#i will find the writers and make them pay if they don't give my babies a happy ending

[priapussdick]

me watching cute montage of kawi and pisaeng being domestic husbands, but it's episode 11 and it's a thai bl:

[shinestarhwaa]

SUPER LADY || YEH SHUHUA

My comeback as a (G)I-DLE writer :) this is especially for my bratty darling aera who needs a mommy to shut her tf up (in a loving way<3 teehee)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Shuhua x Fem reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Tags/Warnings: Established relationshipn dirty language, fxf, mommy!shuhua, cunnilingus, fingering, thighspanking, mild choking, namecalling, light bondage, Shu kinda steps on reader a few times, scissoring, squirting

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @1-800-shedevil @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @wh0re4yunsangho

ENJOY!

You're well aware that you had been teasing Shuhua all night long. If there's one thing she hates it was getting teased and riled up in front of her friends 'cause she finds it so hard to hold back.

She has been giving you lusty glares from across the room as you were nearly flashing your entire chest the way you bend over to fix your heels. You could never keep it classy at a classy party anyways.

It didn't take long before Shuhua announced your departure together. She nearly shoved you into the back of the uber, your breath hitching in your throat when you felt her nails dig into the delicate skin of your thigh. "You knew very well what you were doing, weren't you?"

The mischievous look on your face made her blood boil and eyes roll. "You're gonna pay for that. Don't fucking show off your chest on a party," she harshly whispers underneath her breath.

You smirk and look down on your own chest and you weren't gonna lie; the girls were looking good. They look so prominent in this dress and that's why Shuhua didn't want you to wear it to your friends' party to begin with, but as the brat that you are you couldn't help it.

Her hand slides under the fabric of your dress, cupping your already wet crotch. A sly smirk plays on her lips as her hand moves around, spreading the wetness. You look at the driver in the front, who seems to not notice a single thing of what is going on in the back of his cab.

Shuhua's fingers enter your panties and rub along your folds, making you bite your lip. You feel her fingertips press and rub on your sensitive clit and you muffle a whine with the palm of your hand.

"Shu, please," you whine. "It's mommy for you," she states firmly as she rubs your clit in circular motions. "Y-yes, mommy," you whisper, body twitching in exitement. The cab arrives at your apartment and Shuhua quickly hands him some money before exiting the car and rushing into the apartment

She pushes you up against the wall as soon as you're inside the hallway. Shuhua's hand slid up to your throat and squeezes it slightly. "You're only just a little whore, aren't you?" She curses, licking her lips.

"Fuck, yeah, a whore for you, Shu, Mommy, please," you beg as you slide your panties down, kicking them off your feet. They land somewhere you couldn't see because Shuhua already pulls you to the bedroom by your arm, her grip on you being quite rough. She takes off your heels and unzips your dress and helps you take it off, leaving you completely naked.

"On your knees, slut," she orders, and you quickly obey. You sit down on your knees in front of her and look up into her eyes. She's still fully dressed in her gorgeous green evening gown with matching high heels that were to die for.

''I know you're expecting for me to fuck you, but you've been bad and fucking is a reward for being good, don't you think? You'll have to prove yourself now if you want me to fuck you.'' You whine and pout, trying to create some sort of guilt-feeling within your girlfriend but she doesn't budge. ''Hands behind your back,'' she says. You obey her and she knees down with a silky rope from the closet in her hands, tying your hands together.

''You're gonna be a good girl for mommy now baby, won't you?''

When you don't reply fast enough Shuhua rolls her eyes and lifts up her heel, putting it down on your thigh. ''You're such a slut. Did you lose your tongue, doll?'' ''N-No ma'am,'' you winced. She nudges between your thighs with the front of her heel, commanding you to open your legs. As soon as you spread your legs she presses the heel right on your clit, making you whine out.

You gulp as you look her in the eye. She presses down a few more times to test your reaction. ''Look at you slut,'' she scoffs when you buck your hips forward, trying to get some friction. ''You're so wet for me, aren't you? I can see your slick on my heel,'' she smirks. ''Y-Yes mommy, can't help it,'' you whine, ''I love it when you use me. Please use me more, Give me your pussy, I'll be so good, I'll eat it so good!'' you beg, rutting your crotch against the leather heels.

''Hmm, fine,'' she decides, pulling away from you. She kicks off her heels and sits on the edge of the bed with her legs spread wide. You have a perfect view of her cunt through the large slit in her dress. To your surprise she wasn't wearing any panties and it makes your mouth water. ''Go ahead then,'' she says, pulling your head between your thighs.

You dive straight inbetween her legs, sliding your tongue between her slick folds. ''Mmh, you taste so perfect mommy,'' you moan out. Your tongue zigzags up and down to rile her up the way she likes it and then circles around her clit, not touching it just yet. ''Are you fucking teasing me, slut? You know better than that,'' she hisses, throwing her head back.

Shuhua moans when you dip your tongue into her hole, slowly fucking in and out and savouring her juices. She runs her hand through her hair and slides it down to her breast, fondling it before pulling it out of her dress. You look up at her as you fuck her pussy with your tongue, eyeing her heavenly breasts.

Eagerly, you started to lick and suck harshly at her clit, earning louder moans from Shuhua. ''Fuck, that's it my little whore, that's it!'' Your pussy aches so much, throbbing as you get hornier by the minute. Her pussy starts to get wetter and it clenches hard a few times and then she comes undone on your tongue with a loud moan. She pants heavily as you ride out your girlfriends' orgasm.

''That's a good whore... Get on the bed now.''

As you get on the bed she gets up and takes off her dress, showing off her naked body now. You sit on your knees and wait for her to untie the rope on your wrists. When she's done taking the rope off you lay down against the pillows with your lead spread wide for her.

She spreads your pussy apart with her fingers and looks at it as if she's inspecting it. ''You've got such a slutty little wet cunt babygirl,'' she smirks, ''you'll take mommy's fingers well right? If you take them well I'll fuck you.''

You nod eagerly and spread your legs even wider if you could, to which she laughs. She slips two fingers deep inside you. They glide in so easily, Shuhua notices and it makes her wonder if you've ever been this wet for her before. Her fingers slowly pump in and out of your sopping wet cunt, making a sinful squelching noise.

Shuhua moves her fingers faster gradually and makes you moan loudly when she hits your sensitive spots. ''Fuck, mommy! That feels so good!'' You whine out. Shuhua smirks and fucks them even faster and deeper into your core. ''Good girl... See, you can be good for me,'' she says, showing no mercy on your cunt.

''You seem more sensitive than usual, babydoll,'' she mentions as she rubs your clit quickly. You cry out and nodd, ''I feel it too mommy, oh my God, I'm so wet and needy for you, please, please fuck me I can't wait any longer!''

''Cum on my fingers for me and I'll fuck you, okay baby? Come on, you're my little slut, you can come for me hm?''

She rubs your clit at a fast pace as she slaps your thighs, earning louder whines and moans from you. Before you know it your orgasm washes over you and you come undone on her fingers, body spasming and squirming as she rides out your orgasm.

''Good girl,'' she smirks, pulling her fingers from you and licking them off. She then aligns her wet pussy with yours, throwing one of your legs over her shoulder. She holds onto your calf as she lightly bites into it while she rubs her pussy against yours slowly.

''You fucking like that, don't you?'' she smirks as she teases you. You whine and slide your hands up her defined thighs. ''Please, mommy, fuck me, fuck me harder, make a mess of me!''

She smirks and moves faster, rubbing your clits together, resulting in you becoming an absolute moaning mess. Shuhua is less vocal than you are but she still cannot bite back her grunts and moans as she rubs your pussies together. You on the other hand let out all the most sinful noises you can produce as you let her rock you into the new world.

''Mommy, I'm not gonna last, it's too good, mommy's pussy is too good!'' You cry. ''Come for me darling, come hard for me, you can do that right? Mommy's gonna come for you too, gonna fucking come all over you, squirt all over your pussy, you'd like that wouldn't you?'' she breathes out.

You can't form a proper sentence anymore and just moan loudly as you come for her, body trembling with pleasure. It doesn't take long before Shuhua comes as well, rubbing her clit hard against yours and squirting out her arousal onto your lower body.

She slowly stops grinding on you and caresses your cheek. ''That's a good girl for mommy... How much more can you take?''

