#i may also send this as an ask but feel free to steal and say i tagged you

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

✨ when you get this please share 5 of your current favorite songs and then pass this ask on to 5 of your favorite followers (or whoever you feel like!)✨

Gladly!! Also tagging @boltlightning who asked me for specific music recs forever ago.

Five songs that have been in my head this week:

“symptom of life” - WILLOW

“Princess Andy” - The Petrojvic Blasting Company (pre-OTGW!)

“Blackbird” (live, cover) - Crosby, Stills, & Nash

“Oak & Ash & Thorn” - The Longest Johns (the first time this came on shuffle I honest-to-god thought it was a cover of this song for a few seconds). Words by Kipling, tune by Peter Bellamy.

“Laisse tomber les filles” (cover) - The Cambodian Space Project

Tagging: 🫵 YOU

[worldstarz]

genshin men voicelines about you

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

pairing: gn!reader x kaeya / diluc / thoma / ayato / tartaglia / ayato / albedo / itto / kazuha (separate)

a/n: xiao bonus at the end! could not think of anything that wouldn’t feel contradictory to his other voicelines, but maybe i’ll make a part 2 with some other men i missed + eventually with the girls. sorry for anything ooc bc i haven’t played genshin in over a year 😛

cw: blood mention, itto is a loser

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

KAEYA

Oh, [name]? They’re many things, certainly. Dependable, attentive, easy on the eyes - ah, but I can't say too much. Is it so bad I want to keep something precious for myself?

DILUC

You’re asking about [name]? Why is that? …you’re curious about our relationship? I thought I made it obvious that they’re my partner—not for business, but romantically. I like to keep my personal life, well, personal, so forgive me for not divulging too much information.

THOMA

I was actually about to go see them right now! It’s hard for me to get some free time, but whenever I do, there’s nothing better than spending it with [name]! No matter how tired I am, I always feel recharged right away when they’re around, and then I can work even harder!

TARTAGLIA

Do you think [name] would like this necklace? Or maybe this bracelet? How about both? Maybe I should get these in different colors, too. Wait, I think I have enough mora on me to buy the entire stand—what? Why are you giving me that look?

AYATO

A day polluted by meetings with people I do not have the energy to care for, futile attempts at gaining power from my opponents, endless bartering… my, I hate to spoil the mood, but I do need a refresher. Pardon me as I send a servant to fetch my beloved [name] for me. I won’t be long. Once I see their face, we may go back to our discussion.

ALBEDO

[name]? Yes, they’re my partner. …Why do you look so surprised? I know I have said maintaining relationships is difficult, but they are very patient and willing to meet me halfway. I also cannot deny my attraction to them. It doesn’t affect my research whatsoever. Rather, their affections motivate me to research something new everyday for conversations with them. …Perhaps I am also meeting them halfway.

ITTO

What? You surprised a stone cold gang leader like me can score a hottie like [name]? Make this a lesson to never doubt Arataki “numero uno novio” Itto! Well, uh, I gotta admit, they are kinda outta my league… H-Hold on, why do you wanna know so much? You trying to find my weak spots or something? No… you couldn’t possibly… be trying to steal them from me?! Oho, you’re messing with the wrong gu- wait, get those beans away from me!!!!

KAZUHA

If I were to pick between losing my voice or losing [name], may the earth be granted my silence. If I must bleed out for thousands of years for even the slightest chance to lay beside them, may the blade of the sword be sharp. If granting them an eternal life of tranquility and happiness meant sacrificing my own life, my dying breath will be their name.

bonus:

XIAO

*…he blushed and teleported away.*

[madockisser]

Could you write an analysis about *the* dress Cardan commissioned for Jude to wear at Dain's coronation? I'd love to read your thoughts on why he did it and the dress itself! 💖

jude’s coronation dress, and why cardan sent it analysis

hi! yes! thank you for the ask!

ah yes 🚬 the infamous coronation dress.

firstly let’s start w the how.

madoc is the grand general and very influential yaddah yaddah, it makes sense for him to share the same seamstress as the greenbriar family. this seamstress is also tight w dain, so cardan having access to her makes sense.

i’d assume he’d sketched out the deign he wanted and just gave it to the seamstress. but me personally, i’d die if he personally chose out the colors thinking, “this would suit my future wife’s color palette fs!”

as for what it looks like:

it’s ombre, and described as dark indigo at the bottom, to pale blue, then white at the top. there is a silhouette of trees that that start at the bottom and move upwards. there are gems sewn on that resemble stars in the night sky. i WISH the actually shape of the dress was designed, just for the visual ig lol

when locke sees the dress, he says jude is beautiful, like a winter night.

now the design (my fav little detail that ppl seem to forget) is actually a view jude can see from her balcony/window!!!

so, perceive that how you want, but me personally, i def think cardan was obsessed w her enough to 1 know where her balcony is(from locke ig) and 2 watch her from it (just a hc but 👅👅👅)

as for the why. i think deep down cardan had started to realize that even he wasn’t a complete monster asshat that wanted to kill jude for making him want to kiss her so bad, and he started to want to almost apologize, but w out showing weakness. so he sent that dress anonymously.

i mean, we already know that by this point he knows he desires her, and he knows that he doesn’t want to hurt her and see her humiliated.

i think it’s mostly sweet bc from his pov, he knew that jude would assume the dress was from locke, but he sent it anyway. or maybe, since locke was going to declare himself as taryns man at the coronation, that jude would have to guess she had some other secret admirer waiting for her once she finished w locke.

he also knew that taryn was screwing her over w locke, and i think he could really relate to that (lockes an asshole) and didn’t want to see her humiliated. (both are canon so it makes sense)

so he sent her an extravagant dress, like the ones liriope wore, to spare jude from the embarrassment of having her twin steal her man.

another reason i think he did this was for protection. it’s mentioned directly after the dresses come that they must be careful at dains coronation so this is pretty plausible.

i recall the commission for judes original dress being red and covered w madocs crest. but the fact that she is a human, and wearing the crest of a noble household, would make her seem like a slave to the other courtiers at the coronation.

so commissioning a grand dress, one worthy of the high courts gentry, would make it seem as though were one of the high courts courtiers, and would make those that want to hurt her probably hesitate to do so, bc why does this human girl have this expensive ass dress? they’d think that she must be important or atleast well cared for.

another detail abt the dress is that nicasia knew cardan sent it. now she says this in qon, so we don’t actually know when she found out that cardan sent it. she could’ve known in tcp, maybe she caught cardan sending it off or making the sketch? or maybe she found the sketch and then later saw jude wearing that dress? she could’ve found out in twk, or when jude was in exile, etc. we may never know.

but i still think it’s sorta bittersweet that nicasia knew that cardan loved her.

anyway, cardan is on top as always🫦 thank you for the ask! 🫶🫶🫶 and feel free to add on!

[kyra45]

Commission scams

What are commission scams? - These scams occur when someone messages you on Instagram/Facebook/etc and asks you to draw their pet/son/daughter because they really love your art style and saw you had commissions open. They may not have liked any of your drawings or had and previous contact. They will ask you if you do commissions even if you clearly have stated yes.

What is the scam? - The scam occurs when they ask you if you would take $300 or more for the commission. While amount isn’t too unreasonable for a commission, it may be far more then your usual asking price which should be a red flag that something isn’t right. They may also ask if you’ll accept a check for payment and if you’ll deposit it with a banking app which is another red flag for not being a legitimate customer.

