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megalony · 6 months

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Pretty Please

This is a new Eddie x Buck x Reader imagine I've come up with, based on a few different requests I've gotten. I should be doing a follow up part to this if anyone is interested. Any feedback would be amazing.

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911 Masterlist

Summary: Eddie and Evan used to be single parents, but not anymore. Now, alongside (Y/n), they're co-parenting their kids, Chris and Lottie, and are about to move in together.

Enjoy.

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"Are you okay? You've been looking at your phone every five minutes," Evan pushed his weight down onto the pull-up bar, swaying his feet back and forth in the air for a few seconds before he dropped down to the floor.

"I'm just… my boy likes it when I pick him up from school, and I'm not, so,"

A gentle smile formed on Evan's lips as he watched Eddie wave his hands about before he settled them back on his thighs and stared down at his phone. It was a look Evan had worn quite a few times over the past year, one he wasn't used to seeing on anyone else.

"So, you're hovering?"

"I guess. He's got a new home and a new school, and now it's not always me getting him from school. It's a lot to get used to, and it's just us now." Eddie tried to smile but he couldn't find it in himself to do so, it was too hard contorting too many muscles when all he wanted to do was sigh and go home. "Doing this alone ain't great- I don't expect you to understand,"

Pulling away from the weights, Evan wiped his hands on the towel before he plonked himself down next to Eddie on the bench in the gym. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, tilting his head to the side to look at his new work partner with a perplexed look.

"You're not the only single dad here, you know." Evan tried really hard to keep the snarky tone out of his voice but he couldn't quite manage it.

Something inside him told him to be protective, put his defences up around someone new. Someone who didn't know Evan like the rest of the team. But if they were going to be partners, they may as well open up and share a few things.

"You have kids?"

Evan reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, tilting it so Eddie could see his lockscreen. "That's my baby girl," A calmer, more soothing tone came to Evan's voice and he cracked a smile when he looked at the picture. It was a more recent picture, he had only just changed the lockscreen. For the past year and a half the picture had been the same. The picture Maddie took of Evan the first time he held Lottie.

Now she was a bit older, Evan finally changed the photo to a selfie of them both where he finally got her to grin at the screen after almost twenty minutes of trying to take a good photo of them both.

"She's sweet… sorry, I uh, I didn't think you…" Whatever way Eddie worded it, he was going to sound rude. When he looked at Evan, he didn't think of him as a dad, but then again people probably thought the same thing when they looked at Eddie.

"No one here believed me when I told them, either. And I get it, being here is hard when you just wanna be home, and when you're all they have… it's tough."

Part of Evan still had a tiny, miniscule bit of anger towards the team, despite how much he loved them all like his own family. He was angry that after working with them for three months, none of them took him seriously when he said he was going to have a baby. And Evan understood why. He had fucked around a lot since before he started at the 118 station and he couldn't remember half the girls he slept with.

So when Leigh turned up on his doorstep and said she was pregnant, Evan hadn't been as thrilled as he should have been.

But he thought the team would have been more considerate and he had blown up when they acted like it was a joke.

"Her mum's not in the picture?"

"Nah, I'll admit I wasn't great at the time, I fucked around and I thought I was careful… Lottie proved me wrong though." He clasped his hands together in his lap and bowed his head. "My ex wasn't happy. And you know I tried, I went to the scans, I sorted my shit out and I was there when Lottie was born. But Leigh left. She seemed to take one look and just… just decided she didn't want her. But I did."

Evan knew if Leigh had the choice, she wouldn't have chosen Evan to be her baby's father. He barely remembered her name when she showed up on his doorstep, he didn't even remember that he'd brought her back to his apartment- more than once.

From the moment she told him, Evan cleaned up his act. He tried harder at work, he stopped sleeping around from the moment Leigh showed up. He attended all her appointments and he had been there when Lottie was born. Maddie made him do a DNA test, she didn't trust Leigh but when it came back positive Evan didn't care. It could have said he wasn't Lottie's father and he would have kept her anyway.

When she was in his arms, his world slotted into place. And Leigh's world fell apart.

"One week later I had sole custody and I haven't seen her since."

It had been the right thing for all of them. Evan wanted his daughter, Leigh didn't and they just drifted immediately. After one week, Leigh was certain a baby wasn't what she wanted in her life. She signed all the papers and Evan didn't have a contact number or a forwarding adress, and that was how he wanted it. If she didn't want contact, Evan would make sure Lottie knew that all she needed was him and her aunt Maddie. No one else mattered.

It was just the two of them against the world.

"Buck?" A tender smile flitted across Eddie's lips as he leaned over the back of the sofa and looked down at his partner. He clasped both hands on Evan's shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple, jolting him back to the waking world. "If you need some sleep, go in the bunker room."

"I- no, that was a two minute power nap, I'm good." He groaned through the words as he pushed himself up so he was sitting upright instead of slouched down on the sofa. He had barely nodded off for five minutes, his watch proved it. He didn't mean to fall asleep, he just got comfy, slid down and then he was out.

"Aren't you getting enough sleep at home?" Eddie jested as he slouched down next to him on the sofa and took a gulp of coffee.

"Not when Lottie's coughing her lungs up in my ear I don't."

He usually slept like a log and Lottie was at the stage of sleeping fine through the night. Until four days ago, when she got a chest infection. Since their trip to the doctor, Lottie had been sleeping in Evan's bed and she only managed to sleep when he wrapped her up in his arms and snuggled her against his chest with a blanket. And then she would cough and splutter and wake herself up, going into fits of tears.

She fell asleep properly just two hours before their morning alarm and screamed when Evan told her he had to go to work and she was going to spend the day with Maddie.

He hated leaving her when she wasn't well and she made it impossible for him to leave. Now he was regretting not calling in sick and just spending the day in bed with Lottie. It would have calmed his raging nerves to know that she was tucked up safe with him and that she was alright. Being at work just made him panic that she was getting worse without him there beside her.

"Chris used to get a lot of infections. In the end he'd just spend hours in the bath, the hot water worked best for him."

"Do you remember the last time you were round my house at bath time? My daughter somehow believes she'll get sucked down the drain." Evan had never heard his daughter scream as much as she did when bath time was over and it wasn't even in a tantrum or protest.

Lottie had a horrible fear of going down the plug, she thought as soon as the water started to disappear that she would also get pulled down the drain and be lost in the pipes forever. Either Evan had to get her out the bath first, or he pulled the plug and risked her launching herself on him and harming them both so she could get out as quickly as possible.

And she wasn't even three years old yet.

"Then it's a good job my place has a shower," Eddie grinned around his coffee cup and drained the last drops while he jabbed his elbow into Evan's side in jest.

In about two weeks, Evan, Lottie and their partner (Y/n) would be moving in with Eddie and Chris. It was going to be a big step for all of them and a change for the kids.

Chris couldn't remember the time when his parents had lived together, it had been years and he was only a toddler when Eddie and Shannon split up. And for Lottie, all she knew was Evan. No one else had ever lived with them, she had her dad and that was it. Now, Lottie was going to go from having one parent to gaining two more. She adored Eddie and she seemed to attach to (Y/n) whenever they were in the same room, but living together was a new experience for everyone.

Eddie's last relationship was his marriage and that ended horribly. (Y/n)'s previous relationship hadn't been enjoyable and she had never lived with any of her partners before. And Evan had lived with only one girlfriend before and that had lasted all of three months before he found out about Lottie and the relationship ended on the spot.

All three of them were praying this move would be the right choice for everyone and that it would go smoothly.

"Buck… I think you have some visitors,"

Evan's hand found Eddie's knee and he gave a light squeeze before he leaned his head over the cushion, rapidly looking around to see where Bobby was. He found the Captain at the top of the stairs, smiling as he pointed over his shoulder to signal where the visitors were.

He could feel himself livening up as he jumped up from the sofa and headed over to the stairs. There weren't many people it could be visiting him and he had a sneaking suspicion it was his daughter. A bubble of panic burst to life along with adrenaline in Evan's stomach at the thought of it being Maddie and Lottie turning up. That had to mean Lottie was getting worse if Maddie was bringing her down to the station to see him.

He scooted past Bobby, trying not to trip as he hurried down the stairs towards his sister who was just walking past one of the trucks.

She was smiling at him which was a good sign and calmed down one of Evan's many nerves. She had Lottie's bag on her shoulder and the two year old bouncing on her hip, clinging to her as she coughed into Maddie's neck.

"Hi babygirl,"

The moment Lottie registered Evan's voice cooing at her, she lifted her head and her pale lips pulled into a smile, briefly obscured by another cough. She stretched her arms out and whined, bashing her feet into Maddie's stomach and back until Evan was close enough to scoop her up.

He flashed his pearly whites, grinning like a shark when he picked her up and reeled her into his chest like a fish on a hook. His large hand smoothed up and down Lottie's back, rubbing soothing circles to try and help ease her cough. Evan could feel her nimble fingers scrunching up in his shirt and she smothered her face against his exposed neck, bending his collar out of her way so she could breathe crackling breaths into his neck.

"Poor baby," Evan mused with his lips meshed into her wild sandy curls that resembled his own. His nose ruffled her curls and he turned his head, squishing his cheek against the top of her head as he started to sway her side to side.

When his eyes locked on his sister, he could see the exhaustion on her face and it made him feel bad. He definitely shouldn't have come to work today. Lottie played up for anyone but Evan when she was ill. If she was her usual self, she would be a Godsend, never made trouble or put a toe out of line and she loved spending time with Maddie. Just not if she was sick.

"How's she been?" He wasn't sure he dare ask and when Maddie pursed her lips and raised a brow, Evan winced.

"Mostly coughing and crying which wasn't a problem at all… it was the screaming when I tried to use this that nearly made her pass out." Fumbling around in her bag, Maddie found the inhaler and spacer that had caused such havoc between her and her niece.

"Oh dear."

When Evan took Lottie to the doctors a few days ago, they could see how congested she was and how hard she was finding it to breathe. So the nurse suggested trying an inhaler but with how young she was, she would need a spacer to go along with it.

A spacer was a plastic tube that the inhaler slotted onto and once the inhaler was pressed, the tube spaced out the steroids so Lottie could inhale it much slower rather than one bout of medicine all at once.

But it did look frightening. She barely let Evan use it with her and when Maddie tried, all she did was scream and say her aunt was being mean. She acted as if Maddie was trying to hit her with it or as if it was full of poison that would kill her instead of make her feel better.

She needed to use it to feel better, she had barely been breathing due to coughing so much. And when she started to scream, her little face went red and she fell down, lightheaded and close to passing out. The only thing Maddie could think of doing was bringing her to the station to see if Evan- or possibly Eddie- could get Lottie to use it. He always managed to calm her down and she knew an hour with him would settle her enough until he finally came home from shift.

"Pass it over, I'll give it a try." He leaned his chest back, tilting Lottie further into his chest so he could reach out and take the inhaler and spacer. Hiding it behind his thigh so Lottie wouldn't see. "Come on baby, let's go watch tv while Maddie gets a drink."

Evan looked over at Chimney, then back at his sister. He knew if he took Lottie for a bit and gave Maddie a break, she could have a drink with Chimney while Evan tried to work his magic on his daughter.

He kept his lips pressed to Lottie's head, smiling to himself when she started to mumble 'daddy' over and over into his neck. His eyes locked with Eddie when he got upstairs but the moment Eddie clocked onto the inhaler, he whistled and raised a brow as he passed to go towards the kitchen. On his way past, Eddie pressed a quick kiss to Lottie's temple, muttering a round of 'good luck' to Evan on his way past.

"You're not sitting with them?" Hen leaned around Eddie as she watched Evan move towards the sofa in front of the tv that was blaring out the latest news. She thought Eddie would have sat with them and made the most of Lottie's visit before they had to get on with their work.

"Oh I'll be able to hear her scream just fine from over here," He dumped his cup in the sink and leaned his forearms down on the kitchen counter. Arching his back out as he looked over at his partner across the kitchen. He wasn't standing close if Lottie was going to try and use her inhaler.

When Evan first tried to get her to use it, Eddie had been on the phone and Lottie had screamed so much Eddie thought he had gone deaf. He heard her call Evan a meanie and cry and wheeze until Evan was almost crying that she was about to turn red.

Eddie would rather wait until Evan had tried his luck with the inhaler before he went to sit with them for a little while.

"Alright babygirl, deep breath for me." Evan sat down on the sofa, hiding the inhaler behind his feet as he perched Lottie on his lap. He pressed a hand to her back and one to her chest, feeling her crackling lungs when she tried to inhale deeply, ending in a cough.

Lottie tilted her head back to look up at Evan, wheezing and tensing her shoulders to try and smother another cough. Her eyes were already watering from the need to cough and she looked paler than she had this morning when he left her. Just looking at his poorly girl made guilt rack up in Evan's stomach and sent him reeling.