[forevermore05]

Let's say you're one of the writer's way back when Atla was first starting. Bryke has stepped back and let the writers do their thing. What are some things you would keep or remove completely? What are things you would have done differently? What would you have liked to explore more of with the story and the characters?

OOOH good question

I would definitely be giving South Asia, Hinduism, and Buddhism their honour back but making Desi main characters not caricatures. I will pay my respects to those religions by using them properly and not discarding them when you don't truly understand their meaning. And better representation will all the cultures.

Likewise, I would make a 4th (or maybe more) book, so we can see the healing of the 4 nations and flesh out the Gaang and other characters properly. I feel like ending it on book 3 was too sudden, and I hate the comic, so I don't even recognize those, since it is so OOC.

I would make Zuatara canon through some slow burn. I would not pair Aang up with anyone, since he is too young but keep him having a crush on Katara for the Chakra arc (which stays true and respect to Hinduism) but to provide a lesson on heartbreak and moving on. Same with Toph, such a cute little baby.

I will REMOVE those nonconsenual kisses entirely. Basically out with Kataang.

I want to see more of the evil politics of the Fire Nation before Aang defeats Ozai and how Zuko deals with it. In contrast, to how Zuko handles politics being Fire Lord.

I WANT more Suki and her backstory. I also want to see her and Ty Lee fight side by side. It would be so cool.

I would actually have Zuko and Katara speak to Azula after the Agni Kai.

I would keep Sokka's sexism arc.

Not only that, but I would love to explore Yue even more and her take on the NWT

I also want to go in depth with Mai, I want to give her some depth.

Have Aang's character understand the Mahabharat scripture before making a choice. (Maybe kill Ozai)

I want to see a healing arc for Azula

I also want Uncle Iroh to face some repercussion of being an activity member of war. I love Uncle Iroh, and I want to write the consequences and him accepting humbly due to his development.

Book 4 and (leading to adulthood) head canons for the Gaang

Katara: Helps the SWT and NWT, then goes on to become ambassador for the SWT in the Fire Nation

Zuko: Fire lord

Aang: Helping all the Nations to heal

Toph: I think she would totally be the creator of the pro-bender, you cannot change my mind, I think she would also become a teacher

Suki: Girlbossing as a Kyoshi Warriors and being known as one of the best

Sokka: Become Chief of SWT and a skilled engineer

I want Katara and Zuko to find his mother together (so we can get good development)

I feel like I have more, but I will add more if I think of any.

[lirational]

Hello, I just found your blog, and as a fan of PTN, I wanted to see if you would be interest in indulging a request of mine.

Said request is a poor reader revealing their rather desperate financial situation to Chelsea or Eirene by accident, namely by accidentally showing them their crumbling apartment home or hinting they can't afford their medicine.

I also hope you don't mind if I decide to make my own take on the requests and suggestions I send you when I get the chance, orif I share them with others, as I have made a similar suggestion to a fic writer in ao3.

Regardless, I hope you take care and stay safe, and I wish you good luck in PTN my fellow Chief.

Thank you for the request, and gladly, go ahead and do your own take ^^ after all more fics in PtN is always good!

—

Chelsea x Reader and Eirene x Reader (separate)

Content warnings: might contain a bit of financial manipulation (particularly Eirene’s, though nothing NSFW. Regardless, exercise caution.

Countess Chelsea:

She found out when you got an unexpected call from your insurance provider when you both were on a date, notifying you that they would stop covering the cost for one of your meds.

You were always adamant about not relying on her for anything, and she was fond of this part of you, but still, you insisted that it’s alright, you can take care of yourself, and you will find a way out of this mess the way you always did whenever a similar problem came up.

This earns you a pinch of your cheek and a teasing remark, and she stopped mentioning it up to the end of your date.

Later at night, you receive a call, saying that there was a policy mistake and you’ll get your meds covered again.

Chelsea was evasive about it when asked directly, however, your guess was practically confirmed from the way she acts. She’s more demanding for cuddles, more willing to tease you for more affection. Part of this was from habit, as she would usually ask her sugar babies to do som embarassing things in exchange for her money, but for the most part? She wants you close.

I believe that Sitri would actually push you closer to her while you two were cuddling. Having a gem cat press on your back or body is certainly interesting, to say the least.

One thing is clear, after this, Chelsea will start paying more attention to you :)

Eirene:

There is no way that she wouldn’t have found out eventually. As the CEO of a supermassive company, she has to keep an eye on those she cherishes, or risk those people getting harmed by her competitors.

However, she is a businesswoman through and through, and it shows with the ‘aid’ she gave you. When you got drenched late at night as your roof gave way, she immediately responded, ordering her employees to take you to the best hotel right away. You thanked her afterwards, and she did bask in your gratitude, however, she keeps a ledger of the aid she gave you.

She takes time to visit under pretense of checking the hotel’s accomodation. In her words, a business under her company should always provide the best accomodation at all times and this was just a surprise inspection. However, you can just sense that she wanted an excuse to visit you.

Point this out, however, and all of a sudden, a vase in a corner somewhere would turn into a pile of dust, while her demeanor remained the same.

She loves you, truly, but a combination of wanting to keep you safe and her desire to have you culminates in giving you a contract, promising you will never want for anything as long as you work for her. Under several dozen pages of legalese, she hid a clause that you would surrender your entire being to her.

All the aid she gives are not free, and she keeps a ledger of how much you owe her. Write your name on the dotted line, and your life will become all that much easier~

[missmaywemeetagain]

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop her, stop her, stop her…

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, he’s cared too much.

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

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

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

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

He’s too late.

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

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

Suddenly, everything feels much too heavy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll always be alone.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in the way she says it gives him hope.

“You need to fix this, Elvis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

**

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

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

You can’t seem to escape him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him and Sandy both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I take care of what’s mine.”

“You were made for me.”

“You belong here with me.”

“It’s meant to be…”

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

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

 At all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops. And you finally remember.

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

He’s loved you all along.

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I-I…and I’m so sorry, y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. You put the scarf in your purse.

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

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

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

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

When it’s time, I’ll know.

**

Four Weeks Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d called her last night.

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On your knees,” you command.

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

“Did I stutter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me,” you command.

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words,” you order.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s all yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on your back,” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But perhaps that is your own ego talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Completely,” he nods back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods furiously, eyes unfocused.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mamaaaa…need y-you,” he begs.

This makes you smirk coyly.

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

He can only manage a whimper in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still sensitive, you think.

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

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

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

“I love you,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you are exactly where you need to be.

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

Here, with Elvis.

*

Please let me know in the comments/DMs/asks if you are interesting in buying a physical and/or ebook of Pink Scarf (with bonus chapters/material)! 💗🧣💗

*

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 @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03

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

[unforgivenn]

i drug, kidnap, and throw Andrey in my basement. I tell him he deserves it then proceed to cut him up with my knife and then rub salt in his wounds. I then cut off two of his fingers and stab the others fingers. I leave him in a freezing room with no blanket or any sort of comfort.

Noone has the pass to hurt Noah baby like that.

This was... so much fun to write... I should write more of whumpee andrey.. Thanks for breaking my writer's block anon <33

REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED COLD; WHUMPEE ANDREY AU

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY MASTERLIST

CW: GOREE, torture, emotional and psychological abuse, Whumper turned whumpee, reader is whumper, I think its pretty obvious of what the Cw's are from the ask :)

Andrey awoke to darkness. His head throbbed, a dull, pounding pain that seemed to echo through his entire body. He tried to move, but his limbs were bound, heavy chains biting into his wrists and ankles. Panic surged through him as he realized he was in an unfamiliar place, the cold stone floor beneath him sending chills through his bones. The last thing he remembered was being snatched and thrown into this basement. How that happened, he had no idea.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and weak.

A light flickered on, blinding him momentarily. When his vision cleared, he saw a figure standing before him, a cruel smile on their lips. The basement was dimly lit, the walls lined with sinister-looking tools and instruments.

"Who the fuck are you?" Andrey demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I know exactly who you are, Andrey," you replied, your voice dripping with malice. "And I know what you've done."

Andrey's heart skipped a beat. He had made many enemies over the years, his cruel treatment of those beneath him earning him more hatred than he cared to admit. But this... this was different. This was personal.