How is it a scam? - The check they will send you is a fake check that will bounce if you deposit it no matter how long it might take to go through. This check is not legitimate and you won’t be scamming the scammer just because you deposited it. The money isn’t real and it isn’t theirs either. You’ll just lost your money and they have no plan to pay you for your work.

What can you do? - Have a clear terms of service for commissions and ask questions regarding payment plans if your suspicious of the commission requester. If they turn hostile, block them once you deny their order. And alert your Art friends.

—

Are there other versions of this scam? - On occasion, someone may steal artwork from other users and pass off a commission sheet as theirs and take commissions that they can’t actually do. They’ll take money and orders but are really not intending to fulfill them.

Anything else? - Sometimes these are art scams where someone says they’ll pay you for using your art in a mural. Unless this comes from a legitimate business account or a real account, this is yet again someone trying a fake check scam.

—

If you found this information useful, feel free to share this post to your friends! If you really appreciate it, I accept pocket change or words of support. Hope this helps! I also post guides on how to spot scam blogs.

[spiderfunkz]

✦ I LOVE THE SMITHS, AND YOU!

summary : you love the smiths, peter loves you.

word count : 0,8k

warnings : fluff, reader is oblivious & peter is just peter, not proofread btw.

a/n : based on this request!! my requests for peter are like always open so feel free to send in your thoughts <33 also this is inspired by that one scene in 500 days of summer but on a budget.

peter parker was in love.

sorry, correction, is in love.

he didn't know when this little crush started.

maybe it was in the 5th grade, when he was paired with you to do a project together, that's when he first met you. he remembered how he'd admire you as you glued those stupid looking dinosaurs on the cardboard.

he remembered how your overgrown bangs were almost covering your eyes. he remembered how he'd ask why you didn't cut it, and how you replied with — "i dunno, i don't want to cut it yet. my mumma told me hair holds memories. and i don't want to forget those memories."

he remembered how that reply made him smile. how he'd knew you two would get along somehow. and also, since then he became really picky when it comes to haircuts.

or maybe it was in the 9th grade. when you were one of the few people that wished him a happy birthday. he remembered that you gave him a really big smile, and he always noted how it was the prettiest smile he has ever seen, well, other than aunt may's of course.

or maybe it was last week. when you sat next to him in french class.

maybe it's because he noticed how your bangs were now blended with the rest of your hair, how he'd realized you never cut it since 5th grade. he wondered how many memories you have kept because of it. he wonders if he's in any of those.

he also wonders if you ever noticed that he liked you. how he'd always steal a glance when you're not looking, how he had your birthday marked on every calendar he has owned, or how he'd save up to buy you the things you looked at for too long.

maybe you did. and maybe you didn't know what to think of it.

to be completely honest, you were never much of a romantic.

never really. in your entire life you only liked two and a half things. the pasta your mom cooked, your hair, and sometimes, peter parker.

well, most of the time, peter parker. i mean he's your friend of course you like him! he's funny, he has nice soft hair that you just want to run your fingers through, he's smart and witty but he never brags about it, he cares for you, and his hand intertwines with yours perfectly.

okay, maybe you like him more than a friend. but that's another story you don't want to get too deep into.

"how about this?" you ask, holding peter's 'the smiths ; the queen is dead' cd in your hand.

you were supposed to do your english essay with peter today in his room, but like every other work you do with peter in his room, you both end up getting distracted.

"i forgot i had that, i loved it." he smiles, "put it on." he says, gesturing to the cd player.

"i love love this album! i can't believe you forgot you had this." you turn the player on as the song starts to play.

"you can keep it if you want, since you like it so much." peter says. "really?" — "of course." peter nods.

"thanks, peter. you're the best." you sat next to him.

peter hands you the paper you were supposed to do your essay on. "i wrote half of it with a pencil, you can just trace it with a pen." he smiles. "oh my god, peter. you know i could've done it myself." — "yeah but then it'll take you 5 hours and no sleep. besides, i'm almost done with mine too, so."

"aw, thanks." you lean your head on his shoulder as you read what he wrote on the paper. you focus on the paper, not noticing that peter's face is turning bright red.

a few minutes pass by and peter's calming down, he leans his head on yours. but when he does your head immediately jerk up. "oh i love this part!" you turn the volume up. "don't you?" you turn to peter, he nods.

"to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die!" you sang. "ugh, i love the smiths." you lean forward to grab a pen so you could finish the essay.

peter looks at you as you hum to the song. he notices your cherry tinted lips, and how your hair is clipped to the side with a clip that peter bought you years ago. he looks at you with such care and love. though unfortunately, you don't notice that.

you look to peter, "what do i have something on my face?". peter looks away, "oh uh no, sorry."

you furrow your brows. "you sure?" peter nods. "okay..." you laugh.

you continue to nod to the song, the pen in your hand overwriting peter's messy handwriting. "i loveee the smiths." you repeated.

"i loveee you." peter blurts out. he hopes it wasn't too loud, but you seem to be focused on the song and your paper.

"huh?" you turn to peter. "what? huh." peter awkwardly looks away, again. you look at him for a bit before smiling, "did you say you loveee the smiths too? i thought you weren't that big of a fan anymore." you clearly misheard him.

peter was dumbfounded, sure he didn't want you to hear that. but at the same time he did want you to hear that. "no i uh- i said, i love you."

"you love, me?" you ask.

"yeah, l-o-v-e."

"love love?"

"yeah. love love."

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

Accidental Confessions

REQUEST: I FINALLY THOUGHT OF MY REQUEST May I request Azul, Jade and Riddle getting high because of mushrooms for some unknown reason and confessing to a gn reader bc their ability to stay composed just went completely out the window? It's more of a fluff/crack idea I came up with, sorry if it's not too clear @thehollowwriter

SUMMARY: When the usually cool and composed guys accidentally confess due to... Some interesting foods. WORD COUNT: 1.3k

WARNINGS: Mushrooms (need I say anything else), maybe OOC, Jade and Floyd and Azul shenanigans, they may act like they're under the influence of drugs (no actual drugs in the story though!!), these poor guys (please give them hugs), Ace is chaos A/N: Me, trying to make sure I get everything right: *types in Google* "what happens when you get high" on my school computer Don't do drugs guys :D (I would've said kids but I'm like 96% sure that most of the people reading my fics are in fact older than me) I love how I finished this a while ago and then was like "I'm gonna add a bit more to the end" and it was only like a paragraph- Azul is my favorite, you can see from how much I write for him </3 Also I love fluff and crack, I enjoy writing it the most! Feel free to send more requests like these <3

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

Azul Ashengrotto

You know, Azul should have known better.

Jade always went out and got some mushrooms on his hikes, and he seemed pretty confident that he knew the different types of mushrooms.

But one single mistake - a mushroom similar enough to a perfectly fine edible one - and now he felt woozy.

Great.

It wasn't an unpleasant experience - he felt happy in that dreamy way, where you weren't able to comprehend much. But he knew this was bad.

What if he got addicted? That would ruin all his plans for his future. He needed to have a clear head.

He really should've been resting, but unfortunately, Floyd had ran off (most likely so he didn't have to be near the mushrooms). Due to that, Mostro Lounge needed an extra pair of hands.

So when he saw you, he immediately was on guard as much as he could be. Who knows what he could let slip when you were so close, and his thinking wasn't at its best…

He tried to avoid you, but unfortunately (again? Why were so many bad things happening to him today?) you sat at the table closest to him.