"Alright baby, you need to have some medicine."

Evan pursed his lips as he glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Hen, Bobby and Eddie all looking at him with smiles and nodding his way. They weren't going to help, only spectate.

He lifted Lottie up and set her down next to him so he could slide off the sofa and kneel down on the floor in front of her instead. She tucked her legs up beneath her and held onto her little legs, leaning back and forth as she continued to cough and croak. Her tiny button nose crinkled at the end and she shivered.

Her little eyes stayed closed for a few moments which was long enough for Evan to clip the inhaler into the spacer but once Lottie opened her eyes, she paled and leaned back.

"No! No daddy."

Evan predicted Lottie would try to swat at the spacer which was why he held it up above his head, out of her reach. He held his free hand out and gently grabbed her hand as he shook his head.

"Hey now, I thought you liked magic?"

"S'not magic. Nasty, don't want it,"

"It is magic because it will help you breathe better. Come on, be a big girl. Look, I can do it." Evan pretended to press the inhaler and pressed the spacer against his nose and mouth. The last thing he wanted was a deep breath of steroids he didn't need but he would happily play pretend if it got Lottie to go along with him.

He told her it was a toy when she first saw it and pretended to speak into it so she would do the same. But when he pressed the inhaler and she took a deep breath, it tickled her throat and made her chest ignite. It helped, she had enough air to scream at Evan and she didn't trust him after that. Every day since, Evan had to bribe her to try and use it and it was trial and error with her.

Lottie shook her head and leaned as far back into the sofa as she could until Evan reached his arm around her and pulled her back towards him.

"No!"

Eddie winced and hid his grimace behind his hands that were clasped together in front of his face. He could see the pain in Evan's eyes from this distance when Lottie tried to scream but all she ended up doing was slouching forward with a horrid gargling cough.

"Please babygirl? Come on, where's Lottie gone?" For a brief moment, Evan pressed the spacer near his eye, acting as if it was a binocular he was trying to look through.

That was enough encouragement for Lottie to lean closer, apprehension vivid in her eyes but when Evan asked where she was, curiosity got the better of her.

As quick as anything, Evan pressed the inhaler and puffed out his chest, trying to get Lottie to copy him and take a deep breath. He held his breath and puffed out his cheeks that curved into a grin when Lottie tried to breathe into the tube. Her eyes snapped closed and her small fingers scratched into Evan's arm as she tilted her chin down into her chest and squirmed. The deeper breath she took, the more her chest hurt and tickled and it felt like something was physically expanding her lungs for her.

But it helped. She coughed before taking a crackling breath and itching around in Evan's arm until she could push the spacer away. Her head flopped forward onto Evan's shoulder and she curled her arms around his bicep, clinging to him as she took deep breaths.

She felt his arm coil around her waist and his large hand engulfed her hip so he could pull her up into his chest while he kissed the back of her head.

"See? You're so brave. One more for me, just one more then you can go see Eddie, hmm?"

Evan balanced on his heels, feeling a pain burning in the back of his calves from crouching for so long, shifting from his toes to his heels. He kept his left arm around Lottie, holding her against his chest and shoulder and wrapped his right arm around his front until the spacer was near her face. He would gladly cuddle her and hold her close if she would try the spacer again. If he could get her to use it tonight before she went to bed it might help them both sleep better.

She tilted her head from side to side, grumbling and whimpering until Evan pressed the inhaler and held it as close to her nose and mouth as he could manage.

It didn't quite cover her mouth properly and Lottie clenched her hand around Evan's hand that held the spacer, preventing it from completely pressing into her face. She breathed as quickly as she could, inhaling half of the air she was supposed to from the spacer but it was enough for now.

"That's my baby, all done. Good girl," Evan placed the spacer down on the coffee table behind him before he scooped Lottie up in his arms and stood up.

He let her bury her face between his shoulder and chest and curl her legs around his broad chest. Her arms tightly cocooned around his neck until Evan had no choice but to lean forward or have his neck snapped. He kissed the top of her head and pressed his free hand to the back of her neck, smoothing his thumb up and down her cheek as he walked over towards the kitchen.

"See? Didn't I tell you she was brave?" Evan bounced her on his hip, raising a brow when Eddie reached forward to take her. He wasn't so eager when she was screaming but as soon as she returned to the little doe-eyed girl, Eddie was all for her.

"Hi Lottie-cake," Eddie kissed the top of her head, wearing a broad grin when she easily slid from Evan's arms and into his.

He missed having a toddler. He had missed out on a lot of Chris's early childhood and it had taken a lot of trial and error after Shannon left, but Eddie wouldn't have it any other way. Getting together with Evan and (Y/n) had been one of the best things to happen to Eddie. And he got another child in this new relationship. A little girl to spoil, which was exactly how everyone felt when they met Lottie.

"And she's asleep." Eddie wasn't sure whether he was insulted or proud as he looked down and realised her eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly into his neck. He could feel how croaky she was and little grumbles and huffs left her lips every now and then, but she seemed very settled.

"Can you stay like that for the rest of the day? Pretty please?" Evan slumped himself down onto the counter and ran his fingers through his hair while he looked lovingly over at his boyfriend.

Couldn't Eddie just stay at the station for the remainder of their shift and hold Lottie? If she was sleeping in his arms like that, she might just get a good rest and feel a bit better. She would wake up as soon as Eddie let her go and when she realised Maddie would be taking her home soon, she would start crying and screaming again.

"I wish. Go sweet-talk Cap and see what he says," A proud smile lit up Eddie's face and he leaned his hips back against the counter, smoothing his free hand through Lottie's mess of curls. He couldn't resist kissing her head and he started slowly swaying from side to side, lightly bouncing Lottie in the crook of his elbow to try and keep her settled and drifting off to sleep.

Evan knew one thing for certain, he wouldn't be at work for the rest of the week if she continued to be this sick.

***

Eddie hummed a quiet tune at the back of his throat to try and keep himself awake, but he could feel his eyelids flagging and his view of the bathroom was starting to blur and become obscured.

He coughed and let out a small grunt before he went back to humming and looked down at the little girl in his arms. Every few seconds, Eddie jostled his arms up and down, moving Lottie up and down while he kissed the back of her head and hummed into her hair.

He trailed his lips down to kiss her cheek and tilted his neck so he could check and see if she was still awake or not. She had suddenly gone rather quiet in his arms.

It had to be sometime around one in the morning.

This was the first time Evan, Lottie and (Y/n) were staying the night with Eddie and Chris. They were all moving in next week so they were doing a trial run for two nights to try and get the kids used to being under the same roof and see how things went.

The night would have gone a lot smoother if Lottie still wasn't down with a chest infection. She loved her room here which was almost finished and she had been so tired she fell asleep during the movie with them all in the living room. Evan put her to bed and every hour or so, one of them checked in on her.

The three of them actually managed to go to bed and get two hours sleep. Then Lottie woke up.

She had been crying and coughing so Eddie gave her some medicine but she suddenly started to croak and wheeze and then she could barely breathe. He had resorted to the bathroom to try something new. Eddie filled the sink with boiling water, put some vapour drops in the water, lathered Lottie in vapour cream to try and clear her airways. And now he was holding her over the sink, getting her to breathe in the steam to clear her chest.

He thought she would scream at him like she did with the inhaler, but the steam seemed to help straight away. Her coughing got worse but in a good way, it was deeper and allowed her to take proper breaths.

Almost twenty minutes Eddie had been doubled over the sink with Lottie in his arms and he felt like he could sleep standing up. But she was keeping him awake on his toes, if he stopped bouncing her in his arms for more than ten seconds, she would whine and bat at his hand to make him continue.

"Atta girl Lottie-cake." He spoke quietly, grinning when he realised she was asleep. Her head lolled onto his bicep and she snuffled, croaking as she dozed off in his arms.

As gently as he could, Eddie lifted her and turned her around in his arms until she was settled on his chest. Her head fell just beneath his chin and she slumped against his upper chest with her palm pressed over his collar bone. Eddie left the sink full and turned off the light, he was too tired to deal with it now when he could tidy up in the morning. After they all got some sleep.

"You can come sleep with us," Eddie kissed the top of her head and made his way to his room. He knew what would happen if he put Lottie down. She wasn't fully asleep yet and if he woke her whilst trying to put her in her own bed, she would start to cry. It would be easier to let her stay with them tonight and try her in her new room again tomorrow.

When Eddie padded back into his room, he carefully eased himself back down onto the bed, making sure Lottie stayed motionless against his chest. He laid out on his back next to (Y/n), inhaling slowly to adjust to the new weight on his chest. Lottie snuggled up until her head was pressed right beneath his chin near his Adam's apple and her arms secured around his neck to keep him close as if he was going to try and escape.

A smile worked its way onto his face when (Y/n) pressed her face up into his shoulder and draped her leg over his, rubbing her foot against his lower leg.

"Goodnight,"

***

"Come on, breakfast is ready!"

Evan jolted forward when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and nudged him until he moved off balance. His eyes snapped open and he gasped as he rolled from his side and onto Eddie's chest, promptly scaring his partner awake in the process.

"Breakfast!" Chris whined again, nudging Evan until he groaned and ran a hand up and down his face to try and wake himself up.

"W-what time is it?"

"Where's Lottie?" Evan pressed a hand against Eddie's chest and pushed himself up until he could sit up in bed. He ran his fingers through his hair while he looked around the bedroom. Early in the morning he remembered Eddie going to check on Lottie so he and (Y/n) didn't have to and an hour after that, Eddie found Lottie snuggled in bed with them.

Every now and then when she coughed, Evan had reached out to rub his hand up and down her back or kiss her temple if he could reach her. She had climbed over all three of them, moving between who she wanted to lay with.

When Evan's words sank in, Eddie's hands moved to his chest that suddenly felt light and empty. Lottie kept coming back to lay on him during the night, he hadn't realised she had left the room. And so had (Y/n).

"They're making breakfast."

"Alright, we're coming," Eddie pushed up, stretched his arms above his head and climbed out of bed behind Evan. It seemed like the girls had gotten up and got breakfast sorted while the rest of them stayed in bed. Chris's hair was all over the place and he was still in his pyjamas.

A grin took over Evan's features when he padded into the kitchen, still rubbing his hands over his eyes to wake himself up.

There was Lottie, perched on the kitchen counter beside the fridge, a teddy in her arms and (Y/n) stood beside her with a spatula in hand and plates of food all served up around her.

"Morning girls, what are we making?" Evan wrapped an arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her into his side like a fish on a hook. His bare chest pressed up into her back and he tucked his face into her neck, pressing a tender kiss there just to feel her shiver against him.

His free hand moved out to cup Lottie's chin and he brushed his thumb across her cheek, smiling when she grinned up at him.

"Bacon and eggs."

"Buck… aren't you forgetting something?" A smirk flooded Eddie's face as he picked Chris up for a morning hug and leaned across to put the kettle on to make some coffee. He watched his partner tilt his head and frown in confusion that mixed in with tiredness.

Reaching out, Eddie grabbed the spacer and inhaler from the counter and waved it over at him. He grinned when Evan's jaw slacked and his shoulders slumped before he dropped his face back into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck and curled around her like he was pretending to disappear.

Morning and evening, Lottie needed to be encouraged to use the spacer until her infection cleared and she wouldn't let anyone but Evan use it.

He smiled shyly into (Y/n)'s neck when she turned her head to press a gentle, wet kiss to his forehead. They all knew he needed to be more awake and alert if he was going to bribe his daughter to take her inhaler. Breakfast would have to come first to ensure he woke up.

He was glad they all had the next three days off together.

#evan buckley #buck x eddie #buck imagine #buck x reader #imagine #911 imagine #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #pretty please

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kairiscorner · 9 months

Text

the poll has spoken.

miggy and his feelings for you. (when he catches you smiling because of someone else)

summary: what's the next step after telling someone you like them? usually, stuff like that ends in rejection–but... you didn't reject miguel when he finally expressed how he felt for you. what's next after this? he can only handle his need to love you and declare that you're his and he's yours so much before he... before he breaks.

pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader

genre: a bit of angst and fluff 🫂🫂🫂

word count:

a/n: i'm writing this on the date of my blog's second monthsary, HEHE, this is kind of a belated monthsary gift (or early third monthsary gift~~~) for my miguel babes out there, y'all know who you are 🤩 anyway, hope you guys enjoy !!

the rapid palpitations of his heartbeat could still be felt in every fiber of his bones, of his muscles, as he reminisced that moment when he mustered up all the courage he had and breathed out those three, four words he's been dying to utter to you, for you to hear, listen, and sink in your heart as he tells you in such a soft, sentimental tone that he can't help but let out.

