. Jake would much rather slice his own throat than have to dance in front of people he didn’t even know. 

“He is unruly,” Jake heard his mother’s voice as he approached his father’s chambers. He furrowed his eyebrows and everso quietly stepped into the room. He hid behind a drape, as his mother kneeled before his father who sat in a chair, “I worry how he will treat her.” 

Jake looked down at his shoes, feeling a pang of hurt in his heart. He knew he wasn’t always the nicest, or the most thoughtful, but he believed he would make a good husband. He could be respectful when he needed to be. He knew that this whole marriage was nothing more than a business transaction. Jake could turn on his flirtatious side, send this girl a few smiles, and make her feel good in bed so she could carry his heirs. 

“He is my son,” Jake lifted his head up at the sound of his father’s weak voice. He had only been gone a month, and his father had deteriorated so quickly, “He will treat her well.” Jake cleared his throat, as he stepped around the drape he was hiding behind. The King’s face lit up as he walked in. Jake bowed to his father and mother, before taking the chair next to him. 

“How was Argerus?”

“Brutal,” Jake answered, “Not sure if Mother wants to hear of my conquests.” 

“No, she does not,” The Queen stood up, “I shall see you at dinner. My King,” The Queen curtseyed before them both and left the room. 

Jake sighs and looks at his dad. The King was sick before he sent Jake to fight in Argerus, now, it was amazing that he was even still alive. His color was gone, he looked like a gust of wind could break his bones, and his eyes were half open. Suddenly, Jake felt sick as he realized he was about to take over for his father ruling the country. There was still so much that he didn’t know. 

“I can hear your thoughts,” The King said barely above a whisper, gaining his son’s attention, “Speak them.” 

“I don’t know if I am ready,” Jake mumbled, “There are lots I do not know yet. You have more to teach-” 

The King held his hand up, “My job has been done, Jacob. You know all you need.” Jake scoffed, shaking his head. He went to stand up, but the King reached his hand out. Jake took it without hesitation, “You know more. . . than you know. . . You need. . . trust.” 

“If you say in Master-” 

“In her.” 

“Her?” 

“Your Queen.” 

Jake furrowed his eyebrows and opened to ask his father what he means, but the King fell into a fit of coughs. Jake’s heart started racing as he stood from his chair and helped his father lean forward. He rubbed the King’s back as he continued coughing, grimacing as he noticed pink droplets landing on the white blanket in front of him. Sir Cromwell entered the room and walked to the King. 

“Your majesty, we must get you to bed,” Sir Cromwell said. The King didn’t put up a fight as servants flanked his side to help him up. Jake watched helplessly as they carried the man that was once larger than life to bed. He waited until they had him tucked into bed, looking even smaller and frailer than he did earlier. 

Jake walked to his bedside, running his hand over his father’s hair, “Thank you, my King,” He pressed a kiss to his father’s forehead, before leaving his father to rest.

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[kissitbttr]

I think mean cheerleader has a single mom who is her best friend and biggest supporter. Eddie is super nervous to meet her because he's so used to being judged but mc's mom immediately loves him. She sees he isn't like all of mc's exes and eventually thinks of him as a son. Knowing how busy Wayne is working, she always is trying to feed Eddie and ask if he needs help with anything. MC loves her two favourite people get on and that Eddie is part of her family. Total fluff stuff!

oh my god yes this idea is perfect anon! I’ve been thinking abt the mean cheerleader!reader having a single mom too! bless your heart for this💞!

eddie meeting mean!cheerleader mom for the first time <3

-

“she’s gonna love you baby, no need to be nervous” she leans over to peck his cheek, intertwining her hand around his as the two of them walk towards the house,

“not so sure about that princess” he lets out a nervous cackle, “every single parent that lives here hates my guts. no matter what i do, I’m always the bad guy in their eyes. it’s cool though.”

if her heart could ever make a sound, she would hear it break into pieces over the choice of his words. how cruel do you have to be as a person, that you think you are entitled to make a person feel like this? especially when this person is eddie. none of those people deserved him. they never did.