You stepped closer, revealing a gleaming knife in your hand. "You deserve everything that's coming to you," you said, your eyes burning with a sadistic light. "And more."

"Oh you will regret this, when I execute you. If you know what's good for you, let me go, and I will let you live."

"You speak like you're not scared when I can clearly see the fear coming from you. It's not common isn't it?" You spoke, kneeling beside him and tilting your head.

"What?"

"Well it's not everyday that an heir to a country gets captured is it?"

Andrey's eyes narrowed, his pride and arrogance flaring up even in his vulnerable state.

You don't know who you're dealing with," he spat, though his voice wavered. "My family will find you. They'll make you pay for this."

You laughed, a chilling sound that echoed off the basement walls. "Oh, I'm counting on it. But not before I make you suffer for what you did to Noah."

Andrey's eyes widened. Noah. That pathetic wretch. "Noah? You're doing this for him?" He couldn't help but scoff. "He's nothing. Just a tool. A weak, sniveling—"

A sharp slap cut off his words, the sting burning across his cheek. Your face twisted with rage. "You don't get to talk about him like that. Not anymore."

Andrey's mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He glared defiantly, his pride refusing to yield. "Do your worst," he hissed. "I won't break."

Your smile was a chilling promise. "Oh, I intend to."

Andrey's heart skipped a beat as you held the knife closer to him, but he forced himself to remain still, to show no fear.

"You deserve this," You whispered pressing the blade to Andrey's skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Andrey clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out. The knife dug deeper, slicing through flesh with agonizing slowness.

Andrey's thoughts were a whirlwind of pain and defiance. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He wouldn't scream. He was better than this, stronger. But the pain was relentless, the knife carving cruel patterns into his skin.

"You think you're so strong," You taunted, your breath hot against his ear. "But even you have limits."

Andrey's vision blurred with tears he refused to shed. His pride was a fragile shield against the overwhelming agony. Your blade moved with precision, each cut a deliberate act of cruelty. Andrey's body trembled, sweat mingling with blood.

"How does it feel?" You asked, their voice a dark melody.

Andrey's mind screamed with pain, but he forced his lips to stay sealed. He wouldn't give them the pleasure of his suffering. He was a noble, damn it. He was—

A searing pain ripped through his hand, your knife sawing through bone and flesh. Andrey's world exploded in a blinding agony, his resolve shattering. He couldn't stop the scream that tore from his throat, raw and primal.

"That's better," you murmured, your voice filled with twisted satisfaction. You held up Andrey's severed fingers, blood dripping onto the floor. "Even the mighty can fall."

Andrey's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling uncontrollably. Your eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as you held up a jar of salt in front of his face, mocking him.

"No! You can't do that!" It was obvious that Andrey's bravery facade was starting to break, and you couldn't stop grinning ear to ear about it.

The pain was indescribable as you poured the jar of salt across his body, not even giving him a chance to recover, a fiery agony that consumed him. "But that's the thing, Andrey. I can do whatever I want." He screamed again, his pride crumbling under the relentless assault.

"How does it feel?" you taunted, your voice cold and hard. "How does it feel to be the one in pain for once?"

Andrey couldn't answer, his mind consumed by the unbearable torment. He could barely think, barely breathe, his entire existence reduced to a haze of pain and fear.

But you weren't done. You grabbed his hand, holding it down as you brought the knife to his fingers. Andrey's heart raced, terror flooding his veins. "No, no, please," he begged, his voice a desperate whisper. "I'll do anything..."

You ignored him, your eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as you cut through his fingers, one by one. Andrey screamed, the pain a white-hot explosion that left him gasping for breath.

You cut off two of his fingers, the stumps bleeding profusely. Andrey could barely see through the haze of pain, his vision blurred with tears. He sobbed, his body trembling with agony and fear.

You stabbed the remaining fingers, each thrust of the knife sending fresh waves of pain through Andrey's body. He screamed until his voice gave out, the sound a hoarse, broken whisper that echoed through the basement.

Finally, you stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied smile. Andrey lay on the floor, his body a wreck of pain and blood, his mind a shattered ruin.

"You think you're so powerful," you sneered, your voice filled with contempt. "You think you're untouchable. But look at you now. You're nothing."

You grabbed him by the hair, dragging him across the floor and throwing him into a small, freezing room. Andrey's body ached with every movement, his wounds burning with a relentless agony. He shivered violently, the cold seeping into his bones.

"No blankets, no comfort," you said, your voice echoing through the room. "You can freeze in here. You deserve it."

You slammed the door shut, leaving Andrey alone in the darkness. He lay there, his body trembling with pain and cold, his mind a chaotic jumble of fear and despair.

Noah's face flashed through his mind, the boy's terrified eyes pleading for mercy. Andrey had shown him none, and now he was paying the price. He sobbed, his tears freezing on his cheeks, his body wracked with pain.

In the freezing darkness of the room, Andrey’s breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale sending a fresh wave of cold pain through his chest. His mind swirled in a haze of agony and fear, struggling to grasp the reality of his situation.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, his last thoughts were of Noah, the boy he had tormented and broken. He had thought himself powerful, untouchable, but now he was nothing more than a broken, bleeding wreck, a prisoner of his own cruelty.

He would suffer, alone and forgotten, a prisoner of his own making. And there would be no one to save him.

No one to hear his screams.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated <3

Taglist: @miireux134/ @nuriiz134/ @noeul-whumpsss/ @morning-star-whump/ @parasitebunny/ @anutz1234/ @whatwasmyprevioususername/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @lordcatwich/ @someoneoninternettt/ @natthebatt/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/

@electrons2006/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @lolrpop(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[wooyoungmybelovedhusband]

◑ Day 18 : Jung Wooyoung & Manhandling/Strength Kink ◐

✧ Pairing : Jung Wooyoung x F! Reader

✧ Warnings : Harddom!Woo, bratty!reader (dedicated to my bratty readers from the brattiest writer), spanking, vein kink (okay i dont know about you guys but those new gym photos were 🤌), possessive! Woo, softest aftercare.

✧ Taglist : @azriel-owns-my-heart @spoorti09 @toxicccred @cherryxsang @k-drizzle @kodzukein @riboism (please send in a request if you want to be added on to my taglist)

♧ February Filth Fest ♧

Warning : Smut Under cut!!!

Wooyoung's eyes burned holes at your back as you flirted with the man who apparently sparked your attention while he was confined in the meeting he was attending. Wooyoung's eyes stayed on you, his mind definitely not paying attention to those old men he was having a meeting with but you. His veins bulged out from the way he was holding in his anger. "Mr.Jung Are you okay?"

Wooyoung snapped out of his thoughts as he looked at the slightly older man, and shook his head. "I'm currently caught up with some important work I would like to shift this to next week." Saying that he didn't spare the man a glance before pacing towards you across the bar.

His hands harshly grabbed your waist, making you jerk backwards causing your back to hit his chest. You could feel his dark eyes glaring at the poor guy you picked to flirt so you could get a reaction out of your man. "I suggest you stay away from what's not yours."

Your thighs slightly rub against each other at his possessive tone and wetness pools between your legs while his hand comes down to squeeze your ass hard. The man immediately runs off, scared to get beaten up or humiliated in front of everyone. And suddenly, before you could process anything you were harshly pulled out of the bar and taken to the parking lot.

You let out a breathy moan when he pins you hard against the wall, your soft eyes meet his dark gaze while his hands come up to wrap themselves behind your neck, "You think whatever you did there was cute? Cause I don't mind showing what consequences the cuteness had." Your eyes flickered with curiosity and fear at what he could do.

"Well not my mistake I was bored." You roll your eyes as You replied with a confident tone laced with brattiness causing him to clench his jaw. His large hand comes up to grip your jaw harshly forcing eye contact with you, "Fucking fix that attitude of yours, you brat."

He releases your chin harshly and opens the door of the car before he orders you to get in. You smirk at yourself seeing the way his veins bulged out as he held in his anger. The whole ride back home was filled with sexual tension while his hand gripped onto your bare thigh, the thick tension between you both gave you an adrenaline rush.

He pinned you against the wall right after he manhandled you out of your seat and pushed you inside the house. You honestly didn't mind the way he treated you, "You get on my very last fucking nerve baby girl, and i bet you love doing so." You smirk as you pull him down for a rough kiss, his hands finding their way in around your hips. You moan into the kiss when you feel his hard-on press against you.