"estoy enamorado de ti."

"i'm in love with you, i love you."

he has never been able to recover from the shocks and tingles sent up his spine and tickling the back of his brain every time silence settles in and consumes him. the silence is a perfect, beautiful torment for miguel; because it is the silence that reminds him of how you held him dearly, teased him for his "dramatic", "extra" showcases of affection towards you, and that he remembers every bit of how he feels around you, the love of his life. you've always seen him as a very close friend–like an annoying, overprotective brother at times in the past–but those feelings have thus shifted; and is miguel ever so grateful for that happening.

he's been so scared and lost–like a child who's afraid of the dark wandering in a pitch black room, calling out for help–he was always unsure of what to do with these secret feelings he harbored for you. he thought it'd be better to bury them, to never let you know and take that secret of his to the grave; but he knew he would forever regret that. sometimes, wanting to love and wanting to protect the one you love are two very conflicting ideas–thet don't always end in mutual agreements. and ever since you declared that you reciprocated his feelings and loved him back through your actions and words... he has never felt an even greater need to love and protect you.

miguel's got a new role in your life now, to be the man who will protect and take care of you, ensure you don't go a single day without feeling loved, that you live every day, every hour of your life being as you are–happy and comfortable with yourself, hopefully with the addition of him in the picture. miguel trusts you among everyone else in his whole life–you are the only friend he has that's stuck with him this whole time and still puts up with him, despite his hard-headedness, and does the unthinkable: love him the same way he loves you. he couldn't ask for any more, really, when everything he's ever wanted in life had been granted in the brief moment you two shared when he swore to you he'd work on being such a pain in the ass for you and not be a selfish prick.

he's spent every waking hour searching for you, wanting to hold you close to him in private and smother you with all the love and affection in the multiverse. you have to understand, now, that miguel has never felt this compelled to be with anyone before in his entire life–this is his first time wanting someone with such devotion and affection behind that desire, it's a desire with depth, with genuine emotions; and it sometimes terrifies him. he doesn't know what to do with these feelings, save for acting accordingly to what they compel him to do, so long as it is within bounds of what you want and what you're okay with. however, there are times that those feelings of his get... a bit out of hand, may come off as a bit too strong. there are some things that his feelings compel him to do without him even being able to think of the consequences until it already happened and the damages have already been done.

he feels his heart get pierced by a sharp dagger, he feels like he's getting light-headed as he watches from the monitor on his screen that beautiful, all-too familiar face that he never wants to wake up without seeing as the first person to greet him in the morning, giggle and look so close in proximity with this... random person. miguel swears he's never seen this person before, this person's not a friend of yours he knows about, nor a relative, he can tell that much–they're someone he doesn't know about; a total enigma.

and that scares miguel, because he has no idea just how happy this person makes you.

he feels a twinge of venomous envy strike at his heart, and he feels his pulse quicken a bit when he witnesses the corners of your pretty lips curve up into a smile after that person told you a funny joke, said a nice thing to you today, or... maybe... no way, you wouldn't fall for their flirting, would you? miguel asks lyla to run a background check on the person close to you, and lyla reassures miguel after doing so that this person wouldn't harm you–they were just a 'really close friend of yours'.

"and you're positively certain about that?" miguel asked her as his eyes remained glued on your delightful figure, smiling all the while as this person continued to make you all happy and a little brighter than you seemed before. he hated it. he hated it because some random person was doing his job for him, to make you the happiest you've ever been–but who was he to pry you away from your friends? he loved you and trusted your friends, that he knew of–but this person, he has no idea of who he is–and this frightens him because... he might actually lose you to them, he thinks.

"miguel, i've never heard you use those two words together in one sentence before. you're anxious about something, aren't you?" lyla asks miguel with a curious look on her face, prompting miguel to bare his fangs as he furrowed his eyebrows together and glared at the AI assistant. "just answer me." "alright, grouchy, yes–yes, i'm positively certain this person has no intention of hurting them." lyla replied as miguel placed his palm on his face and rubbed his eyes clean of the frustration he was experiencing right then and there, only for it to return on his face with a scorching heat filling his frame the longer he thought about you smiling around this person.

miguel turned the monitors off and decided to distract himself with some missions, though you never left that spot in his mind and heart once as he fought anomalies and tracked the statuses of other universes. his other teammates believed he was acting pretty strangely whenever he'd go out and fight the anomalies; he'd act more brutal and less cautious than he usually would, bringing the anomaly to the brink of death at one point until peter b and jess had to intervene and contained the anomaly for him.

miguel had to sit the next mission out, and so, he was holed up in his office again, begrudgingly so. "either you tell us what's going on, or you're not coming on anymore missions." "no, that's stupid, i will be going on the next o–" "you're posing as a threat to the anomalies, a lethal one, and that's not like you." jess berated miguel like a mother chiding her son for having a temper tantrum. miguel sighed and leaned his head against his hand, his elbow propped up on the control panel to support his head. jess sighed and peter b entered the room once things cooled down. "hey, so... what's his deal?" "no clue." jess replied to peter b with a shrug as miguel slumped over on his desk, sighing to himself repeatedly as thoughts of you refused to leave his mind.

you were like an endless memory miguel wanted to relive forever, and he never wanted you to leave his mind, actually–but he knew he'd go crazy without properly talking to you about this, but the thought of that alone was killing him right now. he felt so helpless and pathetic, he couldn't even talk to the love of his life about what he was so afraid of... and now, the others had to pick up after his scattered, broken pieces. "what if we have them talk to him?" "with him being in this state? yeah, no, not the best idea." "c'moooon, they're the end all, be all solution to his little slump. i know, because mj is–" "alright, alright, i get it; save your hopeless devotion for mary jane later. call them up now, we need to go on the mission, parker." jess told peter as he smiled and contacted you to come over to miguel's office right then and there, with the very important reminder that miguel was: 'in a terrible slump and needs some love and affection to be cured.'

after a few minutes, miguel heard the doors to his office slide open, and the clacking of a couple of familiar heels were heard; before you could even speak, miguel immediately knew it was you. call it creepy or weird if you want, but miguel can't help but memorize every detail of you, because it's the mere thought of you that keeps him going–but the thought of you... leaving him, that's enough to stop him from even wanting to go on. miguel spoke out your name in a gentle whisper, but afterward, he immediately shied away from you–hiding his face in his hands again as you approached him.

"mig, what's wrong?" you asked him, and the sound of your melodic voice filling his ears made him go mad with affection for you but also ridden with guilt all over again as he remembered just how angry he was at that person making you smile and... at you, for being happy with someone who wasn't even him. of course, that anger towards you fizzled out quickly, but he can't help but feel awful that he can't be fine with letting you be happy with someone who isn't even him. "...nothing's wrong." he lied in a soft grumble. you folded your arms over your chest and raised an eyebrow up at him. "right, well, you looking like a sad, droopy-eared dog while hunching your back and burying your face in your palms when i'm not looking is the definition of something being wrong." you pointed out, making miguel bury his face in his hands even more at how right you were. "what are you even doing here?" "peter called me." "that pendejo... well, why'd you agree to come anyway?" he asked you as he turned to look at you with softened eyes, eyes that appeared to be on the brink of sobbing.

you pulled up a chair and sat close to miguel, so close that your knees were touching his own–making him look up at you in surprise. "because you've been avoiding me all week." you remind him, and that very fact made miguel tense up. he gradually turned his head to look at you with an evidently pensive look on his face, which was rare for him since he didn't really show much emotion... except to you, his beloved partner. being his partner gave you the privilege to see all sides of him–the good and bad sides–whether he likes to or not; and having been together with miguel for a while and being his friend for the longest time, you could tell something was wrong. "i'm... sorry, i'm just..." miguel muttered under his breath with a sigh as he rubbed his eyes again with his hand. you gently took his other hand in your own and interlocked hands with him, making him jolt up and turn to look at you in surprise.

you sighed and ran the pad of your thumb over the back of his big hand, thinking of what to tell him as you just held on to him closer and tighter. "is it about my friend?" you asked him softly as miguel tensed up even worse again. miguel's lower lip trembled and he took in a deep breath. "...n-no, why would... well, o-okay, yes, it is. h-how'd you..." "you were always the jealous type, mig." you tell him with a grin as miguel looked down in shame, but you placed your other hand on the side of his face and lifted his head up a bit to look at him. "but, i know you're not like this to hurt them or me. you love me, right? well... i definitely love you, too, unconditionally." you tell him in a whisper as you bring your face closer to his own shy one. you could see the signs that he was getting more and more flustered and embarrassed. "mi vida, i... don't deserve you. who wants such a jealous, overbearing, overprotective guy as their lover? i-if i can't trust them with you, then... can i even trust myself to make you happy?" miguel rambled as he felt his breath getting ragged and his grip around your hand tighten.

you leaned over and kissed miguel's plush lips, effectively answering his question. "yes, miguel–you are trustworthy, you are worthy of having me." you reassured him. you pressed your lips against his again, making him moan gently through your kiss and mumbling your name. "cariño... i'm sorry, still... i'm just... just really jealous, and i... wanna make you the happiest person in the world." he muttered to you, sighing. you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, patting his shoulder and shushing him. "you already do though... miggy, i want nobody but you, you and your sweet, jealous ass." you plant a kiss on the top of his head as you said that, making him even more heated up in the face and shy. "i can assure you, nothing bad's going on between us–they told me a few funny jokes that made me grin, but... i smile even wider when you're being all adorable like this with me. they're just a friend, and you're... the love of my life." you told him with a smile as miguel looked up at you, his hazel brown eyes gazing up at your own and concentrating on your pretty orbs.

"it's okay to be jealous, but... know that in every universe, i'll choose you and only you as my lover. you're perfect, miggy, you're all i want and need." and the minute you tell him all that... he feels his world slowly come together again, and his mood instantly lifting. he gently wrapped his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him, making him lowly sigh in relief. "and you already know i want and need you the most... no soporto estar sin ti amor... i can't live another day not being with you..." he murmured to you as an oath, an oath to not hurt you ever again, to not let his emotions overwhelm him and make you feel forgotten or guilty over something you didn't do, and... an oath to you that he loves you more than anything or anyone he's ever loved before.

he can't stop being jealous on instinct, he'll sometimes get insecure and anxious about himself, but... he loves you, that much, he knows; and you... you love him dearly, too. he just needs you to keep going and to keep feeling worthy and happy; you are enough for him, and he will always, always let you know that you are all he loves and cares about, in his own little and big ways and words–because... you love him like that, he makes you happy like that, and you couldn't ask for more.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst #atsv imagines #atsv

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vincentbriggs · 10 months

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Good sir, I am hoping to pick your brain. I’m making an 18-century (“pirate”) shirt as a gift to my friend. He wants tie closures on the neck and cuffs instead of buttons. Might you have any insight or resources for this? I’ve seen the ties in at least one of the extant shirts I’ve viewed online. I’m still pretty new to the sewing gig and I’d like to minimize inventing metaphorical wheel as much as possible. Thanks in advance!

It's very unusual, but do know of one example! (Not that extant one though)

But first - Link to my most thorough shirt construction blog post. (It's a few years old and I've improved a few little things in my technique since then, and I mean to finish writing a new and better one before the year is over.)

Ok, ties on shirts! I'm assuming this is the extant one you're talking about? Tbh I'd discount this one entirely if you're looking for information on 18th century men's shirts because I don't think it is one.

Besides the attached ties, the sleeves are extremely weird. They're cut off and have no wristbands!! This would make it quite impossible to wear under a coat, the wristbands are an absolutely essential part of an 18th century shirt. I also don't see any reason to believe this is actually 18th century when it could just as easily be 19th century, and considering how short the slit is I think that more likely.

(Lots of auction sellers like to say "late 18th century" about things that are like... yeahh maaaaybe that's plausibly from a very fashion forward guy in the late 1790's but it's much more likely early 19th century. And with court dress they sometimes just straight up date it several decades too early. Look at lots of examples and always question everything, because museums don't always date things correctly either.)

I think I remember seeing someone mention once that it was a 19th century workman's garment of some sort, but I can't remember where, and all we've got to go on are a few pictures and a brief caption from a seller who doesn't know what they're talking about. It does look like it could have been worn over another layer though, and the fabric is very coarse. It could also have been altered at a later date for theatrical costume, which is something the Victorians did to A LOT of 18th century garments.

So just ignore that shirt!

The vast majority of 18th century mens shirts close with 2 or 3 buttons on the collar, but there is a style that uses ribbons. It appears to have been fairly common in the late 17th and early 18th century, and then slowly dwindles as the century goes on. I have a section for it on my shirts pinterest board with 64 examples. Ooh, wait, 65, just found a new one.

The collar is made with little to no overlap and one buttonhole on each end, and a ribbon is threaded through them.