“i can assure you, eddie my love.” she stops walking, tugging his wrist to face her. “that my mother isn’t like the rest. she’s less judgmental and really nice. also she makes a mean chocolate pie. one bite and you’ll be addicted”

she will do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. because after all he has been through. all the insecurities he poured that one night as she held him close to her chest. crying softly in her embrace. enough is enough. this man has been longing for warm love and comfort, so that’s what she’s gonna give to him.

he shoots her a smile, tucking a strand of loose hair behind the ear before cupping her soft cheek. “i love you, sweetheart. god, i just feel so lucky to have you right now.”

“i know” she sasses, earning a laugh from her boyfriend. “i love you too. now, you ready to come in? it’s almost dinner time, i think she’s cooking something.”

she guides him towards the front door and eddie surely feels like his knees starting to buckle. he’s heard stories about her mom before. how her mother is her biggest inspiration and that she has become the most important person in y/n’s life. probably that’s why he’s nervous. because if he couldn’t get her blessing, then he’s probably done for.

“ready” he blows a huge breathe, fixing his jacket and hair to make himself looking presentable. “shit why am i like this”

“calm down eds” she giggles, unlocking the door before stepping. “ma? I’m home!” she calls out, gesturing eddie to come in with her hand. an excited grin plastered on her face,

eddie however still a tad bit nervous, though it seems to lessen after y/n hooks her arm around his to ease the nerves he has inside. he silently thanks her.

“where is she? is she-“

“i’m in the kitchen, darling! just took out the best pot roast you will ever have!”

“i know that because you’re a good cook ma” she says, walking towards the dining room with eddie walking beside her. “oh and uh-ma I brought eddie. my boyfriend. hope that’s okay.”

‘here we go’ he thinks, another look of disappointment he’d be receiving from another parent. not that he’s going to be surprised. she notices the tight look going on his face, so she plants a reassuring kiss on his lips in which he’s grateful for.

a few minutes later, her mother comes into view. with a gravy stained apron tied around her body and her hair is pulled up into a bun. her lips stretched into a large smile before removing the gloves,

“of course it’s okay, y/n. so this is the infamous eddie I’ve heard about huh? oh sweetheart, he’s cuter in person!” she walks over to the two of them, “how are you, darling?”

“uhm ms. y/l/n h-hi, nice to meet you” he awkwardly extends his hand to shake, seeing the frown upon her face when she sees him does that.

“oh we only do hugs in this household sweetheart, come here” she wraps her arms around eddie before he can say anything, catching him off guard.

this feels oddly unfamiliar to him because he hasn’t been hugged by a family member in a long time but this also feels… nice?

his body just begins to freeze, not knowing what to do. that is until y/n goes behind her mother and mouth ‘it’s okay’ to him, sending him a soft smile. silently letting him know that in this house, you’re free to let your emotions go.

with that, he slowly hugs her back. screwing his eyes shut as he begins to take it all in. because this embrace will somehow heal his inner childhood trauma. it’d help him a lot. i guess that’s what you get for not receiving many affections as a kid. someone touches you once then you’ll begin to break

“y/n has told me a lot about you, eddie. such a shame that she didn’t bring you sooner. in which i told her to” she starts after pulling away from him,

y/n rolls her eyes, placing her purse on the table and shrugging off her white puffer jacket. “we weren’t dating that time ma, god!”

“yeah yeah” she waves her off, chuckling at her daughter. her eyes turn back towards eddie who keeps a nervous smile on his features “well eddie, make yourself at home, okay? stay for dinner.”

“oh I couldn’t ms.y/l/n I don’t want to bother-“

“nonsense! you could never be a bother. grab a seat, have some pot roast and we can have my infamous chocolate pie after. y/n told me you like chocolate.” she pokes his side, going back to the kitchen and grab some utensils,

“yeah, a lot actually.” he laughs a bit, taking a seat next to his girlfriend who plays on a dopey smile, causing him to mess with her hair. “what are you smiling at?”

she sighs, propping her elbows on the wooden table. eyeing her pretty boyfriend who shares the same look. “i told you, she likes you.”