He had to go up to you and take your order. Your sweet smile almost made him melt, a soft flush on his cheeks as he just nodded quietly, jotting your order down.

You thought it was odd - Azul was usually the type to chat people up, try to get as much of a profit in as possible - but today was different. It made you a bit worried, honestly.

As you asked if he was all right, Azul's eyes widened.

His mind went blank, and the only words that left his lips were, "Sorry, you were just really cute, and I-" He froze as he realized the words he said, trying to backtrack, but he couldn't think right. "I mean, I just thought your smile was- you- I-" He shook his head slightly. "Forget it," he said, hands shaking slightly out of embarrassment as he turned and walked away.

As Jade had been watching and listening to the interaction, he quickly made your order before handing it to Azul (who had been hoping for some rest behind the counter before seeing you). Jade was saying something about how Azul really needed to be quicker with processing orders - Azul was pretty sure that Jade knew about his feelings toward the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm.

Azul sighed softly before trudging back to you, the food and drink you ordered held in a tray. "There you go."

As you inquired about what his previous words had been about, he saw the teasing glint in your eyes.

Did you know?

"It was nothing- I just like you a-" A slip of the tongue. Damn it. He hadn't meant to say that. He quickly backed away before almost sprinting to the VIP Room, his cheeks flushed a bright red. He almost ran into the doorframe though (which Jade may or may not have taken a picture of).

Bonus:

"I told you that Azul likes you a lot." Jade smiled, a small glint of his teeth showing. "Did you plan this?" "Jade might've given Azul an unusual mushroom~" That sing-songy voice had to be Floyd's. "I knew it." You rolled your eyes a little. "That was cute, though. Although your method might have been a little mean. Poor Azul." "You can go talk to him after you enjoy your meal." Jade smiled at you. "And Floyd, you haven't had anything to eat. Perhaps you would like one of the mushroom soups I've made?" "No- I've had enough of your mushrooms." A soft whine came out of the other tweel's lips. "But maybe Koebi-chan wants some?" "Thanks for the offer, but I probably should go to Azul as soon as possible." You laughed softly. "There's no telling what's happening to him right now, after all."

Jade Leech

Jade had a heavy mishap on his hands. He had gone a bit overboard with picking his mushrooms, and then Floyd had gone and messed with his careful labeling.

And then he didn't check the contents and labels thoroughly before he put them into a little snack for himself.

So now here he was, stumbling to Ramshackle Dorm for no reason in particular.

It was a wonder how he hadn't stumbled off the path, what with the hallucinations he was seeing.

He stumbled inside (luckily the door wasn't locked), quickly moving to your room.

At first you thought he was Floyd due to how off he was acting. But nope, that was definitely Jade.

"Jade?" Your eyes were wide as you stared at the male. "What are you doing here?"

"I love youuuuu." Well, that was a surprise.

Now you were really wondering if this wasn't Floyd. It sounded like something he would say.

As the tall male draped himself over you, you awkwardly tried to get both of you comfortable on the small chair. It was no use, however, as you toppled off of your chair and onto the ground.

You let out a soft huff, staring up at Jade who had fallen on top of you. How fun…

He seemed to have fallen asleep, relaxed on top of you. Well, at least he didn't seem to have gotten hurt.

You awkwardly patted his hair as you gave up trying to move. The floor was uncomfortable… But you could bear it, you didn't want to stop looking at Jade's sleeping face.

Riddle Rosehearts

Ace, the prankster he was, had put in an insane amount of sugar in some cookies he was making. He had then given the cookies to Riddle.

The unsuspecting Riddle had accepted the cookies, feeling a bit confused. Why was Ace making cookies…? No matter.

He was starting to eat some of the cookies when you had been brought to the Heartslabyul dorm (totally not by force).

You were also confused, and for good reason. Ace was saying something about pranking his housewarden, but to be honest? What reason did he have for calling you here?

You were pretty sure it was just so Ace didn't get punished. He didn't want to keep getting in trouble, after all. Though, the rational thought would be to not prank Riddle at all… But oh well.

"Hey, Riddle," you said, feeling a bit uncertain. You smiled a little at the male.

"Oh- hi, kantokusei." The red-haired male blinked at you, looking confused.

"Yeah, so- Ace dragged me here? I don't really know why, but-"

He paused for a heartbeat before replying. "I don't know why he brought you here either." He sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Well…" You shrugged awkwardly. "Are those cookies any good?" You gestured vaguely towards the plate in front of him.

"They're too sweet." Riddle frowned a little. "Ace has no delicacy in doing these things, he thinks more is always better."

You let out a soft laugh. "Sounds like him." Just as you reached for a cookie, his hand brushed past yours.

He froze, cheeks flushing adorably. All the sugar in his system was making his heart race and not be focused on what he was thinking.

Before he could even question it, he grabbed your hands. "…I like you a lot." he got out before freezing yet again, hands still holding yours. Why had he said that?

Little did either of you know, Ace was wheezing behind the closed door. He had put in a small little potion, nothing major, that caused a person to say what they felt to the person they liked. He had gotten it from Azul, and it clearly had worked.

The deal had been worth it to get blackmail on his housewarden. Now, if only he could somehow use this to get rid of Riddle as housewarden and all of his strict rules… That would be great. Maybe he could even actually win?

As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ♡ Send your thoughts grr

This post has details for requesting, and I also currently have a writing event going on here. Please check it out!

[book-place]

Accidents Happen

Warnings: hospitals, mentions of injuries, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Avengers x reader platonic

Request: Hi hi! Can you please do a avengers x little reader? R is 6 and maybe Natasha or peter drop her off at school but a few hours after school starts they get a call saying she had an accident and got injured badly. So the whole team shows up at the school to rush her to the Emergency room and the person who dropped R off feels really guilty but the R tells them it wasn't their fault (also could R be wise for her age?) Anyways thanks feel free to ignore this or change some things thank you!

Request by: Anon

*not my gif*

Summary: Nat blames herself for the accident you had at school that causes the entire team to rush to the hospital

A/N: I loved writing this

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“Thank you, Nattie!” You called, scrambling out of the backseat and sending a wide, toothy grin to the redhead.

Natasha smiled at you fondly, “You’re welcome, n/n, have a good day.”

You closed the car door and turned on your heels hurrying towards the entrance, excited for school to start. The woman couldn’t help but chuckle, you’re the only kid she’s ever met that’s been happy to go learn, especially at six years old.

She watched from the car until the entrance door swung shut softly behind you before she put the car into drive once more and set off to begin her no doubt long day, though a soft smile still lingered on her lips from her interaction with you.

-•-

“Where the hell is she?”

“What’s going on?”

“Do you know who I am? I could have you fired with the snap of my fingers!”

“This place is full of so many puny humans, and yet not a single one of them is giving me a straight answer!”

The outraged roars of Earth’s mightiests heroes might not have been what anyone in the hospital was expecting in the middle of the day, but to be fair- they were beyond stressed and concerned. They had no idea what was going on, not really.

About fifteen minutes ago, Natasha had received a phone call from your school- her being your emergency contact- in the middle of a debrief with her teammates. The principal on the other side of the phone had been very vague as she informed the woman that she had been in an accident and was rushed in an ambulance to the nearest hospital, all but hanging up before Romanoff could fire off any one of the thousands of questions racing through her mind.