Portrait of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 1728.

Sir Charles Howard, 1738.

I actually made one of these last year!

The collar doesn't sit as well with the ribbon as it does with 2 buttons, but once you put a stock over it it's fine.

Nearly every single depiction of an 18th century shirt I've ever seen (and I've spent a LOT of time looking) uses sleeve links on the wristbands. (Which I have a tutorial for! They're really easy to make!) I do sleeve links on most of my everyday shirts because I like them better than sewn on buttons. When the wristband is this narrow, sewn on buttons don't sit very nicely.

But! If your friend wants ties on the wrist in a historical way, I do know of one single example, and it's this guy!

Giovanni Maria delle Piane, Portrait of a nobleman. No date given, but if I had to guess I'd say 1680's or 90's. Very late 17th century looking fellow.

We can't see his collar closure, but I think it's very possible that he has a matching red ribbon holding that closed.

Personally I wouldn't want to try these, because they look like an absolute nightmare to tie by yourself one handed. But the good news is that you could make just regular wristband that take sleeve links and they'd work for this too, since both just have a buttonhole at each end! I aim for a finished wristband length that's 10-14mm longer than my wrist measurement, with the buttonhole being about 4 or 5mm in from the edge, which gives me enough ease to wear them comfortably with sleeve links, so if you do that then he'll be able to wear them both ways.

#ask #shirts #18th century #17th century #me

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bbyquokka · 8 months

Text

dead roses

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | han jisung x fem reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | angst, hurt/comfort, smut – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 | you've found out that jisung has been cheating on you.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | cheating, nipple/breast play, thigh fucking, thigh grinding, oral (m+ f rec), 69, love bites, vaginal fingering, protective sex ( p in v ), crying during sex, a lot of angst, hurt with no comfort ( if i missed any, lmk! )

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 6.1k ~ ( 6,113 )

m.list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

it started off small. at first, it was a few late nights at the office. then, he became secretive. he'd hide his phone from you, rush to it and snatch it off you when he had a text. he started to lie to you. “just going to the store. i will be five minutes.” but those minutes turned to hours.

you don't know what's happened to the man you loved. when you and jisung met, he was so sweet, caring and attentive. he made you laugh with his stupid and corny jokes. he knew how to brighten your day when you were feeling low. he knew how to make you feel loved.

the first day of every month, he bought you a single rose until you had twelve, then twenty-four, then twenty-six. those roses are dead. the petals crumble from a gentle touch, the colour drained and rotten and black. the water is dirty and murky yet they still sit on your coffee table as a painful reminder that the love you both shared, is just as dead as those roses.

touch became little to nothing. sex was none existent. jisung has a high sex drive so for him to go months without having sex with you, is strange. he no longer kisses you, hugs you or holds your hand. he can't even look you in the eyes.

does he hate you? does he no longer want to be with you? do you not please him enough? all these questions and more swim in and out of your mind, day in, day out. you're riddled with anxiety when you watch him walk out the door to work. you're riddled with guilt for questioning the relationship; for questioning his love for you.

it got so bad and so draining that you considered putting a tracker on his phone and spying on him. but you couldn't bring yourself to do something like that – all you had to do was trust him even if your gut was telling you differently.

everything you thought of, every question that was left unanswered and every action of jisung's that was questionable have now all be answered due to the fact that you have found messages from him to another.

you feel sick to your stomach. rage bubbling and rushing through your veins like hot molten lava. your hands tremble and palms sweat as you scroll through his messages. you locked yourself in the bathroom, jisung fast asleep in the bed you both share.

you know it's a huge breach of trust to go through someone's phone without permission, but you heard him on the phone earlier. you heard him say “i'll be there, baby.” you watched him walk out the door minutes later and return two hours later with a purple bruise on his neck and smelling of another. you saw the guilt in his eyes as you questioned him.

he's a terrible liar.

you could wake him up there and then, question him about everything. wake him up with the harsh truth that you know everything but you wait. you want at least one more day to be sure, one more day of calmness before the boat rocks and you sink to the bottom. you know the proof is there in your hands, the messages, the naked pictures, the calls and the sexting. it's there but you need and want to be absolutely sure.

jisung is your everything and more. he's your world and he's taught you how to love yourself again. everything you've built together, gone in less than a second. the trust you had for him, shattered. your heart, crumbling like the rose petals.

you've seen enough. you close his phone before making your way back to bed. you place his phone back on the side table before sliding into bed beside him. you lay on your back, staring blankly at the ceiling as tears blur your vision and spill from the corners of your eyes. your heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears, shattering with each tear that trickles down your skin.

a nightmare turned into reality.

you tried to act normal the next day to not raise suspicions. you tried to go about the day as if you didn't know but flashes of the texts shoot across your mind leaving you feeling sick and shackled. the rage building and building until you finally snapped. all it took was for jisung to return home late smelling of them, once again.

“where have you been?” you ask sweetly from your position on the sofa. jisung shrugs as he takes off his shoes.

“with changbin. i thought i told you before. he invited me out for dinner.”

“mhm, maybe you did. must have slipped my mind.” you fake a smile and a chuckle before continuing, jisung walking to you. “how was the meal? where did you eat?”

“it was fine.” he shrugs. “we went to changbin's favourite restaurant.”

you hum and nod as a response. the smell of another strong and tickling your nostrils now that he is much closer to you. you can see his honey skin glistening and his cheeks pink. his lips swollen and kiss bitten.

“so, restaurant with changbin you say.”

“yes.” jisung laughs. “is that a pro–”

“funny you should say that, ji.” you interrupt him. “because i phoned changbin up and asked about you and he told me that you never showed up. in fact, you never had anything planned with him.”

the colour drains from those round cheeks you adore. his eyes widen in shock as the cogs turn in his head in search of an excuse – a lie.

he laughs, a fake laugh, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other whilst rubbing the back of his neck. you stand up from your seat, eyebrow raised as you stare him dead in the eyes.

“oh c'mon, maybe he forgot.” he stutters, his voice shaking. you scoff which causes jisung to swallow.

“you're such a bad liar. not only are you using your best friend as an excuse, you can't even tell me the truth!”

“oh, c'mon yn. i'd never lie to you. i have no reason to lie to you!”

“really? because from where i'm standing, ji your body tells me differently. your brow is coated in sweat, your hands are shaky and clammy. your pupils have blown out and you're swallowing a lot as if your throat has gone dry as well as stumbling over your words and stuttering. you're lying to me, jisung.”

“yn, i have nothing to hide. please tell me why would i lie to you when all i have done is be honest and loving to you. devoted myself to you.” you roll your eyes at his words and scoff. you see red and the words come out like vomit.

“i know.” those two words you speak are enough to shake jisung up. fear clouds his mind and hugs his body. his heart thumps against his chest as his jaw clenches and throat tightens with each swallow of his saliva.

“know what?” he whispers. you stare at him.

“i know you've been sleeping with someone else.”

jisung laughs. a laugh that's forced. a laugh that tries to lighten the situation and make it seem like a joke in hopes that you too, will find it funny and ridiculous of what you're accusing him off.

but it's not funny nor ridiculous. it's true and he knows it. he's been caught.

“i don't know what you're talking about, baby.”

you roll your eyes and scoff. the anger rises to your cheeks. your body is hot with rage but you remain calm not because you want to but because you need to.

“stop lying to me, jisung. just admit it.”

“how did you know?”

“i went through your phone.” you say with a shrug.

“you went through my phone?!” his voice increasing a little in volume, eyebrows furrowed together.

“seriously? me doing through your phone is the least of your worries right now jisung. you've been off with me for weeks, months! you don't touch me, don't talk to me. you barely look at me! it's like i disgust you or something! i needed answers because hell i wasn't going to get any off you.”

“i'm sorry. i've just been stressed, tired. i didn't mean to make–”

“how long?”

“excuse me?”

“how long has this been going on for? and don't even think about lying to me again jisung. all i ask of you is the truth. am i not worthy of that?” you voice shakes, nostrils flaring as hot tears blur your vision. jisung's expression softens, guilt spreading across his face. he sighs in defeat, lips pressing together.

“5 months..” he whispers. you nod once, hastily wiping the tears falling down your cheeks.

“why? is it me? do i not satisfy you enough. am i not good enough for you? i thought we had something, jisung..”

"no! it was never you. i didn't do this out of spite, believe me yn! you're amazing, talented and so beautiful. the first time was a stupid, drunken mistake but–”

“but it felt good.” you finish his sentence with a whisper, your deepest fears coming to light. you and jisung have spent hours talking about your future together. you've spent endless minutes under the sheets together, planning and telling each other your wishes and dreams. he was the man you wanted to spend your life with, your forever after.

you wanted to marry him, have children with him, watch him achieve his goals and dreams. you never thought of him as someone who would cheat and willingly throw everything away – but love is blind they say and you were very blind.

“i thought we had something. the talks we had. our dreams. our future together, gone.” you whisper in disbelief. your heart sinking with each passing second.

“it's not gone, darling.” he walks to you, his voice sickening sweet and gentle. it makes you believe he is just mocking the situation, mocking you as a person. you take one step back away from him and glare.

“don't you dare touch me after what you've done.”

“baby, please. i never meant to hurt you. i've been stressed and wanted some fun, someone to take my stress out onto. it's not my fault you've been so busy lately.”

you look at him in disbelief. your eyes widen in shock. your body moves on its own and it isn't until you hear the harsh slap and feel the sting on your palm do you realize what you've just done.

“don't you dare! don't you fucking dare try and pretend to be the victim and spin this on me! i've been here the whole fucking time, waiting and wondering. questioning myself and this fucking scam of a relationship! do you know how many tears i have shed for you?! do you know how many hours i've spent laying awake at night and wondering why?! do you know that i've been filled with a suffocating amount of anxiety that it's caused me to throw up?!”

with his hand on his now red cheek, he looks up at you and swallows. his cheek burns from your slap. “i'm sorry.. i did–”

“didnt mean it? like you didn't mean to stick your cock into someone else for all these months?!”

“i'm sorry yn. what more do you want me to say or do? because if you have any ideas, please tell me and i'll do it.” the tears that roll down jisung's soft cheeks take you by surprise. his usual, life filled eyes now dead and showing nothing but heartbreak. they still shimmer though due to the tears that cascade down his soft cheeks – those cheeks you've missed squeezing and cooing over for hours and hours on end.

those cheeks that you adore because they belong to the man you adore.

“tell me yn, please i beg of you. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for making you feel this way. i'm sorry for doing what i've done. i'm sorry for being selfish and for being a jerk.” he walks towards you with you walking backwards. your heart races as he gets closer and closer to you and soon, your movement ends due to your back hitting the wall.

“ji, please..” you all but whisper. a broken whisper, a pleading whisper. you want all this to end, to turn back time to when things were simpler. to when he was yours and only yours.

you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at jisung but you can smell him. underneath the stench of the other person, you smell his natural scent. the scent you find the utmost comfy in. the scent that calms your mind and grounds you. your security. your safe space.

“i love you yn.” you open your eyes slowly, bottom lip quivering. you allow the tears to freefall down your cheeks as you're now face to face with him. “i love you.”

as he repeats the words, you allow him to reach down and hold your hand. is it your palms that are sweaty or his? either way, his skin is soft and tender. you can feel his hands all over your body. his fingers gently caressing your skin, setting it ablaze.

“i can't..” you shake your head. “this isn't – this isn't fair, jisung.” you sob.

he gives you a sad yet gentle smile as he brushes away your tears. his hand lingers for a split second and you allow yourself a moment of weakness, a moment of submission.

you feel his lips being pressed against yours gently and you allow it. you don't fight him. you don't push him away. you want him and you hate that about yourself.

his lips are so soft, so gentle. they're plump and mold beautifully with yours. he cups both your cheeks as you tilt your head to the side and moves your lips with his in a soft and passionate kiss. tears continue to fall down your cheeks as well as his own as you hold onto his wrists.

you just want him. just one more night of pure bliss. a night of pretending.

the kiss deepens and turns more passionate. your body aches and burns from his simple touches. you've been touch starved of him for months and his simple touches are making you weak at the knees.

his tongue glides along your bottom lip slowly, asking – begging for permission which you grant but slowly parting your lips for him. you groan softly as his body presses flush against yours, his leg between yours and thigh pressing against your core.

his tongue enters your mouth where he caresses and tastes the inside. soft grunts and moans being swallowed by one another. tongues caressing and fighting for dominance as well as saliva mixing in the process. his hands drops from your cheeks to your hips where he holds and moves them back and forth so you rub against his thigh.