“you think so?” he cranes his neck to where your mother is, “well, you know i gotta make a good impression”

she nods, rubbing her knuckles lightly against his cheek. “my mother has no shame in showing her dislike towards someone in instant. if she doesn’t like you, she tells you right away. either by her expression or action.”

he hums. “like mother like daughter, huh?” his finger pokes the tip of her nose, causing her to scrunch it

“what can i say, baby?” she shrugs, a giggle follows after. leaning forward to press a soft kiss on his lips. just because.

“y/n? be a doll and help me with these mashed potatoes?” she hears her mother call out,

“no need to ask mama” y/n stands from her chair, staring down at his gorgeous eyes. “be right back. sit tight.”

eddie nods, kissing her hand before she walks into the kitchen. that’s when he takes the opportunity to eye each and every corner of the house. it’s definitely not what he thought it be like. just a normal house with minimum decorating, few baby pictures of y/n by the fireplace that makes him smile.

he carefully removes himself from the seat, slowly making his way towards where the picture stand. there’s one where she was dressed in a ballerina outfit, looking straight to the camera showing off her pearly whites. she looked so damn cute,

“she wouldn’t take off that ballerina outfit for two weeks after that”

he whips his head back to see her mother standing couple feet from him, seeing her smile at the memory. “really?”

with a nod, she takes a couple steps forward. “was such a hassle to try to take it off of her. so i just sort of let her did her thing and hoped she got sick of it.”

“that definitely sounds like her” he laughs, earning one from her too. “has it… always been the two of you?”

“ever since she was three. her poor excuse of a father bailed the minute he found a younger girl for him to date.”

“i’m sorry to hear that, ms. y/l/n.” he eyes her with sad eyes. “nobody deserves that”

“nothing to be sorry for, darling” she gives him a smile, placing a hand on his shoulder to give a light squeeze. “you got my little girl in a cloud 9, you know that?”

hearing her say that, makes his heart bloom in pride. he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief and a grin breaks out. “i do, ma’am?”

“oh, absolutely. coming home all joyful as if three cupids were hovering above her. no more dull or plain emotion. she’s in her happy place and i, thank you for that, eddie. my daughter needs it. and I’m grateful that it’s you.”

there’s something in the way she says it, that makes eddie just wants to break down and cry. how many people have come forward and tell him that they’re grateful for his existence? let alone say a ‘thank you’. not even when his parents were still around. for that reason alone, it made him think that he’s good for nothing. and he’d turn out just like his old man.

“i never-“ he cuts himself off with a cough before continuing, “i never had someone in my family tell me things like that. growing up it was just me and my uncle, even that we don’t really talk much. he’s a good man though, it’s just-sorry” he sniffles, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “I don’t get to hear that often”

y/n’s mother nods slowly, sympathizing for the young man standing before her. screaming from the inside, just begging to be cared and understood by the people that are close to him. that’s it. and he couldn’t even get one single thing? what kind of parents does that?

“you know something, darling? you need to stop saying sorry for things you have no control for. and this. is not your fault. everything that happened, was not by your doing. you’re just a kid. and i applaud you for holding on. there’s only much you can handle with your age.” she rubs his back in circular motion, something she does when her daughter gets sad. “when everything gets too much, you can always come here. i promise, i will welcome you with open arms. you’re a good person eddie, i can just tell by the way y/n talks about you.”

eddie’s glossy eyes turn to look at her. now that’s a look that he has been waiting for from someone. and he just can’t help but feels so overwhelmed with love and hospitality that his girl’s mother brings. of course, it surprised him to know that she wasn’t exactly like the rest of the parents in hawkins. soon when he walked in, she didn’t give him a dirty look , instead she hugged him.

she hugged. him

“thank you so much, ms. y/l/n. truly i- god this is the second happiest day of my life.” he laughs through his light sobs, wiping the tears with his sleeves.

“what is the first?”