Chaos had followed that phone call, the avengers all scrambling around, trying to get to the hospital as quickly as possible with no real direction as to what was going on.

So now, they stood in the lobby, anger and worry etched onto each of their faces respectively as they swung around in circles, demanding answers from any of the many people working there.

Bucky and Thor both looked seconds away from lunging towards the closest doctor and shaking them until they gave them an explanation and to point them in your direction.

Tony was sneering at every person that passed, trying to intimidate them while Steve tried to ask questions as calmly as he could. Clint looked seconds away from diving through the doors dedicated to doctors only.

The only one that was silent was Natasha. She stood in the middle of the chaos with her arms pulled around her stomach, face paler than normal and looking as though she might be sick.

She had dropped you off this morning. She had been the one to leave you at that school without a second thought. How could she not realize that something would go wrong? She always had a sixth about that kind of stuff.

And now, because of her lack of realization, you were somewhere in this vast building, lying in a hospital bed, all alone- probably scared. And she didn’t even know if you were alright.

“Miss. Romanoff?”

The voice automatically silenced all of the avengers and they all whipped in the direction of it.

The doctor who spoke, to her credit, didn’t look the least bit intimidated at being stared down by the people, instead glanced down at her clipboard, “You’re here to see Y/n L/n, correct?”

Natashas head immediately bobbed up and down, moving forward, fear gripping her heart, “Is she okay?”

A sympathetic and reassuring smile appeared on the woman’s face, “She’s going to be fine,” She assured the group.

Everyone's muscles immediately loosened and Natahsa felt a shaky breath leave her lips as fear's grip loosened a bit on her heart.

“What happened?” Tony demanded, still not fully convinced.

With an incline of her head, the avengers all piled after the doctor as she led them through the workers only door, “She was in an accident at school. Apparently she had been trying to jump to the monkey bars at recess, but misjudged the distance and landed at the wrong angle on the metal pole of the jungle gym, hitting her head. She was knocked out, so the school called us. She has a concussion, but she’ll be fine in a few weeks if you take the proper precautions. We can discuss those later.”

There it was again, the fear and worry and guilt that was consuming the redheads entire being. She could tell by their reactions that her team was feeling the same.

“Right in here.” The doctor cast them one last smile before leaving them at the door of your room.

Immediately, Bucky all but threw the door open and everyone rushed in, crowding into the small room.

Natahsa pulled up short at the sight of you, lying in the hospital bed, looking smaller than normal surrounded by all the big equipment in the oversized bed.

You turned your head with wide eyes at the sound of footsteps, but relaxed into a smile when you saw who it was.

“Hi, guys,” You piped happily- as if nothing happened- but your voice was a bit weaker than normal.

“Oh, n/n,” Nat breathed out, immediately falling to your side, crouching down, grasping your hand in hers and squeezing it, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, smiling up at the woman, “I’m fine, my head just hurts.”

The woman frowned, smoothing back your hair from your forehead, “Do you need anything?”

Apparently, the team had caught onto Romanoffs feelings of guilt a while ago, because they exited the room at that moment, knowing that they should give her some space with you for a few minutes to sort through her emotions. They hated leaving you, but knew you would always be safe as long as Natasha was around.

You shook your head- slowly so as to not hurt yourself more, “I’m fine.” You promised, “I’m happy you’re all here.”

A shaky breath once again slipped from the woman's lips, “I’m so sorry,” Her eyes were welled up with tears.

It was then your turn to frown, confusion pulling your eyebrows down, “For what, Nattie?” You had no idea what she was talking about.

“If I hadn’t left you today, if I had known that something was wrong, I never would’ve left you.” A single tear slipped down her cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut and put your still intertwined hands to her forehead.

You squeezed her hand once, “It’s not your fault, Nattie, you couldn’t have known.” You were smiling kindly at her now.

“But-”

You shook your head stubbornly, a trait she often wondered if you got it from her, “It’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to anyone and there’s no way to tell if or when it’ll happen. Accidents happen.” You insisted.

A shaky huff of a laugh left her lips as she pressed a kiss to your forehead, “When did you get so wise?”

A wide grin appeared on your face, “I always have been, you’re just noticing now.”

We Are Groot 🤎- @lovanitu @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @irethepotato @femalemarvelself @mukbee @its-hell @ip747 @i-writes-things @popfishjr @mitsuki-murakami @mythixmagic @ladyagagaslefttoe @etanordoesbullsh1t @wolfmoonmusic @nutellani @hyunzrii @scarthefangirl

[fear8not1]

heyyy for kiss prompts may i suggest 36 with maxiel? 💖

thank you for your request ! this turned out a bit bittersweet (i rewrote it thrice and just couldn't make it happy LMAO) so feel free to ask for another kiss if it's not to your tastes.

not my best but it's a very fun exercise !

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

36 (as a promise) - on the flip of a coin - maxiel, 732 words

The music is loud. Loud enough to cover Max’s voice. Not loud enough to cover Daniel’s.

“I’m leaving F1,” he yells in his ear, blue lights aggravating his eye bags when he leans back to look at him, “I’m taking a break.”

Max blinks once, twice. He looks down at his drink, mentally counts the shots he’s taken, but he’s nowhere near drunk enough to hear things wrong.

Daniel is leaving. “You’re kidding, right ?” He asks, trying to search for anything on his face that’d indicate he is — the usual amused sparkle in his eyes, the small smirk. But there’s nothing.

Daniel leans forward again, lips brushing his ear as he speaks. “No, I just- I can’t do it anymore, Max. I gotta leave, mate.”

If Max isn’t drunk, maybe Daniel is. He checks the empty glass in his hand, even though he knows he’s only had a beer and a whiskey coca. Nothing crazy. He opens his mouth to ask why and how and when and complain about the fact that it’s the first time they’ve went out in months and losing him now, when he feels like he’s finally reached him, would be unfair but…

But he gets it. Daniel’s skin looks dull, pale, his signature smile long gone. His cheeks aren’t red from laughing, the lines on his face much deeper than they once were, and, from where he is, Max can see his collarbones peeking from his shirt. He’s not wearing his team kit, not a single item reminding that he drives for McLaren. He used to wear Red Bull merch often. Even off track. “I- I can be there for you, mate. You don’t have to- we can talk about it when we’re sober, yeah ?”

Daniel shakes his head, smiles sadly and bumps their foreheads. The contact hurts, but Max’s brain replays the past few minutes so much he barely registers it. “No, Maxie. Can’t do, won’t do. I…,” he takes a shaky breath, steals a sip from Max’s glass, “I need you to know. Now. Press’ll know in a few days. You gotta be ready, mate, they’ll be all over you.”

Max nods quietly, frowning so hard he can tell he’ll have a headache soon enough. He knows why he’s doing it. He understands. It, somehow, makes it worse. He can’t be angry at him, can’t be sad for him — it feels natural, considering the last few years. “Danny, I- will you come back ?”

The Australian shrugs, looks away for a few seconds. It gives Max enough time to look at him, properly look, for the first time in years. Red Bull, Renault, McLaren, they’ve all taken their tolls on him. Like a disease, it has spread throughout the years, quietly and undiagnosed, and it was now too late to fix it easily. He had to step away. Leave for a while. Work on himself as a last chance treatment. Pray it works.

“Probably,” he ends up answering, voice so quiet Max would have missed it had he not read it on his lips, “I’ll try to come back next year. They might not want me back.” His words are carefully picked, as if he had spent his nights trying to figure out how to break the news for others.