“ji..” you gasp as you pull away for a brief second. you pant a little before groaning softly as he leans in and peppers kisses along your neck. from the corner of your eye, you see the purple bruise from the other person and your heart sinks to your stomach like a dead weight. the tears come back and flow down your cheeks but you tilt your head to the side and allow jisung to kiss and mark your skin, acting like you belong to him and him only.

even though he doesn't belong to you anymore.

with each kiss, with each touch of his skin, a piece of your heart breaks off and crumbles to the floor but you're so consumed with him. his scent, his touch, his mind, body and soul. you've longed for him. longed for him to just take you, devour you, indulge in you.

“jisung.” you whisper softly. he pulls away from your neck. his lips glistening with saliva, his cheeks red and eyes glassy with lust and want. he wants you and it fills you up with so much ecstacy. you finally feel wanted.

jisung's grip on your hips tightens as he moves them a little faster. his thigh tenses under you, hardening as it rubs against your pussy through the layers of clothing. jisung presses his lips against yours again, this time it's messy, filled with want, need, desire and lust.

teeth bash together. saliva mixing and spilling from the lips. your lips swell as he nibbles and kisses them. you reach down between your bodies to cup his erection which causes jisung to gasp softly and hips to buck automatically in your hand.

you start by palming him slowly, feeling just how much he wants you. you trace his outline through the layers of fabric with your fingers before squeezing and palming him slowly but roughly.

his hands leave your hips to travel up your stomach from under your t-shirt where he stops just below your breasts. his fingers dance along your skin before cupping the soft flesh in his hands where he rolls and kneads them in his palms. you groan, eyes fluttering shut as you lean against the wall, hips grinding down on his thigh.

jisung watches you. he watches you unravel and fall right into the palm of his hands. he knows your weak spots, knows what you like and don't like but he also knows what drives you insane. your lips part as your breathy moans in the form of his name fall past them. his fingertips brush against your hard nipples where he teases them by delicately running his fingers over them.

it leaves goose bumps on the skin, your nipples to harden even further. your eyes open as you shake your head and beg;

“don't tease me. i need you more than ever.”

jisung swallows, his body shivering at your words. you look so desperate for him. a look of intense lust and need spread all over your features. your hips moving on their own and your hands grasping at his clothing. you're begging for him, for his touch. you're begging for him to indulge in you.

he takes your hand and drags you to the bedroom. he strips himself off his clothing, the sight of his gorgeous tanned skin makes you throb. his broad shoulders and bulging chest. his tiny waist and soft stomach – you want it all.

he drops his underwear, letting them pool around his ankles before stepping out of them. his cock standing proud and leaking a little at the tip. you watch, frozen in time. your eyes trail from his chest to his penis where you admire it. the length, the way his foreskin hugs his tip, the veins that are slowly protruding along the sides; you feel so new, so vulnerable and no one can blame you. you haven't seen him naked in months so seeing him like this is enough to set a raging fire to burn in your stomach.

your breath hitches as he walks to you. he pulls your t-shirt up and over your head before latching onto your breasts. he suckles on your nipple, tongue playing and swirling around the hard bud. he coats it in his saliva, his tongue flat as he swipes it.

one hand on your neglected breast, one hand currently pulling your bottoms and underwear off. his fingers tugging at your nipple simultaneously with each flick on his tongue. your fingers find their way into his silky smooth hair where you grasp and tug at the roots.

your bottom half is hit with cold air as your clothing shimmies down your legs and pools at your feet. the hand that was pulling your clothing off is now attached to your ass cheek where he massages the flesh and pulls your naked half flush against his own.

his cock slides between your thigh and rubs between your folds. you both gasp and shiver, jisung now gripping onto your ass cheeks as he thrusts his hips slowly, rubbing his cock against your cunt and plush thighs. he growls, teeth now sinking into the skin of your breasts before sucking and leaving purple bruising.

“so good.. fuck, i've missed you.” he moans as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. you swallow hard, swallowing down that burn in your throat as you blink back tears.

i've been here the whole time you wish to say but you don't want to ruin the mood. you have him, finally after months and months of waiting. you've allowed yourself to be weak, to indulge in his touch that you've craved.

you push back the negative thoughts, force yourself into forgetting about his affairs. as far as you're concerned, it's just you and him in the moment. you can play pretend – for one more night at least.

jisung cups your cheeks and kisses you messily. he's always been like this; sloppy and needy. it makes you wonder if he is the same with them as he is with you. you push the thought to the side as you kiss him back just as messily, desperation coursing through your veins and lust clouding your better judgment.

during the kiss, jisung walks forwards, pushing you backwards with each step until you hit the bed and fall back. without breaking the kiss, he kneels between your legs and leans over you, hands by the side of your head.

“69?” he questions in a breathy tone. you simply nod and hum before you both shuffle around and position yourselves. you on top, head by jisung's cock with your legs on either side of his head, cunt eye level with him.

he licks his lips hungrily, taking in a deep breath of your scent before moaning loudly and grabbing your ass cheeks. you giggle before grabbing the base of his cock and slowly stroke him.

he grunts before latching onto your swollen clit. your hips buck as his tongue swipes and toys with it, lips wrapping around the swollen bud as he sucks. two of his fingers rub between your puffy folds. a hum of satisfaction as he feels your slick coating his fingers up nicely.

“so fucking wet for me. i love how wet i make you, yn.” he mumbles.

“only for you, baby.” you purr as you lazily stroke him. you pull back his foreskin, watching it slip down from his tip and revealing its red state. it's swollen, beads of precum forming before dispersing. his skin is hot against your palm. you lean down to press your tongue flat and glide it along his tip, collecting the salty precum.

you wrap your lips around his tip, lowering your head further down on his shaft. his thickness causes the corner of your lips to stretch and for you to feel full despite only managing less than half. jisung groans from below you, his penis being encapsulated in your warmth and wetness.

it makes him want to fuck you right there and then. feel your soft and gummy walls tighten around his length. watch his shaft glisten in your slick – but he waits. he wants to play with your pretty pussy some more. he wants to feel it throb and beg for more of his touch.

he loves how slick you feel. how you respond to his touch so well. he loves it, so much so, that he becomes riddled with guilt. his mind switches and turns back to the many times he was out for hours on end with the other person. they don't feel as good as you. they don't sound as good as you, yet he still continued because he became addicted to the thrill.

he knew he was hurting you. he saw each piece of you crumble every time he returned home. the sullen look on your face, your eyes puffy and red whilst filling up with tears as you noticed yet another bruise. he's a coward, he knows that. the amount of times he's wanted to tell you, to confess his sins, makes him feel sick to his own stomach.

he doesn't recognise himself anymore. the thrill of being with another changed him, changed him into something he vowed to never be. he became the man he hates. he willingly threw everything that he had with you away. the dreams, the talks, the wants and desires – gone!

he knows you'll never be able to bounce back from this. he knows that if you do decide to stay with him, he has his work cut out. he knows your anxiety will be all over the place and your trust in him is little to nothing; but if you're willing to give him another chance, he will try so hard until he is red in the face and sweating blood and shedding tears.

he wouldn't blame you if you broke up with him though. in fact, that's what he is expecting after all this. this isn't make-up sex, it's different. it's the calm before the storm (even though the storm has already happened) it's goodbye sex. one more night of passion. one more night of embracing each other before going your separate ways. the thought of spending the rest of his life without you, pains jisung and a burning lump forms in his throat.

he only has himself to blame though.

all his thoughts get casted aside as he feels his tip touch your throat. he wraps his arms around your ass, pulling you down so you're flush on his face. he buries his face in your cunt, licking and spitting, smearing and caressing. you bob your head up and down a few times before releasing him from your mouth. you stroke him as you spit on his tip and smear it in with your thumb so it mixes with his precum.

his hips buck as his dick throbs. he's sensitive. your touch is (and always has been) like fire to him. your mouth is once again on him, licking and sucking. it's sloppy and messy just how he likes it.

whilst you suck, jisung pushes two of his fingers inside your aching core with ease due to your slick. your walls welcome him, hugging his fingers tightly as he thrusts them. you squeeze your eyes shut, basking in the pleasure that warms your body and veins. his tongue is latched onto your clit as he swirls it around and kitten licks it. his fingers hook and curl against your walls, pushing more inside until he brushes against your g-spot.

when he does, your thighs shake and all your weight disappears. you pull from his cock, moaning in a breathy tone and asking for more.

“j-jisung.. ji.. fuck!”

“my name sounds so beautiful when it rolls off your tongue.” he hums.

“m-more. please.”

“what do you want, baby? tell me.”

“i want you to fuck me.” you whimper. jisung hums and positions you on your back gently. he kneels between your legs, hands on your hips as he admires your body.

he's been in this position with you many times before but today just feels different. it feels new, odd, strange but not bad. it feels like you two are having sex for the first time. everything feels like a dream, nothing is real and jisung is scared. he doesn't know what to do anymore.

as he reaches over to the bedside table for a condom, he is abruptly stopped by your hand grabbing his wrist.

“no. no protection. i want to feel you, jisung.” he swallows thickly. he's always wanted to fuck you raw but for safety (and common sense) reasons, you've both been careful.

“are you sure?” the tips of his ears burn red as you nod.

“yes.” you look to the side, avoiding his gaze as you mumble. “just do whatever you want.”

his heart shatters as he knows what you mean. he's been doing what he wants for months so why stop now? you sound so defeated, so energy less that it feels wrong. with a soft sigh, he grabs a condom, rips it open and rolls it onto his hard length.

“what are you doing?”

“i can't do that.”

“why? you've always wanted to. i gave you permission to do so, so why are you not doing it?”

“yes, you gave me consent but it just doesn't feel right. i do want to fuck you raw and feel you but it just doesn't feel right. maybe next time?”

“next time?” you question with a raised brow. “there's going to be a next time?” jisung looks down and swallows. he doesn't say a word to which you sigh at. “just, hurry up and fuck me ji. i want to feel you still and have some fun. i still want to indulge you.”

“really?”

“really.”

with a nod, he guides his length to your entrance. you groan softly as he breaches you, stretching you in the process. he holds your waist tightly as you grip onto the sheets. you've forgotten how thick he is and how much the stretch burns, no matter how much jisung prepares you.

“fucking tight.” jisung says between laboured breaths. you hum as a response, breathing slowly as he pushes half his length inside. he stays to allow you to get used to his size, to allow the burn to subside. when it does, you give him the ok but he doesn't move.

you frown, repeating your ok again. his head is hanging low, his grip on you so tight. you lean up on your elbows for a better view.

“ji? are you ok?” your eyes widen when you hear the most painful, heart-breaking sob from him. a sound you've never heard from him before. a sound you wish to never hear. it makes your mind go blank, your heart to sink to your stomach for the nth time.

“'m sorry..” he whispers, tears dripping down his cheeks. “'m so so sorry.”

his voice cracks. he sounds so small, so vulnerable. tears blur your own vision before falling down your cheeks slowly.

“look at me.” he refuses so you repeat your sentence again, this time much more softly. he obeys, looking at you with tear stained cheeks and wet lashes.

“it'll be ok.” you say with a sad smile.

“no, it won't be! the damage is already done yn. i fucked up massively and my biggest fear will come true.”

“you only have yourself to blame ji. if you just told me about the drunken one night, then we could have got through it together and be ok again. but you went back to them, sober and willing. i was made to feel second best.”

“you're never second best to me, yn..”

“but i am. you didn't think about me when you left the house. you didn't think about me when you went to them. you didn't think about me when you fucked them. i am second best. you made me feel like i'm second best, ji.”

“i'm sorry. i know i keep repeating myself but i'm so terrible sorry! i'm the worst. i'm disgusting, a pig!”

“hey.” you reach up and wipe away his tears. “you fucked up, yes. massively if that, but that doesn't mean you should talk about yourself like that, darling. the jisung i know, the jisung i loved was kind, considerate, caring. you made me feel so alive and special.”

“i've become the man i hate.”

“one question.”

“mhm?”

“did you–” you swallow as you brace yourself. “did you enjoy it with the other person?”

“no.” jisung looks you square in the eyes. “it wasn't so much about the person as it was the thrill. i became addicted to it. i lost myself and in the process, i hurt you.”

you nod before falling back onto your back. he's telling the truth. you've known him long enough to know if he is lying or not. however, this just made your decision much more difficult. if he had given you a different answer, it would've been much easier for you to leave.

but you're attached to him. attached to the way he makes you feel. attached to the memories, good and bad! he's everything to you and more. you don't want to leave him, you don't want to be alone. you want to spend your life with jisung because he is all you've ever known.

however, it wouldn't be fair on either of you. you won't be able to trust him, question his every move. he has patience but a person only has so much so how long will it be until you drive him away and lose him for good.

tears drip down the bridge of your nose as you think. your teeth digging into your bottom lip. you let out shaky breathes as you feel jisung lean over you and cup your cheeks gently.

your eyes lock with his. his tears dripping onto your cheeks and merging with yours.

