#Error and dream are kinda just existing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Post activity is at the highest at 4:00 pm EDT; notes peak at 10:00 pm EDT.

#Error and dream are kinda just existing

inbarfink · 8 months

Text

Okay, so I already wrote a bunch of stuff about how that scene, although it is really sweet, is also kind of a Bad Sign for Simon - how he refuses to learn the Obvious Lesson from the Winterworld adventure (that being the Ice King again is probably a really really bad idea). But I want to talk about it also a little more about what it means for Fionna’s character as well.

Because while sitting around and wallowing in self-loathing is probably bad for Fionna, especially after being told that she shouldn't be allowed to exist, and Simon is right to try and get her out of her funk. It's also still worthwhile for Fionna to have some introspection about the Consequences of Her Actions. Because she and Cake really did not consider them at all at first. They have a sense of morality and an instinct towards heroism, but they also tend to kinda forget the fantastical worlds they visit don’t exist entirely for their fantasy and have kind of a Protagonist-Centered-Morality fallacy.

Most obviously you can see it in the market in Ooo. How Cake, in her excitement, damaged and hurt and even killed

A bunch of innocent marketgoers without even noticing. And then Fionna immediately jumped to Cake’s defense against these ‘weirdos’, who were actually just normal kinda-righteously-angry Oooian citizens.

It’s actually very similar to the whole Winterworld situation. Fionna’s assumption that she’s automatically the hero and protagonist of the story and black-and-white view of the situation and her tendency to kick ass first and ask questions later meant that she just recklessly injured a lot of innocent people.

(It might’ve been worse actually cause at least in Winterworld she was at least manipulated by an evil Wizard)

Fionna and Cake clearly have a great potential for heroism, but they do need to be a bit more considerate of the situation and people around them. And it does make sense considering that from their perspective - they’ve been living a very ordinary life up until now (and Cake was literally an animal. A very clever animal, but still not bound by the same standards of morality as the talking animals in Ooo). Action and adventure and fantasy stuff has been purely the realm of daydream and video games for them - and Fionna literally speaks about it in these terms.

(also, Fionna's Main Character Syndrome was undoubtedly validated when God literally told her that she was created to be the main character of her universe)

So yeah, it takes them some time to really process how to be heroes - they need to grapple with questions that Finn and Jake already kinda dealt with seventeen years ago. And actually a lot of those; how to resolve a situation without necessarily using violence, when does a 'villain' actually deserve sympathy and kindness, the importance of the larger context of any given conflict... their confrontations with Ice King all played a big part in that. It was never just him, but he was still a very major part.

And for Fionna and Cake right now, learning these lessons require some amount of personal introspection. So while it was a sweet attempt at comforting, I dunno if Simon’s little ‘the only problem with that universe is that this Alternative Me was terrible because he didn’t even acknowledge or remember Betty as the love of our life and the light of my entire universe’ thing is actually Good.

I’m not quite sure Simon is the best person to teach Fionna and Cake heroism 101, because he is so focused on the Crown Quest as the thing that brings back Meaning to his life, and because his fatherly instincts just kinda go “Sad Young Person???? MUST GIVE COMFORT!” and also on account of the kidnapping.

I’m sure Fionna is going to become the heroine she dreams about eventually, it’s just going to be a bumpy ride. The best we can hope for is that they accept Simon’s comfort, that she doesn't start believing that she is nothing but an Error for the entire universe like the Scarab claims, but don’t necessarily listen to all of Simon's his words either.

1K notes · View notes

twst-drabbles · 1 month

Text

Scarabia 7

Summary: An iridescent feather was all it took for Kalim to pack up his bags and drag Jamil to the kingdom of the faeries. Jamil has trouble understanding this odd fascination he has. In fact, it’s almost scaring him a bit.

(Trust me when I say this AU has not been exiting my mind. It’s been floating around in there, but for some reason my fingers could not get it out. The fingers and brain would much rather churn out other things. Weird weird brain. Hate having to wrestle with it so. Also excuse the errors, I am kinda sleepy.)

From birth until death, Jamil will always be expected to entertain all of the wills and whimsies of Kalim. He cannot deny him any request if it is within his means, nor should he scorn him when he clearly is making mistakes. A servant, a guide, and a source of comfort all wrapped up in one. And all he has to do is keep this facade perfect until the day Kalim dies.

…what a joke, such a thing won’t happen. His services will likely be passed onto Kalim’s child, if he even makes it to that age. And if not his child, then the next sibling. Retirement is a dream meant for the privileged, and so long as those privileged few exist, Jamil will be made to serve them.

Jamil cannot ask too many questions, especially when it carries the possibility of offending the master.

He cannot ask Kalim of the origins of that iridescent feather. Cannot question why Kalim has spent the entire week simply gazing at it. Cannot even ask if he can look at it, no matter how familiar it may seem to him.

His dreams, they don’t matter, so he must always stifle them.

Clearly this wasn’t his place, and all Jamil can do is sigh in frustration when Kalim locked himself in his room. And sigh even deeper when Kalim burst out his room one day, claiming he wished to vacation in the main kingdom of faeries. Wanted to see the sight where the most beautiful feather came from.

And off they went on a personal caravan. And onto the dark stone they walk.

“And what will you do with this bird, if you end up finding it?”

How silly. Jamil already knows the answer to it already.

“Hmm? Ah, well I’m gonna keep it of course!” And the smile on Kalim’s face was as big as ever. Any wider and it would seem manic, but that’s simply the way his happiness works. He feels it in all of its intensity, even should it warp his features into something almost unplesant.

“Though, with how big of a cage you purchased, I’d predict I’ll have to take care of it sooner or later, won’t I?” As everything does. Cute novelties always lose their luster within half a year. Such was the fate of Kalim’s private zoo when he asked for it for his birthday. There were other servants to take care of it, but it never sit right with Jamil to just, let them do part of the work when he can perfectly take care of it himself.

That and his parents scolded him for daring to slack off, even though he pulled multiple muscles in his back. He could never quite lay back on his chair the same way ever since.

“Oh no, I don’t want you to touch them.”

Jamil stopped his tracks, the frankness of Kalim’s tone and the never wavering smile on his face almost had him believing he imagined it. “…Kalim?”

Kalim paused himself, blinking before his mind was pulled from his thoughts. He waved his hands, fumbling about in his nerves. “Ah, I’m sorry! That didn’t come out right, did it?”

“Whether it came out right or not doesn’t matter. If you don’t want me to touch your newest pet, then so it shall be,” Jamil shook his head, sighing out in hopes the urge to bit his lip will also pass.

“Sorry sorry…”

What Kalim doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The role of the perfect servant isn’t something that Jamil can simply be. It’s an act, a mask, and every so often Jamil has to pull it off.

Kalim was always a heavy sleeper, even more so when he’s been drinking from the various wines he had Jamil bring. Under the guise of some jovial fun, Jamil coaxed Kalim into drinking much more than usual. No thunderstorm would be able to wake him up. Kalim once almost drowned outside in a storm like that, napping without anything to protect him.

Jamil doesn’t sleep in the same room as Kalim, but here he was nonetheless. He took a glance to Kalim splayed out in his pile of pillows and blankets, sighed, then continued digging through the various bags and luggage.

Finally, Jamil’s fingers hit something. He pulled out a large, gold gilded, black box with a keyhole in it. He didn’t have to look for the key. It was tied with a silk ribbon right at the bottom of the box. Really, Kalim needs to be more careful, but Jamil certainly won’t tell him so. Perhaps later, but not now.

He opens the box and he was almost… disappointed at the sight. The feather was dull. All the rainbow light that would scatter upon the surface of the walls when daylight hit it wasn’t there. The plumes still pulsed with those delicate colors, but it didn’t hold the radiance that Jamil knows he saw when it was Kalim’s hands.

From his dreams, the shape was the same, and yet it was missing just about everything else. What was it, beyond its glow? The lack of numbers? The sturdy feeling of wings against his body? The face that was connected to it?

Face… what face? No matter how hard Jamil tried to claw through his memories, that face he wanted to see was no clearer.

Even with his disappointment, Jamil plucked the feather and held it in his hand.

Only then did its glow come back. A kaleidoscope of colors flowed forth and blinded Jamil’s unprepared eyes. He winced and held the feather to his chest, just in case it woke up Kalim.

He waited, but only heard a snort and a shifting. He’s still asleep.

Jamil blinked, tears dotting the corners of his eyes from the brightness of it all.

There it was, the beauty he’s been seeking, that Kalim had been hoarding all to himself.

How silly. How stupid to be so taken by a feather. To have this simple item that was nothing more than a gift from a pen pal to Kalim to haunt Jamil so. To haunt both of them, actually.

Even with all those reservations in mind, Jamil lifted that feather and laid a gentle kiss on the body. It felt nice, feeling the plumes brush against his lips.

…he should put this away and go to bed. Kalim must never know what he just did.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #ask #drabble #scarabia #kalim #kalim al asim #jamil #jamil viper #valkyrie au #reader insert #yandere

81 notes · View notes

keuwibloom · 7 months

Text

I've had a thought, mainly about Blue and Horror, and about their shared position as major players among the Star Sanses and Bad Sanses, and the UTMV in general. But at the same time they're also usually a big part of AU crossovers where the multiverse isn't as involved, or is only ever referenced vaguely (for example, its just the original, Fell, Swap, Horror, and Fellswap brothers being in the same household).

What would happen if those different sides of them were combined?

More under the cut!

SO everything is generally the same among the Star Sanses and Bad Sanses (and Error, he's not on either side but he's there lol) BUT Blue and Horror (who i'll be referring to as Axe in this) are the only ones with actual AUs to go back to AKA they're the only true in!codes (Ink and Error being true out!codes; Dream, Nightmare, Killer, Dust, and Cross are considered out!codes bc they're the sole remaining survivors of their respective AUs).

Blue goes back to his AU regularly bc its just regular Underswap and he enjoys it just as much as he enjoys being a Star Sans, but Axe doesn't really want to go back since Horrortale is kinda not good but he feels guilty leaving his Papyrus behind. He sees Nightmare and the gang as family too, but he can't just leave behind his lil bro to that.

And Blue and Axe bond over that; over their weird, uniquely similar situation of still having something to go back to despite having responsibilities and roles so much bigger than their own universes now (let's say that the two groups have formed a truce at this point).

AND THEN you know those stories where different Sanses and Papyruses get transported to the original universe and get stuck there for the forseeable future? That happens, but the Swap Sans and Horror Sans there are Star Sanses Swap and Bad Sanses Horror.