Max doesn’t want to think about that. “They’ll do. You’ll come back,” and, as he says it, he isn’t sure if he’s trying to comfort Daniel or himself, “in a year, then. Gives you enough time to go crazy doing normal things. Then, back to us.”

Daniel stares at him for a few seconds, licks his lip clean from the sticky beer residue, and smiles. It’s nothing like his usual smile, but it’s a small victory, at least. He wonders if he’s also thinking of clumsy nights, years ago, when adrenaline would run too high and healthy outlets were needed. If he’s over it, the way Max is pretending to be.

He wonders, but Daniel puts a stop to it, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips against Max’s. With his free hand, he caresses his cheek and whispers, “I promise, Max. I’ll come back to you,” and kisses him gently. He tastes of alcohol, of beer and whiskey and toothpaste, of salty tears and disappointment, of nights Max will forever miss.

But it’s good enough, for now. It’s a promise he can cling to.

[satocidal]

what do you think jjk men will be like in a haunted house with you?

since its October now its fitting to talk about halloween :D

qn for u!! do you like horror movies?

i personally wanna like em but im so scared of em :/ esp the jumpscares i hate em but surprisingly i can watch a gory zombie movie without a single flinch its so weird but it only starts and stops at zombie movies. i cant watch any other types of gory movies <\3

Not me sending an ask just as I got this😭 but ok ok here we go<3

Gojo Satoru:

Pretends to be fazed, emphasis on “pretends” because when I say he exaggerates everything? I mean it.

I mean, he’s Satoru you know—obviously he isn’t getting ‘scared’ of anything but he doesn’t let that ruin the vibe for him.

He’s so very obnoxious too- complaining about the price of the tickets and making innuendos about you loudly—poking fun at the staff, all in all, punch worthy.

Inside the house? All the more. For the darkness only ever encourages satoru to cop a feel on you here and there—blaming it all on the ‘brokensms and shitty’ decoration

. He’s a menace through and through so when bored, mid way in the house he’s already on a mission to jump scare the jump-scares — and it works so well, you’re clutching yourself, coughing out broken laughs and he’s entertained too—a win-win situation.

Also starts giving “tips” to the staff onto how to make it successful.

If you ever let out a high pitched scream he’ll try to make you scream louder later, he’s stupid like that.

Geto Suguru:

…why him? Like don’t get me wrong per se but he finds it all so stupid? But to make you happy, suguru geto will comply.

Ps. Suguru is the kind to hook you free tickets just somehow, like he will, don’t question it.

ALWAYS THE GENTLEMAN!!! He will forever hold you close, how so ever less scary it may be and always leads the way and hold your hand. He’s coded that way, nothing can be changed.

Laughs when finally, just finally a jump scare goes past his reflexes and pops out on you guys, surprising him slightly. He will steal it.

Also I think suguru is the kind who is slightly dumb —not obviously but like, he doesn’t get some jumpscares—just doesn’t get it. So when you guys will be walking out, he’ll just go “OH,”

he sincerely doesn’t give two fucks about the haunted house but when you get out, he will ask you if you liked it or no and if you wanted to try that again.

Nanami Kento:

“If you wanted to be scared, I could just show you the amount of work I have pending,” i headcanon that it’s a task in itself to get him to go because ??? Just bake some pretty cookies for yourself Lmao.

Nanami Kento pays full price and through out the way he’s calculating the number of jumpscares that come your way and to see just how much he was charged.

Yeah, Nanami seems scarier than those stupid dressed up guys - especially when you’re trying your best to hold your laugh when a guy thinks Nanami was the jumpscare.

But but but, however mad, he doesn’t break the codes—holds you close, and anytime he feels something is about to happen, he shields you with his body.

And like imagine their is booby trap on the ground (have you guys been to those?) and you notice it before him and help him get away from it? Instant head pats. Bet my ass Nanami is the kind to always and always avoid haunted house from now on and makes you repay in same way *wink wink* afterwards

I was gonna add Sukuna and others too but ehehehe

[purplebehittindifferent]

FAQ!!!!

before asking, check this out!

How many comic series do you have?

TLDR: As of currently I have 3!

Reconnecting: my deltarune fan comic. It is completed and the masterpost can be found on my pinned.

SpiderVerse: this is completed… for now. I had more plans but they fell through as the friends I had planned to do them with, left. Link on pinned.

IEYTD: this is just little comics scattered about, masterpost in on my pinned :)

RULE5: coming soon!

(if you would like more masterposts send an ask <3)

Is there going to be more reconnecting??!

TLDR: kind of? vvv

There will be no more COMIC/DRAWN content related to reconnecting (at least no more than the occasional doodle.) but I do plan to keep writing fanfiction on Ao3 to continue the story as long as it will go.

Can I send prompts for fics or art?:

Of course! Just know I might not be able to do them all!

Your art is online and your AO3 is open! aren't you scared AI is going to steal it!?:

TLDR: my ao3 will remain open, my art will always be here vvv

I hate AI stealing creators' content as much as everyone else does. However, more so, I want anyone to be able to access real art. I have selected all of the available options to keep my works from being taken, and am very aware that the only way to keep my work safe on AO3 is to close it to guests. 

It took me, an avid fanfic reader, 4 years to get an Ao3 account. I care more about you guys being able to read what makes you happy and feeds your brain worms, than I care about my writing being stolen for this AI boom we are living in. It would tear me apart if you wanted to access my writing but had to wait so long for an account. 

I do not support AI in any form that replaces human beings, and though I know eventually I may never be able to have my work safe from AI on any platform, I will keep sharing it, and downright refuse to take it down. 

Taking all of my art down in fear of AI will be something I never do. In that way AI will kill me just as much as if it started stealing my work. Art is meant to be seen and shared. They will not take that from us.

I believe there is a group of people who like real artwork and writing made by real people. And I keep my trust in those people to see the value in non AI generated content. 

We will persevere.

Is fanart allowed?

TLDR: YES

SO MUCH YES. I BEG PLEASE PLEASE if you create fan content of my content or content inspired by my content, that is absolutely as long as I am either credited or @ on the post so I can see!!!

Where can I read RULE5?

TLDR: Rule5 isn't released yet!

Rule 5 is my original comic in progress, I have posted teaser art and some concept stuff. The hope is that it will start releasing weekly in early 2025. I am completing all the art first, so that it can have a consistent upload schedule and I can relax for a while. Trust me when I say- I will not shut up once it is available.

I want to make a comic but don't know where to start…

TLDR: DM me!!

My DMs are always open to genuine questions! I've actually spoken with many people who wanted to start their own series and have been told it's been helpful!

Though my biggest advice is GO FOR IT!!!!! The first couple updates might not gain a ton of traction right away, but persevere, keep going, and @ me so I can reblog it to help support you!!!

Are you LGBTQ+?

TLDR: nope :) cishet.

Many people have asked me this lol

Where can I find the masterposts and links to your other socials?

They are all on my pinned!!!

You have mental disorders + illnesses… What are they?

Respectfully it is none of your business. I try to spread awareness because I believe that is very important, but I also try to keep my personal things personal. If i'm ever outright about something, feel free to ask questions, and if i'm uncomfortable I will just say I do not wish to answer <3

How do I commission you?

There is a link on my Ko-Fi that goes to my comms!