His hand suddenly comes up to your hair, gripping the strands as he rips you apart from the kiss causing you to whine. "Why? " You question while your hand reaches down to travel his bulge. Not giving you a response immediately, his hands grip your wrists in a bruising grip and pin them above your head.

His hand slaps against your ass erupting a moan from you. "Are you going to behave now? Or do you want to get yourself into much worse consequences? " You were going to play this worse way, and that being said. Your hips grind themselves on his dick causing him to let out a groan. His hands instantly wrap around your waist and raise you, throwing you over his shoulders.

His hands spank you harshly as he took you to your bedroom. Once he entered the room, he threw you on the bed causing you to bounce on the mattress. His hands slap your thighs harshly and grips onto them tightly pulling you towards him. He spreads your thighs, giving him the perfect view of your needy cunt. "So fucking wet for a brat who can't even keep her mouth shut."

You moan at his words, feeling utterly humiliated from the way he scoffed at you. You loved that feeling, so much that, wetness seeped out of your cunt making Wooyoung chuckle mockingly. "I see that my slut loves to be treated as one." He smirks hearing your whiny moan you let out due to his words. Wooyoung loved the effect he had on you, even if it was because of his words.

He leans down to give your clit, kitten licks as his hands spread your legs wider for him. You whine, feeling his tongue lick at your clit feverishly, your hands gripped onto his hair unknowingly. Wooyoung instantly rips away from your wet pussy, and grips your hands tightly. "Too much of a bold move baby girl."

His hand comes down to give your pussy a harsh slap, making you moan loudly as more of your juices spilled out. "Such a fucking painsult" You unconsciously rub your thighs together for friction while tears well up in your eyes as you slowly cry out for more. Wooyoung suddenly raises to his feet, his large hands coming down to grip your wrists tightly as he manhandles you towards the bedpost. He flips you onto your stomach, and gives your ass a harsh slap, leaving behind a red imprint of his hand.

And before you can question him, your hands are tied to the bedpost by the red rope. "B-But-" You were cut off by his dark gaze. Discarding his pants and boxers at the end of the bed, he instantly hovered over you, his face inches away from you as his hands roamed around your body. You let out a whiny moan when you felt him pinch your nipple hardly. "W-Woo p-please want m-more" You whined out slowly, you could feel yourself slowly slipping into subspace.

"Aww Princess you aren't running that filthy mouth of yours, like you did there" Wooyoung scoffed at your state, he flipped you around and onto your back as his tip teased at your entrance while his hands moulded the flesh of your right breast. His lips latched onto your left nipple, his tongue swirled around your sensitive bud. He suddenly bit hard on your nipple causing you to let out a loud scream, while his tip entered your tight hole, stretching you apart.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders tightly while your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders as he rammed his cock into you at an animalistic pace. He bit on your nipple very harshly causing you to arch your back as you cried out. His right hand comes up to pin your wrists above your head as he increases his pace.

"Fuck princess, you take me so good." Wooyoung grunts, feeling you clench around him. Before you could ask if you ask him permission to cum, your hips shuddered convulsively against his as you came all over his cock. Wooyoung throws his head back as he groans, feeling himself nearing his own orgasm. His thrusts started to become more harsh as his hands slapped your breasts causing them to bounce against his bare chest.

His hand loosened the grip on yours and comes down to rub harshly against your clit. Your eyes rolled back while your back arched as you neared your orgasm again. "W-Woo c-close." You whined out for him as your hands find their way in between the strands of his black silk hair. "Me t-too Baby. Go on love, come for me" You didn't need to be told twice as the next moment you were coming undone on his cock.

Your legs shook convulsively as your grip on Wooyoung's hair tightened causing him to wince. His thrusts soon turned sloppy and you could instantly tell he was close. You placed soft kisses trailing down his bulged out neck vein. Wooyoung groaned softly and you soon felt ropes of cum sputtering out of his tip and painted your inner walls.

Wooyoung let out a series of curses as his movements soon came to a halt. His large figure collapsed onto your side while he buries his head in the crook of your neck as his hands caress your hips to calm your nerves. "I love you" Your voice barely came out as a whisper but you knew he heard you. "I love you too, Princess." You hum contently against his hair, almost drifting off to sleep until he decides to raise back up.

You give him a confused look but suddenly you were being lifted up in his arms as he took you to the bathroom. Placing you inside the bathtub, he ran both of you a warm bath and went out. You laid back, resting your head against the cold tiles, waiting for him to come back. He soon came back with a fresh set of clothes and a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. He gave you a soft smile as he placed the wine in the corner and instantly got inside the bathtub. You both definitely loved these types of nights.

Okay I went completely in with the ending. Now I want to write some fluff soooo bad.

[mebemilena]

Sipping on your lips, hanging on by thread

A/N: THIS IS SMUT! minors, do not interact! it will probably not make any difference in the storyline. Thank you for reading me. i'm putting the links for previous and later chapters. Maybe this will be the last one of this series. 

A/N: i have mentioned i'm a comic book artist, right? writer and illustrator. Writing this series was very much fun, it helped me organizing some ideas for my upcoming projets. if i get the will to translate them, i'll share some here with you guys.

A/N: i usually come back to read what i posted and i find SO MANY grammar and spelling mistakes. I thought i was really great at English but i've been mistaking simple words because they sound similar in Portuguese (i'm brazilian) but they mean something totally different. And that's why i need more practice. I swear my mind works faster in my language.

tittle from I really like You, by Carly Rae Japsen

- - - 

What started on the couch quickly went to the bedroom. Maya  teased you with the tip of her fingers, the shallow touch of her mouth all over you. She'd pay attention to your body language, getting to learn all the signs you'd give. She loved to feel your throat vibrating as you moaned out loud. 

Her kisses weren't that soft anymore. Her tongue felt wonderful, your lips wrapped around it. It was hot and wet. All you wanted was to keep sucking on it. 

Drunk in lust, Maya held you against the wall, her hands on your hips with strength, before unbuckling your belt with minimal patience.  You separated and she looked into your eyes. You shared a laugh. "How old are we? So horny.", she joked, taking you to bed a little less urgently.

You two sit on her bed and Maya took your shirt off, kissing your neck as you helped her out of her clothes too. In bed, she topped you first, massaging your breasts, driving her lips and tongue all the way to your nipples. 

You grabbed her hair, enjoying the feeling of her wet lips around you. "That's it, baby. You're so good... fuck.", you'd murmur, making her stop and talk to you. 

"You can scream as loud as you want, i like to feel it.  And we don't have neighbors close by anyway.", she signed, getting back to kissing and nibbling on your body.

You felt her lips kissing down all the way from your breasts to your thighs, her hands ever so intelligent in the ways to bring you pleasure. If there was a degree for knowing your body, Maya would be top of the class.

She kept kissing the inner of your thighs as her fingers made their way inside of you. So wet, so tight. You couldn't help but moan when her tongue played on your clit as her fingers went all the way in and out of you, building your very much desired orgasm. She felt the tight grip on her fingers, going up to kiss your lips and feel the vibrations of the moanings coming out of your mouth.

Maya watched your breathing slow down, your chest moving a little slower as she took her fingers out of you. She licked them and you couldn't wait much longer to kiss her, your tongue replacing her fingers.

You changed positions now, it was your turn to have your way with her. 

Maya's preferences were quickly learned. She loved the feeling of your lips around her, tasting her, your tongue filling her. You knew what she liked and didn't like because you had experimented. You also knew when she wanted to tell you something and you went as far as making up a tap system as your safe words.   One tap, keep going. Two taps, be careful. Three taps, stop.

But there were times when One tap would be replaced by her gripping on your hair so strong you'd moan in a mix of pleasure and pain.

As the hours passed you barely left Maya's bed. Make up sex has it's spell ad you were in love with her. She knew it and, more than that, she enjoyed it. 

Though Maya wouldn't admit it, she was in love with you too. With her back against the bedframe she held the blanket covering her breasts, her messy hair going in all directions. "Thank you", she started, a smile growing on her lips. 

"For what?", you asked, making her shrug. "For the mind blowing sex.", she laughed, kissing you before you could reply.

"For coming after me.", she offered and straddled you. "For sticking around.", she continued, kissing you tenderly on the lips. "And for the orgasms.", she laughed again.