This version of the others (UT, UF, Swap Pap and Horror Pap, maaaybe Fellswap too) are unaware about the wider multiverse. They know and have confirmation that the multiverse exists but they have no knowledge of Ink, Error, the apple twins etc. Blue and Axe kept their brothers completely in the dark about all of that.

Why can't the others just fetch them and return them to their original AUs? Let's say that the thing that caused the accidental transportation made the code of the classic universe corrupt, so that there's no AU hopping for everyone currently there.

I don't know if something like this has already been done, but I thought it would've been an interesting concept to explore! Lemme know if you guys have any thoughts about this!

#undertale #utmv #undertale multiverse #undertale au #underswap #horrortale #swap sans #swap!sans #underswap sans #horror sans #horror!sans #horrortale sans #star sanses #bad sanses #keuwi talks #listen ive been brainrotting about this since last night #what started out as a little haha what if thought turned into me seriously considering this au #parallel synthesis

148 notes · View notes

littlexscarletxwitch · 8 months

Text

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗮 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗱𝗲

paring: mum!florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff fluff fluff, flo being a mum, r also being a mum, pregnant!flo, flo melting by just looking at her family

warning(s): tooth rotting sweet, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.3k

note: you asked (I asked), you begged (@allbeatriz begged) and now 'Same shade of green' part 2 is here! FINALLY. Shout out to that lovely person that got me into writing this fic. I love you, stranger, and I really hope you like it. Hope you all enjoy, lots of love, M. <3

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. Part 1 | Part 2 ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Florence always knew she wanted kids, she had always pictured her future surrounded by cute little children.

Then Aaron came along and she felt like it was meant to be. Sure, the baby’s dad wasn’t in the picture, hell, he wasn’t even aware the kid existed until he was born. But it was just how things unfolded, he had left town before she was even aware she was pregnant, and then she couldn’t bother to reach out to him.

She felt like she owed it to her son, he needed his father in his life. So when Aaron was born, she got in touch with him. But he didn’t want anything to do with the baby. Florence didn’t push him, she wasn’t going to let someone into her baby’s life if that person didn’t want to be part of it.

At first she thought it was the right thing to do, but then Aaron grew up and she could tell that there was something pissing him off, yet he never said anything about it. Florence felt guilty for taking that decision for him, she wanted to take it back, she should have done something about it. But then you came along, and somehow you made everything better.

Your eyes were squinted, your tongue was poking out of your lips, brows furrowed, deep in concentration.

“No! Dang it!” you muttered, making the two greeneyed chuckle.

“Eat my dust,” Aaron joked beside you.

“You got me again, little man,” you said, gently ruffling his hair.

It was the third time in a row that Aaron had beat you, it was kinda lame losing to a 10 year old at ‘Mario Kart’, but it was worth it to see him smile at you.

“Okay, time for bed, mister sweet face.”

“Five more minutes, mum, please,” Aaron looked at Florence with puppy eyes.

“It’s late, Aaron.”

“Please,” he tried again, but Florence had a stern face. So he tried with you.

“Oh no, please don’t look at me like that.”

“Five more minutes.”

“Buddy, I—.”

“Please,” you swore you could melt by just looking at those big doe eyes.

You looked at Florence, seeking help. But she was already looking at you, carefully watching your next move, letting you handle the situation.

You cleared your throat, “If you go to bed now, I promise we can get ice cream tomorrow,” you negotiated with the little man.

“Cookie dough and vanilla ice cream?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, that’s a deal,” he shook your hand. “Good night then,” he said with a smile on his face, leaving a peck on your cheek.

“Good night, little man.”

“Night, mum,” he went to kiss Florence goodnight.

“Night, baby. Sweet dreams,” she kissed his forehead and watched as he entered his bedroom.

Florence took a seat beside you on the couch, letting her body crash against yours as you wrapped an arm around her.

“So, how did I do?” you said with a tint of mischief.

“What do you mean?”

“I know what you are doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You let me handle him. Why do you do that?” you were genuinely curious.

“I don’t know, I—,” you could tell she was holding something back.

“What is it? Tell me,” your fingertips brushed her hair, offering her some comfort.

“You know how I’ve always wanted kids,” you hummed in response. Ever since you had met Aaron 5 months ago, Florence had come clean to you and told you how she always wanted to be a mother. “Well, I have been thinking, like a lot, this isn’t just a rush thought,” she was rambling, she was clearly nervous.

“Just spit it out,” you chuckled.

“I want another baby.”

You stopped brushing her hair, which she noticed.

“I know, I know,” she said, turning to face you. “We’ve only been dating for a year now, and you had only met Aaron just five months ago. But Y/n, you have to understand that it’s what I want,” her bottom lip was trembling. “And I need to know if it’s something you would eventually want or else I… I don’t know.”

But she did know, she would have to let you go. Something she didn’t want to do, but she couldn’t force you into something you wouldn’t want to be part of. Her heart would break into a million pieces.

You felt your stomach sink into itself, she had caught you off guard. You knew this was a long overdue conversation. She had repeatedly told you how much she loved Aaron and you weren’t blind, you could tell she loved kids. That conversation was bound to happen, you just thought you would have a little more time to figure how you felt.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids at all, the thought had never crossed your mind. You were always too busy with your life, living in the present as you called it. And then you met Florence, and you started to think about your future with her right by your side. And then Aaron came along.

At first it was weird, for the three of you, but mostly for you. You felt you didn't belong, like you were in their way. They were a family and you were just you, trying to figure yourself out. But the little man welcomed you with open arms, and that was all it took for your walls to break down. You thought that things wouldn't work out, that he would hate. But it was quite the opposite really.

“Y/n?” Florence snapped you out of your thoughts.

Her eyes were watery, your silence made her uneasy. She regretted having brought up the subject, she could tell you weren’t ready for that kind of commitment. But she had to know where you stood.

Who were you to deny her such wish? You only wanted to make her happy.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your heart. “I say… we should try to make one right now.”

“What?” she sounded surprised.

“Aaron’s asleep, isn’t he?” you began to kiss her neck.

A soft moan escaped from her lips, “We don’t have to—,” you could feel the tint of worry and doubt in her voice.

“Yes, we do,” your hot breath on her neck sent a shiver up her spine. “I want this, okay?” you searched for her eyes. “I want this, I want you,” you kissed her lips. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to make a baby right now. In that case, I’m gonna make some tea,” you teased her, kissing her jaw.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do more than that,” you smirked as you watched her cheeks go crimson red.

[…]

You leaned your head to the side, squinting your eyes trying to understand what your eyes were looking at.

“So that’s the head?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered.

“I just don’t— oh, there it is,” you said, smiling up at the screen. Finally seeing the baby’s body.

“Looks fat,” Aaron said next to you.

“Aaron!” Florence scolded him, making the doctor chuckle.

“Yeah, she does,” you giggled.

“Y/n!” she now scolded you.

“But she still will be cute, don’t worry about it,” you joked.

“How do you know they are a she?” she raised her brow at you, as the doctor moved around the tool on her belly checking on her baby.

“That’s my kid, right there. I know.”

“Yeah, sure,” Florecen rolled her eyes at you. But couldn’t shake the butterflies she felt when you said ‘my kid’.

“Well, the baby’s healthy, nothing to worry about. I’ll see the four of you in about 3 weeks, and we can see the baby’s sex.”

“I’m telling you, doc. It’s a girl,” you nudge the boy beside you. “Right, buddy?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you noticed he didn’t sound excited at all.

“Okay, that’s it for today. See you guys later,” the doctor said as she closed the door behind her.

“Oh, gosh. I’m starving,” Florence said as she cleaned herself up and adjusted her top. “I’ll go to the restroom and then I’ll meet you guys at the car, okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead, love.”

The two of you walked in silence back to the car, and you could tell something was up with him since it wasn’t like him not to be talking. He was like Florence in that way, they always had to be doing something or else they would explode. Unless, of course, something was up with them.

“Okay, spit out, little man.”

He looked at you, and he knew there was no escaping from this conversation.

“I just… I don’t know…”

“It’s okay, take your time.”

He breathed in, “I don’t want things to change,” and then breathed out, as if a weight was lifted off of his shoulders now that he had said those words.

“Oh,” you understood. He had been an only child for 10 years, soon to be 11. Of course this whole thing was a big change for him. “Look, honey. I can’t promise you that nothing will change because change is part of life. But I can promise you that your mum and I are always going to be her for you, okay?”

“I just… I don’t think I'm ready to share my mamma with someone else,” he shyly confessed.

“Oh, Aaron, baby. it’s okay to feel like that. But you must know that your mum loves you dearly, and another baby won’t change that.”

“No, not mum. I don’t wanna share you, mamma.”

Your heart skipped a beat, “Me?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” he complained. “I just got you and now I have to share you, it’s not fair,” he said walking faster to the car, clearly mad.

“Aaron, wait up,” you jogged to catch up to him.

You stood right in front of him, looked into his watery eyes and then hugged him tightly. You could feel him sobbing into your chest as you ran your fingertips through his dark hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed. You didn’t know he felt this way for you, you swore you could melt right there.

“You will like her more than me.”

“Hey, no! Don’t say that,” you gently pulled him away to look at him in the eyes. “Don’t say that, okay? You are very special to me, you know that?” your hands cupped his cheeks as your thumbs wiped away his tears. “You may not be mine biologically, Aaron. But you must know that I care for you as if you were.”

His bottom lip was trembling, his eyes had a red hue around them and at that moment he looked exactly like Florence.

“It’s important to me that you know that, okay?” he nodded. “And I’ll remind you of that as many times as I have to, alright?” he nodded once again, and smiled as you left a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“Oh, there you two are,” Florence said, approaching the two of you. “Is everything okay?” she asked as she could tell something had happened while she was gone.

“Yeah, mum. Everything’s good,” Aaron said, as he held you tightly.

Florence looked at you confused, but you just muttered a ‘later’ under your breath and she understood.

“Okay, who’s hungry?” you said, snapping the two greeneyed out of their thoughts.

[…]

The moment her loud crying filled your ears you swear your heart stopped beating for an entire minute.

You felt all types of emotions all at once, happiness, anxiety, love, worry, joy, fear, devotion. It felt as if you were finally complete. And then when you got to hold your babygirl, with Florence and Aaron right beside you, you finally felt at home.

“Oh, I’m so glad she has your nose,” was the first thing that came out of your lips, making the two green eyed chuckled.

“I hope she doesn’t have your bad temper,” Florence mumbled.

“Or her bad jokes,” Aaron added.