“winning your daughter’s heart” his cheeks are blushing, hearing her mother chuckle,

“good answer.”

y/n is carrying a steaming hot mashed potatoes when she walks in, smiling to herself immediately as she witnesses two of her favorite people share a hug. something that she thought she’d never see.

“dinner’s ready” she says, breaking them away from the embrace as she saunters towards the table. placing the bowl on top. “come, come.”

“thank you, baby” her mother keeps her grip on his shoulder, looking over at him with one last look before saying, “oh and eddie? I’ve heard about what they said about you. so I’m here to tell you, i don’t believe a single shit. if they did something, you come straight to me, got it?”

eddie is quick to nod, not letting the grateful smile off his face. hands shoved in his pockets. “yes, ma’am”

“good. now let’s have some dinner.”

-

i have so much fun writing this because it’s really cute! EEK. hands up if you have daddy/mommy issues!🙋🏻‍♀️

​i think im definitely gonna write more abt eddie interacting with mean cheerleader! mom !!

[randombtsprincessa]

Backseat of my Rover

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 4k

Genre: Smut

Rating: Mature (18+)

Summary: You are trapped in an uncomfortable sitting position. Can Namjoon help make it better?

Playlist: banks - meteorite

Content Advisory - Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Crack, Comedy, Lap Sex, Fingerfucking, Public Sex, Accidental Voyeurism

A/N:  It's BEEN SO LONG! This is one of my Nano works and I am slowly getting back into writing! Gif by yours truly, it sucks I K

The stadium location rang with screaming ARMYs, piercing the ears of the people working without earpieces or the ones who remained backstage. You were one of them, standing just meters from the blackout drapes that hid the beloved idols once their jobs were done. Once these drapes fell, so did the men, wheezing to get oxygen into their lungs after having given it their all.

Your hands covered your ears, providing meager protection against the uproar outside. The end of the encore saw that blessed curtain falling for a few moments, letting the boys get into some warmer clothing before they made a reappearance. Towels soaking up sweat, water bottles clutched in one hand and a microphone in another, they beamed at their galaxy of lovers, cameras pointing to catch every single facet of a glance.

You wondered yet again how they managed to keep that smile going when they knew that the moment they stepped foot outside, the media would rip into those precise smiles for anything to smear them with. It was madness. But it was a madness that they worked hard for - and perhaps, in some deep, dark crevice of their soul - they even felt benefited by it. It certainly seemed to pay off every time they graced the threshold of a dignitary hoping to harness the power of a vast multitude.

Tearing your eyes from the hypnotic wave of swaying people, you turned to look at the leader of BTS.

Kim Namjoon commanded the attention of the people in the room the moment he decided to raise the mic to his mouth, taking a few puffs of breath before shouting for the fandom.

The response was immediate, renewed zeal coloring the resounding yells.

“What a night, really!” He finally began, waving a hand to his grinning members. “I am, as usual, speechless with the support that you guys always shower us with. You’d think someday I’d get used to it, right?” He aimed a wink at one of the nearest fan cameras, essentially making the woman blush and shy away. “Ah, but no, it is better every single time and it’s more every single time.”

Your hands had migrated to your mouth now, covering a sheepish smile as you blatantly tuned him out. While Kim Namjoon was in no way predictable, you had to admit that you found it - extensively - difficult to focus when he…well, when he looked like that.

Namjoon’s ash blond hair stuck up every which way where he had hastily rubbed at it. The band around his head was long gone - the stray strands that fell over his forehead doing more for his disheveled look than the carefully styled grunge do could ever hope to achieve.

You sighed into your hands, lowering them till they now clasped neatly at your front, looking the picture of a doting listener. No one was really paying any attention to you, the stage managers, directors and personnel were too busy eyeing the occupants of the stage with hawk-like precision.

BTS was no amateur, of course, but it was their job. You knew they were very good and dedicated to what they did, but you still had to put up an act just on the off chance someone was bored or distracted and caught you with a dopey look on your face.