[astreinomane]

I just came with an idea for a possible Aladarius fic!

What if Alador, instead of enduring Odalia's abuses for years, decided at some point that he had enough and ran away, taking babies Amity, Edric and Emira with him?

What if he had chosen Darius' house as a hiding place, because it was the only place he could think of?

What if Darius, seeing his old childhood friend and ex-boyfriend at his door, clearly desperate, frightened and with three children in his arms, decided to take them all in, putting aside the resentment he has felt for Alador for all these years?

What if, in the time spent living together and raising three children together, the two were able to slowly reconcile and rebuild their old bond?

What if, thanks to this decision, Alador had the chance from the beginning to be a good father for his kids?

What if, thanks to this decision, Amity, Edric and Emira had the chance to grow up without a toxic mother controlling every single aspect of their life, but with a loving and caring biological father who actually had time to spend with them and who would die for them, and a second adoptive father who, despite having his initial reservetions about them, slowly grew to love them as well?

(And obviously with a furry gremlin uncle who likes to joke and play happily with them and to tease their two abomination dads.)

What if, thanks to this decision, Alador, Darius, Eberwolf, Amity, Edric and Emira had the chance to be a happy family together?

But obviously, it would not be all sunshine and rainbows.

In fact, you can rest assured that Odalia and her family would move mountains to find Alador and the children, in order to make Alador pay for "kidnapping" the children and restoring said children in Odalia's gross hands.

Alador would become a wanted man throughout the Boiling Isles.

He, Amity, Edric and Emira would be forced to remain holed up in Darius' house, having zero contacts with the outside world.

But it's okay for them, because they have each other, and plus they know they have Darius and Eberwolf to protect them.

Darius would become determinate to protect at all costs the man and the kids he grew to love with all his heart.

Same goes for Eberwolf.

It surely would not be an easy life for any of them, but they are all willing to fight for each other if necessary.

Now, how all of this will evolve and tie up to the canon series events it's up to you.

I don't think I'll ever write it down because it would take a lot of time, and I'm a lazy person (and also because I'm not that good as a writer).

It's just a fun little idea that came over my mind.

However, if someone wants to write this, go ahead.

(Just remember to credit me. It's all I ask.)

You can even chose a title for this (I was thinking on something like Runaway Blights Au, but I'll let you decide).

I would be super curios to see what could come out from this idea.

So, you who are reading this papyrus, if you're a good writer, if you ship Aladarius, if you want to give Amity, Edric, Emira and Alador more happiness than the series has given them, or, more simply, if you, like me, are just curios to see this idea brought to life, then what are you waiting for?

[landwriter]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @tiltingheartand <3 thank you!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

11!

What's your total Ao3 word count?

129,874. Brevity evidently is not my strong suit! Which is also why the rest of this is under a cut.

What fandoms do you write for?

The Sandman! I also just watched Dead Boy Detectives and think I might write a couple little things for it too.

Top five fics by kudos:

Saint Morpheus (11,882 words) - My first fic! Saints and worship

The Death of Translation (10,968 words) - the Language fic

Oaths (60,443 words) - Tam Lin AU and my precious baby. I'm so proud of this one. It's got so much of me in it. Def the first fic I would consider a full send

Border Country (6,100 words) - Clothing, the inherent body horror of being alive, and self-denial. Have always meant to do a sequel for this and may do for S2

Black Shore (3,962 words) - Monsterfucking :-) Weird little beast of a story that came out of nowhere fully formed

All Sandman, all Dream & Hob, haha. Doubt that will change with new fics unless I find a more popular pairing in a more popular fandom to write for

Do you respond to comments?

I do! I love discussing characters and theeeeemes and sharing enthusiasm with people. I love hearing what I've inflicted and I'll thank you for telling me <3 Once I started getting busier I found it a lot harder to keep up, but I treasure all my comments so if you suddenly get a reply like, a year later, you know why!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's for sure The Many Lives of Hob Gadling. Everything else I've written except Border Country has ended, like, tooth-rottingly kind and optimistic and love-filled. But lbr Dream is a man of tragedies. There'll be more

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It's such a personal thing, but Oaths has the happy ending I would consider most wonderful sort of happiness. It's not the fluffiest or most fairy-tale (having written just that also), but this specific flavour of joy and peace in terms of experiencing the beauty of the world around you and being just shot full of love. The happiness of growing things and sunrises. Or Just Like Love. From the Corinthian's perspective. He's so happy with the state of things at the end.

Do you get hate on fics?

Only the once! Fortunately everybody else who has hated a fic of mine has been able to find the back button and gone off to read something else or grouse about it in private, which is the correct way of things. There's no reason, ever, to tell an author you disliked their story. They will not be grateful for it no matter how certain and correct you feel in your criticisms. Nobody wins! Sorry! Go tell a friend instead.

Do you write smut?

You betcha I do! The first time I wrote it for Saint Morpheus it felt so unnatural and I was just making a :| face the whole time but now sex scenes are among my favourite things to write. I feel like I've really cum come into my own with them more than any other kind of scene.

Craziest crossover:

I've never done a crossover! I love reading them though.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so! I mean, not great, etc., but personally I also deeply don't care. I imagine having a job where what I am actually creating & selling for money gets stolen often sort of skews my perspective on my fic getting stolen. It's not a commercial product. It isn't paying my mortgage. I give these words for free and with love. If they end up places I never put them, so be it! Such is the internet.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! 【授權翻譯】翻譯之死 The Death of Translation by Ethiseth. Legitimately one of the highest honours I think a fanfic writer can ever receive <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No!

All time favourite ship?

Hob / the world :-)

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My very first WIP for Sandman! I started writing it then joined tumblr the next day, saw some of @messmonte's art, and was off writing Saint Morpheus in short order. Sorry 1989 canon divergence fic! Maybe one day.

What are your writing strengths?

Five dollar words. Long sentences. Big sweeping feelings. Instilling my personal values, i.e. love is real, you are surrounded by beauty at every turn, you deserve the things you want, monologues are a normal and practical form of communication, etc.

What are your writing weaknesses?

God, actually finishing and sharing things, I think. I haven't had enough time in my life lately and it kills me! But it's also such a me problem because I love to worry at and chew on WIPs forever. Writing fast would be so cool. Pew pew pew! New fics left and right. You guys would be buried in them. Man, I wish.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Can run gimmicky but also I love multiple languages in one conversation as subtext so much - I'm torn. Same as accents in that I suspect it's most cases better to just note it in the speech tags, unless you're willing to go through the trouble of inline/hovertext translations, and then at that point it's a bit If You Give A Mouse A Cookie for me where I'll want translator's notes too, maybe some metatextual payoff, etc.

First fandom you wrote in?

Technically FMA, but that's a story for another day hahaha. Sandman, really.

Favourite fic you've written?

Oh golly. Oaths. I did so much for the first time with that story. But it's hard to choose, which is such a nice problem to have. I think it's easy when you've never written fic before for each new thing to mean something different to you!

No-presh tagging @wordsinhaled, @moorishflower, @tj-dragonblade and anyone who wants to do this too - just tag me so I can be nosy <3

[koraesrambles]

GREAT READING ADVENTURE PART 1 (CW: pictures from the Sandman comics may be disturbing to some)

I started with the Sandman, by Neil Gaiman. A legend in comic spheres, and one that I'd been wanting to read for a while.

I found 10 volumes at my local library and have made my way through two of them so far. First off, as a horror book DAMN. DAAAAAAAAAAAAMN these books do not pull punches. They come at you like a gut punch and just keep going. I like to describe myself as someone who enjoys "horror lite" I love monsters, I love angst and crazy situations and some messed up stuff, but I'm kind of a baby about it. Things like Supernatural, Gravity Falls (It's kid friendly, but there's blood!), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that's my jam (wow, that list makes me feel about 5 years old, but whatever! I like what I like!). The Sandman Is Not That.

The Writing

Don't get me wrong, it is beautiful in every way, but it's also a lot for a wussy like myself. I'm enthralled, captivated, unable to look away, but there have been multiple times where I've needed to close my eyes for a second and remind myself that this is a comic book, and the world isn't necessarily this dark all the time. I'm pretty triggered by children in danger/getting hurt/dying and these books don't shy away from that. But they're also just . . . so beautiful.