“i love you.” he whispers. you swallow and shake your head.

“no you don't. if you did, you wouldn't have done what you've done. you wouldn't have made me feel like this.”

it hurts him, like a dagger to the heart but he understands where you're coming from. both consumed with negative thoughts, jisung holds your waist gently and sniffs.

“shall we?” he asks. you nod and close your eyes, waiting to be basked and filled with so much pleasure, it clouds your thoughts and masks your feelings.

jisung starts off slow and steady, picking up the pace once he hears your soft moans. the pleasure soon overrides the negativity as you (and jisung) become consumed with each other once again.

your gummy walls squeeze around his shaft. the sound of skin on skin and your soppy cunt mixing together with the breathy moans. you call for his name, reaching up for him. he leans down, pressing his chest against yours as you wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

he pushes more of himself inside until he is balls deep. you nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his natural scent that mixed with the smell of sweat. jisung's hot breathes fan against your neck, his lips occasionally kissing your neck as he thrusts.

“feels good.” you moan softly.

“me too. you feel so good around me, yn. fuck, you feel so fucking amazing!”

“keep going, please! don't stop.” you whine. he nods as his tip bumps against your g-spot. your body jerks and muscles twitch. each thrust, rub and bump of your insides brings you closer to the edge. you tighten around him, squeezing him tightly as your gut burns.

“it's ok. cum around my cock, yn.” he purrs before kneeling up. he holds your inners thighs far apart as he thrust fast. his gaze fixated on your cunt and the way it devours his cock. you whine and with a few more thrusts, you're calling out his name as your orgasm hits you.

your walls contract around jisung's length. your mind blank and back arching off the bed. it only takes a few more thrusts from jisung before he is trembling and emptying his cock into the condom.

once you're both calm and relaxed from the high, he pulls out slowly. he rolls the condom off, ties it and discards it in the trash.

“want to shower together?” he asks, hopefully.

“um, no. i think i will shower after you.” jisung nods and gives you a sullen smile. as soon as the bathroom door closes, reality hits you like a bus.

you can't stop it. the pent up emotions finally overflow and spill. tears stream down your cheeks as you cry hard. you struggle to breath as you cry for the man you once loved and knew. you're so confused, mind fuzzy and muddled as you're unsure on what to do.

you want him. you want him so badly but it pains you. you can't look at him without seeing him with them. without feeling like you will always be second best, like you'll never be enough.

jisung hears it all. he hears your broken wails and sobs and it pains him even more to know that he is the cause of your pain. if he could turn back time, back to when things were simpler, he would've never attended that stupid party that started all this. he only has himself to blame.

he's not a religious man but he prays that as soon as he is done in the shower; you will still be there.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 | uh, i have no words 🙈 don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. curious as to what is next? here is my wips list! i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

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cinemastyles-backup · 8 months

Text

Under My Skin

Summary: request from theladyvalkurie - “Harry and Y/N are rivals who end up having to share a hotel room.”

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers basically, fingering, oral, rough actions, hate sex, general filth

My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.

DUNKIRK HARRY

"Y/N!"

"Over here! Smile for us, y/n!"

"Gorgeous!"

The cameras flashed as the media got the pictures they needed, "Thank you." I blow a kiss to the photographers and move on to the next group.

"Y/N, if I could have a moment of your time, please." An interviewer asks. "Hello, hello." I smile and look at the camera with a wave, "How are you?" She smiles, "I'm great, how are you? Your dress is absolutely stunning, by the way! Very nice!"

I fluff my dress out, "Oh thank you, I'm just in shock, right now. I think, yeah. I'm happy that the filming is over and we can finally get this movie out for everyone to see. It's a very good movie if I say so myself."

She lays a hand on my shoulder, "Well you heard it straight from the one star of the movie, this movie is worth the watch. So, y/n, I'm sure the fans are dying to know, what was it like working with Harry?"

I was waiting for this question to pop up.

I smile, "It was very exhilarating, I will say that."

He got on my last nerve every. Single. Fucking. Day.

"You must be a fan of him-"

I hate him.

"-so getting casted in this role must have been so exciting for you!"

I nod, "Yeah, yeah. It was something. That's for sure."

Suddenly the fans start to scream louder and I look over my shoulder. The interviewer turns, "That must be him now. Y/N it was great chatting with you! Hope to see you again soon!"

"Yeah, of course." I stand there and watch the fans go nuts as Harry steps out of the vehicle. He's in a pale green suit with a black undershirt and his hair is freshly cut.

I roll my eyes, hoping no one caught that on video and I walk over to another group or photographers. I turn and show off every angle of my dress when suddenly, there's an arm around my waist.

I instantly know it's Harry, "What are you doing?" I mumble through my teeth as I continue to smile.

"Getting photographed with my co-star." He whispers lowly.

I fight back an eye roll and the urge to push him away and suck it up. I lay a hand on his stomach and smile at the cameras, giving them all they're asking for.

The director and crew always joked about us being rivals but between me and Harry, i didn't think it was a joke. It's always a competition with Harry. Who gets the most likes, the most views, who has more fans.

It's obvious he's more popular than I am, I mean fuck. He makes music too. His concerts sell out as soon as the tickets are released.

"Thank you guys!"

"Beautiful, thank you!"

"Hate you." I mumble as I turn away.

"Hate you more." He says with a wink.

As much as I try to fight it off, he gets under my skin and he knows it, too.

"Alright guys, bring it in." Montie, the director, says waving his hands for us to gather around him, "This is a big premiere for me. For us." He says looking around at everyone, "Y/N. Harry." He points to us, "You guys made this movie the best it can be and I am grateful for the both of you."

Here it comes.

"If you both can just.. he civil for this, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Oh, Mon." Harry steps up, "We're good. You don't have to worry. We've put all of that behind us."

I take in a slow deep breathe and straighten, immediately smiling and nodding as Montie looks at us, "Yeah. Great." My eyes shoot to Harry and give him a subtle snobby look.

"Great. Great. Now everyone, you know your places to walk in, so everyone get in line and smile for the cameras. Wave to the fans. You know what to do." He claps and walks over to some reporters.

"How'd you like that?" Harry asks getting in front of me, "You're welcome by the way." I look away and shake my head, "I have nothing to be thankful for with you."

He snickers, "Yeah, I gave you exposure to my fans, so. That doesn't exactly make us rivals anymore, does it?"

I step up close to him, so close I can smell his cologne, "I don't need you to give me exposure to your fans, I'd rather lay out in the hot sun in the desert in July than be anything more than an on screen lover to you."

He looks over his shoulder, "You sure it's just on screen? Because I see the way you look at me."?

"With disgust and repulsion? Because I can assure you, that is no where near love." I step back and cross my arms.

"Harry, harry, hello." A woman walks up with a camera man and a microphone.

Oh great. I fix my posture and smile incase I'm in the shot.

"Hello, Evelyn. How are you, darling?" He leans in and gives her a hug, "You we're at my last movie premiere, right?"

She nods, "Oh gosh, I'm happy you remember." Harry smiles, "What can I do for you?" She smiles and points to me, "I was wondering if I can get an interview with you and your on screen lover."

I internally gag and step up, "Hello, Evelyn is it? That dress is beautiful on you!" She smiles, "Oh thank you, something I just pulled out of my closet, but your dress, wow. It fits beautifully on you."

I smile and shrug, "I had someone to dress me, if it were up to me I'd be home in my sweats eating ice cream." She laughs, "I feel you on that one, anyway. I was hoping I could ask you guys some questions since we have a few more minutes."

I nod, "Anything you want."

"Is Lucas and Amelia's relationship on screen like yours and Harry's is in real life?"

Harry is going to jump in when I start to drown, "Well, I wouldn't say we're exactly like them, I mean in some ways, I'm like Amelia because she knows what she wants and doesn't settle for anything than less she deserves."

She nods and looks at Harry and he thinks for a moment. I brace myself for his answer.

"You know, Evelyn. I actually do relate to Lucas because he knows what he wants and he doesn't stop going after it. He's persistent with doing things he knows that will be good for him, even if, I don't know. There's a rivalry with someone he always figures out a way to get what he wants."

She raises her eye brows, "Wow. So wait, you said rivalry, does that pertain to you two specifically?"

"Oh no, no." I jump in before Harry can, "Harry and I are pals. We're the bestest of friends." I wrap my arm around his waist, "This guy, he's a funny, funny guy."

Montie comes up, thank god.

"Harry, y/n. You guys are next. I want you to walk in together, holding hands." He grabs my hand and places it on Harry's, "Act like you don't truly despise each other." He says lowly.

Harry squeezes my hand, "Ready, lover?"

"Have a good show!" Evelyn says walking away. "I hate you so fucking much." I fix my hair.

"You can't hate me, we're pals, bestest of friends." He mocks my words, "Just be happy. You can hate me later."

We walk in and the crowd cheers for us. I smile and wave with Harry still holding my hand. The media is going to eat these up.

Great.

After the movie ends, we all make our way back out to the carpet, greeting people, getting congratulated and what not.

"Hey, guys." Monroe comes up to Harry and I, "So as you know, we have some more press tomorrow and the hotel we're staying at had just enough rooms for us."

"So we'll all be in the same hotel. That's good, right?" I smile but it quickly gets ripped away.

"We all had to double up, so you and Harry are in a room, great talk." He walks away quickly and I stand there with my lips parted, trying to process what he just said.

"Well, pal. Looks like we're roomies." Harry elbows my side gently and walks over to the fans behind the barricade.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

"Mon.. Mon.." I walk up to him, "I-I can't share a room with Harry. I'll end up killing him. You of all people should know that by now."

He lets out a stressed out laugh, "Y/N.. please.. just be civil. I know he gets under your skin, I know you guys have a rivalry or whatever it is. Maybe this will help you guys get through it. Please. I need my two shining stars to be able to be in the same room with each other."

I let out a defeated sigh, "Okay."

He lays his hands on my cheeks, "You're the greatest."

——

"Uh-uh, nope. I get the bed. You can sleep.." I lay my suitcase on the bed and look around. I then motion to the floor, "..on the floor or whatever."

He laughs, "But I want the bed."

"And I want to be able to solve world hunger." I look at him with a serious stare, "I get the bed."

"I get the bed." He argues, "You can sleep on the little loveseat. I'm too tall for that."

"That sounds like a personal problem to me." I smirk slightly and unzip my suitcase, "I'm going for a bath, when I get out, your ass better be camped out on the floor."

"And what if it's not? You going to punish me?" He laughs and I ignore him as I walk to the mini fridge, "Hmm." I look over the assortment of little liquor bottles and grab a few before I walk into the bathroom.

I undress and throw on one of the hotel robes before I start my bath. I sit on the edge of the big tub and open one of the bottles.

I down the shot and set it on the counter. Just as I start to take off my robe, Harry opens the door, "Are you hungry?"

"Harry, fuck." I bring my robe back over my shoulder and turn to look at him. He smirks, "Not like I haven't seen it before." He tilts his head, "Do you want me to order you something? I'm starving."

I nod and tell him yes just to get him out of the bathroom. He winks and shuts the door. I stand there for a moment and shake my head, "No. no. No, y/n."

I take my robe off and step into the hot bath, submerging my body under the water and amazing smelling bubbles.

I close my eyes and lay my head back. I bite my lip and slip my hand between my legs, gently playing around with my clit.

I bite my lip to hold back my moans as I work my hand faster. I arch my back off the back of the tub as I can feel myself getting closer.

The door opens again and I jump and try to cover myself up, which results in water splashing everywhere.

"The foo- ooh, and what we're you doing?" He asks frisky.

"N-Not- Harry.. I-I .." I say getting flustered, "just get out. Please." I hide my face in my hand, "I should have locked the door.

"Mhm. But you didn't." He says before walking out.

"Oh my god." I mumble into my hands, "What the fuck?!"

I finish my bath and slip my robe back on. I open the door, preparing myself to face Harry after what he walked in on. I mean, my fault. I didn't lock the door, which I should have. But I didn't? Why didn't I-

No, no. I hate Harry. I hate Harry.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I stop in my tracks as I see him sitting on the bed eating his food, "Um, eating? What are you doing? Or, not doing?" He smirks and shoves his mouth full, "Come on. Eat."

I walk over and sit down on the bed with my back facing him as I grab the plate, "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. I just figured you were too busy to-"

I whip around and cut him off, "Shut up. Zip it. We don't speak about it ever again. Okay?" He holds his hands up in defense, "Yes ma'am." He salutes me and moves him plate, "I'm going for a shower, I'm not locking the door, fyi."

"Oh my- get out." I groan and lay back on the bed, "Leave." He laughs as he walks into the bathroom. I crack open another bottle and take it, "Shit." I whisper as I crack open another one.