“Hey! Knock it off, you two,” you meant to sound hurt, but you were filled with happiness that it was impossible for you to feel some other way.

“Can I hold her?” Aaron shyly asked.

“Of course, buddy,” you smiled at him.

He got comfortable in his chair and you gently placed his baby sister in his arms. Aaron gently brushed his index finger through her tiny hand, and you watched as Florence's eyes began to get watery.

“She opened her eyes,” Aaron gasped.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but ugh…” he scoffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed back at him, getting closer to him and watching your baby girl over his shoulder.

“She has your eyes,” he mumbled, annoyed, playfully rolling his eyes at you, making Florence giggled.

“How dare you, little man?” you wiped a fake tear from your eye.

You watched closer, it was true. She did have your eyes, same shape, same shade as yours. And you couldn't help but smile at that, fighting back the tears, because you promised yourself that you wouldn't be one of those corny people who cried just by looking at their babies. But there you were, almost sobbing just by looking at her in Aaron’s arms.

You watched as he began to baby talk to his sister and a smile formed on your face, biting your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“We did good, didn’t we?” you whispered to a sleepy Florence, getting back to her side.

“We did great,” she smiled back.

“Why don’t you get some rest, my love?” you left a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Yeah…” she yawed. “I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you even more. Now, get some rest. We’ll be here when you’ll wake up,” you said as she drifted off to sleep.

A smile formed on Florence’s lips as she realised how lucky she was, and how grateful she was for the three of you. She swore she could have melted right there, in that hospital room, surrounded by the people she loved the most on earth.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x fem reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n #mum florence pugh #mum florence pugh x reader #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh fluff #littlexscarletxwitch's fic

200 notes · View notes

psycho-killer-writer · 5 months

Note

Dom!Draco Malfoy smut pls?? (u can ignore ofc)

my first story with smut lets be nice. Also didn't edit it I got lazy so if grammar errors or mistakes... oops.

summary: after accusing draco of cheating, you confront him and realize your were all wrong he must punish you for that ridiculous accusation.

Dom! Draco x fem reader

"THAT STUPID ASSHOLE! I fucking hate him, I'll kill him, how dare he... breath" I say in rushed breath trying to catch my breath. "really breath is that why your like going crazy" I love pansy like a sister but I'm gonna punch her in the fucking throat, "of course not but I'm angry so I can say what I want"

Pansy looked with complete confusion "how about you just tell me the problem". Oh yeah the problem kinda forgot what I was complaining about, that's what men do I guess. "That albino looking mother fucker had the audacity to take Astoria grass green or green glass, whatever who cares what her name is" I sneered.

pansy rolled her eyes giggling "you know what her name is"

"of course I know what her name is, Its fucking Astoria Greengrass for christ sake I have oddly sexually confusing dreams about her" I rant then pause hoping I didn't sound so crazy, pansy's just stares then shrugs "who hasn't".

"anyways like I was saying, he took her to meet his mom! who does that people that date and commit that's who" I was seething I thought what we had was passionate, animalistic, even say love but hey to early to tell.

pansy snorted "what are you gonna do go up to his room and demand he stop seeing Astoria, and tell him to stop existing around her."

I scrunch in disgust "oh god no im not some tacky pick me girl".

------------------------------------------------------------------------

No thoughts just anger and a little bit of delusion I walk up to his stupid door and bang on that stupid door, so loud that it rattles the hallway. Then the stupid door is ripped open and his stupid anger face is in front of me.

"who the he- oh hey" he says in sudden softness once he realizes who is causing the scene. "miss me that much the whole hallway can hear how wet you ar-"

he is suddenly caught off once I slap him across the face his face is suddenly whipped to the side, and he looks ahead past me in shock... then anger.... then he smirks at me and licks the inside of his cheek

I didn't even let him speak when I push past him and turn around to face him while he close the door.

I just start unloading all the crap (mostly insecurities, but pride ) I have been holding in. "how dare you I gave you my virginity, does it look like im one of those people who pass it around letting everyone get in here.. don't answer that. Then you bring that tall drink of water I have dreamt her kissing all over this body, to your mothers house. YOUR MOTHERS HOUSE! I doubt that prude can do the things and I can do and let you do the things to me that are disturbing but weirdly make me horny."

Don't know where I am going with this but I feel this heat and I'm just going to keep yelling and not know where this is going to go.

" so I guess I was nothing but a body to you, im not good enough to be yours, to meet your mother, and maybe in the future I won't be married to you that I sometimes fantasize about, and your mother won't love me so much that she gives me all her clothes in her will, and I'm getting off track again SEE THIS IS WHAT YOU DO TO M-"

I don't even get to finish my speech because he yanks me from the back of the neck and kisses me hard on the mouth I almost couldn't breathe

after a while we both gasp for air and he keeps are nose touching "God the things I should do to that mouth". dammit he knows how to make me drip.

I looks at him in confusion and heartache how can he ask for this knowing the pain he is causing me.

"One, I don't know how you found out and I don't want to know, all I know your kinda crazy and to never hide anything from you" he chuckled and I was about to kick him in the ball when that smart son of a bitch block my leg.

"I took Astoria to the manor to tell my mother that we are not going to be committed to each other, since we were kids we were supposed to be married at 20, but I met you and there is no one I would rather be with then the insane girl that turns me on when she giggles, or my heart that skips a beat when you look at me or touch me." we both chuckle and I have a tear going down my eye.

god I feel like an idiot.... I win... wrong moment

"I feel like an idiot" I am embarrassed

he smiles pushing my hair away from my face "don't be it just shows your the one... I love you " he expresses

I gasp I forget ho to breathe, fucking suck it Astoria " you what?"

"I love you" he repeats

"one more time didn't quite catch you"

he chuckles and throws his head back "im gonna take it back"

"to late mister its out there forever"

" as much as I love make up sex I gotta punish you for acting like a spoiled brat" he said gripping the back of my head with my hair "ima fuck you so hard it's gonna feel like I hate you"

he rips my shirt wide open tearing it right down the middle and tearing it to pieces throwing it across the room. Leaving me in just my skirt and white bra.

He places his hands on my breast and squeezes with suck adoration "God these thing are so beautiful, and so goddamn sexy" he grips them tight then reaches behind and break the clip. Ripping of my bra

" that was my favorite one " I whimper, your so lucky i'm turned on jerkface

" what did i just fucking say" he seethed grabbing my jaw "you wanna run your mouth, then I wanna hear you scream"

He yanks my head toward him and kisses me with such love and anger at the same time. "Get on the bed and turn around on your hands and knees."

Fucking finally... holy shit i'm such a slut

I climb on the bed sightly nervous and very excited for what he is about to unleash on me. there I sit only in a skirt and my garter stockings, my boobs completely open and sensitive.

ready to be used

I feel his presence right behind me and his cold deadly hand riding up my leg to the ends of my skirt pushing it up to mu hips, only to reveal that I 'forgot' my underwear.

"ohh fuck" he seethed and gripping my flesh tightly "you knew what you were doing, you wanted to be in this position didn't you, you filthy little slut" feeling his grip tighten only shows how wet he is making me.

"oh sorry, I guess I left my underwear in Potters room after he fucked my brains out... oops" I look over my shoulder and give him a sadistic smile. Of course im lying I just like to poke the dragon a little bit.. or the ferret if we are getting technical.

I don't even get the chance to to process before he gathers all his strength and completely rips the skirt off of me

dam he is on a roll, my big mouth is going to make me run out of clothes

"please keep fucking talking let me punish you more, cause after this you won't be able to even speak."

i'm to fucking insane for this to turn me on

"oh fuck yes please punish me, I dererve it im a bad girl" I whimper. He simply smiles and groans out "oh yeah baby you are I say the punishment fits the crime"

He then slaps my ass, and I let out a slight gasp. "fuck your practically dripping, you like that don't you" he demands while slapping the other cheek.

"Count slut" he says while he spanks my right bum.

"one"

Smack

"two"

Smack

"three" I whimper how can pain fee; so good

Smack

"four"

Smack

"five" im tearing up from the intense feeling

Smack!

"six"

Draco put all his force in the last one I couldn't help but cry out and moan at the same time.

he messages my red flesh and leans down to kiss it "fuck baby you did so good, you take my punishment like a good girl.

he then proceeds to reach down my heat and feels how wet I am I let out an involuntary moan and my thighs tremble lightly .

all of a sudden im flipped on my back and he then proceeds to kiss me, we are both turned on we are making out without a care in the world its messy and hot and we don't care, I gasp for air and he then starts to kiss done my body while kissing each breast with such determination, I forget how to breath. "Draco please, I can't I need to feel you" I gasp

"you will baby soon, I gotta make sure your nice and prepped" he says while kissing the inside of my thighs

he grips my my thighs that are placed over his shoulders and I can see the dents in my skin his long fingers are doing.

I feel a long wet lick going up making me shiver and right when he licks my clit and sucks hard, so roughly nibbling on it. Giving me a sense of pain and pleasure at the same time not able to control myself I let out shrieks and moan; trying so hard to keep it in.

he can easily charm the room, but something about someone hearing the sounds of pleasure rattles Draco in a way that challenges him to challenge me. I can't take the pleasure the way his lips suck my clit then enters his tongue in and out of my pussy makes me gasp.

"yes, yess, ohhhhh fuck " I moaned out in high pitch

ohh yes, yes don't stop, ohh fuuu-" I became inherent too focused on my pleasure to even

next thing I know he enters his long cold fingers once again and curls them which makes me gasp and wither . "ahhhhh yess, fuck yes" I can't stop screaming

he looks up with is cold grey eyes and smiles.

" you like that dont you. oh fuck yes look at you its like your begging for it. ima fuck you so good, for that little stunt you pulled" he seethed

I couldn't take it anymore I couldn't hold it I came so hard. "ohhh fuccc, ahhhhh" i couldn't control it my juices sprayed Dracos hands, he would stop he kept curling his fingers in me. I was so sensitive my legs were shaking I was shivering with over stimulation.

he crawls up toward me looking into my eyes and smiles and kisses me hard with love and compassion, we break apart nose touching.

he keeps eye contact and tells me " your such a good fucking girl you know that, merlin you come too good." he exhales with such satisfaction.