The writing is annoyingly amazing. I expected nothing less, it is Neil Gaiman, but sometimes as a writer you look at other people's writing and just sit back in awe. I wish I could write something like this. Or, if not exactly like this, something as beautiful and poignant as this. The story flows so beautifully. Every scene perfectly blending in with the next. Every word feels like it has a point, which makes you want to pay attention to everything to make sure you're not missing anything.

Writing is my main background, but comic writing is so different from prose. This is what I struggled with the most while drafting up OUTCAST ODYSSEY, how do I get everything across that I need to when I can't just write it all out? How do I pace it when telling a story with pictures vs words feels so different? But Neil does this so well. It felt lyrical, and I could see his influence on every single page. The art was done by someone else, but the ideas, the imagry, the way the story flows from one idea to the next, is all a result of absolutely phenomenal writing.

It reminded me to trust readers to read between the lines. It's difficult to find the line between "subtlty" and "confusing" and I am often guilty of feeling like I need to spell things out to my readers so that they won't miss anything, but more often then not that just slows down the plot and makes the whole experience clunky. You don't want to go too far in the other direction either, but Neil knew who his audience was and trusted them to at least give things a second glance. I was worried at the beginning that I'd be too dumb to figure out what he was hinting at, but he was able to patiently feed me the information without me getting frustrated or lost.

It's a skill that comes with experience and practice, but I feel like this story really really shines at it. I found myself studying the way he handled exposition and wanting to emulate it in my own work.

The Art

The art is also stunning. It's not "cute" art. It's not something that I would want to hang up in my house or look at for hours. It's amazing from a skill standpoint (which is easy for me to tell just due to my own extremely obvious shortcomings) but it's not concerned with everyone looking like hollywood movie stars.

Which . . . I mean, that's definitely a feature, not a bug. This story is not supposed to be cute, and a cutsy art style would absolutely ruin the atmosphere. It is rough and full of sharp points. it doesn't shy away from nudity or gore. The characters are not attractive, these are not anime stars, but they are compelling, and distinct enough that I was able to easily tell who everyone is, which is more often then not extremely difficult for me (i think I may be a bit face-blind).

The art adds to the horror of everything. Even when things are supposed to be calm, or sexy, or whatever, there's an edge of panic and unease to it. Part of that is the reader knowing that there's more going on behind the scenes then the character knows, but it's also the style. The heavy black shadows, the hard lines, the emphasis on some details while the obscuring of others, it all combines to perfectly compliment the writing. It's not a pleasure to look at, but that's absolutely the point. It's also extremely difficult to look away FROM. How can something simultaneously look jarring, eerie, and unpolished, while also whispering "Yes. This is beautiful art. Look at it. Bask in it."?

I'm a newbie artist. It's way beyond my skillset to even begin to figure out how they were able to accomplish this. But someday I hope I figure out the secret.

The art perfectly compliments the writing, and the two work together to tell the story. I remember feeling a little annoyed on the artists' behalf that the Sandman is always known as "Neil Gaiman's" when the art side of comics is so incredibly important. The art sets the tone and compliments the words. It helps with reading between the lines and helping us know how seriously we should be taking the words.

Characters

All of the characters are great! Except the ones I already knew. I'm not saying they were bad, just bland compared to everyone else. Constantine, the Justice League, every cameo that came up and I was excited for felt . . . not quite out of place, but not quite seamless either. I was most excited for Constantine, and he was fine, but I probably have enjoyed him more in every other comic I've ever seen him in. I know they were all included just to try and sell the first few issues of a new story, and I respect that (the amount of comics that I've read just because my favorite character showed up for a few panels is . . *cough* embarrassing), but I was kind of bummed by how little conflict they added to the story.

Constantine immediately agrees to help Morpheus (which, okay, he can see how powerful Morpheus is and doesn't want to get on his bad side, totally in character. But I like Constantine best when he's being a bit of a dickhead), when I was really expecting a bit of tension or at least antagonism between them. We briefly see Etrigan but he is so quickly outshined by Lucifer that I nearly forgot about him, Scarecrow shows up but I didn't really feel like he added much besides a familiar face, we see Scott Free (who I know very little about) and J'onn (whose reaction to Dream was probably the most interesting) but all they do is immediately tell Morpheus where he needs to go. Why were they so quick to be okay with this obviously terrifying powerful force just grabbing stuff? I guess I understand why J'onn was okay with it, since he knew who Morpheus was, but it still felt weird that there wasn't even a single moment of hesitation or resistance. They basically served as a plot GPS.

Again, there's nothing wrong with any of them, they just didn't feel as vibrant as all of the other characters we were introduced to. Even the woman who gave Dr. Destiny/Dr Dee a ride was more vivid and felt more real and purposeful than the cameos did. At least to me.

The original characters (or at least everyone I didn't recognize. Was Dr. Dee a Gaiman original or had he shown up previously? Cuz he was very much A tier villain for me,) were all amazing and vivid and lively. I cared about them way faster than I normally do, especially at the very beginning of a story. The cameos felt exactly like what they were: Cameos to sell the book.

Final Thoughts

This book is, objectively, better than anything I will ever create. And that's not even a diss on myself, it's just objective fact on the quality of this piece. I learned a lot looking through it, trying to figure out what Gaiman did that worked vs didn't. The lyricism vs crassness of the writing, the way the art complimented the dialogue, how the panels flowed and where it was easy for me to follow vs where I got a little confused. It's a beautiful book and I can absolutely see why it's a graphic novel must read. I'm planning on reading the rest of the series, but I can only read one volume a day, because the horror of it all absolutely follows me after I close the last page.

[angelofverdum]

Station 19 6x13

Ugh. I hate how this show is getting a little better. Enough to make me excited every Thursday.

I hope they wrap up this major camping in the season finale. It's getting annoying. He always has a speech ready to save the day, and I don't care, honestly.

The video that Dixon made was so dumb. Twitter would drag that edit to hell and back.

I knew Eli and Travis was happening. I think everybody knew, they had more chemistry than Andy and Eli.

Vic is a better person than me because I would have broken up with Theo right there in that office. What's wrong with him? Beckett is out. They are investigating his neighborhood. What else does he want?

Carina, Ben, and Miranda were so funny. This is what I mean when I say they need to relax a bit. Yes, the subject was hard, but they were a great comedic trio.

Carina's "Oh" when Ben said Ben Deluca had me dying.

I love that Ben and Miranda didn't give Carina a speech about love or marriage, she just realized by herself that she needs to give Maya another chance and she is ready.

And those scenes between Maya and Carina had me twirling my hair and kicking my feet.

This was so soft and probably scary for her. Carina probably didn't sleep that night looking at her wife. It was so easy to let her in.

I like the space between them because it means Maya is respecting Carina's space. But she could have taken off her watch, the ponytail, her bell? She even slept with her shirt tucked in and probably her boots on too. I know she is in bodyguard mode but c'mon. Not even a blanket?

Then Carina got her defences up and told Maya: thank you, bye. One thing about Carina she is going to walk away from Maya.

But I'm very confused about how time worked in this episode.

Maya was on shift in the last episode, then she left to find Carina at work. So she probably took the day off and wait for Carina to get off shift and that's why she was still in uniform in the morning.

But in the morning, Carina was off shift, and Maya had work again. Ben took a day off in this episode, so it was another day?

I know this show doesn't pay too much attention to this but logistics is what I do for a living so.

Carina is stronger than me cause if she smiles at me like that I'd fold so fast.

"I want you to win me back slowly."

"Carina Deluca, would you go on a date with me?"

This is sick. I love them so much. The way they look at each other 🥺.

I don't know what kind of sacrifice they did in the writer's room but thank you. They are fixing the mess they did last season.

The last scene with Dixon had me thinking about a lot of things:

1. Those pictures are a way to show Maya's growth and to close the plot. Because they totally forgot that Maya was right about them, and Sullivan treated her like she was insane. I don't think Maya is going back.

2. We have never seen Maya driving. I didn't even know she had a car. I've always thought she uses her bike to go to work.

3. I don't care what they show us Maya has a Jeep. But when they go out they take Carina's car, even tho Maya is a better driver.

4. A lot of people still want a false negative for a pregnancy test she took 300 years ago. No, I know doctors are the worst patients, and Carina has been through a lot this season, but she would have noticed that something different with her body. They fix the relationship, and then they could try for a baby again.