While it wouldn’t make a difference - you would never live down the shame of it.

Besides the fact that you happened to be one of the closest friends BTS had, outside of each other, you had been enjoying certain ‘privileges’ as soon as Hybe - then Big Hit - had vetted and checked the OK next to your name.

Merch at a much lower rate discounts at the brands they worked for and tickets to any events you wanted to attend were just scratching the surface and you did not want people to think that you were getting off scot-free for things people paid through the nose for.

You did, but still…

For all you knew, there were mutters about your existence already, with you being over their homes or studios as much as you did. You would still try and make sure they knew you weren’t…being untoward with them.

You weren’t, because over everything, they were your friends, very good friends and you valued them for what they meant to you and the world at large.

That didn’t mean that you couldn’t ogle. You just did so covertly.

Plus when your job had started back up, you had even less free time to be over as freely as you had once. You now attended only when you could.

And, somehow, you felt much better about it.

It certainly put a bar over any pesky feelings that had no business being there.

Eyeing Namjoon on the stage, you sighed again.

With the end of the speeches and end moment, the curtains fell again, sweeping the boys into a dark embrace where they could be normal again, just seven men with mighty personas that ruled the world to say the most.

Jimin was the first to reach the backstage, hands shivering as he reached for the piles of water bottles. He nearly tore the cap of one, pouring water into a throat that had sang, shouted, screamed and was probably painfully hoarse.

You watched him from a respectful distance even as Hoseok joined him, the same actions exhibiting just how in need of elements they were. Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon remained on the stage front, no doubt deep in discussion of the concert to find out any chinks that would be addressed in their meetings later on. By the time the two youngest members joined the rest of their members; Jimin had looked up and caught your reflection in the mirror.

“____!” He cried out in surprise, eyes crinkling immediately into a beaming grin.

The call for your name drew attention from the rest of the six boys, similar yells of happy shock ringing out before Taehyung had carefully wrapped you in a bear hug. “You never told us you were coming!” He huffed.

“Yeah, I didn’t know until the last minute that I was.” You laughed, down on your feet again. You presented the small bag of candy that you had brought with you. “I got this for you all as a thank you and ‘I’m very proud’ present.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook was the first to grab it out of your hands. “You got all the good ones, this is the best.” He proceeded to tear into one of his favorite chocolate bars.

“Yah, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi and Jin said at the same time.

The Maknae paused, one cheek ballooning around his mouthful. “Wha`?”

“You just performed a very demanding set. You need water and something light.” Namjoon said calmly.

Jungkook looked down at the bar. “This is light.”

“And healthy,” Hoseok clapped the youngest on the back.

“Guys, five minutes - and then we’re out.” One of their managers poked their head into the conversation, speaking quickly and receding just as fast. Sometimes you marveled at how quick they all were.

“Right,” Namjoon nodded at the man before looking at you. “____ will come with us. We’ll drop you on the way.”

You shook your head when the rest of them agreed. “No, no, I can take a cab. You guys are all tired and need rest. I couldn’t possibly -”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to let you go off alone into the night, ____.” One of their female managers came up. “We can always take you home once we drop the boys. It’s fine. Just come along.”

In the end, you quietly followed the seven to the parking lot where their SUV waited. As usual, they had to divide, a part of them going with a few managers while the rest with other staff members.

The managers were already in, cramped with equipment.

Jin entered first, followed by Yoongi, Hoseok and Taehyung. Namjoon stepped into the vehicle, grunting at the tight fit.

“That’s that.” The woman who had told you to come with said, shutting the door after Joon. She turned to Jimin, “The Rover will take the rest of you.” She said, just as the door of the SUV opened again.

“Hey, if they’re getting a separate car, I should stay with them. It’s a bit of a squeeze here anyway and you can take the others home. They need the rest.”

The woman chewed her lips, considering his request before sighing. She was probably too tired for this as well. “Fine, you won’t have to wait long. I told Sungwon to come as soon as you all came out.” She said, climbing into the place Namjoon had vacated.