 If you have any questions before ordering you can DM me anytime. Click the option you want, order it, and it will give you instructions from there. I check my orders once a day. If you set your order and I have not gotten back to you, please DM me it's possible I missed it.

Do you/will you draw NSFW and post it?

Not here.

Are you really in my walls?

Yep. I'm not kidding. That skittering you hear? It's me. Go hydrate yourself or I'll steal all your left shoes.

I found your work reposted without credit, should I tell you?

Yes please tell me!! I have not found any of my stuff randomly reposted without credit but I'm sure it will happen someday.

What art program do you use?

I use procreate! I highly recommend, as far as the brushes go, I use all of the base ones that come with the app itself. Nothing fancy.

Will you draw my OC?

If you commission me! sure!

if theres any more questions you think should be added here LMK

[goldielia]

when will met ally

a part of: call it what you want au

to say will is in a hurry would be an understatement. realizing at 6:30 pm that he had an essay due at midnight wasn’t his smartest move and he keeps thanking the universe for the afternoon practice today because if it had been scheduled for the evening he’d be screwed.

to make matters worse, the whole student body seems to have to finish schoolwork today because there’s not a single free spot in sight in the library.

he wants to cry when he finally sees a single open chair at a secluded table that’s almost fully surrounded by shelves. it’s a small table, barely big enough for two workspaces and one is occupied. it’s not his favourite but it’ll have to do.

the girl at the table only looks up from her laptop short enough for him to silently point to the chair next to her to ask if it was free and to nod her head in it’s direction to confirm he can sit down.

as soon as he has his laptop and notes set up he’s fully engrossed into his essay until he’s done to the point where he only has to write his conclusion and submit it. when he looks up for the first time to straighten his back and take a breath he notices that the library is pretty much empty, only a handful of students are still scattered around the tables.

it’s only then he really notices the girl he has been practically sitting shoulder to shoulder with at the small table. she hasn’t moved either, her warmth a steady presence against his left arm. before he can even take a good look at her, his eyes catch onto her laptop to see if she’s also been writing up a last minute essay or why else she’d still be in the library at 11 pm on a tuesday.

instead of notes or a word document he’s met with a picture of a dead body though. his eyes widen and even though he feels like he shouldn’t ever see things like that, he can’t quite take his eyes off of it.

“that’s the black dahlia” he hears to his left. finally taking a look at the girl, he sees a cute brunette with freckles all over her face. her green eyes are set on him with a slightly amused look, a sly smirk on her lips and her headphones now pushed down around her neck. he only manages to choke out a “what?”, his voice sounding rough because he hadn’t spoken in a while.

“black dahlia” she says, “her name was elizabeth short. she was murdered in january 1947 but nobody’s been able to solve the case so it’s gone cold.” he nods, clearing his throat to say “okay. are you, like, writing about her? or should i be concerned you’ve been looking at pictures of a dead body all night?”

she laughs quietly. “no, i’m all caught up on my classes. just can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened to her. what are you writing?” and then will remembers, he’s supposed to submit his essay in less than an hour and still has his conclusion to write.

“uh, can i postpone this conversation until i’ve actually finished it? i may have forgotten this was due at midnight” he admits with a lopsided grin. “sure, i’ll probably stay here anyways”.

after he sends her a grateful smile and she pulls her headphones back on to continue working, he turns back to his essay.

he tries to get back into his flow, he really does, but now that he’s taken a proper look at the girl next to him, he can’t help but hyperfocus on the way their shoulders brush when she uses the mousepad. his eyes can’t seem to stay on the words on his document either. he feels like they subconsciously draw to the pictures and articles on her screen or the way her blue nails click quietly on her keyboard.

after finishing his conclusion a torturing few minutes later, reading the whole thing one more time to make sure he’s not written total bullshit in his trance and submitting it with about 10 minutes to midnight, he turns back to her. the headphones now hanging around her neck permanently for some time - he’s obviously only noticed because he felt her arm moving, not at all because he’s been stealing glances at her.

“alright, i’m done. had to write about leadership in modern competitive environments” when she raises an eyebrow he adds “basically if you had to lead a team in any sport, would you focus on tradition or be okay with breaking some to make sure your team does better and like, the whole significance of tradition in modern sports since they’ve become so commercial.” she nods in understanding.

“how would you lead a team?” she asks, and he’s surprised to see genuine interest shining in her eyes. he subconsciously launches in a rant, it’s what happens whenever he talks about hockey. when he’s finished with his point he takes a breath and focuses his eyes back on her. she turned fully towards him somewhere during his talk, pulled a leg up on the chair to rest her chin on her knee. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t want to unpack that whole essay to you just now” he apologizes with a slight blush to his cheeks. “no, you’re okay. i like to hear people’s thoughts on things they’re passionate about.” save to say his blush did not disappear after that.

looking back into her eyes, he finds a mischievous glint, and when she quips “so hockey, huh?” is when it clicks in his brain. “wait, you’re our equipment girl, right?” “and you’re really good with people, apparently.”

“oh my god, i’m so sorry” he groans. “that’s okay, just don’t recognize the girl that tapes your stick whenever you’re late, no biggie” and he instantly feels bad because she had taped his hockey sticks multiple times and he didn’t even remember her name.

“i’m actually really sorry, you’ve been taping my sticks just how i like them but i can’t fucking remember your name.” she grins at that. “i’ve never actually told you, though” and relief washes over him. “so, could i maybe get your name now?” he asks, slightly nervous because he doesn’t feel like he’s made the best impression ever.

sitting silently next to her for hours before striking up a conversation about a dead body, all before shooting it down again because he forgot about his work. then as soon as he’s finished he rants to her and then tells her he doesn’t even remember her.

to his surprise though, she doesn’t miss a beat, answering “you’ll even get my number if you take me to get food right now”. he blinks once before he starts hurrying to pack his things, only stopping when she giggles behind him, when he turns around though she’s getting ready to leave just as quickly as him.

when he gets back to his dorm around 2 am it’s no surprise ryan’s fast asleep so when he quietly goes to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, he takes his time in front of the mirror to recap his evening.

they went to mcdonald’s, and he insisted on paying for her food because he still felt really, really bad about not remembering her. although she chirped at him because “you drove us here already” and “the driver never pays” and “i’m an independent woman, you know. let me pay for my share at least”.

they sat in his car in the mcdonald’s parking lot for a while, at first quietly eating their food. “my name’s alaska by the way.” she couldn’t help but laugh at him as he looked up at her mid-bite. he took his time chewing, looking out through the window and into the night. when his eyes settled back on hers, he answered “suits you” and the honest look in his eyes tugged on her heartstrings.

they talked about school some more, he found out she’s majoring in criminology - he still doesn’t know if that makes her more or less creepy than just looking at pictures of a dead body for fun. he’s decided though that he doesn’t give a fuck, she might be a little creepy but she listened to him rant and she has those pretty green eyes and she tapes his stick just right and that’s enough for will.

he took her back to her dorm, noticed it’s not far from his own and filed that information away in his brain for later. before she left the car he recited his number to her as she typed it in her phone before she grinned at him tiredly, leaned over the center console to hug him quickly before she hopped out of the car and headed to the front door.

he watched as she fumbled her keys out of her pocket, opened the door and waved at him before closing it.

as he just finds that comfortable position in his bed, his phone vibrates next to him.

from: unknown

spotify.com/podcasts/truecrimemysteries/theblackdahlia

unknown was changed to alaska

to: alaska

thank you, i’ll make sure to give it a listen

sleep well, see you soon?

from: alaska

i’m at that table nearly every day. also, you have practice tomorrow :)

good night, will

willsmith2 requested to follow you!

even though the vibrations were nearly silent, ryan grumbles in his bed across the room. “what’re you doin’ dude? ‘s too late” “finished that goddamn leadership essay and got food”

“you do know the essay is due tomorrow, right?”

alaska_argent accepted your follow request!

alaska_argent started following you!