I sit up and finish eating. I set my plate down on the stand and lay back, switching on the tv. I click through the channels trying to find something decent to watch.

I hear the door crack open and i fight myself not to look over at him. "Hey, Y/N."

"Hmm." I keep my eyes glued to the tv. I feel something land in my lap and I look down. He tossed me another bottle of liquor, "Have a shot with me. Celebrate our movie being an absolute success."

I pick up the tiny bottle and slowly look up at him. He's standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist and his skin glistening in the hotel light from the water that didn't dry.

I bite the inside of my lip and sit up, cracking open the little bottle. He walks over and leans down, pieces of his hair falling down onto his forehead.

"I'm done after this one." I tap the bottle to his and take it. He takes his and smirks, "Why? Afraid of the effects?" I roll my eyes, "No. I just can't roll out of bed and look good after drinking all night like you can." I look up at him, "I mean-"

"You think I look good?" He shrugs, "I think I do, too."

"You're such an arrogant son of a bitch." I scoff and throw the empty bottle at him. He catches it and tilts his head, "Hmm."

"What." I snap, "What now?"

"Nothing. Nothing." I get up and go to walk by him but he grabs my arm and spins me around to him. His hands slowly slide down to my hips. My eyes slowly gaze up his bare chest and meet his eyes.

"What are you doing?" I ask quietly. He smirks slightly and brushes hair out of my face, "Just offering to help you finish what you started in the bath."

I'm taken aback, "Wh-what?" I step back, considering his offer which I quickly brush off, "No. no." He steps towards me, "You sure, y/n?"

I lay a hand on my forehead and let out a sigh, "Harry." He lightly brushes my cheek with his finger, "y/n."

I give in. Pressing my body to his as his lips attack mine. His hands move quickly to undo my robe and push it off my shoulders. It drops to the floor and my hands go to his towel, untucking it and letting it fall.

His hands slide down over my boobs and he slips one between my legs. His fingers immediately find my clit and he takes it between.

A gasp slips from my lips and I drag my hand down his chest. I look up at him and he nods, "Please." I wrap my hand around his cock and slowly start to pump.

He moans and leans forward to lay his head on my shoulder, "You're so wet." I spread my legs a little to give him more room. He slides a finger in slowly, curling it as he sucks on my neck.

I squeeze him slightly and raise up on my tip toes, "Fuck." I groan lowly, "Harry." I place a hand on his side and push him back a bit.

He takes the indication and backs up, laying down on the bed. I straddle him and lean down to kiss him, "This doesn't mean anything." I say with a smirk, "I still hate you with my whole being."

I whimper as he slides a finger back inside of me. He leans up slightly and looks at me, "Then bend over and put your face in the sheets so you don't have to look at me."

He rolls me off of him and pulls my hips up. His hands squeeze my ass cheeks as me groans to himself, "Hate sex is the best sex. I plan on fucking you so hard, y/n."

I moan at his words and grip the sheets, "Please."

"Are you begging for me? Is that what I hear?" He leans in and licks a stripe up my pussy, "For someone who hates me so much, you sure are craving my cock. Aren't you, y/n?"

His fingers trail down my spine painfully slow, "Don't get quiet now." He leans in and starts to eat me out from behind. I gasp and moan while pushing my hips back to gain more contact his tongue.

He groans against me, his fingers digging into my hips.

He pulls back, "Roll over. I'm going to put that mouth to a better use."

I bite my lip and watch him has he moves up to me, "Can't handle me being a big girl by using my words?" He chuckles, "Sometimes I'm just sick of hearing you speak."

He pushes the tip of his cock against my lips and I part my lips and take him in, swirling my tongue and sucking as I bob my head, "Fuck." He groans, "This.. this is how I want to shut you up.."

I look up at him as I hallow out my cheeks. He looks down at me, "You're so pretty when you're not running your mouth." He places a hand on my head and pushes it down, "when you're choking on my cock instead."

He fucks my throat, moaning with each thrust, "Fuck." He pulls out, "Still hate me?" He smirks and I smirk back, rolling over and bringing my hips up, "Fuck you."

"Mm, looks like I'm about to do that to you." He gets behind me and roughly pushes his cock inside of me, causing me to scream out, "Fuck, Harry." He brings a hand down, harshly smacking my ass.

I whimper and wiggle my hips, "Please. Fucking move, do some-"

He pulls out and thrusts back in, repeating his action.

Hard and slow.

He slides a hand up my back and grabs a fist full of my hair, yanking my head back. I moan at the stinging pain from him pulling my hair and the pleasure of his cock ramming into me.

"You like that?" He groans leaning down. His teeth sink into my shoulder and I moan, "Fuck. Harry. Fuck." I let out a pleasured scream as his thrusts become faster.

"Shit, y/n." He groans leaning up, "Fuck."

"Oh god. P-please don't stop." I reach back and grab his wrist. He grabs my hand and pins it against my lower back, "You going to cum for me?"

I let out a loud moan into the bed and push my hips back to meet his. "Harry." I scream out as my body is taken over by my orgasm, "Fu-" I whine as he fucks me through my high.

His thrusts become sloppy and I feel him slip out and his cum landing on my back.

He slowly lays me down and goes to grabs his towel off the floor. He wipes my back off and toss it to the floor. He flops down next to me and I slowly turn my head to look at him, "This doesn't change anything. You're still an asshole."

He chuckles, "And you're still a slut for my cock."

"Get out." I laugh weakly. He chuckles and pulls the blankets up over us, "You might want to wear a dress that covers your shoulders tomorrow."

I groan, "Of course you'd leave marks. Idiot."

"I didn't hear you complain once."

I lay there and process what just happened and I know in my heart that it's bound to happen again because Harry was right, hate sex is the best sex.

——

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lovejosephquinn · 1 year

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A highly requested sequel to this imagine

I hope you all love it, I put my all into it and I still feel like it could be better, UGH 💀

Taglist: @daleyeahson @thegemaqua @quinnyfairy @ali-r3n @josephfakingquinn @mybffjoe @cinemaquinn @tlclick73 @live-love-be-unique @marveltramp @aysheashea @palomahasenteredthechat @psycheberenike @josephquinnswife @ireneeee00 @lovelyblueness @lifealwayslearning @pizzafreak220 @emma77645 @ellen-m-ichiban81 @noirrose21-blog

Word Count: 4.3k (my longest JQ imagine to date)

There was no one who completely engulfed your mind like him; a close friend from over the years that you'd grown up with who had become so much more than a friend in your head. The feelings were unfathomable and you couldn't control them near as much as you'd hoped to. The way you clearly flirted around him to see if he'd catch your drift, he never did. The way you'd touch him softly and the way you'd take his soft features in, the way he spoke to you, the way he called you love, pretty, HIS darling girl. The way he looked at you gave you hope, but to no avail. To some it probably meant nothing, but to you; it was everything. So it was a thing that you just fantasised about almost every single day and you'd continue to keep your mouth shut on the basis of not wanting to ruin the closeness you already held with Joe, it had to be enough.

It wasn't just the things that you did to try and prove a point, Joe's features were in engraved in your mind, his eyes being your personal favourite - they held a thousand secrets yet screamed a million words, just not ones of mutual emotion, or so you thought. His sarcasm, the little cheeky side to him but also the shy side to him, his ability to make you laugh in any mood and then join you in chuckling slight when he heard you giggle, his toothy grin enough to heal the world, the way his hands soothed your back when he gave you a hug, the way he'd make time for you even out of your friendship circle. There was just no point in denying that you couldn't quit the way you felt, he gave you a new excuse to fall down deeper every day.

Your phone rang interrupting your thoughts as you laid alone in your bed that evening, the man himself popped up on your screen, his contact photo of him crossing his eyes and making the most idiotic of faces had you smiling, he cursed you for keeping that photo he took every god damn day, but it was impossible to remove it from your camera roll and the image was practically tattooed onto your eyelids, you could picture it now without even looking. You tapped answer and held the phone to your ear immediately before you unintentionally missed the call.

"Hello." You tried to sound the upmost upbeat, yet it came out profoundly louder than you thought.

"Hello love, I was bored so I thought I'd distract you from whatever you were doing." He was distracting you from himself inside your head, the real thing was much better though.

"Oh how gentlemanly of you, well I'm doing nothing so you made a good decision." There was the flirty act again.

"That's me! Best damn gentleman you'll ever meet." You giggled at his involuntary cockiness yet sarcastic remark.

You talked shit for at least an hour, general chit chat yet laughing over conversations you'd probably had at least 20 times, yet they were still as hilarious as the last time. The moment you yawned had him sighing over the other end of the phone.

"Am I boring you, pretty? Does Y/N need her beauty sleep?"

"Y/N does. Y/N also needs Joe to shut up talking trash about her being pretty." You don't know why you came out with that last part, maybe it was to try and avoid the butterflies that erupted into the pit of your stomach when he embedded the nickname he often called you into your ear drum whilst you were cosy and comfy in bed. You'd shut your eyes, placing your phone onto the pillow with him on loud speaker as if he were there next to you, minus the contact.

"What if I mean it? I'm not going to stop if I'm telling the truth now am I?" Joe muttered, the way he was biting down on his lip revelling in the way the same butterflies practically punched his insides.

"Well do you?" Your eyes flung open, staring to the phone inches away from your head, curious as to why you hadn't shut yourself up yet and ended the conversation before.

"Always, babe." Babe. That was new.

Becoming as ignorant as you could've been, shooting your walls straight up that were already barricading your emotions towards your friend, you said goodnight eventually after trying to find the right words to say, it took every ounce of you not to just blurt out the words I LIKE YOU, NOTICE ME. And just like that, once you'd hung up, the thoughts took over more than ever as you tried to ignore the heat growing between your thighs. Just two words had drove you and the entirety of your body insane, it was the tone of voice he'd uttered those two words together that made it so perfect, you had to relieve yourself of the tension you'd created alone, the fact you relished in his voice now carved into your thoughts made your fingers wander downward as you laid bare, stroking a straight line through your slit making you shudder, goose bumps caressing your skin like Joe had put them there.

Spreading your legs further apart to open up wide for your hand to gain perfect access, you spat onto your fingers, lapping it straight onto your clit, lathering what was already becoming a mess on your cunt, your hole gaped at nothingness as you shut your eyes and began to imagine Joe's face pressed between your legs, humming as his tongue flickered over your aching bud, staring up at you with his sparkling brown eyes, you'd of liked to think he was enjoying what he saw, the way you squirmed your hips, bucking them upward as his lips sucked harshly. You bit down on your lip, muffling the moans escaping you, it truly never felt the same on your own and even though you'd never felt his touch, you just knew it had to be a million times better than anyone's; including yours.

You were too busy to notice that your phone had slipped under your elbow and that you'd unintentionally leaned on the answer button when Joe was calling once more, bad timing. You were too involved in reaching your climax to hear him shout your name when you didn't reply, he shut up when he heard the borderline pornographic noises from the receiving end. You were also to busy to notice that he'd heard your fingers faintly fucking your pussy at a marvellous speed and as soon as you groaned "Ugh, yes fuck me Joey" he hung up. He knew instantly that you were referring to him, you only called him Joey - heck there were no other Joseph's that you were actually friends with that he knew of.

Your body relaxed instantly tightening from a surge of power that rushed through your body when you hit the spot, moving your fingers into the weak place over and over saw electricity jolting up in your stomach as you slowly moved and then fastened your pace once more, a sharp breath led you to leaking out onto the sheets, climaxing over the building desire that was your friend's cock fucking you deep. Your thighs shut together as you tried to make the sensitive ache last longer, clenching your walls around the small, narrow length of your two fingers. Not far after you'd laid staring at the ceiling for a while, you dragged yourself to the bathroom to clean up, you swatted your head to the faint knock at the front door, still in a daze yet confused as to who would be paying a visit at this time.

Unknowing to you, the moment Joe had hung up the phone and realised what on earth was obviously happening mirrored the way he'd clearly been masturbating over you earlier that evening. He grabbed his keys, barely pushed his feet into his shoes before he'd launched himself out of the front door of his flat and made a run to the car to get to you as fast as he possibly could. He had to know.

A louder knock came from the door this time as you unhooked your dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door, tying the robe up nice and tight and rushing to take your keys to open up. The moment you flung it open, your friend stood before you in a mesmerised state. You furrowed your brow at him, extremely bewildered yet of course in your head and heart, happy to see him. "Hey Joey, um didn't we speak on the phone all of 20 minutes ago, what are you doing here at this hour?"

You stared at each other, his silence actually starting to nerve you a little, it wasn't like Joe to be speechless around you, yet here he was, his mouth opened slightly as if he was going to reply, yet no sound was made. His eyes bore into yours as you blinked back at him. "Is everything... ok?" You asked, tilting your head to the side.