The SUV waited till Sungwon came with the Rover, Jimin and Jungkook quickly filing in. You glanced into the car to see the back full of metal boxes, clearly bearing more equipment. That left…

“Ah shit.” Namjoon cursed when he looked in as well. He looked over where the SUV exited, the red tail lights blinking mockingly at them now. “Sungwon-nim, why are the boxes in this car? I thought they keep this for emergencies like these.”

“What to do, Namjoon-ssi; they had all these boxes lying about and Ara told me to pack up what I could. I didn’t think you would need the car today, forgive me.”

Namjoon was quick to dismiss the man’s apology, smiling reassuringly. Then he heaved his own sigh and turned to me.

“Jimin can sit on my lap.” Jungkook piped in suddenly, making the both of you look at him.

“Fuck you, you should be sitting on my lap.” Jimin said immediately.

“I’m way bigger than you.”

“I’m older, you brat!”

“I’ll just squeeze in the back, really, its fine.” You squeaked.

“Nonsense. If anyone should be sitting in the back, it should be one of us.”

“Should I sit in the back and one of you drives?” Sungwon added in, looking amused. That effectively stopped the bickering.

Namjoon thought a moment before muttering a ‘fuck it.’ He clambered into the empty seat. “____, you’ll have to sit on my lap. We can adjust till we get home.”

There was silence.

“Huh?” You said, trying not to look horrified.

“It’s not a big deal. Just sit till we get there.”

“Your legs are already sore from all the dancing you did today.” You crossed your arms. “I’m not sitting on you.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “You’re not that heavy. And I’m not that weak.”

“Yeah, ____,” Jimin grinned at you. “Hyung’s been working out in case something like this happens.”

“Do you want to sit in the back, Jimin-ah?” Namjoon asked.

“____ sit on his lap, please.”

You purse your lips, looking from Jimin to Namjoon in his stubborn glory. You heaved another sigh. You were losing count of those today. “Fine.”

Namjoon had not been lying; you discovered when you proceeded to sit on him. His thighs bulged and shifted under you, muscles moving as he adjusted himself. You kept one hand on the window’s edge, keeping most of your weight off him.

“____,” He admonished when he realized what you were doing. He placed his hands on your shoulder, pressing down till you were actually sitting on his lap.

“This is a long drive, you know. I won’t let you make yourself uncomfortable for all of it.”

“Joon, be reasonable. Just let me sit in the back.”

“No. Stop being ridiculous. Just sit quietly and it’ll be over soon. You can even sleep if you want to.”

True enough, if you leaned back, you could rest your head on his shoulder but as it was, you were already nervous and on edge. So you sat ramrod straight and looked out the front, feeling Namjoon turn his head to stare out the window as they passed the now empty stadium.

The silence of the car soon became comfortable, lulling the worn out occupants of the car into sleep. Jungkook had his head leaning back on the headrest, earphones in while Jimin had curled up already in his seat, shoes off and head cradled in his arms against the side. Small snores now echoed from his side.

You wanted to look back to see if Namjoon was asleep too, to see if you could lift yourself up from him without him realizing. While it was very…kind of the man to offer up his possibly aching legs for you to flop on, you had to admit it felt cruel to do so. Not to mention…weird. You wouldn’t lie and say that you had never found lust in your heart when they wore those ridiculous costumes that (if twitter was anything to go by) made many people gnash their teeth to avoid screaming. You admitted that you stared at your friends and found them hot. But you had always kept it objectively fair.

This though…

You turned your head as best as you could; only managing to see the side of his head. You huffed, trying to move to the front so you could turn properly. Only, you were inhibited by the angle you sat in and the motion of the car. You squiggled, trying to find the best way to look at his face when Namjoon’s hands moved again. This time, they didn’t land on your shoulders. They wrapped along your waist.

“____, what are you trying to do?”

His voice was low, husky in your ear and you had to fight back the shiver it brought.

“Um, I was just checking to see if you were awake.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, not really wanting to admit that you were about to get off him. You’d sit on the floor of the car if it came to that. “I’m sorry I woke you.” You whispered instead.