5. Bring Back Maya's little backpack. I don't like this new bag.

[steamworkscogstone]

HEART THIS BEFORE YOU FOLLOW ME, PLEASE! It helps me to know who has and has not read this so I may direct their attention to it.

DNI: 18+ ONLY BLOG, No terfs and swerfs, no transmed truscum, no ageless blogs, Nothing Illegal, NO MINORS, Nobody who openly and actively hates, especially on the transgender community (which includes my non-binary siblings) DO NOT SELL ME SHIT, AND DO NOT SEND ME STUFF TO SIGNAL BOOST! I CANNOT HANDLE THAT STUFF MENTALLY, ANYMORE..

PLEASE READ MY PINS ON THIS POST, YA ADORABLE DEGENERATES. 😁

Ayyo, check these links before following and interacting, too!!:

So first up, I've put my goofy ass on the hellsite, and did a fun little selfie dump! (Maybe some tummy Tuesdays in the near future?)

Secound is an important thread of consciousness, please read with discretion and understand that I do not tag triggers (because I struggle with tagging as is. Anyway, so this is the bit ya wanna read before interacting with me)

Alright, so I have yet another link that is dealing with an answer to an anon, but it is extremely important as it gives better context to the post/s linked above: more Steamworks lore, yay..

(I apologize about the long winded text, but that's just how I do things. I'm a writer, at least in a texting format. 😅)

Warnings: I am a pro-shipper and anti-censorship, I love using the word queer and I identify as such, while also enjoying identifying the people I text with as such. I enjoy what I enjoy and I have heavy kinks. If any of these warnings are in your DNI or makes you uncomfortable, then please block me and do not report me.

I AM A HARRY POTTER MOVIE ENJOYER! I UNDERSTAND JK ROWLING IS A DEVILOUS PIECE OF SHIT AND EVEN THAT IS TOO KIND OF AN INSULT FOR HER! I WATCH THE MOVIES THRU 3RD PARTY MEANS, AND I REFUSE TO PAY FOR ANYTHING HARRY POTTER THAT IS NEW WHILE SHE IS ALIVE, AND WILL FIND ALTERNATIVE WAYS TO PLAY THE NEW GAMES BECAUSE THEY GENUINELY LOOK FUN. Please, please ask yourself why you decide to attack those, ESPECIALLY IN YOUR OWN COMMUNITY, over something they grew up with and actively love as an adult? We are all just trying to get through this life, and all have our own things that help us escape; we are already so divided and splintered, and so you actively hating your trans brothers and sisters, and nonbinary siblings (who barely make up 1 million on the United States' population already) is simply hurting too many people.

Peace, love, acceptance, and alternative means of coming to a peaceful resolution is what I desire in this world. A world that is already so painfully divided, whether that be by a screen or you actively choosing to hate, is just such a burden on those who will be trying so hard to make a name for themselves. Yes, I just pulled a "think of the children" because, seriously stating that seems so obvious and yet, too many people are dismissive of it when they are literally the future.

Do NOT come after me for my existence, and if you see I am following you and decide against the things I enjoy and my personal beliefs and message, then just block me. PLEASE DON'T REPORT ME.. 😖

[RAMBLING INCOMING]

Okay, so this is going to be my pinned post, and it's going to be a heavy work in Progress. I've gotten some feedback from a couple people, and well I don't like how stiff and forced my first pin seems to people. Especially when it's obvious and I'm hiding more of myself than I would like to be. I know I can write something better and can

Name: prefer Lace online, please. Elven is a title, and I will not respond if you use that to address me.

Age: Currently 23 at the time of this edit. (2024)

Gender: Femboy/Tomgirl transfem mess of an existing baby enby. I have also physically transitioned with whoremones and, I've been on a bumpy journey with them since 2018. I do lean more to feminine than masculine, and only really enjoy being called a boy and even then it's only really in a sexual way (not a detrans fetish. PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THAT) I have been on my gender journey since 2016 when I started socially transitioning at 15, and even to today I am still heavily exploring it.

I do have limits to my kinks and fetishes, but I will list those another time.

Tags will also be added later.

Yeah, more to add later.

(List of things to add: Mutuals list, Kink limits list, tags, stuff)

[sazuka57]

/post/718441984343293952/no-actually-im-mad-enough-about-it-to-speak-up when we do it people get mad and say that we're misunderstanding the characters and that we're so wrong and that it's fucking shit. i don't know what to do, i feel pressured to not fuck up

Anon imma give you my biggest secrets to fanfic writing, the ones that have carried me thru 15+ years of fic writing, of unwanted critics, of haters, and of little to no attention to my fics.

1) this is the most important one: write what makes YOU happy. Writing fanfic is a hobby and it should spark joy. It should make you happy. If this means you’re taking the big bad of the series and turning him into a baby that the heroes have to raise? Go for it. If it means a villain is your meow meow and you’re gonna rewrite the story to make him a good guy? Go for it. Whatever makes YOU happy. Because in the end, you are writing for yourself and for you to have fun. Yes validation is nice, but—

2) —but it’s not the end all, be all. It’s always so so sooooo good when people comment on your fics and leave you reviews and go nuts for your work. But I write for dead or niche fandoms and I rarely get attention on any of my work. And I made peace with that. You need to make peace with that. Validation is nice, but kudo/comments/hits are not the goal here: you having fun is.

3) ignore the haters. There are SO many gatekeepers in fandoms nowadays that it sucks the fun and joy out of life. Block them, don’t even reply, just block them. AO3 has mute and block buttons. Use them. And if they are extra rude? Report them. In the old days, we used to say “flames will be used to warm cold feet” which translates to “your hate is less than dirt” (flames here being haters and unwanted criticisms). It still applies.

4) this one is optional but: find like minded people! People who’d enjoy your work! People who you love discussing ideas with! It goes a long way to give motivation!

5) this one is hella important: it’s not ooc if it’s an au!! :) A person growing up in a war zone is gonna have very different experiences than a person growing up with parents who run a coffee shop and will have a different experience to growing up in an orphanage etc etc. and all of these things WILL affect a person’s behavior and will change how they interact with the world. Even if all those three scenarios had the same trauma (i.e. a fire), each one would react differently and would lose different things, which again, affects how they’d act.

6) BE ooc!! DO IT. Why? Because NO ONE is gonna write the character as “ic”’as the original writers/creators. The character in your head is different than the character in another person’s head, and in another’s, and so on. This is because our own lives and experiences affect the way we interact with the world—and fictional works. And working super hard to please the public means that someone out there will always go “that’s ooc how dare you.” You can never please everyone, remember that!

6.5) but also: write crackfic. It will help you break out of the fear of oocness so much. Even if you don’t write them, have crackfic ideas. They’re so good for your soul—humor is so good and cringe is dead.

7) and this is hella important: Anon you are human. Humans make mistakes. We fuck up. It’s how we learn and grow. And NO ONE was born perfect. Writing takes practice. Writing in character takes practice for every new character you write! It’s not easy! But you gotta trust yourself and your writing skills, and that requires practice too! Practice practice practice!!

So, TL;DR: Do what you want. Do what makes you happy. You are not being paid for this, and if people don’t like your writing, they can pay you to write exactly what they want. And fuck up as much as it takes for you to feel satisfied with the pieces your working with. And most important—aus and oocness go hand in hand.

[ella-norah]

This story is part of the series - TB universe. It continues after the events of the first part of the series - The Beginning. I reccomend reading the whole series, because Aliachae is an amazing writer.

I'll be doing a live blog reaction to this fic. I wanted to read it for a while, and now I will finally do it. I'm so excited. My thoughts will be written bellow the paragraph, in purple letters in italics.

If you want to read my live blog, continue reading <3

Rain toys nervously with a button on his shirt. Maybe nervous isn't the right word? He was thrilled and beyond excited to marry the literal love of his life. They were too young, some might say, but Rain had never been more sure of any one thing in his life than he was of marrying Phayu today. Maybe anxious was a better word to use but even that felt too negative for the energy bouncing around inside of him. 

Oh, Rain... don't be anxious. It will be alright.