"you know I love you right" he looks at me with adoration

"of course, I made you repeat it like three times" I giggled

"good because im going to fuck you like I hate you" he says dropping his smile into something sadistic

he quickly pulls away and flips me on my stomach again picking up my legs to balance myself. He slaps my ass and enters me slow to accommodate his huge size and after a while he pulls out and and pounds into to me with no mercy.

my eyes cross as the sudden intrusion draco grabs my hips and continues to pound me from behind the room filling with skin slapping and moaning. thrusting into me with such determination and ruthlessness I can't stop screaming

"holy fucking shit take my cock you dirty girl" he tells me groping my hips hard where my skin starts to tingle and pound into me relentlessly.

"ohh yes , yes fuck me I deserve it" I grip him so hard having his cock enter my pussy nonstop.

draco then grabs my hair by the roots and pulls my head back and puts his face above mine "you like being treated this way being used like some possession a slut just for me, now open that goddamn mouth" as I obeyed his order he spat in my mouth and I swallowed it with delight then kissed me it was messy and wet but we didn't care all we focused on is the pleasure of him fucking me roughly.

"holy fuck i'm gonna come, i'm so close" I screamed he then spared me hard and pulled away. I shivered from the emptiness

"you better hold it cause i'm not done" he whispered in my ear, suddenly he flips me on my back and grabs me by my thighs and hooks his hand under by leg onto hip and enters me again with more passion and fill me up all the way I can feel the warmth of his cock invading me while he controls me moving ui and down due to his hands moving me on his cock he groans and huffs from the squeezing of my walls.

"yes- yes -yes" I say in high voice small tears forming my eyes from the pleasure and I can't handle it "hell yeah baby cry those happy tears for me milk me like a good girl". h go forward and puts his weight on his hand on my throat and goes at a faster pace pounding me while squeezing my throat I couldn't handle this amount of pleasure

"fuck mee yesss ahhhhh" I come hard around his cock I can't take it y eyes roll to the back of my head while he lowers his pace but takes deep thrust while he comes in me.

"look at me while I come in you dirty girl, fuck yes you like that, me filling your pussy take it like a good girl" he says as he empties out inside me as I calm down from my high .

he pulls out and I whimper from the emptiness he kisses the side of my calf and sides at me as he relaxes my legs and joins me next to the bed and we look up at the ceiling in exhaustion.

draco is the first to look at me he Tuens his head "you should slap me more often" I laugh at his comment "the way you act there would probably be plenty" I say turning my body and lean top to look down at his beautiful face "I guess its only fair that I should apologize to you"

"uhh yeah sounds reasonable" he smiles at me twirling the end of my hair

"good then"

"waiting for my apology"he looks at me with a smug face, and I look at him confused "I just did, didn't you hear me."

"what you said you should apologize but you didn't do the action" he says smugly

" take it or leave it ferret" I say and I wrinkle my nose in his face and he does it back reaches up and kisses me. "oh you love testing my patience don't you babygirl"

"all joking aside I really am sorry for invading your privacy and going all phyco" I admit with guilt and embarrassment

"I will admit it was kinda a turn on especially your little rant about us getting married" he snickered

"please forget about that I was seething I don't know why I was saying all that.... out loud" I added and he pulled me down to lay on his chest underneath the covers and made me look in his eyes "that all I think about and dream every night darling, because I love you" he confessed and I swear to merlin I came a third time.

"good because I love you too" I respond and all was right I put my head on his chest and basked in each others company

" So in this vision do we have a dog: draco asked and you always loved his soft spot for animals and remembered he was never allowed to have a pet.

" No, but there is a ferret" and si felt a smack on my ass I laughed " of Course there is a dog, you couldn't pick one so you chose both"

"good" he said and smiled pecked my lips and held me as we fell into the night slumber.

95 notes · View notes

straykids-97 · 8 months

Text

Letters to the Moon

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows anybody.”

Changbin likes to push you until you're flustered. Until you feel like you can't take it anymore... But then pull you back and keep you where he wants you...

Warnings: Strip poker, gambling games(poker and rummy), mentions of drinking, teasing, mirror sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), slight choking, size kink, (Duh, it’s Changbin), lmk if I forgot anything! (Also, it's kinda edited, kinda not so there are probably errors lol)

Word Count: 3.04k

Knowing Seo Changbin had changed your life. You didn’t know how to truly exist without him at this point. It was like he was everything you were missing, everything you could have dreamed of. Wrapped in a sweet little bow, hiding in a box was the sweet, doe-eyed, giggly man you had come to love so much that it hurt. You were addicted to his angelic smile, his teasing manner, and his morals. He was strong in every sense of the word. Changbin knew when to push and when to pull. He was an equal giver and equal taker. That also meant that sometimes, he pushed a little too hard, and his sportsmanship borderlined bullying.

Such was the fate of your weekly game night.

You hold your head in your hand, cards in the other, sighing in defeat. You sort of regret teaching Changbin poker. He was quick to learn, and even quicker to start beating you. You had only one once, and that was because Changbin got up to get the pizza at the door, and you peaked at his cards while he wasn’t looking. You were convinced that somehow he had to know what was in your hand. But, even after repositioning so that you were out of the way of your living room mirror, he still bested you.

He clapped his hands together, pumping a fist in the air as he boyishly giggled, “I win. Yes!” He happily took a massive bite of the pepperoni pizza as you tossed your cards onto the table, frowning. “This isn’t fun if you’re always winning.” You grumble. “It’s fun…” he trailed off, reaching over and putting another piece of pizza on your plate, “For you.” You drag the plate across the wooden coffee table and heave a tired sigh.

You both eat in silence for a while until Changbin holds up a finger, “What if we play a different game.” You give him an annoyed look, “What kind of game?” You watch as he pulls out his phone, a devilish smile on his face. His phone screen illuminated his thick, black-rimmed glasses as he flipped through his phone to find what he was looking for. You narrowed your eyes and watched him cautiously as he held his phone over the table for you to read. Grabbing the sleek device your mouth falls open as you read the game that he had looked up.

“I heard someone talking about it once… And I've thought about asking you to play ever since you taught me how to play poker.” You can’t believe your eyes or your ears. Changbin was proposing that you two play strip poker. There was silence for a moment before you scoffed and handed him back his phone, “In order to play that kind of game, it would have to be sorta even. You’re winning all the time. I would be naked before you even have your shirt off.” You watched as his face fell a little, “But… What if we play a different poker game? That way you have a bit of an advantage.” You pursed your lips in thought. He had a point; but an unfair point… But was it really unfair when he just learned how to play poker a few weeks ago and was now beating you left and right?

“Fine… We’ll play rummy. Same rules, sort of.” You snatch the deck and begin to explain the rules of the all-to-familiar game. “Alright, let’s start.” You pull out your phone and start a tally for points. “So, if I get more points, I win the round?” He asked, making you nod. “Yes. Since we’re playing by points and not by who goes out.” He bobbed his head, “Alright…” He shifted his hips, resting his weight on his elbows as he studied his cards.

The first round went to you. Finally. You grin and tap your chin as you look at your boyfriend, thinking about what you want him to take off first. “Pants.” You decided, swiping the cards to shuffle. You watched as he rose to his feet and quickly untied his black sweatpants, shoving them down his legs. “Always pants with you.” He snorts, folding them nicely on the edge of the couch and settling back on the floor. He adjusted his glasses and he took a sip of his drink, dragging his cards to his awaiting hands, looking at them as you looked at yours. You try not to let it show that you have no hope of winning unless he somehow gives you something.

Which he doesn’t.

You sigh and toss the cards in the middle pile. Changbin leaned against your gray couch and cocks his head forward, scanning your figure shamelessly You feel your face heat up, and you think that maybe having those mixed drinks probably wasn’t helping. “Take off your bra.” He demanded. You can’t help but giggle at his request, thinking he make you take your socks or pants off like you did him, but no.

You reach behind your body and unlatch your bra. You pull the gray fabric out from the collar of your shirt and gently place it beside Changbin's pants. After he dealt the cards, you see that this would most likely go in your favor. Or at least you thought, but Changbin managed to win purely on points. You grumble and gather the cards to shuffle as he leans back, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and eyed you. “Pants.” He ordered, leaning forward to gather his cards as you stood up and shimmed out of your tight yoga pants, sloppily folding and putting them on top of your bra.

Two more rounds went by and now Changbin is in his boxers and the only thing left covering your body was your baggy t-shirt. It was really his, but you wore it. You gently placed your panties on the pile of clothes and huff. Whoever wins this match, remains clothed. You rolled your head around on your shoulders, “Alright, deal ‘em.” You wave your hand at your boyfriend who chuckled at your antics. Without saying a word, he slides your five cards across the table.

You quickly flip the cards and you try not to let your face show it but you only need one card to lay down. In a matter of two rounds, you could very well be out. You glance up at Changbin as he arranges his cards, his dark eyes flicking up to you as he adjusts himself so he is more comfortable on the floor. He must have a good hand, you think as he flipped the cards over. A seven of spades, just what you needed. But, it was his turn. So, he takes a card from the deck and places a nine of diamonds on the pile. You take a quick glance at your hand and slowly reach for the cards, swiping the two cards off the table and placing the seven down next to the six and five of spades. Discarding the 10 of hearts in your hand, you settle against your couch, looking at the two cards in your hand. The nine of diamonds and the 3 of clubs. You could use them as trash cards if you needed to.

You watched as Changbin swiped the 10 you just put down and monitored as he tossed three cards on the table, a set of 10s. You bit your tongue, he’s already got more points than you by double. Then, to your shock, he places a 4 of spades down, playing on your 5 and tossing the random card in his hand in the discard pile. You groan, tossing the two cards in your hand on the table. He grinned at you as he swiped the cards off the table, “I win.” You sighed, standing up to collect your clothes to put into the dirty laundry, not wanting to stick around for the gloating part.

“Where are you going?” he shouted from the other side of the couch. You turned to see him kneeling on the couch, hands on the back of it, eyebrow raised as you stood at the edge of your hallway. “To put my clothes in the laundry?”

“I believe I won,” he began to say, launching himself over the back of the couch, his biceps flexing at the movement. “So, that means I get to see you naked.” He quickly swiped the pile of laundry from your hands. You put your now empty paws on your hips, “Changbin-” You start to complain, but he tutted at you. “Ah, ah,” he holds up a finger, “rules are rules.” You glared at him, “Are you serious?” He bobbed his head once, “Of course I am.” He took a step back, “Shirt.” You huffed, slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt but then stopped, “I don’t have to do this. You already won the game.” You try to turn and begin to wave him off but he’s quick to catch your wrist. You yelp in surprise as he tugged you to his chest.