[that-one-paintbrush]

Hey, Paintbrush here!

Recently noticed that a few others at Hotel OJ have made some tumblr blogs, so I decided to as well! Welcome to my blog, all :)

I'm Paintbrush (they/them) and I've competed on three seasons of Inanimate Insanity! Season three just ended and I've just been chilling at Hotel OJ for a while. Not doing much else, so I'll probably be answering asks frequently.

DISCLAIMER: this ask blog has (unintentionally) become an au

if you want to get the full context, feel free to scroll down certain lore tags or check out the archive! -mod

Tags of interest:

#painty yapping: Paintbrush answering asks, sometimes used for reblog convos

#painty posting: explained here!

#misc asks: Asks that don't particularly have anything to do with a plot line

#bristle blather: Asks or convos specifically related to Paintbrush's bristles

#burnt-out brush: Posts where Paintbrush aint doing so hot... also includes the mini arc where Painty ran away and Backgroundy temporarily took over answering

#magic anon: Temporary events that can be applied on the blog

#rough sketch duo: Posts that feature both Paintbrush and Animatic (from Animatic Battle), Animatic usually played by @animaticaskblog

#backgroundy: A character introduced through a magic anon event, backgroundy is a friendly face on the wall that occasionally shows up on this blog. ....or are they? friendly i mean. backgroundy clearly has a lot to hide, and becomes quite defensive upon being asked about their past

#torch/inner flame: angry paintbrush? wrong! a completely separate character!! torch is a secretive and smooth-talking individual that possesses paintbrush at seemingly random times. also narrates paintbrush's actions

#flooding memories chronicles: Posts taking a dive into Backgroundy's obscure past!

#rediscovering fire chronicles: Paintbrush has an inner flame now. WHAT!!! oh just kidding theyre just possessed. hi torch!! whats your backstory?

#false contract chronicles: AAAAAA SPRINGYS HERE HES GONNA HIRE US ALL AAAA

#painty yapping and yapping: posts where Paintbrush rambles for an extended amount of time, usually not dialogue

#animaticified saga: paintbrush gets ab animaticified. that's it

#art imitates life chronicles: paintbrushs past wasnt ALL sunshine and rainbows... if only they knew what happened!

#backfire arc: paintbrush makes a terrible no good absolutely horrible bad decision. they suffer the consequences accordingly!

#still waters runs deep chronicles: torch and backgroundy FINALLY talk things over like civilized adults

#history repeats itself chronicles: another life has been created via m!a,,,, waow

#mod kit: Posts from the mod! me!!

hey, mod here! (pandemonium, he/they/she)

there are a few things id like to mention:

this is my first ask blog. in the history of EVER!! so pls be patient with me

dont plan on including ships on this blog! but i dont mind ship-related asks ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ please just dont be weird or mention proships

like i said, dont be weird in the asks! please no nsfw or fetish-y asks either

dont be an asshole pretty please- i dont mind jokes and sarcasm but if ur only here to be a haterade pls leave 🥺

yall can do magic anons if you want! please try not to send too many tho 😁

i made the paintbrush asset myself! pls dont use it or steal it :')

i may not answer asks immediately so please be patient and dont spam or pressure me into answering! i may ignore and refuse to answer any asks if im uncomfortable as well

keep in mind some of what i say may be personal headcanons or made up on the spot! ill stick to canon as much as possible but if theres an opportunity to add a headcanon, ill likely do so

thanks for reading!

[dragongirltongue]

New Pinned post <3

Hi there, the name is Zelda, or one of like, 20 other names that may or may not be listed somewhere around here. If you know a name I go by that isn't findable here don't use it. <3

I'm bigender which is made up of girl and fem6oy, as such I use she/her and sometimes he/him pronouns when I'm feeling fem6oy enough <3

I'm in my 30s, not getting more specific than that until I decide it's not true enough to change it, don't try to find my exact age as I don't like sharing that information publicly, I don't even update it on my birthday <3

I'm a polyamorous bisexual voraphile freak and if you're over 18 you're welcome to talk to me about how much of a freak I am. I love to flirt and encourage it. Also happy to share my Other Blog with anyone interested, again as long as you're of age. <3

I'm a film graduate and currently working on doing something with that experience as well as working on a superhero comic and a 2D zelda style game. Feel free to bug me about any of those I love to discuss writing and media and want to encourage media literacy. <3

I'm also an ex-jehovahs witness and as a result I'm hugely into the holiday season in a very against my old god kinda way. Also big into sinning <3

Also I'm like, a dragon in probably an otherkin/thetadelta kinda way, like, it's core to who I am and how I understand myself so yeah. Despite this my fursona is a fox, the dragon in my icon is literally me <3

I also draw sometimes and when I do it'll be posted to @dragongirldrawings but always reblogged here too.

Also I'm a member of a plural system, feel free to check out the rest of the system over here @haven-sys <3

Further on the identity weirdness I'm an imaginary friend for the person who used to inhabit this body, they've been gone for like, over 20 years so it's not really relevant but I have started embracing my nature as a fictional creation, it's comforting.

Btw, if one of my posts containing my typing quirk ends up on your dash I take no responsibility for it. I use it in posts that are for me only and if they happen to resonate with others that's their choice to reblog.

I had intended to set tipping up on my blog for a while but adhd caused me to never get around to it sooo, homebrew tip button on my original posts. Feel free and outright encouraged to steal this idea <3

So yeah that's me, hiii I love you all <3

this post is specifically a6out tum6lr user Zelda dragongirltongue

DNI list under the read more.

lmao imagine if I actually made one of those finally, that's how you'd know I've been replaced with an evil clone or something.

That being said if you're looking at my blog to send me an ask or dm about what someone gets off to please understand unless they're actively hurting someone I rly don't care. I have a lot of ignored and blocked anons about this.

This goes double if the person you're trying to alert me to is trans femme, we don't play that game here, especially given that I know I've been targetted for things as simple as engaging in vore the wrong way for some people or whatever.

Like, I just want to make it clear I rly don't give a fuck what another adult does in the bedroom, I rly don't care if the bedroom happens to include their blog and I rly don't care if they like to flirt about it with other adults on this website.

Also if your pinned post is a callout for anyone about anything it's likely to set off my paranoia around you, which is to say I will not be able to trust you if this is the case even if it's for someone who's actually a danger to a community, like, actively.

Like, this ain't a moral stance or anything, it's a mental health thing. I see that you want to make your first point of contact into a crosshair on someone else I'm gonna be scared you're gonna aim at me next even if it's completely reasonable that you'd never find anything objectionable with me. It scares me and I'm gonna spend every interaction walking on egg shells around you cos what if you're digging for dirt, like, I got no way of knowing.

Anyway as the opening joke implies I don't see any worth in having a list of things to not interact with me over cos the lived experience on this planet is so full of nuance and I've formed deem friendships with people who'd probably have avoided me if I had a DNI and they cared about it.