“Oh, you woke me alright.” His hands were still on your waist, warm and snug, keeping you still on him when you felt it.

Oh…oh dear…

“Um, Joon?” You hedged, freezing on him when you realized that what you were feeling wasn’t actually his thigh muscles after all.

“Yes ____?”

“I think you…um, I think that you…”

“Yes? I am what?”

You refused to say it. You would not say it so you fell silent. It seemed that even Namjoon wouldn’t help you along with it.

“Turned on? Aroused?” He murmured finally when you never spoke again.

“Joon, just go back to sleep.” The…thing was much more noticeable now and this had to be the most awkward position you’d ever been in your life. You wouldn’t lie and say you’d never accidentally brushed up with their ‘bits’ ever. You were friends, it happened. But this…with his voice in your ear and his hot hands on your body…

Suffice it to say, you couldn’t wait to get home.

Namjoon ignored you. “I’m hard.” Gone was the murmur, his voice harsher against you. “And you keep squirming on top of me - that’s not helping.”

“Do you want me to get up?” You asked, careful to keep your voice down.

“No. You’re so warm and soft on me, like a blanket, why would I let you get up?” He chuckled in your ear and your neck prickled at the proximity.

This wasn’t right…

“Namjoon, you shouldn’t…” You trailed off when his hands moved, one going around to place a large palm on your front, holding you to him and the other rubbing down your leg. The slinky material of your skirt was cold in the car’s air conditioning, a startling contrast to the heat of his palm.

“Hmm?”

The skirt rose up as he drew his palm back. Your hands clutched at the window edge, trying to find some leverage to pull away from him. His hand was now under the material, hand flat against the side of your thigh. You gasped, wildly looking around at the car.

Jimin was still asleep, snores now very obvious. Jungkook still had his ear phones in but his head drooped to indicate, he too must have dozed off. You looked at the driver. Sungwon had the radio on, humming along and the seat was too high for him to notice anything behind him.

“Am I doing something you don’t want me to?”

His actions ceased immediately at his words, and in that moment you took stock of what was actually happening.

Kim Namjoon had his hands on you with one very close to the apex of your thigh. Namjoon, the man you’d felt flutters of nothing and everything for, was trying to hook up with you. Stepping away from the slippery slope that that led to, were you even equipped to handle what he could dish out?

In that moment, you were forced to pick between a jumpy but eager heart and body and the cold logical presumption of your brain that disdained the idea of you being good enough to date a BTS member. Not when they could have literally anyone they wanted.

“Joon, please,” You begged. You didn’t know what you were pleading for. Was it to keep him going? Was it to end this madness and push you both back to a place where you would always wonder of that pesky ‘what if?’

“Do you want me, ____?” Was his next question and obviously, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

“Yes,” You whispered, hating the way your whisper cracked on such a small but crucial word.

Even as you saw the line being drawn in the sand of your friendship with them, Namjoon took a moment to gauge your acceptance.

His fingers ran slow circles over your skin, warming your flesh in a way that had you melt further into your stupid decision. But well, you’d decided…and now you couldn’t just not go through with it, could you?

You leaned back into him, finding some solid comfort against his chest. The hand that held you to him tightened while the one under your skirt now pushed towards your center. You kept your eyes to the front as Namjoon maneuvered your body, sinking you further into him and angling you just so his hands landed on your core with the skirt covering his actions if anyone did turn their eyes on you.

“Are you sure, ____?” He asked.

“Please, Joon,” You whispered again and then his hands were inside your underwear, tips of his fingers caressing the mound. “Wait, what about you?”

“Shh, this is about you right now.” He muttered against your shoulder, breath hot. “Just work with me.”

You weren’t sure what to say. A part of you was thrilled to have him be doing this, but you didn’t want to seem as you were…taking advantage of his situation. Any other word of protest that you might have uttered died when his finger found your clit, having pushed your legs to spread over his own.

You covered your mouth when he applied pressure, considering your now lewd posture on top of the leader of BTS. And it might be hidden, but it was pretty damn obvious what was happening.