“You can’t cheat me out of my prize.” He hummed, backing you against the hallway wall. You hit the wall with a thud, “Changbin, stop. You’re not being fair.” You whined as he slid his hands under your shirt to your hips. “Fair? You’re the one who’s whining and complaining about not winning.” He playfully snaps at your nose and you lean away, gripping his wrists, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You retort as dryly as possible, trying not to squirm as his hands begin to wander up your sides. He pauses for the briefest of moments, quirking an eyebrow as his tongue prodded his cheek. You knew that look, that was his, “Oh, really?” look. You start to protest but Changbin is faster and stronger than you are.

Before you could process what he was doing, he had your shirt over your head, and hands pinned to the wall using your shirt. You pant, lips parted as he leans into your face, his free hand coming to trail soft, teasing traces against your jaw. Changbin twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, biting his lip as he giggles, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about… stop being so coy.” You stare at him for a few moments, “You just wanted to get me naked.” You watch as a seductive grin spreads across his face, air sucking through his teeth as he pinned your hips to the wall with his. “I always want to see you naked.” He hummed, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your jaw.

You can’t contain the shudder that rips through your body as he laps at the skin of your earlobe. Your brain starts to turn to mush the moment his hips grind against yours, and you try not to turn into putty in his hands, but it is hard.

He dropped your hands and you instantly tossed your shirt to the ground, wrapping your arms around his neck. Changbin tapped your thighs, signaling you to jump up. You oblige without having to be told again, and he catches you, wrapping his hands around the backs of your legs. You whimpered in his mouth as he carried you back to the couch, tossing you onto the soft surface.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he stripped his boxers off, tossing them off behind him. He pressed into your body, causing you to shudder. He grins down at you, “Since I won, I think I should get a bonus.” You roll your eyes, “You’re pushing it, mister.” You warn, making him chuckle. “Hear me out,” he presses a soft, heated kiss to your lips. You wanted it to last, but he of course has other plans. You groan, “Binie-” You start to complain but he only pulls away for a moment. He shifts so that you’re on top, his back resting against the back cushions of your couch.

You never were on top. Changbin always wanted to be top, not that you were complaining, man knew what he was doing. You frown down at him, “Changbin, I don’t know-” You start to worry but his lips on yours stop you from continuing. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, the other ghosting down your side to your hip. The hand that was around your neck gripped you tightly, and he growled into your mouth, “I won, so I decide what my prize is.” You shudder at his dominance and let him guide you down to his length. You fist the fabric of the cushions as he groans, thrusting up softly as you settle against his hips, completely stuffed full of him.

You gasp when he pulls your hips a few inches, scooting his to the edge of the couch for balance. He looks up at you, lust in his eyes as he bites his bottom lip. He slowly rolled his hips upward, and for the briefest of moments, you both go rigid. Changbin’s fingertips dig into your hips, making you squirm to adjust. “Fuck,” you whimper as he tests the waters, rolling his hips up again. You pant into his shoulder, making him groan, “Baby…” he groans, wrapping his arm around your waist. He held your body close to his, burying his face into your hair as he found a steady rhythm. You mewl into his skin, digging your fingers into his sides as he began to thrust harder.

You panted heavily into his arm, “Binie,” you whined, shuttering as he groaned, “Fuck, this is-is amazing.” He praised, gripping your ass cheeks, pounding up into you. You moan, pulling away so you can balance yourself using the back of the couch. You glance down at him to see that his gaze keeps bouncing between your breasts and behind you. You nearly ask what he’s looking at but when you twist your head you see exactly what he was talking about.

Normally, Changbin can’t get enough of your breasts. He’s normally licking, nipping, and sucking at your nipples and the skin surrounding them from the moment you get your shirt off. The only other thing that could rival them was your ass. He swore from the beginning he was an ass man, but these days, he wasn’t so sure. It was too cute to see the visual of him being torn between watching your ass bounce in the mirror or your breasts bounce in his face. He whimpered, his face pressing into your side as he pulled you into his body, angling his hips so that he could thrust deeper into you.

You forget every thought as you stare behind you in the mirror, watching as he fucked into you from beneath you. The sight alone could make you- you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath catching in your throat as you come. You let out a soft squeal of ecstasy as you shatter, earning a low moan from Changbin.

He thrusts into you a few more times, drawing out your orgasm until you were shaking. He pulled himself out of your weeping hole and you protest, “Changbin-” You stop when you feel him push on one side, pulling on the other. You turn around in his grasp and let him position your body how he wants. Your feet were on either side of his spread legs, and you were leaning against his tacky chest.

You could die with how exposed you were, the reflection of your bodies in the mirror showing how filthy Changbin really intended to be with you tonight. He wastes no more time and guided himself back into your cunt and you let your head lull between your shoulders. Changbin wraps a hand around your throat, growling into your neck, “Don’t stop looking.” He demanded. You shudder, holding his hips as you look forward. Changbin looked determined as his free hand snaked between your spread legs to your clit, causing you to yelp as he rubbed soft, slow circles. Compete the opposite of how he was treating your pussy. You emit a low, pathetic whine as his thumb and fingers press into your neck, your head spinning lightly as you squeeze his cock, coming yet again, as if on demand. Your nails dig into his skin, surely leaving marks that he’ll hear about later.

He didn’t care about that right now. The only thing he wanted more than anything in this world was to watch you come undone on his cock until you were screaming, begging, pleading for him to stop. But he knew how far to wind you up before letting you go.

He was good at that.

He doesn’t stop those sick movements, alternating releasing the pressure from your throat and rubbing your clit faster when he did. Building you up to watch you fall off the edge of bliss each time in the mirror.

You feel him twitch and he lets out a sweet melody of curses and moans, before biting your shoulder and coming inside you. You watch as his hips stutter and falter altogether. You both pant for a few moments and then he lazily pulls his cock out from inside you, slumping against the couch. He pulls you off his lap and crawls up the length of your body until his between it and the back of your couch. “Fuck.” He panted, placing his hand on your stomach and nuzzling your neck. All you could do was nod, too fucked out to really form words yet.

He noticed, chuckling at you, “Aw, too hard?” You shake your head at him, “No,” your voice is froggy and rough from the amount of breathy moans and pants that he drew from you. You clear your throat, “No.” He grinned at you wickedly, “Then, you wouldn’t mind a round two?” You groan, “Oh no,” you push him away as grinded against your hips, “I don’t think so.” He glowered, “Aw, why not?” You shake your head, not looking at him. “I don’t think so, not tonight.”

“In the morning then?” He asked, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. You roll your eyes at his ravenous hunger, “The morning is a different story. We’ll see how sore I am.”

#skz drabbles #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard hours #seo changbin smut #changbin smut

114 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

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

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Elvis in March 1957, Graceland)

March 1957

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Stop that shit right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Loved.’ As in past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You taste so sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is in love with you.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod but say nothing.

“Okay, baby.”

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

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

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

But you’re not his girl.

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.

His head falls back onto the wall with a thump.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

He can’t bring himself to call Jack.

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

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

His prayers work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He vomits again, tears running down his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God. Please forgive me.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Lord. Oh, Jesus.

He thinks he might vomit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he will damn himself for your salvation every time.

December 28th, 1957, Graceland

Oh, God, what have I done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clings to this.

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

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

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

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

The only time he truly falters is during the dance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But a mother knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you knew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “O-okay, Satnin.”

And with that, he does as he’s told.

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

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

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

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

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

March 1960

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

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

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

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

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

Then you almost bleed to death in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, anything for you.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for his friend, right?

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

That is the bargain.

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

But you are not his, you never really were.

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

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

Especially Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are his. You’ve always been his.

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for you. Anything but letting you go.

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

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

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

Not again, not again, not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There was an incident…” Jerry begins diplomatically.

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

“Sandy!” Jerry admonishes her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack flinches.

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

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

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

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

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

“How long, Elvis?”

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

“Opening night.”

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

The room goes silent yet again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I love her,” Jack sobs.

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

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

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

Elvis releases him.

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

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

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

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

No one does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loves you so deeply he can hardly breathe.

So, he waits. He prays.

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

Taglist:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

499 notes · View notes

rainbowninja00 · 1 year

Text

a dreamtale au (words colour-coded for easier reading)

Nightmare eats the apples and the tree dies, Dream gets turned to stone, and Nightmare goes out into the multiverse, hundreds years later Dream emurges and goes looking for his brother.

the big difference? Nightmare is the doe eyed optimist and Dream is the shut in cynic. Nightmare insists upon playing with the villiagers, despite how much they hate him, they only play with him because Dream threatens to leave and take his powers with him. Dream would 100% leave the tree for dead, nothing is more important to him than his brother, if only Nightmare could see that they only stand him to get Dream's positivity.

so the apple incident. Nightmare is chilling under the tree, Dream went off foraging, everyone is sick of this little kid that brings negativity everywhere he goes annoying them, so they plan on getting rid of him and kidnapping Dream. Nightmare begs and pleads for mercy and kindness, he calls for help but nobody came. so he did the one thing he wasn't allowed to do; he ate the apples. Dream comes just too late, finding his little brother with black stuff pooring out of his eye sockets. Nightmare's corruption furthers, tentacles ensue, and people either attempt to run, or attack, he shouts for them to leave him alone, his power reaches out and kills everyone around him, except Dream. Dream isn't scared of his brother, he is scared FOR him. he attempts to approach him and calm him, but Nightmare starts crying from the pain, how overwhelming it all is, or from what he's done dream doesn't know. but Nightmare screams for him to stay away so he wouldn't hurt his brother too, but all that does is start the petrification. Nightmare desperately tries to stop it, but his efforts mean nothing. all Dream does is reassure him, telling them it would all be okay. as he is fully turned to stone his eyes are full of tears but there is a smile on his face, Nightmare is the only one who ever got to see it.

after his brother was petrified, Nightmare sat at the dead trunk of the tree and cried for a bit, wanting to get away. and he accidentally opened a portal to killer's AU. (this was cause killer was feeling the same thing deep down; wanting to escape his empty home and be free of his sins) so he HELPS killer and promises to help him and look after him like Dream did. over the time of Dream being stone, he recruits the gang (killer, horror, dust, cross WHO IS VERY IMPORTANT, and kinda error) and ink, blue, red, and core are trying to stop them cause they are spreading negativity and harassing AU residents. Nightmare only needs the general balance to be maintained, but sometimes he doesn't tell them that there is too much negativity cause he hopes that if there is more positivity Dream will wake up again and he can apologise for all he's done (he hasn't done anything wrong) and be with his brother again. the gang are like his little brothers, he learns how Dream felt when they were kids. he has to tell them how to care for themselves, not kill each other, not destroy the castle, and to leave the au residents alone (they won't, they think it's fun) the castle still exists, they found an au that error had cleaned out of residents, but ink stopped him from totally destroying, and Nightmare created them a home where they would all be safe, happy, accepted and loved.