Sky glances at his watch and gives Rain a pointed look. As much as everyone wanted to keep Rain and Phayu seperated the morning of the wedding Pai and Sky were all too willing to help them find a moment to meet with one another alone…so long as they didn't fuck each other and ruin their suits. Rain couldn't promise he wouldn't get a little handsy but Phayu wouldn't let them fuck and mess up their outfits.

Yes, I'm absolutely sure Phayu will be careful not to mess the suits. Also, I adore the descriptions of all the suits - Rain's, Sky's, Noi's... So so good.

"Angel…you look so pretty." Phayu's hands come up to brush against Rain's cheeks reverently. His fingers trail down Rain's plush cheeks and over his bottom lip before making their way down Rain's neck. Rain can do little else but watch as tears cloud his fiance's eyes. They don't fall but Phayu looks so painfully in love that it makes Rain start to tear up too. "Don't cry, baby, you'll ruin your makeup." 

"Then you can't cry either."

No crying for either of them, really. I can feel their love, it's so warm. I love this so so much.

"Go ahead, angel." 

Rain feels a large smile stretch across his face. Phayu had never been shy about using terms of endearment with him. He called Rain everything under the sun and more. Each one felt special and purposeful. They gave him insight into Phayu's thoughts and feelings in that moment.

I think I can feel my eyes water at how sweet this is. I love that Phayu isn't shy about his endearments for Rain, it is so beautiful to see with them.

"When I was little I would read stories about falling in love and fantasize about what it would be like. In all the stories they make it seem like you'll meet the person and you'll just know that they're the one meant for you. I especially liked the ones about soulmates. I liked to think that there was someone in the world who was made to love me. I didn't know that night in the rain that my entire world was going to change. Looking back on it though, that was the moment that I knew I had met someone who would become the most important person in my life. Maybe that's what the stories meant. Maybe you don't know at the exact moment but when you look back on it you know that you have met someone as immovable as yourself." Rain releases one of Phayu's hands to wipe lightly at his cheek as the first teardrop falls from his lashes. "My world was small and painfully lonely. It had felt like the world wasn't meant for someone as broken as me. When I met you I felt like I had found an oasis of calm after a never ending brutal storm. I had learned to live again but love was as foreign to me as a new language I had never heard spoken before. You brought our worlds together. You made my life feel full again. You gave me things that I had never thought I would have again. Every moment I spend by your side I am blessed with more love and care than I think I could have ever imagined as a broken sixteen year old boy with only one friend. I don't know how many lifetimes we have spent together but I know that I was made to be yours. My heart was built in the shape of you. My heart will always be shaped as you for all of this life and my next. I have never felt more certain of something than I do when I say I am marrying my soulmate and the love of my life."

RAIN'S VOWS!!! I'm really gonna cry... gosh, I'm melting so much!!!

"Rain…you came into my life like a hurricane. Before you my entire world was built in organization and schedules. I worked at the firm, I worked at the shop, and sometimes I didn't even make it home before I was crashing somewhere and starting the cycle all over again. I thought it was a life worth living. I thought that I was content to live that way. Then, as if by fate, I stopped to help an adorable boy on the side of the road fix a flat. I normally didn't even take that route but something told me to take the long way home that night despite being so exhausted. I didn't know then that you would become the very force of nature that I had been craving." Rain giggles softly despite his tears because even though they wrote their vows separately they were very much in tune in how they viewed one another. "I hadn't thought it was fate until I found out the cute boy with the flat tire was in my direct codeline. How could I not think the universe was trying to tell me something? Then, you came crashing into my life with all your vibrant smiles and infectious energy. You made me want to chase something for the first time in longer than I could remember. You took my order and schedules and created chaos…you created a storm. Yet, when I finally found you in the center of it all I realized just how much I had lost sight of. You loved me for everything I showed the world and everything I hid away. You took one look at my wild family and instead of running the opposite way you loved me even more despite their craziness not regardless. You have never once tried to change who I am or judged me for where I came from. You have always been so openly accepting and loving of every part of me. When the rest of my world feels like it's caught up in the whipping winds of a hurricane coming home to you is like finding the eye. The chaos and frustrations melt away into love and safety. If you were made to love me then surely I was made to love you…you are half of my heart and the other half of my soul. After all, where there is a storm there will always be rain. One cannot exist without the other." 

PHAYU'S VOWS!!! And I'm really crying now!! My heart... My poor heart!! So many feels!!!

"Only we could bring this kind of storm." 

Of course there is a downpour, a storm, on Phayu and Rain's wedding. It just fits. Downpours followed all of their bigger moments, and it makes me smile to see it follow them now.

The reception was a relaxed thing. Rain and Phayu had been adamant that their wedding and subsequent reception would be private. Only their closest friends and family would be privy to it. Later, after their honeymoon, they would hold a larger, more public reception for all of their business associates and allies. This one, however, was just for them. 

I love this for them, they deserve a private ceremony to celebrate their love.

Rain adjusts his head to stare up at Phayu with his chin resting on Phayu's chest. Phayu looks down at him with such a soft affection in his eyes. "For loving me as much as you do, angel. I am truly the luckiest man on earth to have found such a beautiful person, inside and out, to call my husband…you have no idea how grateful I am to have you in my life." Rain tiptoes up to meet Phayu in the middle when he leans down for a kiss. 

Awwww, Phayu is simping so much!! It's all for Rain, always for Rain!! Excuse me while I go melt.

Phayu gives a small short tug on Rain's hand and guides him toward the beach. They walk to the water's edge and then take a left walking toward where their shared cabin was located further down the beach. They don't walk very far when Rain sees soft twinkling little lights glowing near their cabin. Phayu turns and grins at him when they get closer and Rain realizes that it's a little blanket laid out with pillows and flowers atop one of the large two person daybeds just outside their cabin.

This sounds so beautiful!! Awwwwwwwwww

"I love you Phi." 

"I love you too sunshine." 

They are saying they love each other!! This will never not make me emotional, never...

"Sometimes I look at you and I wonder how you're even real…how I even got so lucky."

Phayu allows his forehead to fall forward until it's pressed against Rain's. His hands wiggle until they're once more pressed against the warm flesh of Rain's hips underneath his mesh top. Rain's own hands are toying with the loose hair at the back of Phayu's head. Phayu's hands are scalding as they lightly massage the skin around Rain's hips. Phayu had always adored Rain's waist and never failed to show Rain exactly how much by nearly never keeping his hands from it. 

"I think I might somehow have gotten luckier, Phi. You've genuinely changed my entire world. You saved me." 

They are so sweet, I can't... aahhh, I love this so much!! They saved each other, and it's so perfect!!

This time when Phayu sucks his way down Rain's body he doesn't hesitate to suck a litany of bruises the length of Rain's leg before swapping to the other leg. He focuses a lot of his sucking and biting on the meat of Rain's thighs before reaching out to his left and grabbing a bottle of lube that had been tucked between the cushion of the lounge bed and the frame of it. Phayu's fingers are deft and sure as they spread Rain open. Back then Phayu had been slow and cautious. He hadn't wanted to hurt Rain who had never done such things before. Now they were both seasoned pros. Rain didn't even have to speak for Phayu to know when he could move forward and when he needed to draw back. 

So hot!! Can their smut scene not be hot, though? All the bites... all the bruises... everything is so amazing

"P'Phayu belongs to Rain." 

"Damn right." 

"Language, brat." 

AAAAAAAA I love the reversal of the iconic line!!!

Even when their sex was rougher and edged the lines of pain, Rain still loved every minute of it. At this point he's pretty sure Phayu could do just about anything and Rain would enjoy himself. It wasn't just about the sex though as much as Rain loved that part. There was something so intoxicating about being so intimately tied to Phayu. Rain felt like he belonged to Phayu when they were pressed together like this. They belonged solely to one another in these shared moments. Phayu's undivided attention focused almost solely on their pleasure was heady and exhilarating. Rain had never felt so connected to another human being than he did in these short moments together.

I love this part that has Rain thinking about their sex, because it feels so much like them. It's wonderfully written

He couldn't wait for every quiet night curled together and every sleepy morning waking up to face the world together. He was ready for everything it meant to be married to Phayu. He was ready to love Phayu for the rest of his life and probably the next three lives after that. 

And I'm officially melted - this is so beautiful, perfect ending for their wedding story.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (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: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

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. 💜

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

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

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

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

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

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it.  Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.  

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.  

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

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

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