"Did you-" His voice whispered as if he couldn't quite string the words together.

"Did I?" You choked on your reply, giggling at his out of character and way less chaotic and more stern looking behaviour.

You gestured for him to come in, still realising in the last two minutes that you'd not got an answer, that he was still stood out in the corridor that led to your flat. He walked through and leaned his elbows down straight to the countertop beside the door, you shut it and leaned against it, scrunching your face up at his weird etiquette.

"Are you going to tell me what's the matter or am I-"

"Did you moan my name?" Joe blurted out, staring to the ground not being able to even look you in the eye after his organs had pretty much vomited themselves upward the second the words came out of his mouth.

Your jaw fell to the floor, slightly scoffing at his question. "Excuse me?" He looked at you this time.

"You heard what I said Y/N and I'm pretty sure I heard you. Did you moan my name?"

Shit. "I- I-" You stuttered, your cheeks flashing red.

"I called you to tell you something I failed to mention before and you answered but you were clearly busy..." His eyes fell down to your thighs insinuating he knew exactly what you were up too. "But then I heard you moan my-"

You rushed into your bedroom cutting him off, picking up your phone and checking your call log. It was there as clear as day. Incoming call: Joey - 1 minute 42 seconds. Your whole body was sweating, your heart was beating out of your chest at 100 miles per hour. Joe shortly followed after you into your bedroom, slouching on your door frame whilst you sat at the edge of your bed, now you were the one that simply couldn't look him in the eye. You made yourself look as small as possible, lifting your knees up to your face to hug them, gently sitting your chin on top, your arms caging them tightly in a firm grip.

He slowly moved towards you, kneeling down on the floor, resting his hands either side of you onto the sheets. "Y/N?" He was trying to get a response, you owed him your honesty.

"I did." You muttered lowly.

"You meant to?" Joe whispered shyly. A state you'd rarely seen him in before.

"I did." You matched his tone, there was no going back now. Not especially when his hands pushed your shoulders back forcefully, making you land flat down on the mattress, Joe brought himself to the side of you, laying next to you, his doe eyes almost forcing you like a magnet to draw yours to his.

"What were you thinking about?"

"You." You bit down on your lip, speaking the obvious, yet the other obvious thing was that he already knew that, Joe just wanted to hear you say it out loud.

"That's all well and good Y/N, but I need you to be a bit more specific." His face lowered merely inches away from yours, his watch fluttered to your lips a couple of times.

"This is weird, I-I'm sorry." You attempted to sit back up, trying to ignore the situation unravelling before you. Even though you wanted him bad and had done for a long time, he was still only your friend. Joe didn't let you get as far as lifting your back up before his hand pressed against your shoulder again, his fingers playing with the material of your dressing gown as you instantly looked submissive in his touch. "Tell me." He growled.

"The way you would fuck me." You purred.

"Is that what you want?" A rising smirk fell onto his features, his mind was running wild, how could you actually want him as much as he wanted you; yet you both never realised. You nodded to his question and his face lowered fully, his lips pushing themselves firmly to yours as you quickly reciprocated the contact, his hand came up to cup your jaw as your lips moved in unison. His tongue begged for entrance and you gladly let it, the muscles working together to make the open kiss a more desperate one as they writhed around each other sweetly.

Your eyes fluttered open when Joe broke the kiss, a kiss you never thought would ever happen. "Wait is that what you want?" You asked quickly, your nerves only relaxing slight after that reaction. "Because I don't want this to be a pity snog." Joe chuckled at you, snorting laughter from his throat making his cute dimples shine.

"My darling, I've been wanting you for so long it's stupid." Joe smiled truthfully and you believed him, you were both almost completely vulnerable to each other now that the first kiss had come into play so there was no way you were hiding your feelings anymore.

"Wanting to just fuck me? or-"

"Absolutely not. That's what I called for, I wanted to confess how much I like you Y/N, but it's not just that, it's wanting to kiss you, wanting to hold your hand, wanting to hold you at night, wanting to call you mine-"

You cut him off reaching your lips to his once more, passionately smacking your mouth against his, your stomach was doing flips, your heart was punching the air proudly. Joe untied your robe revealing your naked body to him, abruptly stopping the heated moment and giving it a glance over, he sighed returning his gaze to yours. "So beautiful, I told you that you were pretty. I just knew the rest of you would be too. My god."

"So does that mean I can see you?" Joe nodded and stood up before you, you eyed down at his crotch to see his tightening bulge bursting from his zipper line. He stripped completely naked in front of you, not feeling awkward in the slightest as you examined his body, his top half you'd seen before, still as sexy as ever, yet the way your eyes grew a little lower down had him licking his lips, an all too confident smirk hit him. "Fucking hell Quinn, you're big." You blurted out without even thinking and it only made his confidence leap. You removed your dressing gown off of your arms and pushed it to the floor as Joe made a bee line for you as a fire grew in his eyes, your legs spreading apart as they had before but now with the man of your dreams laid between them.

His hands roamed onto your boobs, grabbing hold of them and letting his fingertips massage your nipples, hardening them between his digits. You gasped when his lips latched onto your neck, kissing, nibbling ever so slightly and moving downward to meet his fingers that were kept busy, they moved to the side to squish your breasts closer together, replacing them little flickers of his tongue one at a time, the ache between your legs soaring higher than before.

"What else were you thinking about love?" Joe raised his face to look up at you.

"Your h-head between my legs." You looked downward innocently as if you hadn't just said that.

"Your wish is my command then." He kissed down your stomach, back kneeling down at the end of the bed where he'd started before he'd got the first answer from you that he needed. Reaching his arms out and pulling your thighs, he dominantly took a hold of them, the tips of his fingers moulding into your skin when he dragged you towards him, kissing around your thighs slowly, making the ache only more painful due to his now teasing nature. Joe took one look at your wet slit, massaging his thumb on your folds as he opened them up to the side to get a better view. "Look at that pretty little pussy, all wet, just for me." Joe groaned, his cock clearly reacting to it, his tip twitching as a little pre-cum leaked out, he could've probably came from just staring at your cunt.

Joe spat down onto your clit, using one hand to keep you opened up as his thick finger stroked from top to bottom, the slick instantly coating him. "Fuck she's ready." He let out a breathy moan and dug in. His lips sucked onto your clit, clamping onto it for dear life as he earned a moan from your throat when he slurped, the taste of you almost ending him. The way his tongue flickered over your bud was better than your fantasy, the way he lapped up your juices, the way he teased you further down, circling around your entrance.

"Is that what you wanted baby, is this what your wet cunt needed? My mouth around it, did it need this too?" His tongue shoved its way through your hole, your hips flying upward as your hands came to fist his messy curls, pushing him inward, surely suffocating him as you let him tongue fuck you deep. "Oh my god yes! Just like that!" You squealed almost suddenly as his thumb reached back up, his tongue at work and you were now being frantically rubbed vigorously by the pressure of his thumb moving over your clit in a constant motion. Your body was in ecstasy, you knew you were right about him touching you this way, better than anybody had ever touched you. Nobody had ever made you cum in foreplay, not one man had given you a real climax, but Joe was too much of an expert, knowing your body better than you did so quickly for you to be faking this orgasm. Your breathing hitched and you swatted your face backward, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you felt your second pinnacle of the night starting. "J-J-Joey. I'm going to-"

His tongue curled upward and flattened out wide, hitting the right places and you gushed onto it, the loudest moan fell out of your mouth, your lungs fought for air when the sudden wave of sensitivity filled your body, your thighs twitching as you wrapped your legs around the back of his head, squeezing to fill any gap you might have had between one another, which was slim to nothing. Joe took a deep breath in as he pulled away, moaning into your cunt one last time, your legs relaxing back to their previous position and it wasn't long till Joe was back up met with your face again. "Your pussy is heaven Y/N, so fucking pretty and ready for my cock, now I get to fuck you - tell me how you want it baby." Joe moved his lips back to your neck, sucking at a part that made the soft little hairs at the back of your head stand up right.

"Ruin me." You groaned noisily and that was all he needed to hear.

He lifted himself above you, using his hands to hold himself up right as he lined himself up at your entrance, Joe knew he wasn't going to last terribly long at the expense of wanting you this way for so long and from the way he'd just eaten you like a starving animal but the time he had, he'd make it count. "Anything for my girl." My girl.

He slowly pushed inward and you took the entirety of his length perfectly, though scrunched your face up a little from his size. "Fuck you're so tight, you ready?" He was so sexy yet so thoughtful even still, making sure that you were ok before he completely wrecked you just as you'd asked him to. How was it possible to be so horny for someone yet still have those damn butterflies flipping around in your stomach like it was something beknown, like love. You nodded briefly. "Fuck me Joey."

"Where have I heard that before?" You instantly threw your hands over your face, embarrassed at what he was referring to. His came up to swipe them away from your face so he could look at you whilst he started to thrust his hips, starting slow and then building up a pace which saw his cock slamming in and out, his balls slapping against your ass. Your foreheads pressed down together, looking in unison at the way he shattered your hole, the way he fucked you so good.

"You take my cock so well pretty girl, so fucking well." You clenched your walls around him, squeezing the length of his cock making his arms flex as he shuddered above you, the headboard was smacking itself against the wall the more frantic his hips moved into you. "Shit don't do that I'll cum." You met each other's stare, biting your lip hard and he knew the game you were playing. Ripping himself apart from and kneeling upward, towering over you without any warning he flipped you over. "Fucking hell, that peachy bum is perfect, I knew it." He was completely done and you were completely under any command he could lay upon you, the way he man handled you almost made you cum again. "Arse up now."

You got into position straight away, your head pressed into the sheets as you raised your back end upward and his cock met your twinging cunt once more, his hands gripping at your waist as he pounded into you from behind, his head arching backward as he felt himself getting closer. "Oh god yes you feel amazing, better than I ever thought possible. Now tell me who you belong to baby, I want to hear it."

Your head was pushed down into the sheets as you tried to use your words, though you simply couldn't get them out. "Answer me when I ask you a fucking question." He demanded, one hand raised into the air and spanked straight down to your cheek making your head lean to the side, letting out a whimpered yelp from the hard blow. "I'm yours Joey, I've always been yours."

"And I'm yours, my darling, all fucking yours. Shit-" He pulled out quickly, jerking at his cock desperately, a moan so hot you couldn't quite comprehend if you'd heard it right saw him spewing his seed all over your ass cheeks. Slowly bringing himself back down from heaven, you remained in the same position whilst he darted to the bathroom and cleaned you up with a towel he found on the floor. Little did he know, this particular towel was the one you'd use to clean up earlier.

You rolled onto your back one he'd sorted you out, wiping his cock dry and tossing it to the floor beside your robe, he joined next to you, laying beside you as your chests heaved for air, looking up to the plain ceiling finding some sort of way to fathom on what just occurred. Both of your feelings now out in the open good and proper.

"Come here." Joe opened his arm out to you, instantly pulling yourself to rest your head down on his chest as his fingers bent awkwardly to sooth your still naked back.

"That was amazing Y/N, jesus christ." He sighed, pecking his lips onto the top of your head, your smiles beaming so hard you couldn't quite rip them apart from your features, it was like they were permanently moulded on your faces forever.

"Perfect. I'm so glad I accidentally answered you." Your cheeks flushed at your response, you had to start thinking before you spoke, idiot. You changed the subject quickly. "But what did you mean when you said better than you ever thought possible, Joey?" He wasn't dumb, he knew exactly what you were trying to get out of him. Joe licked his lips, his throat producing a small stifled laugh.

"You're not the only one who's had indecent thoughts about their friend love."

You laughed together, not an ounce of what had just happened was uncomfortable, it came so natural like it was genuinely meant to happen; the way Joe made you feel was like nothing you'd ever felt in your entire life. And now you laid there naked, snuggling like a couple that had been in love for years.

"Friend?"

"Say yes to me taking you to dinner tomorrow night and I might just make you more than my friend." Joe pulled you in closer as you lifted yourself up to look over at him.

"I'd love to go to dinner with you tomorrow night." Your eyes spoke to one another as a pleasant silence fell between you. You loved him.

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Stop that shit right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You taste so sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

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

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

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

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

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

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

His prayers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clings to this.

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

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

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

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

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a mother knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you knew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

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

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

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

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

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

March 1960

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

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

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

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

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

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, anything for you.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for his friend, right?

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

That is the bargain.

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

But you are not his, you never really were.

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

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

Especially Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are his. You’ve always been his.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

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

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

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

Not again, not again, not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

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

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack flinches.

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

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

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

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

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

“How long, Elvis?”

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

“Opening night.”

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

The room goes silent yet again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

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

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

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

Elvis releases him.

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

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

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

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

No one does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

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

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