Ink and core where there when Dream woke up. Dream imediately was on the offensive, questioning who they were and where is brother was. they told him their version of the story, how he was terrorising the multiverse and evil. dream did not believe this for a second. the last golden apple was at his feet, it had been there for centuries, Nightmare refused to touch it as he had killed all the others and hoped its proximity to dream would allow it to last. Dream took and ate the apple, seeing no point in keeping it since their world was already dead. he gained his basic powers, altough his little stick is much more of a bo staff. Dream was dragged to the omega timeline and begged to help them stop his brother, he remained cold and refused to do anything they said, he only broke once he realised if he joins them he can find his brother easier, he didn't care if his brother MAGICALLY decided to take over the entire multiverse, his brother deserved it for all the shit he went through. he tolerated core, grew to find ink endearingly chaotic, (he even got Dream to chuckle a few times) and he appricated blue and his optimism, it reminded him of the brother he was desperately missing. Dream basically used blue as a replacement Nightmare for all of the nights they spent apart, he smiled in blue's precence sometimes, accepted and gave him physical affection, and called him affectionate nicknames.

when the two finally do meet on the battle field, Dream is relieved to see his brother is alive and well, but Nightmare is TERRIFIED. he thinks Dream is here to hurt him for everything since he's with the people who have been attacking him and his friends. (Although they wouldn't attack if his pals actually listened to him for once) Nightmare keeps running, anytime he sees Dream on the stars' side, he runs back home and ends up hiding in his corner in the library and sobbing. he feels so guilty and sad and scared. meanwhile Dream is distressed that he keeps failing to reach his brother in time. Dream trains to be more athletic in hopes of catching his brother before he disappears into his own world again. he also blames the stars for his brother fleeing at every interaction.

once they do talk, it's a lot of crying and Dream gets to finally hug his brother again and reassure him he's there for him and always loved him, and would never hurt him. it's kinda like a spin on the entire multiverse knowing Nightmare is gone and Dream is in denial, instead everyone else is just ignoring what Nightmare has to say and profiling him like the villagers did, and Dream is the only one who actually wants to listen and help his brother feel better.

perhaps Dream would be a couple/few years older than Nightmare too.

might make this a proper fanfic, wish i could draw cause i would love to make art of these boys.

(@dreemurr-skelememer I originally tried to send this as an ask to you since i know you like dreamtale and it's aus a lot and thought that you would like to see it)

EDIT: HERE IS THE LINK TO THE FIC I AM UPDATING IT AS FAST AS I CAN https://archiveofourown.org/works/46784704 if you are interested in this AU stick around for the fic please

#dreamtale #dreamtale au #nightmare sans #dream sans #utmv #personality swap au #if people show intrest I will expain what role cross plays in all this #this solar eclipse

274 notes · View notes

absurdumsid · 4 months

Text

emptyduo (killer and ink) notes from last night (if they dont make sense please blame past sid)

they are both emulating the people around them in some way (ink imitates emotions by consuming paint, killer mimicked other sanses to feel like a sans)

but while ink continues to do that killer learns to just take a minute to breathe and realise that "being sans" doesnt really matter that much, hes a mess of a monster thats not really a monster but he learns to appreciate just being alive

thinking about it enough they have very similar support systems its just that ink refuses to be vulnerable while killer is practically the most open book and his spine is spent and his pages are tattered but its Him

ink on the other hand presents a cover but doesnt allow people to peer inside the pages (like a diary ??)

ink is going insane trying to come to terms with "being sans" but not really sans because he was never given a story to "be sans"

but ink Knows that's what he's supposed to be, he's seen so many stories of his doppelgangers to be certain <- and sometimes he wishes he were those sanses instead, but he wont ever admit that

ink is hyperaware of his blankness and cant accept it (by proxy, himself)

the blankness eats at him and hes layering paint over paint just to distract himself from it.

ink is jealous of killer for being empty like him, but having his own identity.

ink wont ever ever confess that so it comes out as a sort of hatred for killer, the feeling of "i wish i was like you" comes out as "how dare you take everything from me"

ink wouldnt admit it but his blankness is like a treasure to him, its the only thing he had before the colours came or the creators filled the void with everything he found beautiful.

but that beauty also makes him sorrowful and he grieves everything he couldve become -> the only thing that is truly "his" is the blankness that came with being unfinished

ink processes killer's lively identity/behaviour in spite of his nothingness as killer taking away what he could've been

ink thinks that if killer is able to have a story like that, how come he couldnt ?

killer has a vague idea of what ink goes through (probably heard from nightmare, who heard from error, who heard from dream, who talked with ink)

he doesnt hide his nothingness because it's part of him, and hes not ashamed of it

his nothingness is something that he learned to make peace with, and he allows himself to be empty

he has no clue how ink really feels toward him but whenever ink pulls the blank glare that screams "i hate you, i hate your existence" he just kinda lets it go

when killer looks at ink he doesnt see someone that he can detest back, he only sees someone whos struggling as much as he was before he allowed himself to be empty

#this is my good morning post #sid rambles #emptyduo #killer sans #ink sans #i would say paletteknife but this can be nonromantic #long post

48 notes · View notes

diagonal-queen · 1 year

Note

Being Tachihara's mafia fuck buddy but you both secretly have feelings for each other?

THAT'S HOT ANON AND SO ARE YOU <3

Unspoken

♡ pairing: Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: You and Tachihara both work in the Port Mafia but you're also...close outside of business hours. You like him, but because you're unsure of his feelings you refuse to say anything for fear of ruining your existing relationship.

♡ wc: 1.6k

♡ cw: Sex (not explicitly written), friends with benefits relationship, swearing

note: Gosh I've been waiting for a Michi x reader req 🙈 he's just so hot. Apologies for errors.

Waking up at 3am was never in your schedule, nor did you particularly like when it happened. And yet, here you were, staring at the dark ceiling while Tachihara was sound asleep beside you. Your thighs ached a little, but you quickly numbed yourself to the sting, more focused on the strange feeling in your stomach.

For most people, having a friends-with-benefits relationship with their crush would be a dream. And in some ways it was; Tachihara was...good in bed, to say the least. He seemed to enjoy your time together, as did you, but that seemed to be it. Unlike you, his feelings didn't appear to run any deeper than lust. Thinking about it tended to make your stomach churn; perhaps that's why you felt off.

You heaved before sitting up and rolling out of bed. You just needed a glass of water to clear your head, you thought. By now, you'd been to Tachihara's place so much that you essentially had the layout of his kitchen drawers memorised. You'd never snooped around before or anything, but you'd made breakfast there a few times for the two of you. You liked how domestic it felt, but Tachihara likely didn't see it that way. Regardless, you could tell he appreciated it. After all, with your jobs, such leisures could be snuffed out in an instant.

You took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, before drinking all of it in one go. You hadn't realised how parched you were until the water met your lips; you remembered little besides laying in Tachihara's arms before nodding off. You two probably forgot to get a quick drink before bed.

Putting your glass down on the counter, deciding that you'd clean it up later once the sun had come up, you quietly crept back to Tachihara's room where you both resided when you visited. When you cracked the door open, you were surprised to see him sitting up in bed, his eyes open and on you.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Uh, I just got thirsty is all," you answered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Why're you awake, Michizou?"

"I dunno. I guess I noticed that you weren't in bed and it woke me up?" He stretched his arms above his head and accompanied it with a strange but amusing noise. You did your best not to grin at him.

"...I don't think that's something that can happen."

"Well, I'm used to you laying next to me! When I wake up and you've disappeared, for all I know you've been kidnapped or something." Tachihara shrugged. "I just got a little worried."

"That's sweet of you, but I'm fine." You gave him a quick smile, before crawling back into bed. "We should get back to sleep."

"Are you okay? You're actin' kinda...off. Something wrong?"

"No, no. Everything's fine." You tucked yourself under the sheets and turned away from the redhead.

"You don't sound so sure," Tachihara frowned, shuffling closer to you. "I can tell something's wrong. You wanna talk about it?"

"Nothing's wrong," you insisted. You never thought you'd ever be frustrated that he knew you so well. "It's gonna be fine."

"Is it...not fine right now, then?" You supposed Tachihara wasn't going to give up any time soon. For a guy who acted so much like a textbook gangster, he was awfully empathetic. You let out a sigh and rolled over to face him.

"You don't have to worry about it. It's just...a personal thing that I'm dealing with right now." Looking at Tachihara and trying to tell him that you were suffering silently because of the crush you had on him was difficult. You felt your throat going dry. "...it's just..."

"Are you alright?" He propped himself up on one elbow. You shook your head, worried that you might begin to cry.

"I wish that I could just..." Your voice cracked.

"Hey- c'mere, babe," he said softly. You suddenly burst into tears, unintentionally letting out a loud sob. Tachihara pulled you into his embrace, your head pressed against his body and tucked beneath his chin.

"I can't tell you, but I wanna tell you because I hate hiding it, but...I don't think I can," you cried into his chest. Tachihara sighed with a frown.

"You can tell me anything, you know that. I think we're past the point of mistrust, aren't we?" He cast you a smile, golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"...yeah, I know, but I can't tell you this particular thing." You sniffed before patting him on the chest. "I'm sorry, Michizou."

"It's alright, no pressure," he reassured you quietly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"...no." Your answer was barely a dejected whisper. Tachihara remained silent for a moment, before clearing his throat.

"Hey, I might know something that could make you feel better..." the redhead slowly cupped your face with his cheek, before pressing his lips to yours. Feeling a new stream of tears flow down your cheeks, you returned the kiss and gripped his body tightly. Kissing Tachihara always made you feel better; it felt nice to pretend for a while that you two were lovers instead of simple friends with benefits.

You quickly broke the kiss to take a breath.

"Thanks, Michizou, but...that was a little out of the blue," you chuckled, caressing his face. He returned your smile.

"Sorry...I'll be honest. I offered to kiss you mostly because I wanted to." He awkwardly gave your shoulder a small pat. "Uh..."

"...you wanted to kiss me?" You repeated, confused. Although it was dark, you could practically see the flush spread across Tachihara's face.

"...yeah." You didn't know what to say, or if Tachihara was implying what you thought he was implying. "...Y/N?"

"Why would you wanna...do you want another round?"

"Wh- no. I just..." Tachihara trailed off, before huffing. You glanced up at him, puzzled. "I just got the impression that...nevermind."