You let out a quiet grunt at the first circle of his rough fingers around the button. “Quiet, ____,” Why had you never realized how much you liked hearing your name from him? “We don’t want everyone to hear us, do we?” That question sounded too open-ended to be a real admonishment.

You bit your lips, trying to float with the way Namjoon worked you. He maintained a painfully slow pace, rubbing into your clit before alternating to pinch your lower lips closed over the nub. Your skin tingled, sensitive from the attention you were getting.

“Joon,” You turned your head to whisper to only him, hoping, praying he would have some pity. It was unbearable, sitting in a cold car with a hot hand over your most vulnerable spot, keeping you on edge.

“You want more?”

He took your squirming as a yes, hand pushing further into the panties to dip into your wetness. Tapping the wet flesh, he tracked the fluid upwards, painting the skin with your arousal for better lubrication.

“I think we can do better, can’t we?” He asked, sounding amused before his middle finger delved towards your hole.

Your muscles contracted at his proximity, Namjoon tutting once as his other hand moved as well. It fumbled under your shirt, finding its way in to cup a covered breast. “You have no idea how much I want to see you, ____. This will just have to do for now. I want you to relax, just breathe ok.”

And that was the thing about Namjoon.

It would be the strangest of things but he would be able to reassure and comfort you to such a degree that you would do anything. And so, you took a deep breath, settling against him and relaxing your body. Slowly, very carefully, you felt his digit enter you, curling some distance in.

He had to cough to cover the sound the both of you let out, his finger still in you, and your walls pulsating around him. He yanked his hand out of your shirt, grasping your neck to turn your ear to him.

“Fuck, ____, I want to kiss you so bad right now.”

You stared at him as best as you could, eyes falling to his mouth as you licked your lips in preparation. He followed the movement, grinning. “Only, let’s not, I won’t be able to control myself if I kiss you right now.” He opened his mouth as he pushed his finger completely into you, the knuckles brushing against your thighs.

He pumped you twice with one finger, gently sliding in another when he felt you relax more. Keeping your head turned towards the side where you breathed in his scent, he glanced over your shoulder, the motion of his hand visible through the fabric of the skirt.

Maybe it was you, but the wet sounds that emanated from his actions soon echoed loudly around you. Sungwon had long since stopped humming, the radio now a distant croon in the background. Jimin snorted a few times, the both of you freezing when he did but soon turned and continued to sleep. God, when would you get there already? You didn’t think you could take any more.

Namjoon had found your sweet spot a few minutes in and was unabashedly exploiting it, brushing against it to get your hackles up and then missing it entirely to rile you up. Your hands were clutching the handle, the other now in his hair.

Head buried in your neck, Namjoon panted hotly, muttering sweet nonsense to you that you could barely hear over the pounding of your blood. If you could get away with it, you’d have trashed, begged him to let you fall over the edge already. You were so close, it hurt. Your eyes fluttered close, a moan bubbling in your chest.

“Shit, ____.” Namjoon growled and your eyes flew wide open, seeing things in HD suddenly.

You were about to fall, you were toeing the line and then…

Your eyes met Jungkook’s.

His earphones were still plugged in, mouth agape as he stared at you in the mirror attached to the shotgun. The mirror must have reflected every damn thing that had happened and you had no clue how long Jungkook had been watching.

Namjoon hadn’t caught his Maknae watching, he only felt your walls tighten on him and redoubled his efforts to make you come.

And you did.

Watching Jungkook’s eyes trail down, most likely to where he could see…the activities, you climaxed.

Your core gripped Namjoon’s helping hand passionately, your juices slicking his fingers while the man pressed silent kisses to the side of your head to ease you along with it.

You slumped back against him in the aftershocks, eyes warily seeking the passenger in the front.

Jungkook’s eyes had returned to stare straight into your eyes. Gone was the wide-eyed stupefaction, in its place all you could see brewing was an alarming intensity.

Oh dear, what had you gotten into?