I think DNIs are dumb but this feels like a space to talk about some general limits on what I'm gonna put up with on this website. I'm just here for a good time with other freaks, anything else is optional. If you want to drag me into your discourse at this point then I guess this is whre I ask you to Do Not Interact. To anyone else, I love yall <3

If you've been directed here after sending an ask my way please apologize for wasting my time [here]

tl;dr DNIs are dumb but don't drag me into your personal grievances with others.

this post is still specifically a6out tum6lr user Zelda dragongirltongue [tip]

[missmaywemeetagain]

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Stop that shit right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You taste so sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

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

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

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

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

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

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

His prayers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clings to this.

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

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

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

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

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a mother knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you knew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

*

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

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

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

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

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

*

March 1960

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

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

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

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

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

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, anything for you.

*

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for his friend, right?

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

That is the bargain.

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

But you are not his, you never really were.

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

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

Especially Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are his. You’ve always been his.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

*

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

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

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

Not again, not again, not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

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

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack flinches.

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

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

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

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

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

“How long, Elvis?”

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

“Opening night.”

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

The room goes silent yet again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

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

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

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

Elvis releases him.

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

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

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

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

No one does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

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

*

Taglist:

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

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

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

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

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

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

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis 

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[nolan-chance-fortnite]

First day in here and I already found a wonderful new berry! It's called FlowBerry and it has such funky flavor! Very sweet but also kind of sour, I love it! I think I'm gonna have a great time in this island!

DON'T BE SHY, SPEAK WITH AND HIRE NOLAN CHANCE TODAY

OOC: Say hello to Nolan Chance! Yes, It's Nolan Chance from @nolan-chance (?) main is, you know my main, I follow back from there but I don't usually follow back, so, I like things from there. Hello(?). I'm Nolan Chance and, ok, I have not much to say about this(?). Interaction guidelines under the cut.

INTERACTION GUIDELINES:

-Nolan Chance is open to most kind of interactions! The only thing (for now) I'll avoid is innapropiate (aka NSFW) interactions with minors. I'm an adult and that would be super weird. Otherwise, I'm fine with almost everything.

-Pretty obvious, I have my own headcanons, don't assume I follow your headcanons about Nolan. Respect mine and I'll respect yours about your character!

-Be chill, but most important, be respectful! 🎲

* * If you feel Nolan is being way too disrespectful with your character or if he's making you feel uncomfortable, please, don't be afraid and let me know. Is not my intention to offend anyone, let's have fun together! **

TAGS:

#Nolan Posting: Original exclusive life-changing posts created by heist mastermind Nolan Chance (Style Nolan Chance)!

#Nolan Replying: Things Nolan is replying to

#Nolan Reblogging: Reblogs lol usually without a comment of Nolan

#Speak with Nolan Chance: Answers to your asks! Yes, you can send asks to Nolan Chance! And he'll reply with this tag

#Nolan's beautiful face: His beautiful face of course!

#Chancetastic lore: relevan posts about Nolan life and career (?

#OOC: Text out of Character by me, Big Nolan

// <- Things starting with that thing (in the tags or anywhere else) are comments made by me, Big Nolan, not by Little Nolan

#NSFW / #Suggestive: Inapropiate things.

There are some posts that get a bit longer than what you may want to have in your dash, I assign a title to each of those so you can blacklist it! For now, the existing ones so far are:

#Almorzando con Kado Thorne: Kado and Nolan eat lunch together

#La visita de Nolan / #Nolan's visit: Nolan visits Kado in his resort

#MontaDate: Montague and Nolan have a very tense dinner

#Tacos with Nolan: It's taco Tuesday at Eclipsed Estate!

#Nolan's apology: Or attempt of, since thing with Kado went south (Ongoing)

#Dado Dollarbill's Honeymoon: Nolan's mind was sent back one year ago, now he's ready to steal Kado Thorne's time machine... again. Part of the #Last Resort Posting curse

And that's all, I'll add more someday(?) but feel free to ask me to tag something specific!

[inklore]

i know i say this every time i reach a milestone, hell anytime i get a new follower that isn't a blank blog or bot, but i can't believe you guys are still here! still supporting me! still putting up with my chaos! i mean it each time i get all sappy about how grateful i am for each and every one of you and how i lucked out with you beautiful souls occupying this space with me. if i could send you all a little cupcake and a forehead kiss i would <3.

but since i can't do that let's have a little celebration instead!

like the flyer above states this celebration will focus solely on graphics and ya girl putting that photoshop to work and brushing off some of my old graphic and creative skills.

★ THE RULES.

you do not have to be following me to send something in unless something is specifically labeled 'mutuals only' then, unless we are mutuals, you cannot send anything from that section.

you can send in as many requests from whatever section as you want, there is no limit. but please refrain from sending requests for animated projects.

this celebration does not have an end date so unless the above image says 'closed' then send things in whenever you wish!

blank blogs and ageless blogs as well as minors please refrain from sending things in, respectfully.

do not steal or claim any of the graphics i make as your own.

♡ MUTUALS ONLY.

moodboards...i'll make you a personalized moodboard / aesthetic. ➥ a 'your vibe' moodboard aka i'll go off of the vibes and aesthetics you give off to me or a character + trope + scenario moodboard

gif requests...i'll make a gifset of whatever character you ask for. ➥ can be a certain scene, from a certain movie, what have you. but please note the list of characters + movies from the actors down below are more likely to give me the most inspo to make something from. but please feel free to ask me for someone not on the list because chances are i'll do it unless i truly dislike the actor or character.

ship edit...i'll make a little edit of a character i ship you with. ➥ i may include some extra things in the graphic because i can't just be simple with things, so you can give me a small list of your favs, your vibes, your likes, and dislikes, if you so wish.

✩ FREE FOR ALL.

movie recovers...i'll make you a movie poster. ➥ this goes for tv shows + some artists + character posters as well.

book + movie recs...ask me to rec some things. ➥ 'your favorite movies' + 'movies you suggest people who like [insert something here] watch' + 'underrated shows' + 'books with this vibe' + 'songs that remind you of this character' are all requests that are applicable plus so so much more, please be as creative and detailed as you wish.

banners...request a banner for whatever you wish to use it for. ➥ these are not personal which means anyone can use them not just you. can be for navigations, masterlists, etc. gifs are not applicable.

headers...just like the above but for mobile headers. ➥ same rules apply as the above section. shows, movies + characters, vibes + aesthetics all applicable.

dividers...i'll make you a set of fancy dividers. ➥ again these are not personal and for everyone to use and enjoy.

magazine designs...i'll make a little magazine-esk outtake for a movie, show, or character.

personal favorites...ask me my favorite anything and i'll make a cute little something to showcase it.

♥︎ CHARACTERS, SHOWS, MOVIES, ACTORS APPLICABLE. ➥ actors + their characters: adam driver, pedro pascal, oscar isaac, jodie comer, will poulter, aaron taylor johnson, thomas doherty, tgm cast but no tc. ➥ movies: scream franchise, any spooky movie, john wick, twilight. ➥ shows: killing eve, hemlock grove. ➥ etc characters: finnick odair, bruce wayne (except affleck and bale).

this list is only for the gif requests so disregard it for everything else or use it as inspo for your requests if you want. also please note that the gifs will be posted on either three of my gif accounts.

here you can find my graphics board on pinterest of past graphics i have made over the years + some inspo if you need it for requesting.