"You got the impression that what?" You asked, with a small sniff. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, you've never...okay. I thought that maybe I'd be able to- okay." Tachihara seemed frustrated, and you could tell he was having a hard time putting his thoughts into sentences. You sat up to give him some space, thinking maybe that would help.

"Take your time," you said. Tachihara sat up as well, rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"No, that's not it. I just...I'm annoyed because I feel like I should tell you now, but I was planning to do it in a nicer way than this."

"Tell me what?"

"Ugh, this is gonna sound so dumb saying it here, but fuck it. Might as well get it over with, right?" He said. You placed a hand on his in an attempt to calm him. He seemed to appreciate it.

"Go ahead, then."

"Okay, so, I like you...romantically," Tachihara finally said. He seemed to blurt out the statement in immense relief. Your eyes widened. "But obviously I wanted to say it in a nicer way. Maybe take you out to dinner, or some fancy shit. Y'know, the kinda thing you'd be into. But I fucked up, so..."

You were silent for a moment before asking, "You like me too?"

It was all you were able to say in the moment. To find out that Tachihara shared your feelings all of the sudden...it was overwhelming. Not only that, but it was also 3am. Though your hearts were both nervously racing, you really were rather tired. You felt a wave of emotions surge through you, though you couldn't put a name to them.

"...'too'?" Tachihara whispered.

"Yeah, too. Because I feel the same way," you answered, giving his hand a squeeze. It felt as if your mouth was moving before you could control it. "Though, I...I thought you only had sex with me...well, for the sex."

"I mean, it did kinda start out that way..." Tachihara admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But after some time I realised that I was more excited to see you than anything. I just didn't know how I was supposed to tell you, 'cause I was worried that if you didn't feel the same way then you'd wanna stop seeing me, y'know..."

"That's why I didn't say anything, either." The two of you sat still for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. The air was still a little tense, but the two of you were glad to have reached this point.

"...wow. This could have been resolved way faster if we just talked to each other, huh?"

"At least we finally got there in the end," you chuckled. "...yeah?" Tachihara grinned at you, before leaning forward and kissing you again.

"I think so, yeah."

"...good." You beamed. "Good. So...what now, then?"

"I think we should discuss it in the morning," Tachihara told you. "I'm damn exhausted."

"Yeah, same..." you let out a yawn. "I guess if we don't sleep now we'll be grumpy later. We're lucky we have tomorrow off, right?"

"...yeah," he chuckled, patting the space in between the two of you. "Come cuddle with me." You hastily obliged, letting Tachihara wrap his arms around your torso. You practically melted into his hold- it felt so warm and right. As if all along, that's where you were supposed to be.

"Hey, Michizou?" You asked, after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"Mm?"

"...is it too early to tell you that I love you?"

"Ah, I don't think so."

"I love you, then." You bit your lip nervously after saying those three words. But Tachihara just breathed out, happily.

"I love you too."

this got so much sadder than i intended it to. ah well- tachihara sexy. sorry this took so long anon, for a while i was just totally stumped on how to write this. but just like these two lovebirds i got there in the end

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd tachihara #tachihara michizou #tachihara x reader #x reader #bsd fanfic #bsd fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #bsd angst

215 notes · View notes

wickjump · 9 days

Note

what are some weird ships you have found. not illegal or anything just... weird. like they wont ever match but somehow that ship exist and the look cute together. but it just... looks and feels weird

oh i’ve absolutely seen a TON before. mafiafell and fatal error was one that stuck with me for a while, i found something for it on wattpad ages ago but i can’t find it for the life of me, which does kinda suck bc it was pretty well written. the author wrote a lot of mafiafell rarepair stories now that i think about it, one had fresh i know that but i never read it for whatever reason

dance and ink was one that surprised yet intrigued me, i think it could be cool aesthetically. epic and sci was a fun one that i hadn’t considered before but i definitely didn’t get it, selfselfcest is always one that takes me a moment to process (ie. swap x other swap sans) when there’s no discernible difference between the two. bill!sans and lust i saw once in some fanart years ago too on pinterest or something too. there’s def weirder out there but these are just the ones that have stuck with me since then i guess

dream and fresh is a rarepair of mine btw. i’m not a huge-huge fan but it’s cute and i feel that also deserves a place here if only to spread my lovely, joyous propaganda. and fresh and epic too thats also super cool and i need them more please i BEG

#sanscest #utmv #sans #undertale

20 notes · View notes

luvistqrzzz · 9 months

Text

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 super shy — 008 — shut up simp ( ignore timestamps !! ) wc: 0.2k

'y/n psst!' his voice came again. you looked up from the textbook you were studying while riki was supposed to be doing sums. 'riki... please for once study', you replied in a slightly stern voice. riki was a good student, he just needed to concentrate a bit more which he was well, not very successful in.

'c'mon we study everyday! i can't wrap my head around these proving a circle questions', he whined. 'do you want me to explain to you again?'

'no but you could ditch this study session with me.' you stopped, looking at him, his face having a slight mischievous smile. you sighed, it's not like you wanted to continue teaching him. you could do with a break... right?

plus, it was with riki so maybe... it won't be a bad idea. 'please please please', he begged, giving you fake puppy eyes.

'why with me though? you can go alone or something', you asked, closing your textbook. 'hey i'm not that cruel to ditch you plus i'd like to spend more time with you that doesn't involve sitting in a library with stale coffee.'

you were a bit taken aback and couldn't help the blush rising in your cheeks, 'oh. well then, i guess i'm in.' a bright smile spread accross riki's face. 'just.for.today', you added threatingly.

prev | masterlist | next

summary- as if bribing people with pringles to vote for him as class prez wasn't enough, riki had to get respectable amount of grades to really contest in it. so, what happens when a hopeless riki approaches you, his quiet shy classmate whose painfully crushing on him, to tutor him? will you take his offer to finally shoot your shot?

genre- smau with written parts, classmates to lovers, crush!niki, fluff, pinch of angst maybe, high school!au, shy girl x popular boy kinda, tutor!reader (cliche ikkk)

taglist- open - send an ask or comment to be added (bold=cannot tag)

@heesluvrgirl @yenqa @latriii @gyulune @flwrshee @imhuh @str0l0gy @rshmra @kjrcrz @gyuszie @hysgf @dneltrise @aernx @yunicide @beomgyusonlywife @i-izumii @cha0thicpisces @misokei @sunoosluvr @txtmetonight @captivq @neighborhae @girlindiesel @pinkbarbi3dolly @rikislady @heetoldme @j1nniee @k1ttylvr @whoschr @staryyeon @soomelon @thea-herondale @enhaz1 @smollquokka @svn-lvn @chaerybae @en-dream @gothvkth @spilled-coffee-cup @ashy1um @jayujus @yumilovesloona @teddywonss @darlingalieee @haechansbbg @chaechae-23 @angrybananapolice @jwonsite @mrowwww @elysianeclipxe @07myonlylove @str4wb3rizz

an- uhm hiii i bet yall forgot this existed cuz i sure did (dw i hate myself for this too 😞),,, but on the other hand lets the ignore the fact that twitter is now called by the name of X or wtf is up with the new name huh ?! i made this chapter half asleep pls lmk any errors </3 gn guys

#🖇— super shy #enhypen smau #niki enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #niki x reader #niki fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfics #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #niki fanfic #niki imagines #niki smau #enhypen scenarios #enha niki #enha fake texts #enhypen socmed au

108 notes · View notes

paracosmic-murdock · 9 months

Text

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 12: "Parlant à la lune"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: It has been two years since your secret was exposed and you had to leave London. Two years with deep buried misery and in which you missed everything you used to have. However, neglect, novelties, and letters made sure to give you more than one reason to return to claim someone who is as rightfully yours as your estate and your people: Benedict Bridgerton.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, mutual pining, (kinda???) enemies (fake, this is just pride) to lovers (surely), bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Perhaps you had manifested it or not, but either way, there was another man in your life to make it unbearable. Luckily, the stubborn fate (a letter) and your untamed mind (your undying love for a certain someone) would not let you stagnant in that misery.

Word count: 2K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's paracosm (main masterlist)

1816 seemed to be a vintage year for the vineyards of the Château du Clos de Vougeot, so much so that it had you between the bushes of grapes painting them while tasting the fine wine produced almost two decades ago. Despite not being able to drink it until you were five and ten, the sweet, burgundy-colored drink has accompanied you throughout your life.

It reminded you of your childhood running through these same vineyards, riding a white horse named after your Mother's favorite gemstone as you tried to win a race against the setting sun, laughing with your father, and shooting arrows at the red dots placed on the trunks of trees. It made you wish he had never left, though you had made peace with his absence so long ago.

Perhaps you would not have to have done all the things you once did.

Your short stay in London did certainly mark you like a bloodstain: the ghost of those ocean eyes haunted your dreams and nightmares, and the words printed on ridiculous papers chased you down Europe for many moons. However, you have come way too far to watch some name-dropping sleaze as Lady Whistledown.

For a moment, you watched your bridges burn to the ground and your castles crumble down. What once were chants celebrating your name turned to screams of hate. You went from looks of adoration to them looking at you like you were a monster.

You had lived in the Americas with your Grandfather for two pair of months as a punishment for your imprudences and had returned to Burgundy with the determination to claim what is yours whatever it took.

You were not as successful, but you managed to have your cousin living constantly at the expense of your hard work ever since. At least he did not intend to marry you anymore, and for that, you could settle.

The book you had written was published earlier this year, and the story of the author writing poems to an unknown lover, sending them to him by talking to the moon was certainly a hit. As a woman, you found that so far from possible, but having your status and wealth did it all to make sure your words could be read anywhere across Europe.

Many more nights than you are willing to admit, you wondered whether Benedict was aware of the existence of the book or not; but most importantly, if he had realized it was about him.

Everything, for two years, was about him.

Portraits of his face adorned the walls of the Palace of Versailles, and his name was a recurring code in your book. There was even an unfortunate error in some of the first copies, as his name and surname had accidentally ended up explicitly mentioned.

No one suspected that the aforementioned was a real person, and you were grateful to the Heavens for that.

"Excusez-moi, Lady Y/N. Quelqu’un vous attend." Antoinette announced, and you nodded.

[Excuse me, Lady Y/N. Someone is expecting you]

You took a handkerchief to clean your paint-splattered hands and made your way to the Palace and out of the field.

Once you were inside, you were told that the person was waiting in the sitting room with your Grandfather. The person was a man, and you almost dropped your handkerchief to the floor.

"My dear," your Grandfather called for you. "There is someone you should meet."

"Whoever this is, I want him gone by dinnertime," you said.

He rolled his eyes at your stubbornness. "He has traveled for days and days."

"It is impossible for a human to care less about another."

You would not normally behave in such a manner, but the resemblance that man shared with your father had your imagination running in circles.

"Do you even know this man?"

A scoff left your lips. "He looks exactly like my father, meaning he must be a bastard child of his. Why is he here? To get what should be his. What will he get? Not a thing. I said I wanted him gone by dinnertime."

You regretted having created your Antoine alter ego. It was almost as if you had manifested a brother, which was devastatingly pathetic.

It was obvious he was standing there ready to take it all away from you.

The story behind it all is that your Grandfather has been looking for ways to watch your reign end for a while now, and the possibility of him having a bastard child was there. He couldn't have lived in celibacy for the nine and ten years he lived without his wife.

He didn't indeed.

There were three children of his living the life of commoners, but the only one who was interested in living the life that could have been his had he been born from your Mother was him.

"Don't listen to her, Raphaël," your grandfather told him, then looked at you. "You mustn't manage all of this for another day. You might not accept him as a brother, but after all, he is your father's son. What you consider to be yours isn't anymore, you must stop acting as if you were Queen Charlotte, owner of every soul that stands in the same region as you, you are not."

Your Grandfather used to adore you, but the events of two years ago led him to treat you like a ragdoll possessed by the cruel spirit of a soul in Purgatory. One you wish to get rid of but return every time you believe it to be gone forever.

You only laughed at his indiscretions toward you and watched him tolerate your devoted gestures.

Suddenly, you were nothing but a woman with the heaviest of heads that bears the crown, and you eventually got tired of trying to win his love back.

"He is nobody," you repeated. "This is my home, and so is every palace under the name of the Dukes of Burgundy. My pennies have made everyone's crowns and if I say I wanted him gone, gone he will be."

"You forget your place quite often, do you not?" your supposed brother commented. "I have never seen a woman that believes herself to be the owner of it all."

Your outraged glance could have killed him if what they said about looks were true.

"You will not come to my own home to talk to me as if you were someone with the right to. You should be the one to remember his place-"

"Women are incredibly arrogant and insane these days, it is ironic coming from one who is utterly alone in this world."

"Watch your mouth, brother," you threatened him. "You will choose your next words carefully unless you want to see what happens when you poke a bear."

"Leave us alone." your grandfather ordered him, and he complied right away.

You sighed.

"When will this princess figure out she isn't worth saving, huh?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I am sick of your misbehaving, Y/N, in all seriousness," he snapped finally. "Your arrogance is making me go insane, your words are inopportune, when will you learn that nobody in this world is standing by you?"

"And I am sick of you coming to my life every time I'm getting it right, sir. I am just so tired of you treating me like an unwanted child," you replied. "You treat me as if I wasn't your own daughter's daughter, and I am certain that she would be disappointed in you if she were here! She would understand me!"

"Don't you raise your voice at me and don't you dare speak of your mother as if you had known her." he ordered, his voice tranquil but angry.

Hurting tears escaped your sore eyes. "I lost the love of my life, you know? I lost him and I must live with that for the rest of my life! I have nobody! My Father is gone, my Mother is gone, you are gone! I am, just like you said, without a soul standing by me, and, just like he said, utterly alone in this world! If he comes I will end up living in the streets after having had it all. Is it what you want? For your granddaughter to be left to her own devices?"

"Ever since you escaped your home to disguise as a man and had that Bridgerton boy dishonor you, you stopped being my granddaughter."

You nodded, feeling more devastated than you had before.

"Alright, I am leaving for Versailles. He can have whatever he wants," you answered, knowing very well that no matter how much he tried, he would never get his name on anything you owned. Your Father's will firmly stated that the one to inherit every ducal thing would be your first son, said will was blessed by the King of France, and there was not a thing absolutely anyone could do against the King's blessing. "You can be sure you will never see me again."

"Do you have anyone to stay with in Versailles?"

"I do not need anyone, I have my Palace."

"I'm afraid you don't."

"What do you-"

Antoinette's sudden arrival stopped you from continuing. "Désolée, mais vous avez une correspondance de Londres."

[I am sorry, but you have correspondance from London]

You frowned, receiving the envelope.

From Eloise Bridgerton

So you opened it right away.

Dearest Y/N,

I, and dare I say my entire family also, wishes you more than well.

I do not know how proper it is for me to write to you after all that happened with my brother, but there is something you must know: he is about to make the biggest mistake of his life, and you are the only one who can stop it.

Benedict met someone: Miss Hayley Prince. I am obliged to speak of her as such a nice lady, with manners like no other. But she is not you.

This is funny enough because ever since you left, every woman he has had around shares some sort of similarity with you. This is what I have picked from overhearing conversations between Anthony, Daphne, Simon, Colin, and Kate, since, of course, I could never know a thing about those affairs of his.

Benedict has stopped himself from sending letters or traveling to France many more times than you can imagine, so you should know that losing you has been the catastrophe of his life. He regrets letting you go and it is under that premise that I beg for you to come to England as soon as possible.

He is seriously considering proposing to her, but I know that if you were to return, he would leave her and marry you instead.

Benedict does not love her at all, and in her, he just found the woman who is the entire opposite of you: she is most certainly not French, she does not care about art, she says emeralds are not suitable for her, she braids her hair funny, she gets disgusted by the mere idea of fencing or horseback riding, she hates horses, she is mean, she is superficial, she is not the third cousin of the King of France (or any king for that matter), and said she is terrified of traveling overseas. Benedict found the only woman in England that does not remind him of you and decided to hold onto her.

The problem is, Benedict is miserable with her. She is insufferable and none of us can bear with the idea of having to see her often. Also, my brother needs someone who can make him smile and inspire him.

That someone is you.

P.S. He talks to the moon every time it is full. I beg you to come fix him.

P.S.2. I have heard about your book! As soon as I see it somewhere I will buy it.

P.S.3. Lady Danbury said she would be enchanted to receive you at her home.

Sincerely and expecting your answer eagerly,

Eloise Bridgerton

taglist: @yentroucnagol @crimsonincursive

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine

78 notes · View notes

fandomsoda · 8 months

Text

Tbh I don’t think we talk enough about how compelling AU x Classic ships can be.

Like his disposition as the “og guy” and the fact that he’s not built to deal with interacting with other Sanses can make pairings with him pretty dynamic and compelling. Besides, his laid back, lazy, and chill attitude with the undercurrent of depression makes his personality very easy to mesh with other characters.

I’ve briefly mentioned before why I think Classink would be so great (the original guy x the expert on the AU’s, talking about complex things, helping him to understand, some “I can show you the world” type gags, I’m sure you get the picture) but like a lot of pairings work here.

He could have a pretty compelling dynamic with Dream, an active sunshine to his lazy rain. Or maybe Error could have a thing for him considering he deems the classic timeline “the only one that deserves to exist”! And this one would be kinda rocky, but him and Cross could be super compelling.

The only pairing I think wouldn’t really work on principle is shipping him with Blue (because of the implications, just no thank you-) but like otherwise it’s pretty neat.

I know Kustard is already popular, but let’s branch out!

#text post #soda rambles #utmv #undertale au #sans undertale #soda talks ships #undertale au ships #sanscest #i hate the word sanscest

41 notes · View notes

bpftgods · 3 months

Text

I technically finished this last night but I was sleepy so I didn't post it

It's Nightmare!!

Oki, time to ramble about his backstory

So firstly, the twins don't guard a big tree

If they did, Adam and Eve wouldn't have been sent to Earth /j

Instead, their domains encircle Nim's resting place

She kinda just made two gods and then went to take the world's longest nap

Mortals can't go to the God's Realm (before death) so they don't gotta worry about that

They don't gotta worry about anything, actually

Nightmare's just paranoid and Dream does whatever he can to make him feel better

He's been paranoid since before the incident

He's the God of Fear and he believes that's enough reason for the other gods to want to plot against him

On bad days, he finds it difficult to trust Dream too

Only Killer (I still have no idea what to do with him, I just have a vague design) and Crescent get a pass, mostly because he thinks they're too weak to succeed if they really tried to kill him

When he was younger, he was slightly obsessed with his appearance

He kinda believed that if he looked presentable, other people would like him more

However, because of his paranoia, he still felt like the other gods were out to get him

This meant he tended to cause conflicts sometimes

Even though he believed it was in self-defence, he was usually the one initiating the fights

And one time, he made the mistake of messing with the God of Destruction

He lost

Very badly

Error was going easy on him, but his version of easy is very skewed

He took a hit to his right eye socket, which allowed his aura to begin leaking out of his body

He spent a while hiding, during which Dream was freaking out trying to find his brother

Eventually, Nightmare regained enough sense to go to Dream for help

However, by then, his aura had stained his bones and clothes, making them appear darker

It freaked out Dream even if he didn't say anything while he did his best to tend to his brother's injuries

Nowadays, Nightmare doesn't care much about his appearance

He is still paranoid though and doesn't want his weakness to be used against him so he uses his abilities to hide his injury

It's still there, you just can't see it

Also, Crescent doesn't know it exists

Since he spent so much time with him, Nightmare's aura stained his son's bones too, making them grey instead of white

The only reason that Crescent still has those stripes and the crescent shape on his forehead is because that's his magic manifesting onto his body and you can't stain magic without getting LV

Think of it like Ink's tattoos

The mug was a gift from Crescent

He kind of manifested it by using the magic in Nightmare's domain and then painting onto it

He practiced lots before giving the best one to his dad

Nightmare loves it and even though he doesn't need food/water, he fills it with lots of drinks so that he can stare at the drawing on the back

Also, he thinks that using it more often will make Crescent love him more, but he's being silly because Crescent loves him anyway

As one can imagine, Crescent going to the Mortal Realm is freaking him out

He has no idea why he'd go down there, especially when there's a prophecy that literally dictates he's going to interact with "a great evil"

...Not that Nightmare's told him about the prophecy

Nightmare has thrown hands with other gods multiple times for insulting his son because of this prophecy

He also would have done the same to Sci for revealing it in the first place, but Sci knew where to hide

Most of the gods fear Crescent as much as they fear Nightmare

Also, he has resting bitch face so sometimes he and someone else are staring at each other and both freaking out

15 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

momofmusa

Eclectic Garden

cumslutcult

sbkline

Stuff

unagrius

august !?

sixflyingdragons

lovebogums